Crusade - James Lowder [146]
"Of course," Azoun said, turning to face the priest. Koja was looking at the shattered road, however, and a wistful smile clung to his lips. "You will miss the khahan, won't you?"
"I was his anda," Koja said wistfully, then scowled. "I don't know if I can translate anda into your tongue-friend, perhaps, is closest." He cast his gaze to the clear blue sky. "Yamun chose the perilous path on his own, however.
He chose to be a great man."
Sentries greeted Azoun as he and the others passed into the fringes of the western camp. Tents and campfires covered the broken streets of Tammar, scattered amidst the ruins of the buildings. Soldiers relaxed. A few loud groups sang bawdy songs, while others played at dice. Discipline was lax, perhaps too much so, but the men had fought and marched hard since arriving in Thesk, and Azoun knew that they deserved a rest.
"Is that the philosophy of your land?" the king asked as he passed a group of archers testing their skill against a blackened post. "That a man chooses to be great?"
The priest answered without hesitation, and Azoun noted the pedantic tone Koja's voice took on as he spoke. It was a tone Vangerdahast often adopted when discussing politics. "In the Yanitsava, the book of the Enlightened One's teachings, it is written that, 'Some men take the thread of their life and weave their own destiny'. The priests of the Red Mountain believe that these men are evil, that they do not accept the will of the Enlightened One, that they force their own will over the pattern of the world."
"And you, Koja," Azoun said. "Do you believe that?"
The priest laughed. "I was once a lama of the Red Mountain, but I am now as much that as I am an envoy of the Khazari. My time with the Tuigan taught me that I am a far better historian than philosopher."
Koja then turned to Azoun. "Still, I know this much about men like Yamun Khahan: the world cannot bear their presence for too long. Yamun tried to make the world over in his image, to weave a picture that would encompass the entire globe." He gestured with an open hand at the army spread around the two of them. "But the world always has other great men to oppose such plans."
"Your Highness," Farl Bloodaxe interrupted. The general, dressed casually in the tunic and breeches of a Cormyrian soldier, bowed formally. "I've just passed the word on to the infantry captains, and Brunthar has done the same with the archers. The army should be ready to move tomorrow morning."
"Good," Azoun replied, placing his hand on Farl's shoulder. "See that the men draw fresh water from the wells tonight and double the foraging parties.
I'm sure the troops will want to get back to the coast as quickly as possible, so the fewer times we need to slow to hunt for food the better."
Thom and Vangerdahast caught up to Azoun, and Koja bowed and went off with them. When the others had gone, Farl stepped close to the king. "There seems to be a problem with the orcs, Your Highness. When I told Vrakk the news, he informed me that the Zhentish troops weren't leaving."
After giving Farl a few more suggestions about stocking the supply wagons, Azoun went directly to the orcs' camp. The men had grown used to the Zhentish soldiers, but Vrakk and his troops still maintained their own compound, away from the humans. They had proven their worth in battle, and the other soldiers would have likely let the orcs integrate their tents with the rest of the Alliance. For some mysterious reason, Vrakk always refused.
As the king entered the Zhentish camp, he decided that that was probably a good thing. The orcs had chosen the most run-down section of Tammar for their home. Their torn and dirty tents were pitched only a few yards from where the town's garbage had been dumped and the funeral pyres had been built for the townsfolk. The place smelled rancid, but the orcs didn't seem to notice. They lounged in their