The Dux continued to sit behind his desk for a few moments longer. Amletus was still the same man. Hard and unyielding as Ursus himself. Much had changed in the years since he had last seen Amletus. Yet, nothing really had changed. Sighing, Ursus rose and paced about the room. In many ways, they were much alike, Ursus mused. If I had a son, he would be like Amletus. Perhaps that is why I am so restless. My friend, my son, is taking a path that leads only to disaster.

Lost in his thoughts, Ursus stepped out into the night, barely aware of the sentries outside snapping to attention. Seeing his commander, a grizzled centurion stood up. Quietly, he grabbed his sword belt, strapping it to his waist as he followed the Dux.

As Ursus walked through the encampment, he thought of his life. Over 30 years had he been a soldier. He had fought Rome's battles from the deserts of the eastern deserts to the forests of Germania. He still had the strength and body of a man half his age, and a will of iron. What did he have to show for his devotion? Nothing but his honor, his scars, and the knowledge that he had served his mistress Rome to the best of his ability. He had no living family. He had never married and so had no children. No legitimate children, the errant thought crossed his mind. Were he to die this night, there'd be none to mourn him. Even his family estates were unknown to him, for he had not set foot on them in twenty years. He briefly wondered if they even still stood. More than likely they did, for he did have a few friends in Rome. Not enough to bring him home, perhaps, but enough to protect him from the actions of his enemies.

In any event, he was not suited to Rome's civilized ways. Too many years in the field had hardened him; put an edge to him that made him unfit for association with civilized people. In all honesty, the Dux had to admit to himself, the only place he was suited to be was the frontier and the battlefield. The only people he had anything in common with were the men who served in his legions and those who faced him in battle.

Dimly, almost unnoticed, he heard, indeed lost as he was in his thoughts, more felt, a haunting and simultaneously disturbing and enchanting melody rise into the night. The Dux felt his muscles tensing, straining, the old battle fury rising from deep inside his soul. His eyes, soft in reflection seconds before, became as stone chips, staring out into the dark, star-lit night.

The centurion noticed the change in his general. He had served the Bear for over fifteen years and he knew well his ways. He, too, felt the magic in the song of the harp. He too felt his blood stirring to its enchantment.

And from a distance, as though echoing the music, came the sound of fists beating on shields and warcries filling the night air.