Forgotten Realms - Empires 03 - Crusade

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The King's Men

King Azoun IV of Cormyr paced back and forth before a window in his

castle's highest tower. After two or three steps in the circular room, the king

paused and threw open the wooden shutters. Restlessly clasping his hands

behind his back, he looked out on Suzail, the capital of his rich and expansive

kingdom. What the monarch saw of the city from that vantage troubled him

greatly.

Suzail sprawled contentedly in the bright, early spring sunshine. As on

most mornings in good weather, crowds filled the narrow streets, heading

toward or returning from the capital's bustling marketplace, doing what people

in most of western Faerun's larger cities did each day. Servants ran from their

masters' homes to shops, then returned with goods purchased. Watchmen,

dressed in the livery of their office, settled disputes and kept the peace.

Wealthy merchants argued among themselves about the price of ivory or cloth

or wheat. Freebooters and sailors wandered through the various inns and

taverns, searching for a new adventure or just a good barroom brawl. In all,

Suzail looked that morning much like it had for all of King Azoun's twenty-five-

year reign—peaceful and prosperous.

Unclasping his hands, Azoun ran his fingers through his silver-shot brown

beard. "Why hasn't it affected them, Vangy?" the king asked without turning

around.

"Eh?" a voice sighed. "What did you say?"

Azoun turned slowly to face Vangerdahast, royal magician of Cormyr,

chairman emperius of the College of War Wizards. The paunchy mage was

hunched over a chessboard, staring intently at the finely carved ivory pieces.

In the bright cold light from the window, Vangerdahast looked to be the

veteran of fifty winters or so. Azoun knew better. Despite the color in his

wrinkled cheeks, his steady gaze and steady hands, the royal magician was

well over eighty. His magic had helped him stave off old age for many years

now.

"Why hasn't the Tuigan invasion affected my subjects?" the king repeated.

"Do they think the war won't touch them at all? They're going about their lives

as if nothing is wrong."

Straightening his back with a short groan, Vangerdahast cast a quick

glance at his opponent in the chess match—a short, stout man with gray hair

and sparkling blue eyes—then turned to Azoun. The mage recognized the

puzzled tone in his king's voice, which told him that Azoun was genuinely

bothered by the subject he'd broached. Vangerdahast had heard that

inflection many times since he had been hired by King Rhigaerd II, Azoun's

father, to tutor the young prince in heraldry and ethics. However, the tone had

never been so prevalent in Azoun's voice as it had been since the Tuigan

horsemen interrupted trade between Faerun and the eastern lands of Kara-

Tur a little over a year ago.

"Actually, Your Highness," Vangerdahast began, "you've already answered

your own question, though calling the Tuigan incursion a 'war' might be a bit

premature." When Azoun didn't object, the wizard continued. "The barbarians

have done little so far that really touches the lives of the average Cormyrian.

Since they charged through Rashemen into Ashanath last fall, they've not

moved west. Must I remind you that the nearest Tuigan is well over one

thousand miles to our east, on the other end of the Inner Sea? Having

barbarians camped there is hardly a direct threat to Cormyr."

Vangerdahast's opponent in the chess game moved his queen and smiled.

"What about lost revenue? Haven't the attacks on Thesk and the countries

around it slowed trade?" the stout man asked. "Surely the guilds care about

the money."

"The guilds, especially the trappers, are the biggest opponents of any

military action against the Tuigan," Azoun noted. He shook his head. "They

feel we should wait until the barbarians threaten Cormyr directly before

spending money to fight them."

"For once, the guilds are correct," Vangerdahast said a bit peevishly. "The

Tuigan are not an immediate problem." The wizard looked at the chessboard,

noticed that his opponent wore a grin, and cursed softly. "You're supposed to

announce your move, Dimswart. Now, what did you—ah, the queen."

"And I believe that's checkmate," Dimswart stated flatly. "Your chess game

really hasn't improved in all the time I've known you, Vangy." The gray-haired

man, also called the Sage of Suzail, knitted his fingers behind his head and

leaned back against the room's whitewashed wall.

