Hugh Cook - The Wicked and the Witless

But Jarl refused to comment until Sarazin had given his orders and the lead contingent was marching south with Jarl and Sarazin at its head. Both Glambrax and Elkin insisted on coming with them.

As Sarazin and Jarl marched at the head of the invasion force – both leading their horses, for the ground was too rough for them to ride – Jarl said: 'What do you hope to achieve by your orders?'

'Why, to make sure that whatever I lose I don't lose everything. This way I at least keep control of the Eagle Pass, even if I lose my life.' 'Fair enough,' said Jarl. 'But what was your mission?' 'To seek out Tor and destroy him.'

'True,' said Jarl. 'Doesn't that mean you must inevitably force a major battle? All your men against all of his?'

Sarazin was already regretting his caution. He should have taken all his men on this march to the south. This was how a hero would have done it. To save face, he said:

'I've decided on a scorched-earth policy. I'm going to starve the ogre out. That's the way I'll destroy him. This raid is the first move in my scorched-earth campaign.'

Jarl absorbed that in silence. After a while, Sarazin said anxiously: 'Am I doing the right thing or the wrong thing?'

'It's not what you do,' said Jarl, 'it's how you justify it when you get back to Selzirk. I've seen a lot of famous victories which were actually no more than draws – a couple of them were in fact defeats!'

Well worry about Selzirk when we get back there alive,' said Sarazin.

'No!' said Jarl. 'Start writing your history now. This is what happened. By a skilful forced march you took the enemy by surprise. You seized the Eagle Pass. You estab- lished a base on the heights. Then you yourself led a reconnaissance in force while your subordinates were busy bringing up the supplies necessary to support a determined thrust deep into enemy territory.'

'Why,' said Sarazin, in admiration, 'that sounds really good.'

'Of course it does,' said Jarl. 'With the right line in storytelling, you can make the worst defeat into a triumph of courageous, dynamic soldiering.'

Then Jarl – apparently taking this very seriously – drilled Sarazin endlessly on precisely what he should say on his return to Selzirk. This surprised Sarazin greatly. Jarl was a soldier through and through, and, under the circumstances, Sarazin would have expected him to be concentrating all his attention on the here and now. Finally, unable to restrain his curiosity, Sarazin asked: 'Why do you care how our history is told in Selzirk?'

'I care,' said Jarl, "because of the political implications of the telling.' And he refused to be drawn further on the subject.

Sarazin's men came down from the Eagle Pass into the Willow Vale, an expansive valley of rough-grass sheeplands, studded with outcrops of grey granite and clumps of trees and shrubbery. They found the camp Heth had spoken of – a hutment of a hundred or so shacks.

The enemy were evacuating the camp when Sarazin's men attacked. The foemen fled, leaving Sarazin in uncon- tested possession of the camp. The spoils of war amounted to a dead dog, two crippled crones, a bawling baby with two heads, a considerable amount of rice, flour, mutton and salt fish, and, of course, the huts themselves.

Sarazin was exhilarated. This was completely unlike the baffling, despairing campaigning he had done in the marshlands of Tyte. He was winning. Again he wished he had all six hundred of his men with him instead of just a third of them.

'Let's take what we can carry, burn the rest and go back where we came from,' said Jarl.

'No,' said Sarazin. There were women and children here. Valuable hostages. They can't have gone far. We'll give pursuit.'

He had won two victories without losing a single man. He was ready to dare. And his soldiers, when they knew it was women they were chasing, happily dared with him. Dragging Heth with them, they pursued the refugees south. But found them not.

By dayfail they had overtaken – and captured – five enemy warriors. Then, exhausted, they set up camp under some trees. It rained all night; the trees gave little shelter; and, in the sodden dawn, Sarazin found his high spirits had evaporated. Now he paid heed to Jarl's counsels of caution and marched his men back towards the Eagle Pass, taking along Heth and the handful of prisoners won on the previous day.

But, on retreating, they found the way to the Eagle Pass barred by four hundred assorted enemy footsoldiers and cavalrymen. The enemy had outflanked them by night, cutting off their escape. 'You're doomed!' said Heth.

'Rubbishl' said Jarl. 'The forces are equal, and the odds in battle equal also.'

'Better force a fight quickly then,' said Heth, 'for Tor commands three thousand men, many more of whom will be here shortly, doubtless.' 'Nonsense!' said Jarl. But Sarazin could tell he was worried.

Since delay would only worsen their position, Sarazin ordered his men to attack immediately. They refused. While Jarl stoutly maintained the odds were even, any fool could see the enemy outnumbered them two to one. Sarazin and Jarl faced the untrusty two hundred.

'What do you want to do?' said Jarl. 'Stand here and die?'

'No!' cried an unhero, anonymous amongst his com- rades. 'Stand here and surrender!'

Sarazin was most unhappy. From conqueror glorious to miserable captive in a single day – the thought was unbearable. He looked at Elkin, who shook his head. Doubtless, if asked for a display of wizardry, Elkin would say that no single wizard of Ebber could subvert the will of hundreds of belligerent, determined enemy soldiers.

'Very well,' said Jarl. 'But let's at least get the best terms we can for our surrender.' 'What kind of terms?' yelled someone.

'Wine rations, bread rations, fish rations, women rations,' said Jarl. The basics. Let's march away west lest we're attacked on the spot. Then we can stand our ground amidst the rocks and negotiate.'

Jarl eventually cajoled the men into withdrawing west rather than surrendering. Why west? Sarazin could not guess, but hoped Jarl had something in mind. He watched, anxiously, to see what the enemy would do. The foe followed. A steady rain fell from dismal death-grey skies. It was summer, but that was the merest technicality: it had grown cold enough to pass for winter easily.

The enemy never showed the slightest intention of attacking – which suggested to Sarazin that the enemy commander was content to wait for reinforcements and expected to receive such shortly. Sarazin's men grumbled incessantly, and a couple wept. The prisoners – except for Heth – were quiet and apprehensive, doubtless fearful of being murdered.

Heth, cheerfully telling Sarazin about the beating he could expect if he delayed surrendering, was silent himself after Jarl clouted him a couple of times.

By late afternoon, it was clear the retreat was taking them into a steadily-narrowing western arm of the Willow Vale. The sheer escarpments to the north offered no prospect of escape. Finally, at dayfail, Jarl revealed his plan.

Jarl made some prefatory remarks about duty, courage, heroism and such – he was speaking, perhaps, with the history books in mind. Then he mentioned sacrifice.

'You want a sacrifice?' yelled someone from the rear ranks. I'd give you my mother-in-law to sacrifice, only the bitch is dead already.'

There followed laughter – which had nothing nice about it.

'Who said that?' demanded Sarazin. 'What's that man's name?' 'His name is legion,' said a shout. 'Legion, legion,' roared half a hundred throats.

Upon which all two hundred took up the nonsensical one-word slogan. This was the battle-cry of outright mutiny.

"Never mind who said it,' declared Jarl, as the noise died down. 'Let's talk survival. Westward, this arm of the Willow Vale narrows further. Eventually we run into a cliff. But there is a gate in that cliff. The gate opens into a tunnel. The tunnel leads to safety.'