A rap on the shoulder brought the fletcher's mind back to his immediate surroundings. The arrowsmith and the bowyer were coughing hoarse, braying laughs, and a few of the other workmen had glanced at John.
'Did I wake you?' someone asked sweetly. John turned to find Kiri Trollslayer standing over him. Her hands planted firmly on her hips, the pretty soldier from Cormyr cocked her head and set her brown eyes on the fletcher's face.
Fumbling with a half-fletched arrow, John got to his feet. 'N-No, Kiri. Just daydreaming.' He glanced up at the darkening evening sky and amended that. 'Well, twilight-dreaming, anyway. Aren't you supposed to be on sentry duty?'
With a laugh, Kiri hooked her arm in John's and took the arrow from his hand. 'I have some interesting news,' she said as she dropped the unfinished arrow to the ground. 'The king is on his way back. He should be in camp by the time the stars are out.'
She told John the news in a voice loud enough for the workmen around them to hear, but many had turned to watch Kiri anyway-there simply weren't as many female soldiers in camp as men. The area was soon abuzz with excited chatter.
'He had to fight his way out of the Tuigan camp, too,' Kiri concluded, addressing the comment to anyone who was listening. She paused and crossed her arms over her sleeveless tunic, as if daring someone to contradict her.
'Aye?' the aged bowyer said. 'Good thing the king has Master Vangerdahast along. The wizard probably cast a few fireballs, or maybe even a lightning bolt or two, to help them along.' A chorus of agreement met that comment, and others suggested spells the royal magician had probably thrown during the fight.
'Where did you hear this, Kiri?' John asked sharply, turning her toward him with both hands.
Frowning, she pulled out of the fletcher's grasp. 'A rider from the king's escort just returned,' she snapped, annoyance clear in her voice. 'He told one of the other soldiers on sentry duty.'
With a groan, John put a hand to his forehead. 'Just like the sentry I talked to after Mal's execution, right?'
Kiri scowled, and a look of genuine hurt filled her eyes. She knew the incident to which John referred quite well. He had talked to her about it a dozen times since it had occurred.
Azoun had ordered the entire army to witness Mal's execution on the day they left Telflamm. As John had stood with his fellow soldiers, watching the murderer dangle from a scaffold, a dalesman assigned to control the crowd had struck up a conversation. The dalesman had then proceeded to tell a wildly exaggerated version of the fight in the Broken Lance. The tale ended with something John still found absolutely astounding.
'And I heard from a friend,' the dalesman had concluded, 'that the Cormyrian had an accomplice, some cutthroat named Razor John. They say his sword's so sharp-like a razor, you know-that he cuts off heads with a single stroke.'
Dumbfounded, the fletcher had simply nodded, then bid the dalesman good-day. On many occasions John had told Kiri the tale and never failed to mention how little he thought of gossips. Those frequent comments all came flooding back to Kiri as she stood before her friend.
'I'm only telling you what I heard,' she said, a slight quaver in her voice.
With a frown at his own callousness, John rested his hands gently on Kiri's shoulders and apologized. The news of Azoun's battle with the Tuigan was spreading like wildfire, from bowyer to armorer, blacksmith to fletcher, but John and Kiri let their conversation drift on to other topics. Still, it wasn't long before a soldier in chain mail, the star and shattered crown insignia of Archendale emblazoned on his white surcoat, dashed into the work area.
'The king is coming!' he shouted. 'Down the Golden Way.' He turned and dashed off to another section of the camp, sweat beading on his forehead in the warm air.
Workmen dropped their tools and immediately made their way to the broad road that intersected the camp. Thousands of soldiers and refugees already lined the trade road for well over a mile to the east. John and Kiri were content to stay far back from the press, even though they knew they had no chance of spotting the king from where they stood.