Snorting in irritation, Vangerdahast stood up. "We've more important things

to do in the castle than play games all day. Now that you're retired and all

your daughters are married, I suppose you do little else but pore through ob-

scure texts and hover over chessboards. Why, even the supposed 'Sage' of

Shadowdale, Elminster, does more important work than you."

Dimswart's smile faded, and he opened his mouth to reply to the royal

wizard's insult. It was common knowledge that Vangerdahast held a

longstanding grudge against the legendary sage and wizard, Elminster—

though the origin of the feud was long forgotten. So to have Vangerdahast

compare one unfavorably to him was quite a barb. The stout sage never had

a chance to reply, though, as Azoun cleared his throat noisily, signaling an

end to any further digressions.

"My esteemed royal wizard is correct," the king said as he placed a hand

on Vangerdahast's shoulder. A slight smile crossed Azoun's lips, but its

warmth didn't quite reach his dark eyes. "There are important matters to

consider at the moment, the most pressing of which is the crusade."

Vangerdahast frowned at the use of the word "crusade." Azoun noted the

expression on his friend's face, then turned back to the window. "I know you

object to my plan. However, I've considered the matter carefully, and I believe

that it will be better for Cormyr and the rest of Faerun if I follow my own best

judgment. . . despite opposition from the trappers. After the discussions I've

had with the leaders of the Dales and Sembia, our own lords, and a few

others, I believe I can recruit a large number of allies. If they agree to support

this venture, I will lead it."

Slowly Azoun rested one hand on the edge of the window and bowed his

head. "The Tuigan are hurting the entire continent of Faerun," he said, anger

in his voice. "Including Cormyr. And if these barbarians, these 'horsewarriors,'

are harming my people, I must challenge them. A crusade is the only way."

Vangerdahast's frown deepened. He stalked to Azoun's side, his heavy

brown robe hissing along the ground as he walked. "Look there," the wizard

said, pointing out the open window. "The nearest Tuigan raider is in Ashanath,

half a continent from here. You can't possibly think they'll invade us soon. And

can you really tell me that the horsewarriors have put a serious crimp in our

economy?"

Raising his head, the king looked out at the city once again. In the direction

Vangerdahast pointed lay Suzail's docks. The port was busy, as was usual for

that time of year. Ships bearing the colors of countries and free cities from all

over the Inner Sea dotted the piers, and Cormyrian traders bound for those

places and more filled the rest of the harbor. Hundreds of sailors and

longshoremen swarmed over the docks, loading and unloading cargo. Cloth

and livestock, gold and ivory, art treasures and other, more precious things

poured into the city by the hour.

Azoun slowly traced a path with his eyes from the dock to the foot of his

tower. Closer to the piers, the king saw dozens of inns and businesses, all

bustling with trade from the harbor. Moving his eyes over the slate or wooden

roofs of these establishments, the king saw the wide, dusty thoroughfare

called "the Promenade." This street, like the docks, was filled with traders

from throughout Faerun and other parts of Cormyr. As Azoun watched, wagon

after wagon of goods rolled past, not to mention the mob of merchants and

citizens who trod the Promenade as they went about their business. The

noise of the people in the streets mixed with the shrill cries of the seabirds

that lofted over the harbor, creating the backdrop of sound Azoun had grown

accustomed to in his years in Suzail.

The king's eyes crossed the Promenade and lit upon the sprawling,

interconnected buildings that made up the royal court, the seat of Cormyr's

bureaucracy. Just the day before, he'd received a report that the royal tax

collectors expected a rise in income this year from tariffs levied on merchants.

"No, Vangy," the monarch said firmly. "I can't tell you the invasion has

ruined our economy. In fact, the Tuigan have had little direct effect upon our

trade."

The paunchy wizard nodded, as if prompting a student to develop a single

correct answer into a more complex conclusion—as if Azoun were still a

young prince in his tutelage. When the king only continued to gaze out at the

city, Vangerdahast sighed.

"Come now, Vangy," Dimswart said as he leaned forward. "You know as

well as I that trade with Ashanath, Thesk, and Shou Lung is only a small part

of Cormyr's shipping industry."

