Crusade - James Lowder [60]
White. Blinding, empty white.
That was all Azoun saw for what seemed like minutes. Then the world and all its colors returned. The king rubbed his eyes and looked around. Low, grass-covered hills surrounded him on every side.
"I'm sure if I do that one hundred times, I'll never get used to it," Azoun said softly. He staggered forward a step, then stopped to regain his balance.
Vangerdahast chuckled. "Rather like the way I feel about sea travel, I'd imagine."
Unlike the king, he was not troubled by magical travel. In fact, the royal magician seemed energized by the experience, as if the spell had somehow granted him a little extra strength. "The dwarves' camp is-" The wizard paused, then pointed east. "In that direction, I believe."
Azoun was still staggering slightly when he topped the rise. Though he felt weakened by the teleportation, he still climbed the slope with greater speed than Vangerdahast could manage. Being the first one up the hill, Azoun saw the crossbows before his friend.
"Stand where you are," a red-bearded dwarf growled, leveling his weapon menacingly at the king. He spoke in Common, a universal trade language in Faerun, but his words were tinged with a heavy accent.
"Aye," added his companion, who was shorter than the first and much, much fatter. "You'll not be sneaking around our camp, human." His accent was even more pronounced than the other dwarf's.
"Just a minute," the Cormyrian king said evenly, holding his hands away from his sword. "We're here to see Torg."
Vangerdahast trudged up next to the king. The dwarves shifted their crossbows to target the wizard. "Don't be foolish," the mage snapped, dismissing the guards with a wave of his hand. "This is King Azoun of-"
"Pryderi mac Dylan, you absolute dunderhead, put that thrice-damned crossbow down!"
Both dwarven sentries, Azoun, and Vangerdahast looked up sharply at the loud, bellowing command. A scowling dwarf, waving his hands wildly around his head, stormed up the hill behind the crossbowmen. Neither the Cormyrian king nor his advisor were fluent enough in Dwarvish to understand exactly what was being said, but they got the general idea from the other dwarves' reactions.
The red-bearded dwarf lowered his weapon and dropped to one knee. After he'd pulled his fellow sentry to the ground, he said, "Ironlord, I didn't-"
The scowling dwarf reached the top of the hill. He stood, hands on hips, for a moment, then cuffed the red-haired sentry on the back of the head. "I warned you there'd be royalty about, you oaf," he grumbled in Dwarvish.
"Can't you recognize a king when you see one?"
Azoun and Vangerdahast exchanged brief, concerned glances. The dwarf the others called "Ironlord" wore a steel breastplate covered by a black cloth surcoat. A brilliant red phoenix clutching a warhammer spread over the surcoat's front. The dwarf's thick black beard only partially obscured that symbol, for the hair was bound with thin golden chain into two neat forks. The forked beard made the ironlord look a little ominous, and his hard, closely set eyes only heightened the effect.
This was obviously Torg, ironlord of Earthfast.
"Your Lordship," Azoun began in rough, broken Dwarvish. "I am King Azoun of Cormyr, and this is Vangerdahast, royal mage of my court, commander of the army's War Wizards."
The dwarf smiled broadly and studied the king with his dark, steely eyes.
"Welcome, Your Highness. You speak passable Dwarvish for a human," Torg said in perfect Common. "My apologies for this… scene." He glowered at the kneeling sentries.
Azoun tried to return the ironlord's smile. "It's certainly understandable," he offered, pointing back down the hill. "We appeared out of nowhere. They were only doing their-"
Torg cocked his head to one side. "Appeared, you say? Out of nowhere?
What happened