"I assure you, Your Majesty, that the prophecy is quite clear on the matter. 'For the threat of the Dark One shall loom over all until such time as the Chosen One shall step forth and end the dreadful threat forever. Ye shall know the Chosen One by the seven signs, and the seven feats, and the sev-'"

"YES, Yes, thank you VERY MUCH, Brother Calhart, as if I didn't have enough frustrations with the sheer stupidity of your proposal, you go and remind me why I had to learn that damned Septimal number system as a boy. A number system that is used only by your church's elders for daily business, and only by the rest of us to count the days of the week. Is the entire rest of your argument about to give me an apoplectic fit?!"

"Well, Sire, the fact of the matter is that four of the signs have identified the Chosen One, and he-"

"FOUR! Out of SEVEN! Did you not just say it needed to be Seven Signs? Well, did you?"

The cleric took a deep breath to calm his nerves, and if his left hand gripped the icon of his order in a silent prayer for patience, the king's focused gaze clearly chose to ignore the gesture. "The remaining Three Signs will be demonstrated as he faces the Trials, but as the Fourth Sign occurs only at the 77-year interlude of the Holy Comet, which passed a fortnight ago, it would be impossible for another to emerge in our lifetimes, oh wise king. And the event was witnessed, he possesses the necessary Spark, we have tested this extensively. He IS the Chosen One, Sire, and as such we must set him on the journey now so that the remaining Signs can mark him and the Trials can be met. Or do you intend to allow your loyal, trained soldiers to face the threat of the Dark One's armies and certain death at the hands of the Dark One when they find themselves unable to kill him?"

"So, you would have me hold my soldiers back, allow the Dark One the time to grow his power until it would nearly overwhelm the entire kingdom, and then trust our fate to a single, untrained adolescent male? Will you be personally keeping the lad hidden to prevent him from getting himself killed by assassins? How about keeping him from horses, lest the boy die by getting kicked in the head when he spooks his loyal steed?"

"Are you jesting, Sire?"

"Are you? Is the entirety of your Church nothing more than a generations-long running joke? Because between the stupid counting system and the insanity on that dusty old scroll I begin to think the whole thing is an absurdist satire."

"Would you prefer to send your soldiers to their certain, premature doom?" asked Brother Calhart, finally putting a bite into his words.

"And if we wait for the Dark One to amass an army of all the evil creatures he can bind, won't my soldiers die then?"

"Most will, Sire," replied the cleric. "But some will survive, and you can give your soldiers some more time while the Chosen One prepares to meet destiny. This is as the Gods will it to be."

"Well, then the gods willed it that I should stand here and try something. But very well, let us trust to the gods. I will take the army now and deal with the Dark One, because I know that should work, and you can go and do whatever else needs doing to get the Chosen One ready. And since your faith is so great and your prophecy so holy, you should be happy to realize that you'll be right, and I'll be dead. Away with you now," the king said, shooing the priest like a cat too close to the milk bowl.

"As you wish, Sire. I shall weep for the unnecessary losses," Calhart said, before offering a small bow and turning to depart the audience chamber.

After a moment, the king turned to look at his High Marshal. "Well, Hal, that was about as pleasant as a visit from my mother-in-law, and just as unproductive."

"Not quite, Your Majesty," the old soldier said. "The Revered Lady of Sommerfelt does actually know horses, and the Cavalry is all the better for her preferred method of paying her taxes."

"So, what would you do?"

"Everything you proposed should be done. We can win right now. We just can't kill the Dark One. Doesn't mean we can't capture him, throw him in the dungeons for a decade, chained up and unfed. Once the Chosen One completes the Trials, we hold one of our own. Drag the Dark One, or whatever is left, out to the public square, make a show of allowing him a chance to defend himself, pass the judgment we both know is deserved, and the Chosen One shoots the Dark One with a crossbow bolt or two to kill that blighter off for good. Maybe burn the body and scatter the ashes, just to be certain."

"Very well, best go tell the wife I'm calling the troops up and going on campaign. She'll be pissed at having to take these meetings while we're out. Send word where you need, we leave in the morning."

"At your command, Sire."