Vangerdahast moved away from Azoun, toward one of the two large

tapestries that hung on the circular room's cold, white walls. The finely crafted

hanging depicted a joust, complete with heavily armored knights wielding or-

namented lances. One cloth warrior, his silver thread armor looking faded with

age, leaned forward on his mount and pressed his lance against the

splintering shield of his adversary. The other, a gold-clad warrior, seemed to

be slipping off his horse, frozen eternally on the brink of defeat.

"We don't have strong ties with the Shou people," the wizard noted

absently as he stood between the knights and his king. "Not yet, anyway. That

was the reason Azoun and I attended that trade conference in Semphar last

year, the one that was supposed to solve the problems the Tuigan were

creating for commerce."

"It could have been a very productive conference, too," the king added.

"Representatives from Shou Lung and many of the western nations interested

in trading with them showed up. The whole thing was pointless though; a

barbarian general—I believe his name was Chanar—took the city hostage,

surrounding it with armed troops."

Azoun laughed bitterly. "General Chanar wanted to deliver an ultimatum

from the Tuigan leader, their khahan. We were supposed to recognize this

barbarian, Yamun Khahan, as emperor of all the world."

"What an unwashed brute that general was," Vangerdahast said with a

chuckle, tracing the figure of the golden knight in the tapestry with his finger.

"You could almost see the fleas hopping around on him."

Smiling at his friend's sarcasm, Azoun walked to the wizard's side. "I'm

sure General Chanar had just ridden for days, Vangy. He was a warrior, not—

" The king paused, then waved his hands in front of himself, motioning toward

his silk tunic, fine, purple surcoat, and expensive, perfectly crafted dragonskin

boots. "He wasn't a politician."

"Speaking of politicians, Your Highness, do you think one of your enemies

is stirring up the guild masters?" Dimswart asked. The sage leaned over the

chessboard and started to rearrange the pieces, setting up for a new game.

The paunchy wizard dropped his hands to his sides and slapped his thighs.

"Perhaps the Zhentarim are baiting the guild masters. That doesn't mean their

objections to the crusade are unfounded. The trappers will gain little revenue

from the venture. In fact, they'll end up paying for the crusade in higher taxes

on the furs they bring to the city for sale." He scowled and shook his head.

"Your Highness, I can only imagine the damage that you'll do to yourself

politically by running off to the other side of the Inner Sea to look for a war."

Vangerdahast's shoulders sagged then, as if his anger had fled suddenly.

"I've heard your arguments, Azoun, and I can see that they have some merit.

However, I still don't understand why you need to rush off."

"Have you forgotten my duty?" Azoun asked, a touch of pride in his voice.

Vangerdahast shook his head. "Your duty is to Cormyr, not Thesk or

Rashemen. I've told you a thousand times before, you—"

Laughing, Dimswart cut in, "Vangy, you miss the point completely."

The king's eyes grew dark again. "We've had this argument before. Cormyr

is more than the lands that lay between lines on a map. We are only one

country, one power amongst a dozen in Faerun. If one of our neighbors falls,

then we fall, too. My duty to Cormyr demands that I help avert a crisis that

could threaten any part of the continent."

The wizard turned away from Azoun. "As I've I told you every other time

you've wanted to help the Dales or Tantras or Ravens Bluff, you shouldn't go

looking for trouble."

After reaching into his pockets, Vangerdahast dug out the components to a

spell and muttered an incantation. "Look," the wizard cried as a glowing map

of Faerun appeared, superimposed on the tapestry he had been studying only

moments before. Rivers and mountains, deserts and glaciers, cities and

countries all appeared faintly in the air, the armored warriors from the hanging

showing vaguely through them all.

The kingdom of Cormyr lay on the northwest end of the Inner Sea, also

known as the Sea of Fallen Stars. To Cormyr's north were mountains, then

the arid, inhospitable Stonelands and the vast expanse of the great desert,

Anauroch. The merchant kingdom of Sembia, equal in size to Azoun's

domain, was located directly to Cormyr's east. The Dales, to the northeast,

were a loose confederation of small farming communities. Unlike Cormyr, with

its hereditary monarchy, and Sembia, with its merchant oligarchy, the Dales

were strongly democratic. Together, Cormyr, Sembia, and the Dales made up

much of the "Heartlands" of Faerun.

