Cedric smiled across the granite table at Aurthor, who shot an equally dark smile back. Both men were evil, but to his credit at least Cedric was not a traitor.

 Off to the side, there stood a dark-skinned man was a thin beard that was braided and had several golden warrior-rings tied into it. The man was Lancelot, the one who helped Aurthor to overthrow his father so many years ago. A man born and trained to fight in the East, in a kingdom called "Persia" that had fallen long ago, Lancelot fought with two curved swords.

 Cedric had a distant look in his face, even though the conference was a sham, he felt shame for being the one to call it, never before had he been the one to begin negotiations for peace. Still, he knew Zamiel well, after surviving the slaughter as a child, Zamiel and Gouthren had wandered into lands controlled by Cedric's father. Cedric, who was around the same age as Author, had grown quite fond of the Welsh-Saxon bastard and the dark-skinned son of a merchant. The two had fought alongside him on many occasions, and he was proud to call them both friends, and he was proud to help Zamiel get his revenge.

 The two warlords talked for what seemed like hours into the late morning. Cedric knew the Irish lands well, having raided them many a time before, and these mornings at the very end of winter were cold. Author's armored bearskin did well to warm him, but to wear it outside of a battle was tiring, the heavy coat soon became a hindrance as he gestured at the table, a tactic he had learned from Christian preachers. "As you know Author, the lines in conflict are no longer simply between Welsh and Saxon, the Irish are have now settled themselves into our wars." Cedric said, and here he was speaking truth. "On top of that, you and I both have settlements in each others territory, so what I suggest," he took a thin knife and began to etch upon the table a crude map of Europe. "Is we take back our settlements and make up the losses in conflict by coming together against the Irish." he used the knife to draw a line dividing up Ireland into two equal parts.

 "As I'm sure your spies have informed you dear Cedric, I've already been negotiating with the Irish to come together against you." Aurthor said with his cruel smile. "So why should I accept you when I could easily side with the Irish?" he put the question firmly, knowing that he would be better off with the Irish, as Ireland was already bowing down to the Cross and Aurthor employed many Christians to positions of power.

 "The Irish are Christians and that puts them in a good position to become your subjects, that is true, but he who tries to tame such savages will surely be devoured soon enough." Cedric did not truly loathe Christianity, but he hated the idea of people being ruled by faith, better to rule by sword than ruled by slaughter, and it was becoming very common now for random violent acts against pagans to occur, just a month ago one of his settlements was wiped out by a militia of Irish, two hundred soldiers and priests came and slaughtered seventy man women, and young children, and the priests had taken the boys as slaves. He explained this to Author before saying "The Pope hates up as pagans and soon he and his damned Church will be the end of us as you know it, and honestly Aurthor I think you know that." Cedric said, and again he was genuine in this concern, a fraud though this meeting may be, the concerns were true enough so that the deception would continue as long as it had to, Aurthor was no fool.

 Aurthor seemed to consider this for some time, the armored bearskin was beginning to itch. Damn this saxon, his stupidity is testing my patience, but he has a point. He thought angrily to himself as he cursed the Gods for this musty room.

 Out of false arguments to keep the conference going, Cedric felt a pang of worry, if the Welshman left then an eleven week campaign into Ireland would be for nothing, so much food and mead gone to waste, and it would increase the danger of the conflicts between both the Welsh and the Irish.

 Suddenly however, all os his worry dissapated into joy and eagerness. A smug grin danced onto his face and refuse to leave him.

 Becuase off in the distance, no more than a mile or two away, he could hear with clear distinction the sounds of many horse's hooves pounding Irish soil as at least half of a good War-Party rode fast onward.