The sight of the men, women, and children huddled inside makeshift tents or sprawled in the open, exposed to the elements, brought a pall over Azoun's soul. He had ordered his officers to begin a charity for the poor, homeless wretches, but it was clear from the multitude the procession passed that any meager collection from the soldiers could do little to help. Even the defeat of the Tuigan horde would do nothing to bring back these people's homes and loved ones.
"It's a sad sight," someone said to Azoun.
The king turned sharply and saw Thom Reaverson at his side. The sadness on the bard's face mirrored the sick feeling in Azoun's heart. "I came out here two nights ago to tell the refugees a few stories. Just to take their minds off everything. They are glad you're here, milord. You're a hero to them."
That comment gave the king no comfort. He saw the pain and suffering around him now, and it hurt him to know that he could do little for the refugees. "The war won't help these people," he said softly, glancing from dirty face to dirty face in the crowd.
Thom nodded in agreement. "No, probably not. But if you didn't lead us here, there'd be a lot more like them come fall, after the Tuigan had stormed over the rest of Thesk."
When Azoun didn't answer, Thom reined his horse and let the king pace ahead. It was obvious that he wanted to be alone with his thoughts. Azoun did mull over the sights in the refugee camp, thinking about how little it mattered to him that these people were not his subjects. Then he pictured similar scenes in Cormyr, in Suzail itself, with the last of his army holed up in the castle while the city's inhabitants cowered in the courtyard, begging for protection.
The king's heart flared with anger, and he suddenly wanted nothing more than to be face-to-face, sword-to-sword with the khahan. No, I can't really help the people already victimized by the horsewarriors, Azoun decided. But Thom's right: I can stop the Tuigan from harming anyone else.
That thought fueled the fire in Azoun's heart as he spurred his horse and set a grueling pace for the other riders. The procession was soon beyond the boundaries of even the refugee camp and traveling swiftly down the Golden Way. The trade road over which much of Thesk's wealth moved was a broad path of dirt, worn smooth by frequent use. Though they passed many others on their way to the Tuigan camp, Azoun and his entourage were the only people heading east. Still more refugees trudged down the road or through the huge, rolling fields of recently sown wheat.
From the estimates given him by the emissary who'd survived his trip to the camp, Azoun figured he and his companions would be riding much of the day at a hard pace to reach the Tuigan. However, after only an hour on the road, the king noted that the flood of refugees had thinned to a trickle. By highsun, a party of eleven Tuigan appeared on the road ahead.
Without delay, Vangerdahast, who was saddle-sore and grouchy, cast the spell that would allow him to understand and converse in the Tuigan tongue. Both Thom and Azoun brought the words for a standard Tuigan greeting to mind in case the wizard had trouble. The soldiers all drew their swords.
As he got closer, Azoun saw that the group of horsewarriors blocking the road was made up of ten soldiers, all wearing black quilted armor, muddy boots, and pointed, fur-trimmed caps topped with long, stringy red tassels. They seemed not to notice the hot, Flamerule sun beating down on them through the clouds. The eleventh man was gaunt and bald, with facial features far less severe than the butter-skinned nomads who gathered around him. The bald man smiled amiably and slipped from his saddle when the king got within a dozen yards.
"Greetings, Azoun, king of Cormyr," he said in heavily accented Common. "I am here as the mouth of Yamun Khahan, Illustrious Emperor of All Peoples. Hear my words as his." He then bowed to Azoun, which drew scowls from his companions.
Thanking the gods that he didn't have to test his feeble grasp of Tuigan just yet, the Cormyrian king nodded in reply to the emissary's bow. He glanced at the dark-eyed Tuigan soldiers, feeling the anger that had flared to life in the refugee camp burn within him. "Where is your master?" he asked coldly.
The bald man started back for his horse. "Yamun Khahan waits for us. He invites you to the camp under his protection."
"And my guards?"
"Are welcome, too," the emissary replied, making a broad, sweeping gesture with his hand. "The khahan assumed you would bring an escort. You are, after all, a great leader of soldiers." He wheeled his horse about and pointed to the east. "Our camp is not far away. Please follow me, Your Highness."
Azoun hesitated for an instant, then urged his horse on. Vangerdahast and Thom fell in behind the king, and the Cormyrian guards spread out to encircle all three men. The ten black-garbed Tuigan soldiers split into two groups after the westerners had arrayed themselves. One group of five fell back and followed the entourage, the other rode just ahead of the bald emissary.
After half an hour of riding along the road, which became rutted and hilly as time went on, Azoun began to spot other groups of riders. These bands of men roamed far to the north and south of the road, through the fields and the occasional groups of trees that cut across the land. The king could see only their dark shapes, but he assumed they were Tuigan since the flow of refugees had stopped some time ago.
Azoun glanced back at Vangerdahast to ask the wizard a question. The paunchy old man was lolling slightly in his saddle, his eyelids fluttering. When Thom nudged the wizard, he cast watery, dull eyes on the king. "I'm not feeling very well at the moment," Vangerdahast noted softly. He shook his head as if to clear it, then added, "But I'm sure I'll be fine in a little bit. Just tired, I suppose."
A pall of smoke to the east became visible at about the same time Azoun spotted the other riders. From the blue-gray haze hanging low in the cloudy sky, the king realized that they were getting close to the Tuigan camp. After Azoun and his escort topped two more rises in the road, the huge collection of tents revealed itself to them.
The round, domelike tents lay scattered to either side of the road. Thousands of fires trailed thin wisps of smoke, which then joined together in the blue haze Azoun had spotted earlier. Wicker corrals of horses and sheep dotted the camp, spaced seemingly at random amidst the soldiers' quarters. Men lounged in groups or raced about on horses, the most activity seeming to center around a large white tent in the middle of the camp, right next to the road.
The bald emissary reined in his horse and waited for the king to reach his side before allowing the mount to move. "This is our camp, Azoun of Cormyr. Yamun Khahan waits for us here."
This was the first time the emissary had been close to Azoun, and the king could now see that he was not a Tuigan. Not only were his features less severe, but they seemed to mark the gaunt, bald man as a resident of the oriental lands. "How did you come to be the voice of the khahan?" Azoun asked after a moment. "You are not Tuigan."
"I was once a citizen of Khazari, a land now under the khahan's rule," the man said a little wistfully. "My name is Koja, and I am presently grand historian for Yamun Khahan." He bowed again in greeting. "The khahan sent me to meet you because I have seen you before, at the Council of Semphar. I was still an envoy from Prince Ogandi of Khazari then."