Crusade (29 page)

The bulk of the Tuigan army had greeted the king’s procession with little regard and, in a few cases, open scorn. Most simply went about their business, cleaning weapons and tack, eating, or simply exchanging stories around the many smoky cookfires scattered through the camp. At least on the surface, the Tuigan camp was not all that different from the western one Azoun had recently left, and nothing like the horrifying place Lord Rayburton had described in his journals. Yet, the king was not foolish enough to assume that the many apparent similarities between his camp and the khahan’s were anything other than superficial. Hundreds of details set the two camps apart, ranging in significance from the Tuigan’s use of dung to stoke their acrid-smelling fires to the violent punishment the khans frequently and openly meted out to their soldiers.

The most important difference Azoun noted between his troops and the Tuigan army was a little harder to define, but it made the two camps seem very different indeed. From Rayburton’s book, the king recognized a few of the hundreds of standards dotting the camp, rallying points for the various barbarian clans. Despite this obvious fragmentation, the Tuigan camp seemed unified, whereas the Alliance’s camp was home to a loose confederation of troops. In Azoun’s army, the orcs were not welcome in many places, the Sembians and mercenaries not welcome in others. Cormyrians fraternized with Cormyrians, dalesmen with dalesmen.

Unity of purpose and casual self-confidence permeated the Tuigan gathering. Why shouldn’t it? Azoun mused as he finished his tea. Yamun Khahan has led this army to victory after victory.

The first substantial clouds of doubt rolled over the king’s vision of the crusade as he pondered that thought. He was rubbing his chin, buried in contemplation of this, when the yurt’s flap flew open, flooding the dim tent with light. Azoun found himself looking up at a broad-shouldered, heavily armored man.

Koja offered a brief greeting in Tuigan to the newcomer, then turned to Azoun. “Your Highness,” he said with a slight smile, “this is Yamun Khahan, Illustrious Emperor of All Peoples.”

Quickly Azoun got to his feet. The khahan studied the king for a moment, openly sizing up his opponent. He said something to Koja in Tuigan without taking his eyes from the Cormyrian king.

“The khahan wishes you to be seated,” Koja said, motioning toward the cushions Azoun had just vacated. “This meeting will not take up much more of your time.”

Azoun did as he was asked, but he wondered for a moment why the khahan had kept him waiting for nearly two hours. As the Tuigan leader made his way across the tent to a wooden seat, never taking his eyes off the king, Azoun decided that the wait, like this meeting, was some kind of test. He was certainly annoyed by the delay, but he refused to show the barbarian that he was at all put out.

Yamun silently took his seat. Azoun met the khahan’s steady gaze now, and took the opportunity to size up his own opponent.

In the feeble light of the single lantern, Yamun Khahan looked ominous. His prominent, heavy cheekbones and broad, flat nose cast heavy shadows over the rest of his face. Despite these shadows, Azoun saw that a long, ragged scar ran across the bridge of the khahan’s nose and over his cheek. Another scar, faded with age, bit into the corner of his mouth, twisting his upper lip into an almost perpetual sneer. The king met the warlord’s eyes and found them dark and clear.

Long braids of red-tinted hair framed Yamun’s shadowy visage and rested on his flaring silver shoulder guards. The silver ailettes topped a breastplate of gold, sculpted with muscles. At the khahan’s waist, a skirt of silver chain mail hung, vaguely reflecting the lantern’s glow. In opposition to this finery, the khahan’s boots were heavy and worn. Mud clung to them in thick, wet globs, which occasionally slid onto the yurt’s dirty, carpeted floor.

The khahan met Azoun’s eyes again and smiled, though his twisted lip made the expression more threatening than inviting. He shouted something in Tuigan, and Azoun wished that he’d learned more of the guttural tongue or had his bard at his side.

Two other Tuigan entered the tent and took seats on the floor at either side of the khahan. From their armor and their bearing, Azoun assumed them to be generals. “This is Chanar Ong Kho, illustrious commander of the left flank,” Koja announced formally. He gestured with an open hand to the man on Yamun’s left.

Chanar Khan scowled at Azoun, then unslung a heavy skin from his shoulder and placed it at the khahan’s feet. The king recognized the brash general as the same man who had interrupted the Council of Semphar and presented the khahan’s demands to the delegates there. At that time, he had led ten thousand men. Azoun wondered how many more he had under his control now.

