The Pearl of the Soul of the World

16

Crowns

Spread out over the vast black plain moved a great band of people, combing for survivors or the perished, Aeriel guessed. After the rain, the mudflats were beginning to drain. A tiny frog, pale rose, sprang away from her tread with a jewellike chirp. A damselfly with lacelike wings darted past her ear.

Little shoots of frost green had sprung up everywhere. Silvery minnows and other fry swarmed the tiny pools. Gazing at them, both creature and leaf, Aeriel understood for the first time how they interlocked, like beads in a tapestry, each dependent upon the others for its niche in the greater scheme. The pearlstuff stirred and whispered in her blood.

"This will never be a Wasteland again," she murmured full of wonder, "but a fertile marsh."

Catching sight of her emerging from the tent, the searchers hurried toward her with great glad cries.

Irrylath's mother, the Lady Syllva, led them, flanked by her bowwomen. The Ions of Avaric and elsewhere dotted their ranks. Aeriel spotted others: the chieftess Orrototo and her desert wanderers, the dark islanders of the Sea-of-Dust. Erin stood beside Pendarlon upon the verges of her people. The Sword hung sheathed and burning at her side. Elation rose in Aeriel, strong as a well-spring, to find the dark girl safe.

Irrylath ducked through the entryway to stand half a pace behind her as the others neared. His brothers gave a triumphant shout. Sabr, heading her cavalry along the party's near flank, looked on, her proud and somber countenance lifting with joy at the sight of him. Aeriel felt her heart constrict, struck suddenly how nearly the face of the prince's cousin resembled his own: Irrylath as he might have looked without scars. Aeriel dared not turn to see how her husband returned the queen of Avaric's gaze.

Drawing close, the others halted before Aeriel. Her brother Roshka stood near the head of the band, Talb the Mage at his side. She felt a momentary surprise to see the Lady's mage above-ground without a daycloak, before she remembered that since nightshade had fallen, he was safe from Solstar's glare. The duarough wizard hobbled toward her across the drying ground.

"So, dear child," he exclaimed, "you are alive, as we had not dared hope, and Prince Irrylath is with you."

She felt the prince's arm slip around her then and tensed, longing desperately both to lean back into his embrace and to draw away—for it could not last. She held herself erect, wondering how soon he would release her and turn to Sabr.

"Yes, we are safe," she managed, to Talb. "How is it, little mage, that I never saw you among the others in battle?" His cloak of obscurity might hide him from the light of Solstar, but surely never from the sight of the pearl.

The other smiled. "I was occupied below-ground, aiding my fellows, the free duaroughs, in the rescue of our folk."

Aeriel nodded. "And those aboveground," she asked, lifting her gaze. "How is it so many are come alive through the flood?"

Hadin, the Lady's youngestborn, answered. "Most were already aboard the barges when the palace fell, and the Ions saved many of the rest. Marelon alone rescued scores upon scores."

Aeriel spotted the great coils of the plumed, vermilion serpent far away toward the rear of the company. The lithe Ion of the Sea-of-Dust bowed to her. Nearer to hand, Roshka joined his cousin Hadin, laying one hand upon his battle companion's arm-

"Nevertheless, we have been dozens of hours finding one another again."

Aeriel felt the pearlstuff within her blood begin to surge, the white radiance of her skin brightening.

Unsure of the effect this inner pearlfire would have on any whom it touched, she laid her hand upon Irrylath's wrist, meaning to thrust him away—but, misinterpreting, he took her hand. She stiffened, recalling in alarm the scathing flame of Erin's sword, but he seemed to suffer no ill. The Lady Syllva gazed at them.

"Children, are you well?" she asked, brow furrowed with concern.

"Truly well, mother," the prince replied. "The war is over, and it is won."

The crowd shifted suddenly, parting and drawing aside. Aeriel saw Avarclon coming forward, tossing his long silvery mane. His nostrils flared wide as he snorted, his pale eyes intent and hard. His hooves rang like cymbals upon the stones embedded in the soft, black silt.

"Indeed, Prince, the battle is done," the Warhorse said. "But there is yet our bargain to be kept."

Aeriel paled, her hand in Irrylath's growing cold. Had he, too, put the anticipation of this moment from his mind, just as she herself had done? Avarclon had not. How could a Ion forget or forgive his own death at the hands of a darkangel— one that, as a mortal boy, had once been his dearest friend?

She saw apprehension flood the Lady Syllva's face as well. The prince's brothers shifted, murmuring.

Erin muttered something urgently to Pendarlon, but the lyon shook his mane. Sabr cast about wildly, hand at her knife hilt. Aeriel felt her husband's arm about her tighten, and for a moment, she allowed herself to rest against him before he turned her in his arms.

"Forgive me," he whispered, "for not reminding you that this end must come. I wanted you to think of me alone, these brief hours past, since we had so little time."

His eyes searched hers. The scars on his cheek were full of shadow and light. When he kissed her, the taste of him was so sweet she wanted never to stop. The pearlstuff in her blood flared, as if in warning, but she clung to him, heedless, unwilling to let him go, until at last he pulled free and told her softly, "Fare well."

