Thom stretched and moved his ink-stained hand over his mouth to cover a yawn. After closing his eyes for a moment, the bard shuffled through the other papers spread out on the table. Moving carefully to avoid smudging the still-wet ink on the page in front of him, Thom slid a particular sheet of parchment out from under the rest. He glanced at the list scrawled hastily on the page, then carefully added its contents to the annals.
The twelve thousand Cormyrians will be joined by soldiers from many parts of Faerun in this battle. The following is a rough estimate of the troops committed by those in Faerun allied with King Azoun.
Sembia money for 4,000 men-at-arms
The Dales 4,000 men-at-arms (mostly archers)
Tantras 1,600 men-at-arms
Hillsfar 600 men-at-arms (mostly cavalry)
Ravens Bluff 2,400 men-at-arms
Other Cities 3,400 men-at-arms
The dark-haired bard turned over the sheet that held the original list of troops and added the numbers. He hastily noted that figure in the annals.
These troops will be joined by at least two thousand dwarves under the command of King Torg, from a city in the Earthfast Mountains. Zhentil Keep has also promised one thousand soldiers, who will be meeting the army at the northern end of the Easting Reach. All told, the crusaders should total over thirty thousand when they meet the Tuigan.
The last line of the paragraph barely fit at the bottom of the page, even with Thom's tight, controlled handwriting. He studied the finished sheet. When he found no major blotches of ink or dirty fingerprints on it, Thom gently blew it dry. After a moment or two, he put his initials in small, barely legible letters at the sheet's lower right-hand corner. That done, the bard gently laid a thin blotting paper over the new page and put the two under a large, heavy book.
Thom Reaverson packed up his papers and put his ink and quills in a small wooden box that had Cormyr's emblem carved into its top. The box and fine writing tools it contained had been a gift from King Azoun, one of many rewards given to Thom for accepting the duty to chronicle the crusade. The bard would have gladly faced a dragon for the prestigious title of court historian, and he saw the gold and gifts the king had offered him as a sign of the monarch's generosity. Still, the pen set was special to Thom Reaverson, for it had come to symbolize for him the trust Azoun had in his skills.
With his tools and the pages of the ever-growing chronicle stowed securely in a cabinet, the bard quietly made his way from the king's cabin. He nodded to the guards as he left and told them that Azoun was sleeping and was not to be disturbed. On his way up to the deck of the tri-masted carrack, Thom met Vangerdahast, who was working his way stiffly down the steep wooden steps.
When the wizard spotted Thom, he stopped his descent. "Is the king awake and well?" Vangerdahast asked, his voice weak and a little strained.
Thom's sympathy went out to the old mage immediately. It was clear from the color of Vangerdahast's face that his constitution was not up to the challenge of the gently swaying ship. "He's well," the bard answered, "but not awake."
"I hope he knows that we have a meeting with the generals in an hour or so," the pale wizard said testily.
"I'm sure he left word with a servant, Master Vangerdahast," Thom replied, steadying himself on the stairs as the ship heaved deeply to one side. "The rest will certainly do him good."
Scowling at the motion of the ship, Vangerdahast nodded and said, "He's certainly been tireless these last few ten-days." The ship dipped again, and the wizard cursed softly. "I'm going to lie down myself, Thom. If I'm not at the meeting, send someone to fetch me."
The bard backed down two steps to the landing and allowed Vangerdahast to squeeze by him. Though the Welleran was one of the most luxurious ships on the Inner Sea, the cabins and walkways were still very cramped. Only after the wizard closed the door to his cabin did Thom climb up to the deck, into the red glow of a beautiful spring sunset.
Some of the crew were eating their supper in various spots on the deck. They gulped watery stew and washed it down with warm, dark ale. Around them, other sailors went about their duty, securing sails or climbing into the fore rigging toward lookout positions in the masts. Thom got out of the way as best he could, positioning himself near the port railing.
Far to the north lay the coast of Cormyr-or perhaps it was Sembia by then, for all Thom knew. Dozens of other ships dashed through the water nearby. Most of them were spectacularly rigged carracks from the Cormyrian navy. With their large aft and forecastles, and three masts decked with canvas sails and multicolored flags identifying vessel and port of origin, the carracks were the sturdiest ships in the crusaders' fleet. Others nearby were less impressive merchant ships or mercenaries' vessels. Of course this was only a small part of the massive caravan to the east. Ships had been leaving from Cormyr for days now, heading toward the free city of Telflamm, the gathering point for the armies.
It's no wonder Azoun is exhausted, Thom decided silently. In just the last few months he's brought everything together. And not even that damned attack in the Royal Gardens has been enough to shake his dedication to this venture.
Thom couldn't know that a secret trip to the Black Rat had countered any doubts that Azoun had had about the crusade-even the ones planted by the assassination attempt. In the tenday that followed the surreptitious visit to the tavern and the meeting with the Zhentish envoy, the king had indeed attacked the Tuigan matter with renewed vigor and enthusiasm. Supply lines had been quickly established, ships and troops gathered together, and final messages dispatched to King Torg and the witches in Rashemen. He'd even appointed an impartial seneschal to oversee the trial of the imprisoned trapper.
That dedication had paid off for Azoun, and Thom could see the success manifested in the high-spirited crew around him and the fast-moving troop and supply ships crossing the Lake of Dragons. After watching a dark-hulled cog, the Sarnath, come even with the Welleran, then pass it, the bard let his thoughts wander to the battles that loomed in the future. For the next hour, he wondered what his part would be in the conflict.
Thom's reverie was broken by a large, callused hand on his shoulder. "Time for the meeting, Master Bard," a deep, soothing voice said.
Thom turned to see General Farl Bloodaxe, commander of the army's infantry. The bard knew the soldier well, for he was a frequent guest at Azoun's palace. Farl looked particularly dashing that night as he stood, one hand planted on his hip, the other grasping a line overhead. The final light of the setting sun cast deep shadows on his ebony skin and glinted in his green eyes. The wind tugged at the loose-fitting white shirt the general wore. That, coupled with his silver-buckled boots and tan breeches, made him look more a pirate than an infantry commander. It wasn't an image Farl fostered, Thom knew, for the general was a well-known supporter of law and order.
Thom smiled warmly. "Thank you for reminding me, General. It's not hard to lose track of time completely when watching the sea pass by, especially after it gets dark."
"I traveled by ship quite a lot when I was a younger, you know," the general noted, leaning on the railing. He looked up at the stars, just becoming visible in the night sky, and added, "It's the one thing I miss most about my days as a world traveler."
"Too bad Vangerdahast doesn't share your enthusiasm for ships," the bard said. "He looked quite ill when I saw him earlier."
The general took a long last look at the dark water rushing by the ship. "We'd best be going, Thom. The meeting will be underway by now."
Farl Bloodaxe was right. When he and Thom reached the king's cabin in the aft castle, Azoun was unrolling a map, talking about the reorganization of the troops that would take place once they were gathered in Telflamm. Vangerdahast, still slightly pale, sat by an open window, taking in deep breaths of the cool air. Finally, at either side of the table, the crusade's two other generals stood, listening intently to the Cormyrian monarch.