Crusade - James Lowder [77]
Azoun returned the smile weakly. His hours without sleep were beginning to take their toll. He felt washed out and slightly dizzy. "Come, Vangy," the king said as he stood. "Back to the Welleran. You too, Allie."
"No."
The king stared at the princess. "I'm going with the dwarves," she said defiantly. "I won't travel with the orcs."
"Who said anything about you accompanying us to Thesk?" Vangerdahast snapped. "I think you should go straight back to the palace in Suzail." He dug a handful of spell components out of his robe and turned to Azoun. "I can send her right now, Your Highness. Just say the word."
Before Azoun could answer, Torg slapped Vangerdahast's hand with the flat of his sword. "You'll not be casting spells in my tent," he growled.
"Besides, Alusair has every right to decide her own fate."
"I've had enough of this," the mage said sharply, rubbing his hand. He looked at the spot where Torg had struck him; a painful red welt had blossomed there. "And you should be ashamed of yourself, Princess, disobeying your father like this."
"I'm her father, not her master," Azoun noted quietly from the doorway of the tent. "She-" He studied Alusair's face for a moment, noting the hard determination that had settled in her eyes. "She can make up her own mind."
Torg shot a spiteful look at Vangerdahast, as if he were saying, "I was right all along and now your king realizes it, too." The wizard ignored the ironlord, concentrating instead on Azoun and his daughter. They stood a few feet apart, but the distance might as well have been miles. Alusair seemed genuinely surprised by her father's words. The king, on the other hand, looked pained, as if it had hurt him physically to admit his child's freedom of choice.
"Come, Vangy," Azoun said after a moment. "We've got troops to get to Telflamm." He stopped and faced Alusair again. "We'll need to communicate with you," he noted, pulling the signet ring from his finger and holding it out to his daughter. "Take it."
The princess stepped forward tentatively. A sly smile suddenly crossed her lips. "The ring has a spell on it, doesn't it?"
"What else would you expect?" the king replied, his daughter's smile lightening his dark mood somewhat. "And like your last ring, burying this one in a few hundred fathoms of water will negate the spell quite effectively-so be careful, won't you?"
Alusair took off the plain gold band that prevented her from being magically tracked and slipped the signet ring on in its place. "I'll see you in Thesk."
For an awkward moment, the two stood face-to-face. Finally Azoun said,
"Be careful, Allie," and turned to go.
The princess almost stepped forward then, almost embraced her father as he left Torg's tent. But she didn't. As she made her way to her tent through the silent, orderly dwarven camp, Alusair wondered why she couldn't make that sign of affection.
The dwarves had been on the march for almost eighteen hours when Azoun finally returned to Telflamm's harbor. The sun was coming up over the city, its first rays casting a pale halo around the high, onion-shaped spires that so characterized Telflamm's skyline. The docks were still aglow with torches, and the myriad of vessels crowding the harbor were spotted with faint flickering lights cast by watchmen's lanterns.
The Cormyrian ships were once again empty, having left their cargo of orcish troops to the south of the city. Azoun and Vangerdahast knew that they had no other choice; the Zhentish soldiers were likely to cause more trouble in the city than they had in Torg's camp. Now, all the king had to do was gather his own forces and begin the march to the east.
That proved far more difficult than Azoun had expected.
Telflamm provided too many distractions for the Alliance's soldiers and sailors, most of whom had never traveled more than a few miles from their own homes. Refugees from the onslaught of the Tuigan-now less than five hundred miles to the east-crowded the streets. Along with the refugees came vice and