As the days went on, Kan's training expanded, and each able member of the little group contributed to his lessons. Sakhyo continued to teach him the art of surprise attacks, while Tokala instructed him in stealth and camouflage. The sessions went relatively well at first, since his teachers were patient despite his many errors, but soon a day arrived that Kan had been dreading.
That morning, he was not awakened by Sakhyo's cheerful greeting, but by a powerful paw wrenching him up into a sitting position. "Get up, stoat," a voice snarled. "Rinqan says I'm to teach ye 'ow to use a blade, waste of time though dat is."
Arif, Kan thought angrily. I'd rather be awakened by the foebeast!
The young stoat leapt out of his bunk, shaking the fox's grip off of his shoulder as he pulled on his clothes. Arif watched with disapproval. "Move! D' enemy will be at our doors 'fore ye be ready!"
Rinqan was waiting on the shore as usual, but this time the coyote was holding a pair of swords. "Today, Kan, you are to learn bladework. We will start with the sabre." He reversed one of the blades and the stoat took the proffered hilt, seething with anger as Arif accepted the other.
"Go on," the big fox snapped. "Face me." Kan reluctantly moved into a position opposite his new mentor. Already he could tell this lesson was going to be a disaster- the sword was a relatively light one, but he was still unaccustomed to wielding a weapon this size, whereas Arif was an expert.
If this was a real battle, Kan realized in dismay, I wouldn't stand a chance.
"What are ye waitin' for, lunk'ead? Strike!" Arif roared.
Hurriedly, Kan lunged forward, slashing clumsily with the sabre and missing completely. "Idiot!" the fox snarled. "Pick it up an' try again. This time, parry my attack."
Arif's blade flickered to the right. Kan raised his own sword, but he sliced thin air as the fox's sabre came swinging in from the other direction, clashing into his own and sending it spinning off across the sand. He had been completely taken in by the feint. As the young stoat furiously bent to pick up the fallen blade, he felt a stinging pain across his flanks. Arif had whipped him with the flat of his sabre.
"Did I tell ye t' pick it up? I'd sooner surrender than trust ye around a weapon, stoat," he snapped, and lashed him again. Any further ranting was ended when Rinqan strode towards them, evidently furious.
"If you whip that stoat one more time, fox, there won't be a shred of hide on your miserable body by the time I'm done with ye. Kan is new here, he has 'ad no real training until now. Ye really expect him to know how to fight in a few days? Away with ye now, Arif. If you turn on your fellows like this all the time, you'll have me to reckon with."
Unexpectedly, Arif laughed. "Oh no, coyote, you're mistaken. I'm very loyal to my 'fellows,' as ye put it. Your little pet stoat is safe from me. I hope ye enjoy tryin' to train 'im. In a few days you'll come to your senses an' leave 'im out for de carrion birds. Dat's about the only thing he's good for." Still laughing, the fox turned and headed back into the mountain.
Kan stood on the shore, overcome by rage and shock. When Rinqan laid a paw on his shoulder, the young stoat turned around with a snarl, recoiling from the touch. "He's mad! By the Hellgates, if I get the chance..." He trailed off, lost for words and shaking with anger.
"Calm yourself, Kan," the coyote said quietly. "Your friend told you the story of what Arif went through. I would not be surprised if it has affected his judgement. But just to be safe, I will continue his lessons myself, starting now. Pick up that sabre."
Kan groaned. Apparently breakfast, or by this time lunch, had been forgotten.
In one afternoon, Kan learned more about swordplay from the coyote than he had ever known in his life. Once it was firmly established that he was hopeless with the sabre, Rinqan tried him out on a succession of blades, from broadswords to rapiers, even experimenting with the cutlasses and scimitars that were used more by searats and the like than honest warriors. Tokala and Sakhyo were kept busy as well, racing from training ground to armory and back again with new selections.
Eventually, Kan decided on a simple curved blade, which had been lying forgotten in a corner of the armory until Tokala discovered it. It was light enough for him to handle easily, but still strong enough to inflict serious damage in a fight.
He was taught the mechanics of footwork, thrusts, parries, feints, attacks and counterattacks. With the proper guidance, the young stoat proved to be a fast learner, even managing to disarm Rinqan once towards the end of the lesson.
The small group headed back inside the mountain, ready for a bath and a meal. Kan was sweating, fatigued, and starving, but as he pawed the hilt of the sword now resting in his belt and bantered with his friends, he had never felt happier.
Night had arrived, and the base of Salamandastron was wreathed in shadows, untouched by the moonlight that bathed the rest of the mountain in its silvery glow. The tawny weasel padded silently over the sand and stopped by the side of the monolith and leaned his shoulder against the cold stone, hidden by the darkness.
He had heard no pawsteps, but without warning a sharp pressure was applied to the back of his neck, presumably the edge of a knife or sword. The voice that came from behind him was just cold and merciless as the blade. "Talk fast if you'd like to keep your head."
Continuing to stare straight in front of him, the weasel made no attempt to move, nor did he raise his voice above the soft monotone.
"The Lord craves news, spy. You have been here for nearly three seasons. Have you found this army yet?"
The voice chuckled. "Aye, I found the army. I doubt you could have done as much, weasel." The tones abruptly turned cruel, but did not lose their note of amusement. "Tell our master that I'll be returning with two things: one deserter... and his precious wayward brother."
The force at his neck was released, and the weasel raced forward with an uncommon burst of speed. He was urged not on only by his orders, but also by a fervent desire to get away from the insane laughter that resounded into the still autumn night.
He entered the camp at dawn and was shocked at what he saw. The camp was comepletely gone; the firepits extinguished and filled in, the tents packed away. The entire horde was standing at stiff attention at the clearing's edge, the battalions held in line by their respective Captains as they waited for orders from the creature pacing back and forth at their head.
He approached the silent ranks and was immediately apprehended by a tall ferret. "Good, yer here," he snapped. "Lord Razorclaw's in no mood to talk to worthless beasts like you. Whatever you have ter say can be told to me, right 'ere and now."
Glaring dislike at the ferret Captain, the weasel bowed slightly and made his report. The Captain laughed and strode off. "Perfect. I'll go and tell him now. Huh, by me sword, I'd love ter see 'is brother and that runaway once the Razorclaw's done wid 'em. Won't be enough left t' bury!"
The warlord laughed when he heard the news, a harsh, rasping sound that frightened everybeast within hearing range. Throwing back his head, he howled at the sky and roared, "To the mountain!"
His horde yelled back. "Razorclaaaaaaaaaaw! Kill! Kill! Kill!" A dustcloud sprang up across the plain and drumbeats rang through the clear morning air as the massive army marched south out of the shadows of the cliffs. Straight toward Salamandastron.