Vangerdahast's smile vanished. "That's not our problem," he grumbled.
After a short silence, Azoun agreed. With Thay abandoning its plans of conquest and the Tuigan on the run, the Army of the Alliance could return to the Heartlands. "Our responsibility is fulfilled," the king noted, and the four men set off for the center of Tammar, where the majority of the army was billeted.
"Your Highness," Koja said as they walked, "what was your impression of the khahan?"
The question took the king by surprise, and after recalling their brief meeting, Azoun shrugged. "He seemed to be quite intelligent. No," he corrected quickly, "not that. Wise, perhaps. And very driven. Why do you ask?"
"When I was first sent to the Tuigan capital of Quaraband, I was to report back to my prince, tell him what the khahan was like" the priest replied. "I burned those notes long ago, but I think I might try to put something about Yamun Khahan on paper." After a pause, Koja added, "Master Reaverson tells me you are interested in history. Perhaps you will read these notes if I write them?"
"Of course," Azoun said, turning to face the priest. Koja was looking at the shattered road, however, and a wistful smile clung to his lips. "You will miss the khahan, won't you?"
"I was his anda," Koja said wistfully, then scowled. "I don't know if I can translate anda into your tongue-friend, perhaps, is closest." He cast his gaze to the clear blue sky. "Yamun chose the perilous path on his own, however. He chose to be a great man."
Sentries greeted Azoun as he and the others passed into the fringes of the western camp. Tents and campfires covered the broken streets of Tammar, scattered amidst the ruins of the buildings. Soldiers relaxed. A few loud groups sang bawdy songs, while others played at dice. Discipline was lax, perhaps too much so, but the men had fought and marched hard since arriving in Thesk, and Azoun knew that they deserved a rest.
"Is that the philosophy of your land?" the king asked as he passed a group of archers testing their skill against a blackened post. "That a man chooses to be great?"
The priest answered without hesitation, and Azoun noted the pedantic tone Koja's voice took on as he spoke. It was a tone Vangerdahast often adopted when discussing politics. "In the Yanitsava, the book of the Enlightened One's teachings, it is written that, 'Some men take the thread of their life and weave their own destiny'. The priests of the Red Mountain believe that these men are evil, that they do not accept the will of the Enlightened One, that they force their own will over the pattern of the world."
"And you, Koja," Azoun said. "Do you believe that?"
The priest laughed. "I was once a lama of the Red Mountain, but I am now as much that as I am an envoy of the Khazari. My time with the Tuigan taught me that I am a far better historian than philosopher."
Koja then turned to Azoun. "Still, I know this much about men like Yamun Khahan: the world cannot bear their presence for too long. Yamun tried to make the world over in his image, to weave a picture that would encompass the entire globe." He gestured with an open hand at the army spread around the two of them. "But the world always has other great men to oppose such plans."
"Your Highness," Farl Bloodaxe interrupted. The general, dressed casually in the tunic and breeches of a Cormyrian soldier, bowed formally. "I've just passed the word on to the infantry captains, and Brunthar has done the same with the archers. The army should be ready to move tomorrow morning."
"Good," Azoun replied, placing his hand on Farl's shoulder. "See that the men draw fresh water from the wells tonight and double the foraging parties. I'm sure the troops will want to get back to the coast as quickly as possible, so the fewer times we need to slow to hunt for food the better."
Thom and Vangerdahast caught up to Azoun, and Koja bowed and went off with them. When the others had gone, Farl stepped close to the king. "There seems to be a problem with the orcs, Your Highness. When I told Vrakk the news, he informed me that the Zhentish troops weren't leaving."
After giving Farl a few more suggestions about stocking the supply wagons, Azoun went directly to the orcs' camp. The men had grown used to the Zhentish soldiers, but Vrakk and his troops still maintained their own compound, away from the humans. They had proven their worth in battle, and the other soldiers would have likely let the orcs integrate their tents with the rest of the Alliance. For some mysterious reason, Vrakk always refused.
As the king entered the Zhentish camp, he decided that that was probably a good thing. The orcs had chosen the most run-down section of Tammar for their home. Their torn and dirty tents were pitched only a few yards from where the town's garbage had been dumped and the funeral pyres had been built for the townsfolk. The place smelled rancid, but the orcs didn't seem to notice. They lounged in their tents, hidden from the bright sunlight.
Only a few Zhentish troopers seemed to be awake, and most of these were sprawled around smoking campfires, swilling wine and eating their midday meal.
Vrakk was seated near one such collection of orcs. He still wore his black leather armor, and Azoun noticed for the first time that, while the orcs' surroundings were like a sty, their piecemeal armor and scavenged weapons were relatively clean.
"General Bloodaxe tells me you are reluctant to leave," Azoun said casually. He held his hand up when another orc offered him a wineskin. "Thank you, but, no."
Vrakk snarled at the orc with the wineskin, and the smaller, brown-furred trooper slouched down and concentrated on the hunk of meat he had burning in the fire. "Orcs not go home," Vrakk replied. "That our orders."
"Orders?" Azoun asked. "From whom?"
"Zhentil Keep," the orc replied. Vrakk's tone revealed that he was surprised at Azoun's ignorance. "We new outpost. They order us stay in Thesk."
A frown crept across Azoun's face as he regarded the orcish commander. "And you've had these orders from the time you left the Keep, haven't you?"
Vrakk smiled, or what passed for that expression with the orc. His large teeth showed yellow and filmy in the sunshine. "Keep say we stay with Alliance till Tuigan gone. They say orcs trust Ak-soon to let leave in Thesk."
I gave my word to those villains, the king concluded silently, and they've used me to place a damned Zhentish outpost of almost nine hundred orcs in the middle of an ally's territory. Azoun sighed. "I don't suppose you'll be setting up your camp here in Tammar, so take your share of the supplies and leave right after sunset. I know your troops can travel by night, so that shouldn't be a problem."
The Zhentish commander found this agreeable, and wasn't offended at all when the king refused his invitation to share the noon meal with him. Though Vrakk appeared rather ignorant, he knew exactly why Azoun was distressed by the revelation of their plans.
"I will tell the Theskan authorities that your troops stayed in their territory," Azoun warned solemnly as he prepared to leave. "They'll consider you trespassers, Vrakk."
The orc's toothy grin widened. "We good soldiers, Ak-soon, but we better raiders, better thieves. Thesk big place with plenty spots to hide." He grabbed the wineskin from his brown-haired comrade and took a long swallow." 'Sides, we learn plenty about war from you. We be safe."
That thought didn't comfort Azoun at all. As he walked back to the royal compound, the king wondered if Koja was right. For all the good that he had intended to do on the crusade, Azoun now saw very little evidence that he'd succeeded. The town of Tammar, like so many other villages and hamlets in Thesk, Ashanath, and Rashemen, lay in ruins, the buildings toppled and the fields uncultivated. The Tuigan army was broken, but not gone from the West. The small groups of bandits that remained would likely plague traders and farmers for years to come. And now the orcs. The Theskan government would not be happy to learn that a band of professional Zhentish soldiers was loose in their land.