As he waited, John caught snatches of stories about the king's escape from the Tuigan camp as they circulated through the crowd. The speculation he'd heard from his co-workers about the spells Vangerdahast had cast in defense of the king was now stated as fact. More than once the fletcher felt tempted to offer a correction to an obvious falsehood, but restrained himself.
Soon cheering was heard from the east, and a new wave of rumors spread through the crowd. Vangerdahast, it seemed, was wounded. Some even claimed he was dead. In any case, the wizard wasn't moving. Enthusiastic plaudits for Azoun's heroic escape from the Tuigan camp were met and redoubled by condemnations of the khahan's savagery. By the time the king's banner reached the spot where John and Kiri stood, the Army of the Alliance was a cheering mob, swearing oaths to Tempus, the God of Battle, and pledging to fight by Azoun's side to the last soldier.
From his horse, the Cormyrian king looked out on the Army of the Alliance in amazement. Troops from Suzail stood side by side with Sembian mercenaries. Dalesmen thrust their swords into the air and swore oaths with Red Plumes from Hillsfar and militia from Ravens Bluff. Azoun even spotted some of Vrakk's orcs scattered in the mob, shouting and cheering along with the humans.
The king's guard spread out as the procession entered the camp, and Azoun made his way through the crowd to the royal compound. Thom followed as close behind as possible, leading Vangerdahast, still unconscious on his horse. The other three generals met them outside Azoun's tent.
Brunthar Elventree of the archers was already smiling when Azoun clapped him on the shoulder. 'This is unbelievable,' the king exclaimed to the dalesman, then glanced at the cheering crowd. 'What forged the group of soldiers I left into an army in only one day?'
The king faced his cavalry commander, Lord Harcourt. Even though it was warm, the old Cormyrian nobleman still wore his heavy chain hauberk. Harcourt simply shrugged as a reply and continued stroking his sizable white mustache.
Carrying Vangerdahast between them, Farl Bloodaxe and Thom Reaverson broke into the scene. The wizard was mumbling in fits, but he was still obviously unconscious. The king's smile fled and was replaced by a concerned grimace. 'He's better,' Thom offered as they brought Vangerdahast into Azoun's tent, 'but we should call for a healer.'
After kneeling for a moment at his old friend's side, Azoun turned to Thom. 'That's already been done. Will you watch him until the priest arrives?' When the bard nodded, the king motioned for General Bloodaxe to follow him from the tent.
Once outside, Azoun invited his generals to sit around a campfire, then he quickly explained what had transpired in the Tuigan camp. The cheers from the army had died down somewhat, but the men could still be heard alternatively praising Azoun and cursing the horsewarriors. Finally, the king looked to Farl. 'Can you tell me what brought the men together like this?'
The ebony-skinned infantry commander drew his mouth into a hard line. 'Rumor,' he said, plucking nervously at the sleeve of his white shirt. 'There are incredible stories circulating through camp, stories of how you were ambushed by the khahan and had to fight your way back.'
Clearing his throat noisily, as he often did before speaking, Lord Harcourt added, 'They've been telling wild tales about the Tuigan, too, don't you know.' He twirled his mustache and frowned. 'Some say they sacrifice babies and do horrible things to the women they capture. Nasty business. Even the nobles have been busy with the gossip.'
Seeing the concern on Azoun's face, Brunthar Elventree leaned toward the king. 'But the source doesn't matter so long as the effect is right,' he noted brightly, the heat from the fire turning his face as red as his hair.
'Of course the source matters,' Azoun snapped. 'It's all a lie! The Tuigan aren't monsters, and I did not have to fight my way back to camp.'
A few guards at the compound's edge looked toward the king, and Lord Harcourt cleared his throat again. 'Your Highness,' he began haltingly. 'You may want to lower your voice a bit.'
'Why?' both Azoun and Farl asked simultaneously.
Brunthar Elventree poked the fire, sending an angry shower of sparks into the night sky. 'Because a word or two like that will shatter whatever spirit this army has mustered,' he growled. 'You might as well kill the men
