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He said, "I never wanted this, Davien. I never asked for any of it."

"I know, Friend Arthus. You and I are merely pawns in this game. Instruments for the amusement of the gods"

"I certainly feel that way sometimes," Arthus said.

"Aye," replied Davien with great sadness in his eyes, "I would walk away from it all if I knew it would make a difference. But I have a duty to my people, as you do to yours."

"Yes, and I suppose we both knew this day would come. The borders have been closing in for years. The spice trade from the southern ports is becoming ever more lucrative. The wheat, horses, copper from the east..."

"Not to mention the gold mines of Cronus," Davien added, sipping from his mug.

"Yes, of course, the gold," Arthus said quietly, scratching his beard.

"I would trade it all for another year of peace. But my will cannot withstand the forces at work, Arthus."

"I know, old friend," Arthus said, "I am the last person to whom you will need to explain yourself."

But Davien ignored him and continued, "I have done everything in my power to stop this war. But they will not falter in their resolve; the Merchants, the Council, the Bishops, all crying for war. Pack of rabid dogs. All of them!" Davien said in anger, spitting on the ground. "They gear up the whole country for battle before I can raise a finger. What good is being a king anymore if you have no more free will than the mountains?"

"I too share your frustration, old friend," Arthus said. "It is like being gently pushed to the edge of a cliff, and all you can do is stare at the cruel hand of fate."

"The ceasefire will end tomorrow, Arthus".

"Yes."

"You have a duty to your army as I do to mine."

"I will look for you on the battlefield," Arthus said, gazing into Davien's eyes. "Should fate favour me on that day, I shall grant you an honourable death, a soldier's death. And I expect no less from you, my friend"

"May the spirits of your ancestors watch over you, Friend Arthus."

And with that, Arthus stepped out of the tent without looking back. The northern wind burned his face and made him feel alive. As he walked back towards his camp, where his army awaited his return, he dismissed all thought and concentrated on the here and now. Sleep was on his mind, for on the morrow, he would have a rendezvous with destiny.