The ironlord bellowed his laughter over the humans' screams and the birds' cries. He raised his beautifully crafted, blood-soaked sword high over his head and shouted his triumph. Without pause, the rest of the army from Earthfast joined in. The dwarves' victory shout was very different from the Tuigan's shrill, trilling war cry. It sounded like it came from deep within the earth itself, rolling and rumbling from the dwarves as if they echoed the noise of stone grating against stone deep within the mines they dug.
The cry chilled Alusair, but she'd heard it before. Perhaps it was the moans and screams the princess noticed behind the victory shout that made her shudder, or the blood she saw splattered across the pikes as the soldiers thrust them into the air. Perhaps it was the knowledge that a long afternoon of fighting lay ahead before her father would be safe. Whatever the cause of her discomfort, Alusair realized that now was not the time for celebrations.
"Ironlord," she cried as she pushed through her square. "We must move quickly if we are to help the Alliance."
Their shout ended, the dwarven soldiers eyed the princess warily as she shoved through the ranks. She had left her post without permission, an offense none of them would ever consider committing, and they silently showed their scorn for the action. Alusair ignored the glares she got and muscled past the few dwarves who purposefully stood in her way.
"I know the tactics we should follow, Princess," Torg sighed as Alusair finally got near. "We will move as soon as we've collected trophies for the caves of Earthfast." He wiped a fleck of blood from his gauntlet and ordered the men to reform into two lines to advance.
"Collect your severed heads after we've saved the rest of the Alliance," Alusair snapped. She pointed toward the battle still raging a few hundred yards away. The Tuigan who had survived the assault on the dwarves, about half of the number that had charged, were now forming a flank to face the ironlord's troops.
Torg frowned. "You're right," he grumbled. "We'd best get this over with."
The dwarves advanced swiftly, but didn't get too close to the Tuigan lines. They fired volley after volley of crossbow bolts into the enemy ranks, wreaking havoc. More than anything, the dwarven army proved a seemingly incurable distraction to the Tuigan's right flank. The horsewarriors' arrows had little effect on the heavy dwarven plate mail, and whenever a direct assault seemed imminent, Torg would order his men to form squares.
Whoever was directing the Alliance's troops at that end of the line took full advantage of this distraction. The western infantry rallied and pressed hard against the Tuigan right, driving them closer to the dwarves' crossbow barrage. Given little choice, the commander of the Tuigan in that part of the battle ordered a desperate assault on the troops from Earthfast.
Torg's squares proved as effective in this combat as they had in the first encounter with the Tuigan. The ironlord slowly but surely moved the groups of pikemen down the hill, forcing the barbarians back to the western lines. With amazing speed, the dwarves and the western infantry destroyed the Tuigan flank, capturing its standard and the general who commanded it.
The rest of the battle dragged on through the afternoon, until the sun began to dip in the west. Smoke still billowed darkly across the field from the various brush fires that chewed away at the tall grass. Few arrows were launched now, but the air was still full of impatient dark shapes. Many of the crows had landed and fed, but more arrived all the time, drawn by the coppery smell of blood and the cries of their kin.
It wasn't until the bright orb of the sun had sunk half below the horizon that the sound of drums echoed over the battlefield. In as orderly a fashion as possible, the Tuigan pulled back from the western line. Unsurprisingly, especially after the disastrous cavalry charge earlier in the day, no one moved to follow the enemy. A few longbows were hefted and arrows shot halfheartedly at the retreating horde, but the majority of Azoun's troops stood in dazed silence. More than anything, they were surprised to be alive.
"Princess!" someone called in a deep, loud voice.
Alusair scanned the mass of western soldiers for the speaker. Men and women lay everywhere, wounded or dead. In a few places, soldiers cried softly for their fallen comrades, and prayers were muttered in musical, lilting voices all through the western lines. In the midst of all this, someone pressed toward the dwarven army, his hand held high.
"Your Highness! Over here!" the armored man shouted, waving his gauntlet in the air.
