by James Lowder
As the general came close, Alusair said, “Well met!” and shook his hand. “I’m not surprised to find you were in command of this end of the line. You rallied well and took advantage of our press.”
Farl gestured to the soldiers all around him. “The troops are responsible for that. Not me.” A worried look crossed his face, and he leaned close to the princess. “Have you seen your father?” he asked quietly.
Blanching slightly, Alusair shook her head. “I was hoping to do that right now.”
Without much comment, Farl and Alusair made their way through the western lines. The general briefly explained how he’d not seen the king since early in the battle. He was concerned for the monarch, because the fighting had been especially fierce at the center of the front rank. Alusair listened in grave silence, and she noted that more and more corpses lay in the ranks as she made her way to the king’s standard.
The crowd of gaping onlookers made it easy for Farl and Alusair to find Azoun. The general called for captains to break up the crowd and reform the men into companies, while the princess shoved the soldiers out of her way and rushed forward. She choked back a gasp when she saw the king, surrounded by clerics and sprawled unconscious on the ground.
“The king will be fine, Madam Knight,” a fat, red-faced priest of Lathander said. He placed a restraining hand on Alusair’s shoulder and attempted to turn her away. “The clerics do need room to work, however, so—”
“That’s my father,” Alusair snapped, and the priest’s pudgy red cheeks flushed a deeper crimson.
He stammered an apology, but Alusair wasn’t listening. Without a glance at the clerics who had turned to look at her, she went to her father’s side and knelt.
They’d removed the king’s helmet and chain mail coif, even loosened the straps holding his cuirass tight around his chest. Azoun looked pale, and sweat plastered his hair and beard to his face. Though he was unconscious, his breathing seemed labored and his mouth was twisted into a grimace of pain. The reason for the expression was obvious. A broken arrow jutted from the king’s left thigh. The missile had penetrated the heavy silver cuisse, and now blood stained the bright armor.
“He’ll be all right,” a cleric murmured soothingly. Alusair saw the man’s deep blue eyes and noticed the shining silver disk—the symbol of Tymora, Goddess of Luck and Patron of Adventurers—hanging around his neck. “But we should move His Majesty from here to a place where we can work our healing.”
The princess started. It was clear from the cleric’s tone that he was actually asking her for permission to move the king. Alusair hadn’t expected to fall into a leadership role with the Army of the Alliance, and she was certain that she didn’t want the responsibility.
“Perhaps Vangerdahast or General Bloodaxe should give you your orders,” Alusair began. “I don’t—”
The infantry commander’s deep voice whispered in the princess’s ear. “With all respect, Your Highness, you’d best show the troops that someone they respect is in command here. Vangerdahast is quite ill and confined to his tent.”
Farl’s sudden comment startled Alusair, who was already on edge. She glanced at the crowd, grown larger now because of her presence. Even the general’s orders could not disperse the Cormyrians who’d come to see the elusive princess, the daughter of Azoun who had helped to save them from the Tuigan. Memories of regal processions through the streets of Suzail flooded Alusair’s mind. She could not help but notice that the hope and awe on the soldiers’ faces was very similar to the emotions shown by the poor who had once watched her in Cormyr. Their need was obvious and overwhelming.
“Your orders, Your Highness?” Farl asked, loudly enough for the crowd to hear.
Alusair winced. She had already decided that she would have to put on a show of authority for the Alliance, but she hated being forced into anything. And it was clear Farl was doing just that. With a flash of anger in her eyes, the princess stood and glanced at the infantry commander.
“Regroup the soldiers into companies, General,” she replied. She looked to the crowd and added, “The Tuigan could very well come back tonight. My father will expect us to be prepared when the healers are done with him.”
“Will the king live?” someone called from the crowd. The anxiety in the hidden soldier’s voice was clear.