With their varied political outlooks, it wasn't surprising that the three core

countries in the Heartlands often suffered long disputes. The multitude of

independent city-states—places like Tantras and Hillsfar—that were located

close to the larger nations often found themselves caught between bickering

giants. Still, Cormyr, Sembia, and the Dales were lands where peace

flourished; their disputes were never serious enough to create permanent rifts.

And they always agreed when it came to matters involving Zhentil Keep.

Though only a walled city just to the north of the Dales, Zhentil Keep was the

focus for much of the evil in the Heartlands. Only out of necessity did Azoun

and the other lawful rulers deal with the dark priests who controlled the Keep.

But it was not to Cormyr or the Dales or even Zhentil Keep that

Vangerdahast pointed when the magical map came into focus. The wizard's

finger drifted east of the Heartlands, across the land of Impiltur, to the eastern

end of the Inner Sea.

"For the horsewarriors to get from where they are now," the wizard began,

directing their attention to a spot hundreds of miles beyond even the end of

the Inner Sea, "to our forests, they'd have to go through Thesk, Damara,

Impiltur .. ."

With each new nation or free city he mentioned, Vangerdahast unfurled

another of his pudgy, large-knuckled fingers. Azoun and Dimswart merely

waited for the royal wizard to finish his tirade.

"And depending upon the route they take," Vangerdahast concluded,

turning sharply to face his king, "it's conceivable that Yamun Khahan,

'emperor of all the world,' could lead his barbarians through Zhentil Keep

before he came south to the Dales." The map disappeared, and the wizard

stood in front of a plain tapestry once again.

"That's a fine hope," Dimswart noted after a few moments. "It would be nice

to see the Tuigan try to storm the black walls of that wretched, evil place.

However, it's more likely the Zhents would join the Tuigan—or at least guide

them toward the Dales and us. For all we know, the Keep might have struck a

deal with this khahan already, like the Red Wizards of Thay did last fall."

Azoun considered that possibility for a moment, then shuddered and

dismissed it. He could only hope that the leaders in Zhentil Keep had more

sense than to believe the Tuigan would leave them alone if they appeared to

offer no resistance. The messages he'd received lately from Lord Chess, the

nominal ruler of the Keep, all indicated that the Zhentish would support any

sane plan against the raiders. Azoun knew that Chess could be lying just to

keep the Dales and Cormyr off balance, but he had to hope otherwise. Even a

rumor that Zhentil Keep planned to cooperate with the Tuigan, like Thay had

done a few months earlier, would give the guild masters who opposed the

crusade a stronger argument.

"We'll never have the opportunity to see what Zhentil Keep would do in that

situation for we cannot—no, will not—wait for the Tuigan to arrive on our

doorstep," King Azoun stated firmly. "If I have the support of the rest of

Faerun's leaders, I'm going to stop Yamun Khahan long before he reaches

us."

"And the guilds?" Dimswart asked.

Without pause, Vangerdahast replied, "We could toss the leaders of the

Trappers' Guild into the tower until the crusade is over."

Azoun shook his head. "And make martyrs of them? Hardly." He glanced

out of the open window again and added, "The guilds will simply have to

follow my commands in this. There really is nothing they can do to stop me."

Dimswart and Vangerdahast knew from Azoun's voice that the discussion

was over as far as the king was concerned. The tower room fell silent.

Abruptly a sharp breeze from the open window carried the noise from the

street to the tower and made the tapestries flutter on the wall. The air in the

room, a little thick with the smell of the musty old books piled neatly near the

window and the oiled wooden chess set over which Dimswart still fussed,

lightened for an instant with a breath of sea air. If only for that moment, the

tension in the room seemed to dissipate—until a loud rapping sounded at the

lone entrance to the tower, a heavy, iron-braced trapdoor.