Koja motioned to the man on Yamun’s right and added, “This is Batu Min Ho, illustrious commander of the right flank.” This general immediately bowed to Azoun, dropping his head almost to the floor. When Batu Min Ho raised his face again, the king noticed that the general was, as his name suggested, a Shou. Like a Tuigan’s, Batu’s dark eyes were set wide over broad cheeks, and his nose was broad and flat. Still, there was a delicacy to his features lacking in both Chanar and Yamun.

“Tell the khahan and his generals that I am honored to meet them,” Azoun said, returning Batu Min Ho’s bow. “I have heard many great things about their military skill.”

Koja repeated the king’s words. Coarse, loud laughter burst from Chanar, and Batu simply nodded at the compliment. Yamun remained silent, but leaned forward, resting an elbow on his knee. The straps of his armor creaked with the effort. Slowly he pointed at Azoun and asked something in Tuigan.

The king understood a little of what the khahan said, but waited for Koja to repeat the question before answering. “Why do you think I invited you here?” the bald Khazari asked in Yamun’s stead.

“So you could meet your adversary,” Azoun replied. “To decide how much of a threat I am.”

Yamun nodded when Koja relayed the answer. The warlord regarded the king for a moment, his eyes narrowed. “You know I outnumber you by three-, maybe four-to-one,” he said through Koja.

Azoun simply nodded for an answer, and Yamun paused again. “The prisoners I have taken in Thesk warned me of your coming,” the khahan growled. “They said you gathered a great army to crush me. What my scouts have seen of your troops makes me think that they are not great enough to even slow me down.”

“We shall be able to tell that only if we fight,” Azoun said, then turned to Koja. “Emphasize ‘if’ in that reply.”

After taking a sip of his tea, the bald man nodded politely, then relayed the king’s message. Chanar laughed again, but Yamun glowered at the khan, which silenced him almost instantly. “Then surrender to me now, Azoun of Cor-meer,” Yamun answered, lounging back in his seat and tugging at the end of his stringy mustache. “That is the only thing that will stop me from destroying you in battle.”

Koja had just begun to relay the khahan’s words when Batu Min Ho leaned forward and spoke. The babble of voices confused Azoun a little. He caught only part of what the bald Khazari was reporting. Still, the king understood the Shou general’s question without translation.

Stretching two empty hands before him, Azoun faced Batu Min Ho. “Yes, Batu Khan,” he said in rough, halting Tuigan. “I seek peace.”

Azoun’s reply had a striking and immediate effect on the others in the khahan’s yurt. Chanar leaped to his feet, his mouth hanging open in shock. Surprise registered on Batu’s face, too, but the emotion did not show as readily on the Shou general. Glancing from the king to Yamun Khahan, then back to Azoun again, the Khazari historian seemed to be waiting for their reactions to determine his own.

For his part, Yamun slouched forward again. A slight smile battled with his scar for control of his lip. “You speak the language of my people,” he said slowly.

“I speak only a little Tuigan,” Azoun corrected, using the one Tuigan phrase he was certain he knew correctly, then switched back to Common. “Koja, I do need your help. I understand only some of what they’re saying.”

The Khazari sipped his tea and nodded. “What do you want to tell the khahan?”

“Repeat what I told you, then tell them that I hope we can avoid bloodshed.”

As Koja relayed the message, Chanar sat down and said something to the khahan. Yamun’s slight smile broadened into a leer as he picked up the leather bag Chanar had placed at his mud-caked feet. Unstoppering the bag, Yamun shouted out a command.

Two servants immediately entered the yurt, bowing to the khahan as they did so. Yamun mumbled another order, and the two young men scurried to the back of the felt tent and clattered through a chest. They returned with a bejeweled, golden goblet and a round ball of red silk.

Koja blanched noticeably, and Chanar pointed at the Khazari and laughed. The khahan handed the goblet to Batu, who upended the golden vessel, emptying some sludgy globs from its bottom. He then wiped it out with a bit of the heavy carpet that lay on the floor. Taking the leather bag from Yamun, a servant filled the goblet with a milky liquid.

The other servant unwrapped the stained silk and held the object the red cloth had covered out to Yamun. It was a human skull, the top of which had been cut away. A silver cup now filled the empty bones. The khahan held the grisly drinking vessel so that its empty eye sockets faced Azoun, and a servant filled it, too, with liquid from the leather bag.

