guilds.'
The leader of the Sembian delegation, Overmaster Elduth Yarmmaster, stood. A rather flabby man with a relaxed, almost discourteous air about him, the overmaster was resplendent in rich purple robes that morning. 'We have heard of the trade unrest in your land, Your Highness, and it does trouble us. However, isn't it more likely the Tuigan themselves are spying upon us?' He waved a fat-fingered, gold-ringed hand in lazy circles. 'They, above all, would dearly love to learn our plans.'
'You obviously know little of the Tuigan.'
The voice was low and gravelly, but strong. All heads turned to the front of the room, where the old woman stood. She regarded the assembly coldly, through hooded eyes. After running her fingers along the fold of her plain white wrap, the woman added, 'The Tuigan do not value magic as we do, and they care little for what you do here in Cormyr.'
Gasps and mutters answered the woman's slight. Vangerdahast and Azoun both stepped to her side and held up their hands in an attempt to calm the crowd.
'Do not quiet them on my account, Azoun of Cormyr,' the old woman said flatly, turning her sharp gray features toward the king. 'Once they hear the wisdom of my words they will be respectful enough.'
The muttering grew angrier, and Azoun silently wished that they had not been blessed with the woman's presence. She may have won Vangerdahast to his side, but she was about to alienate most of his allies. 'Please, noble lords and ladies, Fonjara Galth is a representative from Rashemen. Hear what she has to say.'
When Azoun identified the woman, the assembly quieted almost instantly. Though many in Faerun traded with Rashemen, which lay on the easternmost fringes of the 'civilized Realms,' few westerners were very comfortable in the presence of that country's people. Ballads often referred to Rashemen as the 'Land of Berserkers,' for many of its inhabitants were savage, relentless fighters. More mysterious still were the country's rulers. A huhrong nominally guided the land from his steel-walled palace in the city of Immilmar. In reality, a powerful, secretive group of witches held the reins of Rashemen's government.
Though the witches rarely traveled outside their country without adopting foolproof disguises, the lords and ladies who stood and sat in shocked silence wondered if Fonjara might indeed be one of Rashemen's real rulers.
The short old woman held her body still, her thin, bony arms folded across her chest. She surveyed the room for a moment, paying particular attention to the wizards who waited, slack-jawed, for her to speak. 'I will not pretend or play games with you. I am here on behalf of Huhrong Huzzilthar, lord of Immilmar and commander of our standing army-and the sisterhood who also rule the land.'
Gasps and murmurs washed over the room anew at Fonjara's overt reference to the witches. A faint, fleeting half-smile crossed the woman's gray face as she listened to the astonished hum from the nobles. A few of the Cormyrian lords looked to Azoun and Vangerdahast for some kind of confirmation. The king and his advisor remained stone-faced as best they could, though Azoun was finding it difficult to contain his excitement.
'My people have battled the dire Red Wizards of Thay, our villainous neighbors to the north, for many years,' the woman rasped after a moment. 'We have kept those vile sorcerers in check with little help from the rest of Faerun. Now, we face another threat, the Tuigan-and our magic and the bloodied steel of our bravest warriors are not enough to stop this barbaric horde.'
For the first time since reaching the front of the room, the old woman moved her body. She unfurled her spindly arms and traced a complex symbol in front of her. Fonjara's voice remained low and threatening, and her incantation sounded more like a curse than a chant. Not even Vangerdahast could identify the spell she was attempting to cast, the power she was trying to summon. In less than a minute, the witch pulled a tiny pouch from her bone-white robe and emptied its contents into the air.
The faintly transparent image of a squat, unwashed man, wearing heavy leather leggings and soiled scale mail, appeared next to Fonjara. His long reddish hair was bound into braids, which fell below the simple silver helmet he wore. The ghostly image turned, unseeing, to the crowd, and Azoun noticed the pale, jagged scar that ran across the bridge of his nose and down his cheek. A second scar, grayer and therefore probably older, pulled the man's upper lip into a slight sneer.
