yourself if you demoralize them now.'
Farl fell silent, but Lord Harcourt nodded his agreement. Turning from the fire, Azoun paused a moment to gather his shattered thoughts, then commenced pacing. After a few turns, the king faced the generals again.
'I did not fight a single Tuigan today, so the tales of heroism the troops are telling are lies,' he said flatly. 'Can you let that be the thing that unites them?' He allowed his gaze to drift slowly from Farl to Lord Harcourt to Brunthar.
It was the dalesman who spoke first. 'They'll fight together now, Your Highness,' he answered confidently, meeting the king's eyes. 'And if they fight as a unified force, perhaps they won't have to die at all.'
'Harcourt?' Azoun asked after a moment.
With a nod, the old noble said, 'I agree with General Elventree. It's regrettable to let untruths fester like this, but with the Tuigan ready to attack tomorrow, it's for the best. If the men are galvanized by the tales, I say let them believe whatever they want.'
Before his king could ask him, Farl Bloodaxe stood and faced away from the fire. 'I'll do as Your Highness asks,' he said. 'We've known each other a long time, so I'll be bold enough to be honest. I believe this is a serious mistake.' Turning toward Azoun again, he added, 'By not correcting the rumors, we're fostering them.'
'If my archers survive the battle,' Brunthar interjected, 'they wont care what we did to motivate them, so long as we win. If we lose-' he shrugged and poked the fire again '-then no one will be around to argue the point.'
Azoun's first impulse was to strike the cocky dalesman, but he knew that the urge was more a reaction to his own indecision than anything General Elventree had said or done. He saw his choice clearly laid before him: either let the rumors circulate freely and unite the army, or tell the troops the truth and possibly demoralize them on the eve of the first battle. And though his heart told him otherwise, the king looked Farl in the eye and said, 'Let the men think what they will.' After a pause he added, 'But I want all three of you to get your troops under control and ready them for the morning.'
Lord Harcourt and Brunthar Elventree bowed and left immediately. Only Farl paused before carrying out his liege's commands, and he stood for a moment, studying the king from across the fire.
'You know this is wrong, Azoun,' the general said at last. He cast his eyes to the ground and toed a stone.
'There's no other choice, Farl. If you were in my position, you'd see that.'
The infantry commander shook his head. 'No, Your Highness. Wrong is wrong, and-'
'Go on,' the king prompted. 'As you said, we've known each other a long time. You can be honest with me.'
'I'm afraid you'll be made to pay for this somehow, that letting these rumors go unchecked will come back to haunt you.'
A weak smile crossed Azoun's lips, and he nodded. 'Perhaps,' he said wearily. 'Perhaps.' With a sigh the king sat on a large stone near the fire. 'But this is war, and my responsibility is to the troops. I cannot be guided solely by my beliefs.'
Farl bowed and turned to go. Before he got more than a few feet away, he stopped. 'The soldiers are here because of your beliefs, Your Highness, and the true crusaders will gladly die for the causes you champion.. but never for a lie.'
Then the general was gone, leaving Azoun alone with his thoughts. He stared at the fire for an hour, wondering if this was what Vangerdahast had warned him against in Suzail. If so, the king decided as he rose to check on the royal wizard, then my old tutor was right. I'm not prepared for war at all.
13
That night most of the clouds fled the sky, as if they were reluctant to be witness to the upcoming battle. The morning after Azoun's visit to the Tuigan camp began bright but much cooler than the day before. The king, as restless as the clouds, rose early, just as the sky to the east was growing pink. His first office that morning was to offer a short prayer to Lathander, Lord of the Morning, God of Renewal.
'If Lord Tempus does not see fit to strengthen our arm in the battle today,' Azoun's prayer concluded, 'then let our sacrifice fall to you, Lathander, and lead to the beginning of a united Faerun, one that will rear up to crush the Tuigan.'
The prayer done, the king donned the foundations of his armor-a new quilted doublet and hose-and went to check on Vangerdahast. The handful of guards outside the Royal Pavilion snapped to attention as Azoun passed. The guards looked as if they'd stood at attention for hours, but the king didn't miss the empty wineskin or the marks in the ground around the fire where they'd likely passed the night.
'Three more scouts have reported back, Your Highness,' one of the guards said, bowing as he addressed the king. 'They note that the Tuigan are on the move toward us, but still many miles away.'
The king nodded. 'As we expected. Send runners to Lord Harcourt, General Elventree, and General Bloodaxe. Have them report to me in a few minutes.' He started toward Vangerdahast's tent, then added, 'Apprise them of the reports when they arrive.'
Without waiting for an acknowledgement, Azoun continued to the tent of his friend and advisor. Cormyrian soldiers bowed to the king as he trod across the royal compound, while others merely saluted. Though his mind was otherwise occupied, Azoun put on a cheerful face and returned the greetings enthusiastically. He knew that now more than ever, he had to present a confident facade.
Even with the frenzied momentum built by the stories surrounding the king's return, fear still hovered over the Alliance's camp. A glazed, faraway look clung in most soldiers' eyes, and the men and women seemed distracted as they hurriedly prepared to meet the enemy. The sounds of their work-wood being chopped for last- minute barricades, swords sliding harshly over sharpening stones, nervous horses crying out as they were armored for the charge-drifted over the camp and heightened the sense of fearful anticipation.
Most soldiers responded to the tension by throwing themselves into their duties. Archers checked and rechecked their bows, counted arrows, and sharpened arrowheads. The nobles under Lord Harcourt's charge polished their armor, as if a good sheen on their plate mail would stop a Tuigan arrow. Other noblemen tended to their horses, securing the mounts' barding or making sure they were fed in accordance with military tradition. Swordsmen readied their weapons and armor, if they had any armor at all. Some men broke down parts of the camp, dousing fires and loading baggage onto carts. No one would admit that the camp was being packed to aid a hasty retreat, but everyone knew why the tents slowly disappeared from the landscape that morning.
Other soldiers spent their hours before the battle talking with friends or drinking around the cookfire. Azoun passed one such group on the way to Vangerdahast's tent. Being Cormyrian soldiers, they moved to stand as the king passed, but he motioned them to stay seated. The soldiers smiled broadly at this, and they cheered when Azoun took a drink from their wineskin before moving on. The king was still in earshot when the soldiers again related descriptions of the wives or lovers they'd left in Cormyr. From what little Azoun heard, he guessed these stories had as much truth in them as the ones about his battle in the Tuigan camp.
Religion weighed heavily on many minds and became important even to those not usually inclined to give the gods their due. Clerics, whose job it would be in the battle to aid the injured and pray for the dead, bustled from tent to tent, campfire to campfire. Many of the priests encouraged the men to turn their thoughts away from the conflict. Others, like the worshipers of Torm, God of Duty, or Tempus, God of Battle, exhorted the troops to fight as their deities demanded. Clerics of Lady Tymora were the most common in the camp, as their goddess was known as the patron of adventurers.
One such cleric of Tymora was leaving Vangerdahast's tent as the king approached it. The dark-haired priest exuded exhaustion as he shuffled, shoulders stooped, away from Azoun.
'Just a minute,' the king said, running a few steps to catch the Tymorite. 'How is the royal magician?'
The cleric, when he saw Azoun, bowed deeply. He straightened his clean brown robe and turned his blue eyes on the king. 'He is no longer delirious, Your Highness, but I fear he will not be ready to fight today.'
