Crusade - James Lowder [94]
The army is tense, but in relatively good spirits. The orcs I mentioned in my last missive have caused little trouble with the troops, but they are scarcely welcome. They keep to themselves at the edge of the main encampment, and most of the men have yet to see them but from afar. King Torg still has not arrived with his dwarves.
The wizard paused and considered his next comment carefully. After tapping the pen against his lips, he nodded and added, The princess was possessed of better spirits when we spoke to her last. I am unsure of the reason, but I think something occurred on the march that has changed her perception of the ironlord. For this, both Azoun and I are glad.
After rereading what he had written, Vangerdahast gently scattered pinches of fine sand on the paper to dry the ink. After a moment, he composed two more short paragraphs.
Not surprisingly, the king looks forward to the conflict with the khahan. The refugees sadden and anger him, and seeing them drives him on. He has infected some of the men with his cause, too. An army might yet be forged out of these varied mercenaries and farmhands.
Azoun has surprised me more than once on this crusade-as he did the princess in the dwarves' camp, I'm certain. I pray to Tempus, God of War, that he has a few surprises left.
After signing the letter "Your Obedient Servant," the royal wizard again sanded the letter to dry the flowing, ornate script. He deftly rolled the parchment thin and enclosed it in a bone-white metal tube. "Guard!" he called sharply.
There was no answer. No doubt, the wizard concluded with a chuckle, the boy thinks I'm just talking to myself. He had to yell twice more to get the rainsoaked sentry's attention.
"Take this to the king, and ask him if he has any messages going back to Suzail. If not, bring the tube back to me so I can seal it." Vangerdahast handed the sniffling guard the container and dismissed him.
This was the fourth note Vangerdahast had sent to Queen Filfaeril since the army left Telflamm, almost a month past. Like all other "wasteful magic," spells of communication were forbidden unless used in emergencies. Still, the wizard had promised to stay in contact with the queen and keep her updated on the crusade. Vangerdahast abhorred calling them reports, and he used any other word but that to describe them-missives, notes, letters, even dispatches. In fact, the communiques were reports, and Azoun kidded his friend about them constantly.
For the king knew that his wife had requested Vangerdahast to send updates to her regularly; Filfaeril herself had told him. It wasn't that she didn't trust Azoun to contact her himself-which he did at least once a tenday-nor did she think he might not tell her everything. Indeed, the queen knew Azoun would never lie to her. It was just that she realized that the king's letters would be far from objective, simply because Azoun himself found it difficult to be objective. Vangerdahast, she knew, would be painfully honest in assessing the crusaders' situation.
The latest dispatch sent, Vangerdahast lay down to relax for a few minutes before the evening meal was announced. His eyes were just fluttering closed when a commotion outside his tent startled him awake.
"Gather the generals!" someone yelled.
"Is the king in his tent?"
The sound of men splashing across the muddy compound was punctuated by other shouts. Vangerdahast had just sat up, his mind still half-clouded with sleep, when Thom Reaverson burst into the tent. The bard's homespun tunic was only spattered with rain, an indication of the speed with which he'd crossed from Azoun's tent to the wizard's.
"One of the emissaries is back," Thom gasped.
"One?" Vangerdahast asked as he stood up, rubbing his eyes. "Where's the other?"
The bard frowned. "Dead. The khahan killed him this morning, right after our men reached the Tuigan camp."
Vangerdahast paused for an instant, then put his hand to his forehead.
Waking so suddenly and to such tumult had brought on a throbbing headache. Ignoring the pain as best he could,