"By your request, Azoun," Torg rumbled happily. "I'm ready for battle." As if to prove it, the ironlord drew his beautifully crafted sword and waved it in front of him. "Let the Tuigan come."
A few moments later, Vrakk, commander of the Zhentish orcs, arrived. "Good-morning, Ak-soon," he said sleepily in his usual belabored Common. "My soldiers protecting archers, like you say." He unslung his black leather armor from his shoulder and dropped it onto the ground. In a rather haphazard manner, the orc fitted himself for battle.
Regret instantly colored Azoun's thoughts. The night before, Vrakk had requested that he leave command of his army to another so he could serve in the king's guard. The orc had been an able soldier and had kept his troops in line, so Azoun was happy to agree. How Torg had heard of the matter so quickly the king couldn't guess, but within an hour, the ironlord had demanded similar honors. Wanting to avoid an incident so close to the time of battle, Azoun had also appointed Torg to serve in his bodyguard.
Now the tension between the two commanders only added to the anticipation of conflict.
Alusair and Vangerdahast had also joined the king at his standard by the time the scouts reported the Tuigan to be less than three miles away. A cloud of dust hovering on the eastern horizon told the king that the seventy thousand enemy riders were fast approaching.
While Vangerdahast still wore a brown robe, much like the ones he wore every day at the castle in Suzail, the princess was girded in her ornately engraved plate mail. The bright metal was dented in a few more places than when Azoun had first seen it, but it looked as if it had passed through the first battle without much damage. Silently, Alusair's father hoped the dwarven plate would protect his daughter as well in the battle to come.
"Cast the illusion whenever you're ready, Vangy," the king said as a squire rechecked the last straps on his armor. Azoun flexed his left leg and grimaced slightly. The left cuisse had been repaired since the first battle, the arrow hole filled and hammered smooth, so that wasn't the problem. From the pain he felt, the king knew that his wound was going to trouble him, despite the attentions it had received from the clerics earlier in the day.
As the king considered this, Vangerdahast had the standard-bearer signal the War Wizards. Then the royal mage faced the battlefield and started a low, musical chant. He swayed slightly and moved his hands in a complicated arcane pattern. Trembling, Vangerdahast cast the components of the spell-a stone, a twig, and a bit of grass from the battlefield-into the air.
No one saw the spell components disappear, for all eyes had turned to the field itself. There, the handiwork of the dwarves lay exposed in the weak sunlight. Thousands of holes littered the field, stretching in a semicircle from the woods on the army's flanks. But as Vangerdahast and the wizards he had signaled completed their incantations, the holes disappeared. More precisely, the illusion of a rolling, grass-covered field split by a trade road hid the ravaged ground.
"Excellent," Azoun said and clapped his friend and tutor on the shoulder.
Vangerdahast wobbled slightly. The spell weakened him far more than it would have before the magic-dead area sapped his strength. Still, the wizard puffed out his chest a bit. "Precise down to the type of grass," he said proudly. "The Tuigan will never know what they hit."
Turning to Alusair, the king said, "Your turn."
Beneath the dwarven plate armor, the princess still wore the bracelet the centaur chieftain had given her. She used the magical device now and summoned the hawk from the trees nearby. The bird quickly took flight and soared out over the western lines. Concentrating, Alusair could see the Tuigan horde through the falcon's eyes, spread out in a wide line, closing in on the Alliance. The bird swooped nearer, and the princess caught sight of the object of her search. There, in the center of the massive Tuigan army, was a yak-tail banner, the war standard of Yamun Khahan.
The falcon caught an updraft and soared higher, out of the range of the Tuigan bows. Circling behind the enemy line, the bird followed it for another mile or so. After Alusair was sure that the khahan's banner wasn't going to shift places in line, she pulled her mind back from the falcon.
"The banner you described is in the center of the Tuigan line, Father." Alusair shook her head to clear it. Using the centaur's magical bracelet always left her feeling a little drained.
Torg and Vrakk both looked at Azoun, an unspoken question evident on their faces. "I saw the khahan's banner when I was in their camp," the king said. "He had it planted outside his tent."
Grinning, the ironlord grabbed his helmet and dropped it into place. He lifted the visor and said, "Now we know who to aim for."
The dust cloud grew larger and larger, until it seemed to cover the entire horizon. Azoun signaled the army to ready its weapons, and the anxiety that gripped the troops pulled their muscles a little tighter, forced their hearts to beat a little quicker. In the center of the first rank, the king and his guard put on their helmets and drew their weapons. Unlike the last battle, the entire army was going to fight on foot this time. If the Tuigan were routed again, Azoun didn't want anyone pursuing them the way the cavalry had. Knowing that no soldier was foolish enough to chase fleeing cavalry on foot, Azoun had ordered that no one, from himself to the lowest paid mercenary, be given a horse.
The Tuigan appeared on the horizon, at first only a black line against the dust cloud they were churning up. The thunder of their horses' hooves drowned out the murmured prayers and muttered curses in the western lines, and the hundreds upon hundreds of carrion crows that had roosted in the nearby trees took to the air again. In only a few moments, the horsewarriors rode far enough that Azoun could discern a few individual riders. Over the sound of the hooves and the crows, the Tuigan war cry rose.
"Ready the archers and mages!" the king yelled to the standard-bearer. After closing his visor, Azoun said a brief prayer to Tymora, the patron of adventurers, and lifted his shield.
Razor John was afraid.
From where he stood, at the center of the army's second rank, he couldn't see the field very clearly. The section of road the king had chosen to defend was level. Trees protected their flanks, but the troops to the rear of the array found their vision hampered by the geography. Still, the fletcher could make out the massive dust cloud rolling toward him from the east. It was clear that the barbarians were going to attack, and a horrible, numb feeling had taken hold of John's heart. He was certain he would not live to see the sunset.
Even though he feared for his own life, the fletcher was more concerned about Kiri Trollslayer. She was stationed with the infantry in the army's first rank. Perhaps, John concluded darkly, we'll both be killed. At least we'll go to the Realm of the Dead together.
The king's standard, rising up above the crowded first line of infantry, waved a command. John didn't know what the signal meant, but the commander of the archers, Brunthar Elventree, soon made the order clear.
"Ready to fire!" Brunthar shouted from nearby.
John watched as the dalesman lowered a helmet gingerly over his bandaged head. Brunthar hadn't worn any armor in the first battle, an act that was partly to blame for his wounded ear, but now he wore a visorless steel helmet and heavy chain hauberk.
As he gripped his bow, Razor John wished that he had armor, too. Like most of the archers, he dressed in the rough-spun tunic and trousers he wore on any normal day. The reasons for this were simple: plate or chain armor would hamper his ability to move and fire quickly, and leather armor provided little protection against arrows. And since the archers were all in the army's second rank, arrows would be all they had to face from the Tuigan.