"Ah, that will be Winefiddle," Dimswart noted as he stood and moved

quickly to unlock the entrance. The sage slid the bolt back noisily, then said,

"Speak the password and enter," his foot planted firmly on the door.

"Don't be ridiculous," came the muffled response, followed by another loud

thump on the oaken door. After a barely suppressed chuckle, the unseen man

added, "I have a message for the king, Dimswart, so stop this nonsense and

let me up. You'd think you were Vangerdahast, asking for a password."

The wizard cocked an eyebrow as Dimswart pulled open the door.

Winefiddle, a rotund man with thinning brown hair and puffy red cheeks,

shuffled up the stairs into the room. "You'd think Iwas—," he huffed as he

climbed into the room. Then the fat man saw the royal wizard standing before

him, his arms crossed, tapping his foot.

"Both you and Dimswart have succeeded in annoying Vangy this morning,

Curate Winefiddle," Azoun noted as the priest faced the fuming mage. The

quiet, happy cleric usually had a soothing effect upon the king, and that day

was no exception. He forgot about the Tuigan and the crusade for a moment

and smiled. "This is just like old times."

Vangerdahast snorted. "Yes, Your Highness, this rather is like the times

you 'went adventuring' with these oafs. It's a wonder you all weren't killed any

number of times."

"That we survived some of those adventures is due partly to you,

Vangerdahast," Winefiddle said sincerely. He shifted the sack he carried to his

left hand and wiped the sweat from his brow. "If you hadn't been so

conscientious about following Azoun around, the King's Men would have per-

ished any number of times." Noting the astounded look on the wizard's face,

the cleric straightened his light blue tunic and headed for a comfortable chair

on the other side of the room.

"You see, Vangy, someone appreciates you," Dimswart said, sitting back at

the chessboard. "Even I admit that you saved our lives once or twice when we

were tearing up the countryside as the King's Men."

The room was silent again for a moment as all four of them dusted off

memories of the King's Men. Dimswart, then a mage of little renown, and

Winefiddle, a novice in the temple of Tymora, the Goddess of Good Fortune,

had formed the group, eager as they were to seek fame and fortune in the

wilder parts of Cormyr. They were soon joined by other Cormyrian

adventurers, including a highly skilled swordsman who called himself Balin. In

reality, this noble cavalier was young Prince Azoun.

The prince had no trouble keeping Balin's true identity a secret from the

world at large. Few people knew what Azoun looked like, and even fewer

expected him to be roaming the countryside with a troupe of minor adventur-

ers. After two or three months, though, the young cavalier revealed his identity

to the group. Dimswart had uncovered the prince's secret after their first

adventure together, proving himself to be a noteworthy sleuth even then.

Winefiddle and the others were astounded at the revelation. This information

changed little, however, as the King's Men were more interested in saving

damsels from ogres than getting mixed up in Cormyrian politics.

And that went double for Azoun himself. Riding with Dimswart, Winefiddle,

and the three other members of the group gave the prince a chance to escape

the pressures of life in the castle. Vangerdahast covered for Azoun whenever

possible, telling King Rhigaerd that his son was on an expedition to a distant

shrine or library. Frequently the royal tutor would furnish an excuse to the

king, then go hunting for the boy himself. He often found the would-be heroes

in dire straits.

"Remember the time we stumbled upon that goblin camp in the mountains

near High Horn," Azoun said with a chuckle. "They were sure we were spies—

""And then they decided that Winefiddle was a cleric of some terrible, evil

elemental god," Dimswart added, smirking at the rotund curate. "Just because

a rock tumbled off a cliff and hit one of them as it tried to grab him."

Winefiddle frowned weakly. "You're both lucky they thought that, too. The

beasts made short work of both of you before they tried to grab me. Those

horrible little things were ready to kill us all." He rubbed his stomach. "I still

have a scar where one of them prodded me with a spear."

The cleric paused, toying with the plain silver disk that hung around his

neck. Talking about danger or even discomfort made Winefiddle nervous. He,

for one, did not miss his life as an adventurer. "And if Vangerdahast hadn't

come along when he did," the curate added, "they might have killed us

anyway. I was getting tired of acting like an elemental lord."

