Death of the Dragon - Ed Greenwood [11]
"I understand," Azoun said, lifting a reassuring hand. "You do good work, Paerdival-continue. The fortunes of the realm may depend on the trail you find for us."
In reply, the tracker silently lifted a bushy pair of eyebrows for a moment, then bent over again to study the southern end of the bare shoulder of rock. In a matter of moments he'd given the impatient wave of his hand that meant he'd found signs left by the passage of the royal magician's war-horse, and the army moved on.
The brief horn call that blared a breath or two later brought the army to an abrupt halt, and hundreds of heads turned in haste. A man was running from the rear guard, waving his hands as he came.
"To arms!" he cried. "Orcs behind us-thousands of them!"
The king did not hesitate. "Up this hill-everyone!" he bellowed. "Form a ring, spears to the fore, all with bows within and readying them. Move!"
The swordlords and lancelords around him began relaying the orders as Purple Dragons surged into motion, rolling up the hill in a vast, gleaming wave.
"I'll be needing a foray force," Azoun called to the lords Braerwinter and Tolon. "Gather forty men at most-men who can move swiftly and have good eyes, but none of the scouts. They deserve a rest."
As he spoke, the horns that would call in the far-flung scouts sounded, and the first men reached the crest of the hill. In involuntary unison they turned and peered in the direction the rear guard had indicated for the orcs.
"Move, Tempus-damned sheep!" a swordcaptain bellowed at them. "Time for sightseeing later-there's a war on, and we're in it!"
Several mock bleats came as a reply as dragoneers moved hastily into a ring, grounding their spears and looking for their accustomed officers.
"Move, I said!" the swordcaptain growled at a lone, motionless figure, then fell silent, realizing he'd just bawled an order at the king.
Azoun spun around and clapped him on the shoulder reassuringly. "Keep right on doing that," he murmured. "You never know when you might save a royal life. Just be assured that most of the time, I'll ignore you."
They traded grins-albeit a rather sickly one on the swordcaptain's part-and took their own places. The officer stepped into the ring, and the king stood beside the two nobles who'd wisely selected some veteran officers to lead the force rather than trying to claim glory for themselves. They were standing with about twenty men. The king nodded approvingly.
"I'll be needing some swift swords to seek out the enemy," he told them. "If anyone is footsore or slowed for any reason, say so now. Your lives will almost certainly depend on being fleet in the field."
He looked again at the hill from where the rear guard's warning had come and stiffened.
A lone figure was running toward them, stumbling with weariness. It was a warrior, armor covered with dust, but seeming somehow familiar-a Cormyrean, to be sure.
Orcs were streaming up over that hill now, close behind the running knight. They were going to catch him and slay him right under the king's nose, in full view of all the royal army.
Azoun's mouth tightened. It would be foolish to abandon a strong defensive position to go down there to swing blades with so many orcs, but the last thing he wanted was to stand idle and watch a man he might have saved get hacked apart while he did nothing.
It was also something he didn't want Purple Dragons to see and remember. The lone figure might be them, next time. What good is a king who stands heartless when a subject is in need?
"Foray force-down, and defend that knight! The rest of you charge when the hilltop is covered with orcs!" he roared, and set off down the hill.
"Majesty!" a lancelord protested, and another cried, "This is madness, good king!"
Azoun turned without slowing and cupped his hands around his mouth. "I can only hear officers who run