Chanar Khan said something to Koja, and the bald man nodded. “Chanar Ong Kho wishes me to inform Your Highness that the skull once belonged to Abatai, an enemy of the khahan.” The Khazari frowned and added, “Do not forget what I told you about your envoy, Your Highness. Failure to drink means certain death.”

With mild surprise, the Cormyrian king noticed that Yamun and his generals were watching him closely. They are expecting to frighten me with the skull, Azoun realized, then noted that Koja was obviously unnerved by the grim trophy. Thanking the gods that the area was magic-dead, for it negated the possibility of the skull-cup being ensorceled, the king reached for it.

Before he leaned back and gnawed pensively on his lower lip, Yamun gave the skull-cup to the king. Batu called out a toast in Tuigan, or at least that was what Azoun assumed he cried, then gulped down the thick, sour-tasting drink. A servant refilled the bejeweled goblet Batu held, and it was passed to Chanar Khan. The smiling Tuigan general paused before lifting the golden goblet and motioned for Azoun to drink from the skull.

“To Yamun Khahan,” the king said, “Illustrious Emperor of the Tuigan.” Though the milky white liquid in the skull-cup smelled disgustingly like curdled milk, Azoun gagged down two swallows and handed the skull to Koja.

A sour look on his face, the historian leaned close to Azoun. “The drink is called kumiss. It’s made from fermented mare’s milk.” He shuddered and licked his lips. “Some men love it. I have yet to acquire even a tolerance for the nasty stuff.”

Only after both Azoun and Koja had drunk did Chanar lift his goblet to salute Yamun. Through all of this, the khahan watched Azoun closely. Finally Yamun himself gulped down what was left of the kumiss in the skull-cup, then returned it to the servant. The two young men put Abatai’s skull back in its wrappings of silk, returned it and the golden goblet to the chest, and hurried away.

Yamun asked Koja what the king had used as a toast. When the bald man told him, the khahan frowned. “I am emperor of all peoples, Azoun of Cor-meer,” he rumbled. “I will prove that to you tomorrow when I empty out your skull and make it like Abatai’s.”

Hesitantly Koja relayed the statement. Azoun paused for a moment, then stood. “Tell your master that my troops will not surrender. Let your army meet us tomorrow, then. We will be waiting.”

“Perhaps I should kill you now,” Yamun replied. As Koja voiced the threat, Chanar reached for his curved sword.

Azoun wished in that instant for Vangerdahast to be well and at his side. He had only accepted the khahan’s invitation because he believed the royal wizard could extricate him from a situation such as this one. He let that hope pass quickly, however, and steeled himself for his fate. “If you kill me here it is proof that you fear my armies.”

Chanar and Batu both stood and drew their swords as soon as the historian had finished the reply. Scuttling backward like a crab, Koja hurried away from the circle of men. Yamun shouted, and ten of his black-armored guards entered the tent. The khahan remained seated; his face did not reveal any anger. He issued another order, and both of his generals spun around to look at him, surprise on their faces.

Immediately Batu Min Ho sheathed his sword and bowed to Yamun. The Shou glanced at Azoun as he made his way from the yurt, but said nothing more. Chanar Khan, however, rattled off a string of questions. The Tuigan general’s face was red, and he gestured menacingly with his sword at Azoun.

With a grunt, Yamun finally raised himself from his throne and shouted at Chanar. The general bowed deeply, then backed out of the yurt. His face held an odd mixture of anger and contrition.

Koja stood, walked to the khahan’s side, and asked him a question, too softly for Azoun to hear. Yamun leaned close to the Khazari and replied. The historian nodded, then faced Azoun. “The audience is over, Your Highness,” he announced formally. “You may gather your men and leave. I will escort you away from our camp.”

Azoun bowed stiffly to the khahan. Yamun nodded in reply, then said something to Koja. The bald historian smiled and whispered his answer to the warlord. Azoun waited politely, then followed the Khazari from the yurt. In turn, the king was followed by the ten black-garbed Tuigan soldiers. Within a few minutes, Thom, Vangerdahast, and the Cormyrian guards joined him, and they were quickly on their way out of the Tuigan camp.

The royal wizard was still unconscious, slung unceremoniously over his horse. Thom talked at length about the Tuigan shamans and the unusual rites they’d performed over Vangerdahast.

“The Tuigan stumbled across this magic-dead area a day or two ago,” the bard said from horseback. “The wizards from Thay all left as soon as they’d learned the khahan intended to stay here until he met with you.”