Forcing a smile onto her dirty face, Alusair paused. After waiting a moment for effect, she put her hands to her mouth and shouted, “King Azoun lives, and he will be at the head of this army by sunrise. Until then, my words are his.” She faced Farl again. “Break up this crowd, General,” she said softly. “I’ll meet with you and the other commanders as soon as my father has been moved.”
After bowing deeply, Farl Bloodaxe went to work on the milling throng. Alusair helped the clerics lift her father onto a litter, then refocused her attention on reorganizing the Army of the Alliance. Her first task, she decided as she made her way through camp, would be to talk with the Tuigan general the dwarves had captured in the battle. How the remaining troops should be arrayed depended largely on what they could expect from the khahan, and the general might give her some indication of the barbarians’ disposition to night fighting.
The princess found the commander of the Tuigan right flank sitting sullenly amidst a mass of silent dwarves. The khan’s standard lay shredded on the ground at his feet, and four armed guards stood watch over him. No one had dressed the bloody head wound the general had sustained in the fighting, so Alusair ordered a dwarven healer to bind the man’s cuts while she waited for a translator to arrive from the War Wizards.
The sun had almost set completely when the wizard finally arrived. His long gray robe was tattered and greasy; multicolored smudges from spell components clung to his fingers. Despite his obvious exhaustion, the mage efficiently translated Alusair’s opening flurry of questions. The answers the Tuigan commander gave were brief and not very informative.
The princess sighed and studied the khan for a moment. Batu Min Ho, for that was the name he had given the translator, looked to be of Shou descent. His broad features were tempered slightly; his nose was not as flat nor his cheekbones as pronounced as other Tuigan’s. Still, he was dressed in the armor favored by some of the barbarian elite: a heavy breastplate over a chain mail hauberk, rough boots, partial cuisses of studded leather on his legs, and thick leather gauntlets dotted with steel on his hands. The disturbing thing about the general was his calm, even though he surely must have known his life was in grave danger.
“Will the khahan offer ransom for you, General?” Alusair asked at last. After hearing the question translated, Batu merely shook his head.
Frowning, the princess leaned forward and looked into Batu’s eyes. “Will the khahan attack tonight?”
At first there came no reply. Batu stared at his interrogator for a moment, then at the translator.
“He wants to know if you are the daughter of King Azoun, the man he met in the Tuigan camp,” the wizard reported. “He assumes your position in the army indicates a relation to the king, but also notes that you resemble Azoun in many ways.”
The princess was surprised to learn that her father had visited the enemy camp, but she let that shock pass and concentrated on questioning the general. “I am Princess Alusair of Cormyr, daughter of King Azoun,” she replied. After a pause, she added, “My father sends his regards.”
After bowing to Alusair from his seat, Batu met her gaze again. “Then the king has survived the battle?” he asked through the translator. He raised an eyebrow in surprise, an act that shifted the bandage wrapped around his head. “Yamun Khahan offered a great reward for your father’s head. I was certain someone would collect that reward.”
A shudder wracked Alusair, but she tried not to show it. She took a sip from a waterskin that lay at her feet and offered it to the general, who stoically refused. “Will the khahan come tonight?” she asked again.
The wizard translated the question, and Batu paused for quite a while before ans
wering. From the expression on his blood-smeared face, Alusair guessed that the general was formulating a safe answer. Finally Batu said, “I cannot guess the thoughts of the khahan, Princess, nor would I reveal them to you if I could. I will tell you this much, however. Your armies have presented the greatest challenge the Tuigan have faced in many months. Your troops fight most valiantly.”
It was Alusair’s turn to pause, for she wondered where she should lead the questioning. Two of the dwarven guards started to build a fire to chase off the growing twilight, distracting the princess for a moment. When she turned back to Batu, she found him studying her.
“Would the honorable princess be so kind as to answer one question for me?” he asked through the mage. The princess nodded, and the general bowed slightly. When he looked up at Alusair, his eyes were dark and his expression grim. “What do you plan to do with me?”