The press of soldiers parted for an instant, and Alusair saw that Farl Bloodaxe, his helmet tucked under his arm, was the one calling to her. The Cormyrian general smiled when the princess met his eyes, but that couldn't hide the exhaustion on his face nor mask the beads of grimy sweat that rolled down his dark skin.
As the general came close, Alusair said, "Well met!" and shook his hand. "I'm not surprised to find you were in command of this end of the line. You rallied well and took advantage of our press."
Farl gestured to the soldiers all around him. "The troops are responsible for that. Not me." A worried look crossed his face, and he leaned close to the princess. "Have you seen your father?" he asked quietly.
Blanching slightly, Alusair shook her head. "I was hoping to do that right now."
Without much comment, Farl and Alusair made their way through the western lines. The general briefly explained how he'd not seen the king since early in the battle. He was concerned for the monarch, because the fighting had been especially fierce at the center of the front rank. Alusair listened in grave silence, and she noted that more and more corpses lay in the ranks as she made her way to the king's standard.
The crowd of gaping onlookers made it easy for Farl and Alusair to find Azoun. The general called for captains to break up the crowd and reform the men into companies, while the princess shoved the soldiers out of her way and rushed forward. She choked back a gasp when she saw the king, surrounded by clerics and sprawled unconscious on the ground.
"The king will be fine, Madam Knight," a fat, red-faced priest of Lathander said. He placed a restraining hand on Alusair's shoulder and attempted to turn her away. "The clerics do need room to work, however, so—"
"That's my father," Alusair snapped, and the priest's pudgy red cheeks flushed a deeper crimson.
He stammered an apology, but Alusair wasn't listening. Without a glance at the clerics who had turned to look at her, she went to her father's side and knelt.
They'd removed the king's helmet and chain mail coif, even loosened the straps holding his cuirass tight around his chest. Azoun looked pale, and sweat plastered his hair and beard to his face. Though he was unconscious, his breathing seemed labored and his mouth was twisted into a grimace of pain. The reason for the expression was obvious. A broken arrow jutted from the king's left thigh. The missile had penetrated the heavy silver cuisse, and now blood stained the bright armor.
"He'll be all right," a cleric murmured soothingly. Alusair saw the man's deep blue eyes and noticed the shining silver disk—the symbol of Tymora, Goddess of Luck and Patron of Adventurers—hanging around his neck. "But we should move His Majesty from here to a place where we can work our healing."
The princess started. It was clear from the cleric's tone that he was actually asking her for permission to move the king. Alusair hadn't expected to fall into a leadership role with the Army of the Alliance, and she was certain that she didn't want the responsibility.
"Perhaps Vangerdahast or General Bloodaxe should give you your orders," Alusair began. "I don't—"
The infantry commander's deep voice whispered in the princess's ear. "With all respect, Your Highness, you'd best show the troops that someone they respect is in command here. Vangerdahast is quite ill and confined to his tent."
Farl's sudden comment startled Alusair, who was already on edge. She glanced at the crowd, grown larger now because of her presence. Even the general's orders could not disperse the Cormyrians who'd come to see the elusive princess, the daughter of Azoun who had helped to save them from the Tuigan. Memories of regal processions through the streets of Suzail flooded Alusair's mind. She could not help but notice that the hope and awe on the soldiers' faces was very similar to the emotions shown by the poor who had once watched her in Cormyr. Their need was obvious and overwhelming.
"Your orders, Your Highness?" Farl asked, loudly enough for the crowd to hear.
Alusair winced. She had already decided that she would have to put on a show of authority for the Alliance, but she hated being forced into anything. And it was clear Farl was doing just that. With a flash of anger in her eyes, the princess stood and glanced at the infantry commander.
"Regroup the soldiers into companies, General," she replied. She looked to the crowd and added, "The Tuigan could very well come back tonight. My father will expect us to be prepared when the healers are done with him."
"Will the king live?" someone called from the crowd. The anxiety in the hidden soldier's voice was clear.
