Sidestepping only slightly, the king slapped the horse's front legs with the flat of his blade. The beast skidded to a stop, then lost its footing in the mud and toppled. As the horse fell, Yamun rolled from the saddle. The khahan wanted to stay clear of his mount, the only thing that would give him a chance to fight on. As he soon learned, the battleground was fast becoming a mire; with a curse, the self-styled Illustrious Emperor of All Peoples slid onto his back in the mud.
Azoun stepped forward and brought his sword up to attack. It seemed for an instant that the khahan was helpless. Weighted down by his heavy breastplate, he writhed in the mud like a turtle flipped onto its back. But when Azoun got close enough to strike, Yamun lashed out with his steel-shod boots and kicked the king in the knee.
Normally the blow would have had little effect. Azoun's armor protected him from any obvious damage from the attack, and the khahan had even struck against the king's uninjured right leg. The mud beneath Azoun's feet was just a slick as that beneath the khahan, though, and once his balance was upset, Azoun found his wounded leg of little use in keeping him on his feet. The Cormyrian king toppled into the mire at the khahan's side.
With a monstrous cry, the Tuigan leader grabbed his enemy's arm and brought a mailed fist down on his helmet. The blow knocked the visor from the king's basinet. Now, with the sight limitations brought by his visor gone, Azoun looked upon the khahan. His vision was slightly blurred from the blow, but the king saw that the barbarian crouched next to him, his lips curled into a savage snarl, his wet, red-tinged braids dangled wildly from under his pointed golden helm. Yamun was reaching for his curved sword, which lay in the mud a few feet away.
Azoun called upon all his years of training, all his years of adventuring, as he tried to heave his armored form out of the mud. The best he could do was roll onto his side, but that was enough. As the khahan retrieved his sword and turned, Azoun grabbed his own blade and struck. The blow severed the hand in which the barbarian held his curved weapon. With a howl of pain, the Tuigan emperor toppled forward.
Most of what followed was a blur to the king. In the days that followed, he would only vaguely remember struggling to his feet and raising his sword high over the injured Tuigan. The one clear memory that clung to Azoun for the rest of his life was of Yamun Khahan meeting his gaze just before the blade struck. The barbarian showed no fear as the steel drove deep into his chest, cleaving his heart in two.
The rest of Yamun's bodyguards were dispatched quickly, and to the westerners' astonishment, some of the Tuigan caught in the trap surrendered when they saw that their khahan was dead. Alusair returned to the king's side, the enemy's standard in her hand. A mixture of relief and immense pride gripped Azoun as he watched his daughter break the standard over her knee, then toss the shattered staff and the sodden yak tails onto Yamun's corpse.
By the time the rain stopped, a little less than two hours after it had begun, the barbarians of the Tuigan horde had either retreated or surrendered.
17
In the tense hours that followed the battle, scouts chased after the retreating Tuigan horde and watched for signs that they were regrouping for another attack. For Azoun, the waiting that afternoon was more terrible than the short lull before the two previous battles, when the enemy had been sighted but had yet to reach the western lines. However, as the day wore on, it became clear that the surviving fifty thousand Tuigan were not going to make another charge.
The Army of the Alliance, now only ten thousand strong, had won the day.
"I've got the latest reports," Alusair announced as she entered the makeshift command center to the rear of the fortified western lines. The princess, who had removed most of her armor, wore a sweat-soaked, padded doublet and grimy hose. Her short blond hair was plastered to her forehead, and her shoulders were slumped with exhaustion.
To King Azoun his daughter looked lovely. Though his left leg was still sore-the battle with the khahan had reopened the arrow wound, and the clerics had only recently stanched the bleeding-the king stood when Alusair entered the ring of camp chairs. These were the main component of the command post. The other, a sturdy wooden table covered with maps, was currently surrounded by the surviving western leaders: Farl Bloodaxe, Brunthar Elventree, Vangerdahast, and Vrakk.
"Where do we stand?" Azoun asked as he hobbled to Alusair's side.
"The scouts report that the Tuigan are scattering," she said. By now, the generals had turned their attention to the princess. She nodded a greeting. "I used the magical bracelet and the falcon to track the main force of barbarians myself. They're miles from here, heading east."
The king sighed with relief. "Is the horde still breaking up?"
"It seems so," Alusair replied. "Small groups of barbarians sheer off from the main group every so often. A few of these groups are probably scouting parties, but not all of them. Sometimes these small bands are chased off by force."
Vangerdahast shuffled to the king's side. "Inter-clan warfare is starting already." He nodded sagely. "Without the khahan to hold them together, the various factions are preying upon each other, vying for control of the army."
"You've become quite an expert on the Tuigan," Farl Bloodaxe noted.
"I've been talking to Thom," the wizard replied. "He's done a bit of research on the Tuigan. In fact, he's down with the prisoners now, gathering notes for his history of the crusade."
The mentioned of the prisoners visibly darkened the mood of the gathered generals. Brunthar and Vrakk glanced behind the command center, to the area where the seven hundred Tuigan prisoners were being kept. Dwarven troops ringed the area, and clerics moved in and out frequently, tending to the wounded barbarians. The troops from Earthfast had been assigned to guard duty after they'd built a cairn for their fallen leader, partly because the king trusted them to follow his orders and partly because there was some disagreement among the human troops about what should be done with the Tuigan who had surrendered.
"You are going to have to decide what to do with the prisoners soon, Your Highness," Farl said. "It looks as if the barbarians won't attack, at least not in the next few days. Still. . "
The black general let his words trail off, but Brunthar Elventree picked up on the thought immediately. "What if the Tuigan do attack again? What if they're only biding their time?"
Frowning deeply, Alusair shook her head. "That's not the question, General Elventree. It seems clear that we've broken the barbarian army." She looked out over the collection of prisoners. "But we still need to decide their fate."
Farl sighed. "Many of the Tuigan caught in the trap gave up, but they weren't seriously wounded. They know the khahan is dead, so they have no reason to fight."
"Kill them," Vrakk growled, drawing his sword. "No prisoners."
Without pause, Brunthar added his support to that idea. The dalesman leaned toward the king. "I'll take a group of archers out to dispatch the scum," he murmured. "They're just using up our supplies now."
Azoun hobbled to his chair and sank into it. He steepled his fingers and bowed his head in thought. "What do the rest of you think?" he asked after a moment.
"We cannot kill prisoners who ask for mercy," Farl replied. "We would hope the Tuigan might offer the same mercy to any westerners they captured."
"They attacked us," Brunthar interrupted, as if his point were relevant. "Besides, we are talking about barbarians, not westerners. These are the people who killed an envoy because he wouldn't drink sour milk. These are the warriors we came to Thesk to stop."
After shuffling a few paces in the mud and stroking his beard, Vangerdahast turned to the king. "If we keep these men as prisoners, we'll have to set up a camp for them behind our lines." The wizard paused and looked at the western fortifications. "Do you think our troops will want to share their supplies with men who, only this morning, were intent on killing us all?"