The royal wizard nodded slowly as a reply, then sat down at the

chessboard, across from the gray-haired sage. "The curate's right, you know.

You're all very lucky not to have been eaten by any one of those monsters

you pestered."

The comment stung Azoun like the flick of a whip. "We did far more than

'pester' creatures, Vangy," he said hotly. "The King's Men did some good in

the short time they were around."

The king paused, as if daring someone to disagree. He knew that none of

his friends would think of it, however. "What about that caravan we saved

from the hill giants in the mountains west of here? Or the children we rescued

from the zombies that raided that farm outside of Tyrluk?"

"They were fine adventures, Azoun, weren't they?" the royal magician

stated more than asked.

King Azoun recognized the wizard's bait and responded to Vangerdahast's

real question. "They were, Vangy... but I don't think the crusade will be an

adventure at all, and that's certainly not why I'm organizing it."

"Are you so sure of that?" the wizard asked softly.

Azoun did not answer, and resumed pacing instead. Vangerdahast sat,

drumming his fingers on the chessboard, while Dimswart and Winefiddle

exchanged concerned glances.

Then the curate's eyes grew wide, and he leaped out of his seat. "The

message!" he cried. "I almost forgot about it!"

Winefiddle noisily dug through his sack. "One of the pages gave it to me

when he saw that I was coming to see you up in the tower." Wine bottles

clinked together, papers and scrolls rustled, and loose coins clattered against

everything else in the rough brown bag. "Here it is!" he exclaimed at last.

The parchment Winefiddle held aloft was crumpled slightly, but Azoun

could see that it was an important message even from across the room. Bold

black and red ribbons, secured by a thick wax seal, dangled from the paper.

Vangerdahast abruptly snatched the letter from the curate's hands and gave it

to Azoun.

The king looked at the wax. A phoenix clutching a hammer in its claws was

imbedded there. That imprint told him that the message was from Torg mac

Cei, a dwarven king from the Earthfast Mountains. After closing his eyes and

whispering a short prayer to Torm, the God of Duty, Azoun snapped the seal

and read the missive.

As his eyes raced down the page, Azoun sighed. A slight smile bloomed on

his face, then disappeared. The king handed the parchment to Vangerdahast

and headed toward the trapdoor. "Excuse me, my friends, I have some impor-

tant people to contact right away."

As he started down the stairs, the king turned and added, "We'll talk again

soon, Dimswart, Winefiddle." He smiled again briefly and looked at his

stunned royal wizard. "We should confer, Vangy. I need your advice on

obtaining the use of a large number of ships."

The wizard, sage, and cleric stood dumbfounded as Azoun rushed down

the tower stairs. After the footfalls on the stone steps grew distant,

Vangerdahast pulled open the letter. "It's from King Torg of Earthfast," he told

the others as they moved to his side.

"A message about the crusade, I assume," Dimswart noted. "I can probably

guess what it says."

"Well, I can't," Winefiddle said, turning his holy symbol over and over in his

hands. "Please read it aloud, Vangerdahast."

"No," the wizard muttered, handing the letter to the priest. "It's short. You

might as well read it yourself."

Winefiddle glanced at the dwarven runes at the top of the page, then read

over the lengthy listing of Torg's titles and genealogy. Vangerdahast was

correct about the body of the missive: it was brief. The text was also written in

perfect rows of neat letters.

I have consulted our war council about the barbarian horsewarriors, the

letter began. You are absolutely correct in your assessment of the situation.

Therefore, I pledge, as ironlord of Earthfast, to lead two thousand dwarven

troops under your banner against the Tuigan. I also have a brilliant human

general in my city at this time who will join the conflict. We await your arrival to

begin this crusade.

Winefiddle stopped reading, then a shudder wracked his heavy frame as he

saw the final lines of the message: My troops and I will gladly lay down our

lives to the last warrior to stop the invasion. I know that you and your troops

will certainly pledge the same.

The cleric held the parchment out to Dimswart, who had returned to his

seat at the chessboard. The sage waved the letter away. "Torg has offered

troops to support the crusade. You could see it in Azoun's face as he read the

note." Dimswart picked up the white king from the chessboard and looked at it

intently. "Those of us who think the crusade is a good idea can only hope now

that the other kings and lords will follow Torg's lead."