Forcing a smile onto her dirty face, Alusair paused. After waiting a moment for effect, she put her hands to her mouth and shouted, "King Azoun lives, and he will be at the head of this army by sunrise. Until then, my words are his." She faced Farl again. "Break up this crowd, General," she said softly. "I'll meet with you and the other commanders as soon as my father has been moved."
After bowing deeply, Farl Bloodaxe went to work on the milling throng. Alusair helped the clerics lift her father onto a litter, then refocused her attention on reorganizing the Army of the Alliance. Her first task, she decided as she made her way through camp, would be to talk with the Tuigan general the dwarves had captured in the battle. How the remaining troops should be arrayed depended largely on what they could expect from the khahan, and the general might give her some indication of the barbarians' disposition to night fighting.
The princess found the commander of the Tuigan right flank sitting sullenly amidst a mass of silent dwarves. The khan's standard lay shredded on the ground at his feet, and four armed guards stood watch over him. No one had dressed the bloody head wound the general had sustained in the fighting, so Alusair ordered a dwarven healer to bind the man's cuts while she waited for a translator to arrive from the War Wizards.
The sun had almost set completely when the wizard finally arrived. His long gray robe was tattered and greasy; multicolored smudges from spell components clung to his fingers. Despite his obvious exhaustion, the mage efficiently translated Alusair's opening flurry of questions. The answers the Tuigan commander gave were brief and not very informative.
The princess sighed and studied the khan for a moment. Batu Min Ho, for that was the name he had given the translator, looked to be of Shou descent. His broad features were tempered slightly; his nose was not as flat nor his cheekbones as pronounced as other Tuigan's. Still, he was dressed in the armor favored by some of the barbarian elite: a heavy breastplate over a chain mail hauberk, rough boots, partial cuisses of studded leather on his legs, and thick leather gauntlets dotted with steel on his hands. The disturbing thing about the general was his calm, even though he surely must have known his life was in grave danger.
"Will the khahan offer ransom for you, General?" Alusair asked at last. After hearing the question translated, Batu merely shook his head.
Frowning, the princess leaned forward and looked into Batu's eyes. "Will the khahan attack tonight?"
At first there came no reply. Batu stared at his interrogator for a moment, then at the translator.
"He wants to know if you are the daughter of King Azoun, the man he met in the Tuigan camp," the wizard reported. "He assumes your position in the army indicates a relation to the king, but also notes that you resemble Azoun in many ways."
The princess was surprised to learn that her father had visited the enemy camp, but she let that shock pass and concentrated on questioning the general. "I am Princess Alusair of Cormyr, daughter of King Azoun," she replied. After a pause, she added, "My father sends his regards."
After bowing to Alusair from his seat, Batu met her gaze again. "Then the king has survived the battle?" he asked through the translator. He raised an eyebrow in surprise, an act that shifted the bandage wrapped around his head. "Yamun Khahan offered a great reward for your father's head. I was certain someone would collect that reward."
A shudder wracked Alusair, but she tried not to show it. She took a sip from a waterskin that lay at her feet and offered it to the general, who stoically refused. "Will the khahan come tonight?" she asked again.
The wizard translated the question, and Batu paused for quite a while before answering. From the expression on his blood-smeared face, Alusair guessed that the general was formulating a safe answer. Finally Batu said, "I cannot guess the thoughts of the khahan, Princess, nor would I reveal them to you if I could. I will tell you this much, however. Your armies have presented the greatest challenge the Tuigan have faced in many months. Your troops fight most valiantly."
It was Alusair's turn to pause, for she wondered where she should lead the questioning. Two of the dwarven guards started to build a fire to chase off the growing twilight, distracting the princess for a moment. When she turned back to Batu, she found him studying her.
"Would the honorable princess be so kind as to answer one question for me?" he asked through the mage. The princess nodded, and the general bowed slightly. When he looked up at Alusair, his eyes were dark and his expression grim. "What do you plan to do with me?"