'Fighting a war' said Thodric Jarl. 'What else would a Rovac warrior be doing?'
Thodric Jarl was indeed at war. But he was running very little danger, for he was acting as a military adviser, not as a combatant. And he was getting very well paid his pay being banked in Voice with the Monastic Treasury of Inner Adeer. It would be ready for his return and, with luck, it would be enough to finance his retirement.
Jarl had little to say to Sarazin – after all, they had not been parted for very long. But Lod and Sarazin had a great deal to say to each other. Finally, when they had just about talked themselves out, Sarazin said:
'Well, Lord Regan said there was a surprise waiting for me in Chenameg, but I thought it would be something more worth the journey than Thodric Jarl. You don't by chance know the whereabouts of a pretty young wench named Jaluba, do you?'
'No,' said Lod, with a sly grin. 'But I know the surprise Lord Regan was talking of. Thodric Jarl wasn't it. Come this way.'
And Sarazin allowed himself to be led to the back of the hunting lodge. There a man was practising kata with a heavy-bladed sword. He was naked to the waist, and had his back to them. 'Fox!' said Lod.
And the swordsman turned. Sarazin saw his scar – a thick welt slashed across his belly. Saw his face, his astonishment, then – his delight. It was Fox, yes, it really was, his father, not dead at all but here, here, alive and fighting fit, and- Glad to see him!
The next moment, Fox had cast aside his sword and was running towards Sarazin. A moment later, they were embracing. Laughing, weeping, slapping each other on the back. Alive, alive – and exultant.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
When Fox told his story, there were no startling revela- tions. Sarazin had last seen his father falling from a roof in Shin, wounded by Sarazin's blade.
As Sarazin now knew, Fox had of course been alive when he hit the ground. He had been the leader of the raggle-taggle mob which had tried to take control of Shin, and his people had taken their wounded com- mander with them when they finally retreated into the wilderness.
Eventually, Fox had linked up with Lod after Lod returned to Chenameg. Fox was now commander of the National Liberation Front currently engaged in the People's Struggle to overthrow the monarchy and establish the Democratic People's Republic of Chenameg. When they finally conquered Chenameg, Fox and Lod would rule jointly. 'Two kings for one nation?' said Sarazin. 'No,' said Fox. 'Two presidents.'
Then he tried to explain the difference between a presi- dent and a king. But, as far as Sarazin could see (and in this case he saw very well indeed), there was no difference worth mentioning. 'Well,' said Sarazin, 'and how is the war going?'
'Slowly,' said his father. 'But we're winning. We lose very few men because our people are very highly trained. You'll be an expert yourself once we've finished with you.'
'I'm a trained soldier already,' said Sarazin, proudly. 'Not quite,' said his father.
And, in the days that followed, Sarazin learnt what his father meant by that. Sean Sarazin thought of himself as a battle-hardened veteran, for he had fought near the headwaters of the Shouda Flow, in the marshlands of Tyte, in the mountains of Hok and on the plains before Androl- marphos. But he was but a beginner at the kind of warfare his father was involved in.
For a start, he was largely ignorant of archery. But, since the bow was the basis of forest warfare, he had to do his best to master it. He learnt, also, silent killing with knives, garottes and hands alone; the making of booby traps such as spiked pits and deadfalls; tracking and travelling without leaving tracks; signal codes based on birdcalls; and the art of living off the land.
'Remember,' said one of his instructors, 'you need meat to fight. The best source of meat is a dead enemy. Don't forget!'
Sarazin remembered a certain feast Thodric Jarl had organised after a battle by the banks of the Shouda Flow. And he shuddered.
'Never mind,' said his father, when Sarazin spoke to him about it. 'Cannibalism isn't compulsory in our ranks. But it's always an option. Never forget that.'
Sarazin was shocked. But this scarcely diminished his pleasure at regaining his father. He had been alone for so long! Only now did he realise how intensely lonely he had been in Selzirk with nobody he could truly trust, nobody he could truly talk to.
But his father – his father welcomed him, trusted him, valued him, was open and frank with him. And Sarazin was delighted. He strove to be worthy of his father, and threw himself heart and soul into his military studies.
In Chenameg, Sarazin changed some of the habits of a lifetime. For example, he had always worn his sword by his side. But Fox's men spent much of their time down on their guts, sneaking or spying or waiting in ambush. So much so that they called themselves 'snake fighters'. Sarazin learnt that, in the war of the snake, a sword is better slung over the back in company with bow and quiver.
Without complaint, Sarazin endured all the rigours of his training. Salt-meat monotony. Lice. Forced marches. Downpour skies. Pain. Monotony. Fatigue. -For it all has a purpose. -It prepares me. -The blade is being tempered.
Sarazin was sure that his father would lead them to victory, that they would conquer Chenameg, would kill Tarkal, would capture Shin and set themselves up as rulers. It might take ten years – but victory would be theirs. And, though Sarazin would not rule in Shin, he would at least have a real role in the world. He would no longer be idling his life away for no purpose as he had in Selzirk. -The future is radiant. Thus thought Sean Sarazin.
And was happy. Training with friends, eating with friends, swapping war stories of hair-raising ferocity, and speculating on what might be happening out in the big wide world. Their sources of information were zero, for they were entirely isolated from all the world's routine com- merce. Fresh news would reach them next at the start of winter, when they would receive fresh supplies from the Rice Empire. 'News can wait,' said Sarazin. 'But can the war?' His father laughed at his puppy-eager enthusiasm.
'We have a big campaign planned for the spring,' said Fox. 'Till then, we train, we plan, and we wait.'
That autumn, Sean Sarazin went on his first big tactical exercise in the training area. This was in the mountains a few leagues south of the hunting lodge.
Those engaged in this exercise tramped into the area with heavy packs and practised setting up a camouflaged encampment with as little noise as possible – ideally none.
Then they left their heavy packs at this encampment and went on manoeuvres.
They split into parties which practised ambushing each other, tracking each other, attacking and raiding each other. And so forth. They got very tired, very muddy – and, naturally, had the time of their lives. This was the fun part of war. Good comrades, plenty of excitement and total safety.
Then came the night manoeuvres. They were to split into seven separate parties, tramp all night through the forested highlands, and regroup in the morning at the base of a notable mountain to the south.
And it was on these manoeuvres that Sarazin received his first intimation that the world as he knew it was coming to an end.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Night, and rain as dark as the night. Men travelling softfoot, true to the discipline of silence. Keeping close, very close, near enough to touch, near enough to smell. In the dark, it would be the easiest thing in the world to get lost.
Actually they were lost, for it was impossible to tell one's location on a night so dark. But while they kept going uphill they were getting closer and closer to their goal. At dawn they would send someone up a tree to establish the precise direction to the mountain where they would rendezvous with their fellows.
So, while it was dark, and cold, and wet, and raining, they were far from disheartened. They were dressed for the weather. And, as their packs were back at their encampment, they were travelling light, carrying only their