Vangerdahast sighed. "Azoun is a very, very persuasive man. The leaders

of Faerun will do as he suggests."

As one, Dimswart and Winefiddle looked to the royal magician.

Vangerdahast stood at the window Azoun had occupied earlier, looking out

over Suzail. "The question is no longer 'will Azoun lead the crusade against

the Tuigan?'" The mage turned to face the king's two friends, who both saw

the sadness in his eyes.

"Suzail will pay dearly for this. Azoun simply doesn't know what a real war

takes out of a people." The mage breathed another ragged sigh and turned

back to the window. "And he's underestimating the opposition of the trappers.

"No," he stated after a moment, "the crusade will go on. The question to be

asked now is, can Azoun pay the price for fighting this war?"

The Council of Suzail

Initially at least, King Azoun had far more trouble recruiting support for the

crusade than Vangerdahast had predicted in the tower on that day. It wasn't

that the monarch's persuasive powers were less than the royal wizard

claimed. In fact, Azoun and his wife, Queen Filfaeril, had spent much of the

winter speaking to their nobles and their neighbors; most of the rulers

considered a preemptive attack on the Tuigan vital to preserving their

countries, their cultures, and, most importantly, their treasuries.

In politics, however, rhetorical support and actual support sometimes have

little in common. As the time for action grew near, few of the statesmen who

seemed eager to lend troops to Azoun followed through on their promises.

The source of this change of heart could be traced to a simple fear of popular

unrest.

As in Cormyr, certain guilds throughout the Heartlands opposed any

proposed crusade. Guilds were an important part of commerce and even

everyday life in Faerun. Each trade, whether it be thieving, forestry, or

smithing, had its own guild, and to become a lawful, certified member in any

profession meant joining the appropriate organization. In this way, guilds

insured that standards be met in the production of crafts and prices remained

reasonable. The guilds also represented their members before governments,

provided retirement funds, and even took care of members' widows and

orphans.

Not all guilds stood against the proposed crusade. The armorers, fletchers,

bowyers, and swordsmiths all stood to gain from the war. Even the teamsters

and shipwrights knew that they would see an immediate profit from the ex-

pedition against the Tuigan. The merchants who stood to garner little from the

conflict—the trappers who worked the Heartlands' wildernesses; the tanners

who made leather from animal hides; even the butchers, who would lose busi-

ness since the army would kill and dress its own meat knew only that higher

taxes would come their way.

To counter the fear of guild opposition to the crusade, Azoun held

conferences with those lords he could visit personally and dealt through

messengers and magical communications with those located farther away. He

encouraged the leaders to put the Tuigan matter before their people, allowing

them to comment on the proposed crusade outside the restrictions of guild

politics. Surprisingly, it was only a vocal minority that opposed the venture;

most of the people supported a peremptory strike against the barbarians.

By weakening the nobles' fear of popular unrest, Azoun won back most of

the troops committed to him during the winter. With the promise of strong

dwarven support, the king won a few more tentative troop commitments. His

charisma won still others. Finally, after a seemingly endless parade of small

conferences, King Azoun called together all the leaders who he felt might

support his cause.

"If I can persuade the Dales and Sembia to give me troops," the king said

as he straightened his ornate ceremonial tunic, "I will stop the khahan before

he breaks out of Thesk." He paused. "I do wish the queen could attend the

meeting today. But... other matters of state demand at least one of us be

present in the royal court."

Vangerdahast, sitting at a table covered with various parchment notes,

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1TheKing'sMenKingAzounIVofCormyrpacedbackandforthbeforeawindowinhiscastle'shighesttower.Aftertwoorthreestepsinthecircularroom,thekingpausedandthrewopenthewoodenshutters.Restlesslyclaspinghishandsbehindhisback,helookedoutonSuzail,thecapitalofhisrichandexpansivekingdom.Whatthemonarchsawofthecityfromth...

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Forgotten Realms - Empires 03 - Crusade

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