“We are civilized, Batu Khan,” Alusair replied without pause. “You will be our prisoner until the end of the war. You will be taken from the fighting and kept from harm.”
That answer seemed to displease Batu Min Ho. The general sank into contemplation for a moment, then said something so softly that the wizard wasn’t sure he heard it correctly. The comment wasn’t meant for anyone else, but the general had noted, “Then there will be no more illustrious battles for me.” He bowed stiffly to the princess and asked to be allowed to rest.
The discussion obviously over, Alusair ordered the four dwarven guards to escort Batu to the Alliance’s camp at the rear of the battle lines. The khan and the dwarves had not gone more than a dozen steps from the princess when a scuffle broke out.
“Look out, Lugh!” a guard shouted in Dwarvish.
The clash of steel on steel rang out as Alusair rushed toward the fight. Batu Min Ho, a short dwarven blade in his hand, stood over a fallen guard. The three other dwarves circled him warily, their swords held out in front of them. Drawing her own blade, the princess stepped toward the Tuigan commander.
Batu met Alusair’s gaze, and a curious smile worked across his lips. After a feint to drive the dwarves back, the general held the sword’s point to his stomach. He softly repeated three names—Wu, Yo, and Ji—and fell forward. Batu didn’t even cry out as the bright steel pierced through his armor and impaled him.
Other dwarves, hefting their silver-bladed pikes, were now charging toward the disturbance. The khan’s original guards, still holding their swords, examined the general’s body to see if he were truly dead. Satisfied that the suicide had been successful, they left the body where it lay and turned their attention to their fallen comrade.
The ever-efficient dwarves swiftly carried the dead guard away to be interred in the communal cairn they were building, and Alusair looked up from Batu Min Ho’s corpse. The khan’s strange, final words ran through her mind over and over again, and she wondered who or what he had called for in his final moment. In fact, the death took such command of her thoughts that the princess didn’t realize she had walked far into the Alliance’s lines until she was hundreds of yards from the flank.
She found Farl talking quietly to a dark-haired man clad in a muddied sky-blue tunic and hose. Where the color stood out on this man’s clothes, it presented a stark contrast to the other soldiers’ dark tunics or their leather or steel armor. Both men bowed formally when Alusair came near. “Any word of my father?” she asked.
The blue-clad man bowed again, an act that tossed his ponytail over his shoulder. “Your Highness, I am Thom Reaverson, the king’s bard and royal historian. I just came from His Highness. The clerics have healed the arrow wound, but he is still unconscious.”
“That’s not what I hoped to hear,” the princess replied, “but it’s certainly not the worst news I’ve had today.” The bard smiled warmly at her, and Alusair found herself returning the gesture. “Could you go back to my father’s side and keep me apprised?” she asked after a moment.
“Of course,” Thom said. “I’ll look for you near the Cormyrian standard, Your Highness.” He hurried off at a jog toward the Alliance’s camp.
Alusair didn’t watch him go, however. As soon as the bard had been assigned his task, the princess moved on to other matters. “What’s the army’s status, Farl?”
After leading the way to a pair of rickety canvas-and-wood camp chairs set up around a nearby fire, the infantry commander gave his report. The Tuigan attack had cut the Alliance’s number by half. With only a handful of exceptions, the cavalry had been wiped out, and a third of the wizards had been killed or wounded in the fighting. “I’ve got the men gathering the dead,” Farl reported, “but I’m afraid it’s a monumental task.”
A quick scan of the battlefield revealed hundreds of torches flickering in the darkness outside the Alliance’s lines. These torches illuminated the field for the details sent to retrieve western corpses and search for the wounded. So far, no body found outside the lines proved to be alive; the Tuigan had trampled most of the corpses in their retreat. A low moan continually hovered over the western camp as the injured and the grieving vented their sorrow together.
A sick feeling settled in the princess’s stomach as she considered the situation. She rested her elbows on her knees and bowed her head in thought. “Pull three-quarters of the troops off corpse detail,” she ordered at last. “I want them breaking down what remains of the Alliance’s camp. We should be ready to move if the need arises.”