'This is Yamun Khahan,' the old woman noted, 'self-proclaimed emperor of all the world-at least an image of him as he currently is. Presently, he is in camp with one hundred thousand warriors in Ashanath, near the Lake of Tears, immediately to the west of my country.'
After a moment's pause, Fonjara Galth wrapped her arms tightly around herself again. Turning only her head toward King Azoun, she hissed, 'This is the man who will gladly destroy all of Faerun if given the opportunity. He will attempt to kill anyone who stands in his way-even a king.'
Her statement was no revelation to Azoun or the nobles gathered in the court, but coming from the witch's lips, it sounded ominous, like a promise of events that must inevitably come to pass. Cormyr's ruler shuddered slightly, but shook off the feeling of dread immediately. He walked close to the Yamun Khahan's slightly flickering form.
The witch looked at the king, then at the nobles. Slowly, methodically, she began a description of the typical military encounter with the horsewarriors. Fonjara detailed the terrible slaughter and suffering that had been inflicted both on Rashemen's army and its civilians. Looks of shock and disgust hung on most of the faces in the room. Only then did the witch smile very slightly and note, 'And they will continue across all of Faerun like this unless they are stopped. Ashanath is a thousand miles to your east, but the barbarians will not stay there for long.'
Fonjara's steady, icy gaze fell upon Azoun. 'In addition to the five score thousand Tuigan with the khahan, there are, perhaps, twenty thousand or more still in my land. We have eliminated at least five thousand Tuigan soldiers since early last winter, when they first entered our borders.'
Overmaster Elduth Yarmmaster, leader of the Sembians, ruffled his thick purple sleeve, then tugged at one of his flabby chins and stood up. 'Excuse me, er, Lady Fonjara, but it seems to me that twenty thousand soldiers should not be a problem to Rashemen's legendary army.'
'If we had only to face the Tuigan, there would be no problem at all,' the old woman rumbled. 'However, Zulkir Szass Tam, the undead ruler of the Red Wizards of Thay, made a pact with Yamun Khahan: if the Tuigan would pass through Rashemen instead of Thay, he and his wizards would part the Lake of Tears, allowing them easy access to the open lands beyond.' She regarded the room coldly. 'The countries of Ashanath, Thesk, and eventually your own lands.'
Vangerdahast cleared his throat noisily and added, 'The Red Wizards of Thay have used this attack as a convenient diversion. Their armies of gnolls, goblins, and even undead creatures have been expanding their borders. Aglarond, Thesk, Ashanath, and, of course, Rashemen are currently fighting two wars-one with the Tuigan, the other with the agents of Thay.'
'So who are we supposed to battle on this crusade: Thay or the barbarians?' a gruff, unshaven commander from Tantras called out.
Fonjara uncurled, then clenched her gnarled fingers impatiently. Azoun looked away from the conjured khahan and said, 'The Tuigan. The local armies can handle the incursions from Thay. For now, at least, the Red Wizards seem to be testing the waters and aren't launching any large-scale invasions.'
Mourngrym, lord of Shadowdale, sighed and shook his head. 'What you're saying is that we'll be fighting this khahan and his horde without any help from the people we're saving.'
King Azoun frowned. 'You're helping yourself, too, Lord Mourngrym. The Tuigan could cross Faerun and be sitting on our doorsteps in a little over one year.'
The dalelord waved his hand in front of him, dismissing the idea completely. 'That's all as may be, Your Highness.'
Vangerdahast, his face flushed with anger, started to speak, but Fonjara held up a bony finger to stop him. The wizard swallowed his retort as the witch moved cautiously across the room. The conjured image of Yamun Khahan blinked, then disappeared as Fonjara reached the spot where Mourngrym sat.
'You would like to dismiss the Tuigan as easily as I have banished the noncorporeal khahan who stood before us,' she began, leaning slowly toward the dalelord.
Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Mourngrym said, 'You must realize that we have problems of our own.' The unassuming, bespectacled scribe at the dalelord's side nodded, but remained as silent as he had throughout the meeting.
