Crusade

these men as prisoners, we'll have to set up a camp for them behind our lines.' The wizard paused and looked at the western fortifications. 'Do you think our troops will want to share their supplies with men who, only this morning, were intent on killing us all?'

Azoun looked up sharply. 'What about you, Allie? What do you think?'

The princess wanted to give her opinion, but she realized that her father probably already knew what she would say. Instead, she held her gauntleted hands before her and shook her head. 'No, Father. My counsel, the opinions of your generals, they don't matter now. This is a decision for you alone to make.'

The king stifled a bitter laugh, for he recognized how much Alusair wished to make this a test. Once, Azoun would not have even hesitated in his judgment. In the days when he'd ridden with the King's Men, he had meted out justice according to the sentence of his own pure heart. His position as monarch had changed that, and both the king and the princess recognized that fact. The concessions given to Zhentil Keep so that they would join the crusade were only the latest in a long string of petty wrongs done for 'reasons of state.'

'I know that look, Azoun,' Vangerdahast said, shaking a finger at the king. 'If you let these barbarians live, they'll only burden the army. And if the Tuigan do attack again, the prisoners might break free, might cost the lives of your own countrymen … or your daughter's life, perhaps.'

Of course, Vangy is right, Azoun decided. He always is, in matters of logic and in all things political.

But never in matters of the heart.

The king stood. 'Allie, tell the clerics to continue to care for the prisoners and give shelter to them.' Vrakk growled, and both Vangerdahast and Brunthar gaped in surprise.

'This is madness,' Brunthar shouted. 'In the Dales we'd never even consider letting our enemies-'

Vrakk thrust a meaty, gray-haired hand over the general's mouth. 'Beware, dale-man.' He released the startled human, then pounded his leather-armored chest. 'In Dales we might be enemy. Zhentish kill for less insult than you ready to say.'

The orcish commander narrowed his eyes and studied the king. 'I follow, Ak-soon,' he said, showing his yellowed teeth, ''cause you may send more men to Lord Cyric this way. He no care if they be Tuigan or not.' That said, he stomped off, presumably to rejoin his countrymen.

The outburst had silenced Brunthar, but not Vangerdahast. The old wizard moved close to the king and pushed his face forward until it rested only inches from Azoun's. 'This is war. You've no time to play paladin now.' When the king didn't respond, the mage looked away. 'I knew it would come to this. Don't even try to make me understand.'

'I won't,' the king said softly. He shrugged in response to the astonished look that comment drew from his old teacher. 'I really don't think you'd understand the reasons, Vangy. It has to do with the things the good man must uphold, not logic, not political necessity.'

Alusair walked to her father's side. 'Shall I help gather supplies for the prisoners?'

'Please. And take General Bloodaxe with you,' the king replied. He faced the infantry commander. 'I'm sure you'll be able to gather the items needed to care for the prisoners, Farl. Your men should be glad to donate much. After all, they came to fight for a good cause, didn't they?'

The infantry commander gave the king a wry smile. 'I've heard that,' the general said. With a brief bow, both Farl and Alusair made their way into the ranks.

'I want the men to know that the Tuigan prisoners are being protected by my orders,' Azoun said to Brunthar. 'I think it would be wise if you told your men that.' He paused, then added, 'Unless the barbarians pick up weapons or attempt to harm someone, they are safe. Do you understand?'

Without a word or a bow, Brunthar spun on his heels and stomped off.

'This may cost you everything,' Vangerdahast hissed after a moment. 'The men won't like this one bit. They might even revolt.'

'No, Vangy, they won't,' Azoun said evenly. 'Most of the soldiers are here to protect Faerun, to fight for the cause I put before them four months ago in the Royal Gardens.' He gestured at the western troops, still arrayed in battle formation. 'They trust me to lead them in a good cause. They may not see the reasons why I tell them to let the prisoners live, but they trust me. They'll follow my orders.'