Farl frowned. “But the corpses of our soldiers—”
“—will be of no use to us now,” the princess sighed. She noted the shocked look on the general’s face and added, “The gods will certainly understand if the heroes who died fighting here are not given the proper burial rites.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“When that’s done, organize the remainder of the troops into three shifts. I want the men rested up in case the Tuigan come back,” Alusair ordered calmly. “One shift of the three should remain alert, waiting for the horsewarriors, while the others sleep”
Nodding, Farl looked around at the Alliance’s lines. “I’ve already started on that, Your Highness. If the men weren’t so frightened, they might be easier to command.” He paused and looked into the fire. “I-I share their concern, Princess. I don’t think we have the strength to make another stand here.”
A pressure had begun to weigh upon Alusair the moment she’d discovered her father was injured, the moment she’d been forced to take command of the army. The princess felt that pressure increase now. Her shoulders tight and her stomach in knots, she placed her hand on the general’s arm.
“Then we’d best be ready to move by midnight,” she said softly. “Perhaps we can find a more defensible place to the west.”
Farl didn’t reply at first. Eventually he stood and bowed. “I’ll see that your orders are carried out.” He paused, then added, “I’m glad you’re here, Princess. I don’t know how the men would have reacted to your father’s injury if you hadn’t taken command.”
Alusair appreciated Farl’s compliment, but the notion that she was one of the only things holding the Alliance together frightened her. She realized then that it was this responsibility that weighed so heavily upon her. Running a hand through her knotted blond hair, Alusair wondered if this pressure was what her father felt every day.
To take her mind off that and other thoughts, she established a makeshift command headquarters in the midst of the western lines. Despite this effort, the princess found that, once she’d set the army to its various tasks, there was little for her to do but wait and think and watch the bright bonfires that had sprung up around the battlefield. Those fires, which might have been the center for a rustic celebration in Cormyr, were the resting place for the western dead. One by one, corpses were hefted onto the blazing pyres, their souls sent to the afterlife unceremoniously on clouds of foul-smelling smoke.
The funeral pyres brought more unwelcome contemplation, and she was attempting to force her mind away from various morbid topics when sh
e heard a spent arrow snap beneath someone’s foot. Glancing behind her, the princess saw Thom Reaverson, a smile on his young face. At the bard’s side was another man, dressed in a heavy black robe, its hood concealing his face.
“Hello, Allie,” the hooded man said.
Alusair sprang to her feet and threw her arms around her father. When the king groaned, the princess backed up a step. From where she stood, Alusair could see Azoun’s pale face and haggard expression. She also noted for the first time that he leaned heavily to his left upon a walking stick.
Before his daughter could say a word, the king held up his right hand. “Thom told me you were here, so I came to see you.” He shifted his weight on his leg, trying to get comfortable. “I just wanted to tell you I’m all right, and I wanted to see how you fared in the battle. I was … worried.”
The king didn’t need to explain the disguise. After seeing how ill her father looked, Alusair could guess the reason for it. “You don’t want the men to see you when you’re so weak,” she said quietly.
Azoun nodded. “In the morning, after I’ve rested, I’ll return from the dead, their triumphant hero.” Alusair could not miss the note of self-scorn in those words. She wanted to comfort her father, but he’d already placed his hand on Thom’s shoulder and turned to go.
“Wait!” the princess gasped, running a few steps to get beside Azoun. “What are we supposed to do until morning?”
The king cocked his head, and Alusair thought she saw a little color flush back into his face. “Thom told me that you’ve taken command until I get better,” he said, pride bolstering his weak voice. “And from what I hear you’re doing everything I would.” He hobbled a step, then stopped and added, “I’d move the troops tonight, though. We’ll have a better chance of putting some distance between us and the Tuigan under cover of darkness.” Thom cast a sympathetic glance at the princess, then the king and the bard moved on.
