Sean Sarazin set off the very next day with Glambrax and half a dozen soldiers as guards and guides. Lord Regan came to farewell him, and brought him a goodbye present.
'Open it later,' said Lord Regan. 'It's a trifle. A small token of my appreciation.'
Sarazin resisted the temptation to open the present until evening. Then he tore away the wrapping, eager to see what Lord Regan had given him. When he caught sight of a small green bottle, his spirits soared.
Then fell again. It was the wrong bottlel
This gift bottle was made of glass, and held a high-class cologne. Also in the present-package was a brand new razor, a block of perfumed shaving soap and a camel-hair shaving brush.
'I suppose it's the thought that counts,' said Sean Sarazin, trying to persuade himself that that was the case.
Then he spotted one last item: a small note in Lord Regan's handwriting. It said: 'Another surprise awaits you in Chenameg.' What?
Sarazin could hardly wait. He was up at dawn the next day, and had his party on the move the moment breakfast was over. He was more eager than ever to get to the secret guerilla camp in the southern highlands of Chenameg, to meet Lod – and to discover the nature of the surprise.
The guerrillas had their headquarters in an old hunting lodge in the foothills of the mountains which formed the southern border of the Chenameg Kingdom. It was a huge building of black logs. Lod's great-grandfather, who had caused it to be erected, had hunted on a most immodest scale.
Sarazin smelt the lodge before he saw it, because the state of the outdoor latrines left a lot to be desired. Apart from the latrines, he could also smell food – fresh baked bread! – and firesmoke.
When the lodge came in sight, he saw it was washing day. A dozen outdoor fires were burning, heating huge iron cauldrons in which water was warming. Clothes were being washed, and bodies also. Sarazin saw Lod, and hailed him: 'Lod!'
'Friend!' said Lod, in a joyous voice, running towards him. 'So you got here,' said a loud-voiced man. Sarazin knew that voice. 'Jarl!' cried Sarazin. 'What are you doing here?'
'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.