The advisors have given their advice, and the prophets have prophesied. But at the moment, he really wishes there were some way to say “no” to his ally without offending  him, because he’s pretty sure all but one are being deceived.

The sole prophet – whom he secretly believes is real – stands silent in a corner, the left side of his face already turning red in stinging pain. He was the only one who didn’t give the king the “right” answer.

For this prophet’s sake, he now wishes he’d never married his ally’s daughter.

But it was too late, and all too soon he finds himself standing in clothes that don’t belong on the battlefield, in a chariot that is moving much too fast and is too exposed to the enemy for his liking. Even he knows that his so-called “ally” has left him to die.

When he returns home, weary and battered but alive, he finds that some random arrow had found its way between the chinks in his ally’s armour, and now he’s lost one father-in-law. And he finally realises that luck had nothing to do with keeping him alive or causing his pseudo-ally’s death, but rather it was the power of one hand and one faith.

He does get told off for his foolishness of helping an evil man, but at least he can now sleep better at night.


Blah blah blah

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