Azoun stood and placed a hand on his old friend's shoulder. 'I've paid a great deal for this crusade. If I would have stopped those rumors about my 'glorious escape from the Tuigan,' the nobles wouldn't have charged in the first battle. I'll always have Harcourt's death on my conscience because of that, and the gods only know what Zhentil Keep will do with the time I've granted them for free reign in Darkhold.' He swept his hand through the air, as if dismissing the guilt that plagued him. 'Until now, I've committed sins only by allowing evil to occur. I will not kill the prisoners, though not because all the codes of war say it's wrong. No, because my heart says it's wrong, and my heart holds the most important code of all.'

Vangerdahast studied the king's face for an instant. The monarch the wizard saw standing defiantly before him looked the same as the one who had started the crusade. And though the gray-shot brown beard and wrinkled brow were familiar, a long-absent spark shone in Azoun's dark eyes. With a start, Vangerdahast realized that he hadn't seen that fire in many years, not since the king was a young, idealistic cavalier.

Sunlight slanted in through the single window of the ruined farmhouse and poured through the gaping holes in its thatched roof. The light revealed the dust and ash that danced about the room, but Thom Reaverson didn't notice it. The bard sat bathed in sunlight, bent over a makeshift desk. He squinted at the parchment and continued to write.

Some of the troops were unhappy with the king's decision to let the prisoners live, but apart from grumbling around the campfires, there was little negative reaction. A majority of the army simply took Azoun's word that keeping the defeated Tuigan alive was the course for good men. Luckily the prisoners themselves proved to be no trouble, and Azoun freed most of them in the first tenday after the battle.

Tapping the end of his pen lightly on his chin, the bard considered what else he should record. After a moment, Thom inked his stylus and set to work again.

The dwarves of Earthfast buried Torg, ironlord of their people, in a cairn of stone on the day of the Second Battle of the Golden Way. The dwarven lord's resting place stands only a few yards from the trees that served the Alliance so well. The pyres where the clerics burned the corpses from the battle will likely leave no permanent mark on the countryside, but they, too, were built near the site of the conflict.

The dwarves left a day later. Princess Alusair attempted to convince them to stay, at least until the king was certain the Tuigan were not going to mass another attack. 'The battle is over,' they told her. 'There is nothing else for us to do here.' Many in the Alliance were not sorry to see the dwarves go. Throughout the campaign, they remained aloof and isolated.

'I don't see how the princess fought beside those cold little men for the three months before the crusade,' Thom added to himself. From everything Alusair had revealed, the bard saw Earthfast as a lonely, embattled place, devoid of hope. It was hard to believe that Azoun's daughter, who seemed full of life, had stayed there.

That was before I met her, Thom decided. That was before she and the king were reconciled.

He shook his head and tried to dismiss the idle thoughts that dragged him away from the chronicles. Today was the first time in the month since the Second Battle of the Golden Way, as the conflict was now known, that the bard had stolen a chance to write. And since he wanted to have the notes on the crusade finished before the army returned to Cormyr, Thom had to get back to work.

Stretching once to get comfortable, the bard started to write once more.

It was clear on the day following the battle that the Tuigan were actually retreating. Scouts returned to report that the barbarians were covering an astonishing distance each day-a figure I would relate here but for fear of being called a liar. The death of Yamun Khahan at the hands of King Azoun, the illustrious hero of the crusade-

'Getting a bit carried away there,' Thom said softly. Azoun had given the bard strict instructions after the battle that he was not to be valorized over the common troopers in the chronicles. 'You'll surely ask me to strike this out,' Thom noted, 'so I'll do it now and save you the trouble.'

After marking through the last phrase with heavy, dark lines, the bard repeated the last fragment he'd penned.' 'The death of Yamun Khahan at the hands of King Azoun-''

— broke the spirit of the barbarian invaders. The prisoners made it clear, with some help from the mages, that without the khahan to lead them, their horsewarrior brethren would surely scatter to the four winds.