Turning, he went to kneel before the winged horse. The Ion of Avaric whickered, stamped. His great grey wings beat, fanning the air. The prince faced him unwavering.

"What you say is true," he replied. "I have a debt to you."

His voice was steady, calm, shaded only with regret and not a trace of fear. The Avarclon shook himself, sidling. His long tail lashed.

"As a darkangel, I ended your life," Irrylath told him. "Yet once the priestesses of Esternesse had brought you into the world again, you made yourself my steed and bore me bravely, with never a bid for revenge."

"Watching them, Aeriel felt the pearlstuff subsiding, moving coolly within her, full of light. Before the kneeling prince, the grey horse shifted, danced.

"One shrug of your shoulders would have plunged me to my death," said Irrylath quietly. "Instead, faithfully, you kept your oath. Now I must keep mine. Take your vengeance, Avarclon. It is only just. I am yours. Do with me as you will."

As he fell silent, the winged horse tossed his head, the long horn of twisted silver glinting keen upon his brow. The air hummed softly with its passing.

"Dying in Pendar was a hard thing," the starhorse answered. "For a long time, my ghost thirsted for your death."

Coming forward, Avarclon bowed his head till his mane brushed Irrylath's cheek. His horn rested blade-sharp upon the young man's shoulder, beside the great vein of his throat. The prince neither flinched nor pulled away. He only waited.

"But all have suffered the Witch's harm," the Warhorse said, "you as much as I or any other. One thing alone will satisfy me now. Do it, and I will count our score settled and done. Help me to repeople my deserted land. Aid me in rebuilding the great kingdom over which I once kept watch. Sit upon your father's throne at Tour-of-Kings, Prince Irrylath. Be king in Avaric."

Aeriel felt the sweet rush of relief filling her. It swept over the other listeners like a tide. Roshka and Irrylath's Istern brothers gave a ragged cheer. White-faced, the Lady Syllva leaned in the arms of her youngest, Hadin. Sabr bowed her face to one hand and set her drawn dagger back in its sheath. Irrylath himself gazed at Avarclon in astonishment. The winged Warhorse pulled back a pace, snorting, his breath stirring the long strands of Irrylath's black hair. The prince reached up to him.

"That I will do," he whispered, "and gladly."

He turned to Aeriel, jubilant, holding out his hand as though to share his joy with her—but Aeriel drew back. Talb's eye caught hers. Did he know? Did he guess?

"So the war is done," the duarough mage said, "and Irrylath is Avaric's king. But what of you, child?

What will you do now?"

Aeriel could not reply. She wanted so to go to Irrylath, to take his hand, but she felt the radiance of the pearlstuff in her blood intensify: a warning. The Lady Syllva, her color regained, left Hadin and turned to Aeriel.

"I and my train return soon to Esternesse," she said. "But most of my sons must stay behind, each to aid his Ion in the rebuilding of the West. Only Hadin returns with me, for your native Pirs already has a sovereign."

The Lady held out her hand to Aeriel.

"Will you not come with us, dear child, lend Hadin and me your company? Esternesse will be a lonely place without his brothers."

The Lady's eyes invited her, her smile hopeful yet sad.

"It is to my rue that I bore only sons—never a daughter to be my heir. You are my niece, the daughter of my birthsister, who once ruled my dominion in my stead. Come across the Sea-of-Dust with us," she said. "Be heir to the Ladyship of Esternesse."

Aeriel shook her head, refusing the other's hand. "If it is the law in Esternesse that says no man may rule as Lord, then it is an unjust law. If it is merely custom, let it be custom no more. It is Hadin who shall be with you in Esternesse. Make him your heir."

Syllva and her youngestborn exchanged a glance.

"Since you wish it," the Lady replied at last, "it will be so."

Hadin bowed to Aeriel, his face full of wonder and delight. One by one, his Istern brothers came forward, each accompanying his Ion. The wolf of Bern spoke first.

"Come rule in my land, which was so pleasant once. Together, we shall make it so again."

Aeriel shook her head. "Let him who was your rider rule your land."

Red Arat, one arm bandaged in a sling, came forward beside Elverlon.

"Be queen of my strange and wondrous land, Aeriel," the cockatrice urged.

Shaking her head, she answered, "Let Arat rule for me."

Dappled Zambulon came forward, Syril at his side.

"Mine is the fairest land by far," the winged panther purred. "I and my people would welcome you."

Again she shook her head. "Let that be Syril's task."

Brass-colored Terralon approached, accompanied by Syril's birthbrother, Lern.

"You spent your childhood in my land, great Aeriel," said the gryphon of Terrain. "Return. Be sibyl on the altar-cliffs of Orm, before whom even the satrap bows."

Sadly, Aeriel cast down her eyes. "The sibyls of Orm are no more, I fear, and your consort the sfinx has deposed the satrap for trafficking in slaves. Let Lern replace him as ruler in my stead."

Drawing near, Poratun in purple robes beckoned her from beside Ranilon.

"You have never seen my land," the winged salamander said. "But it is marvelous strange and fair.

Come sample it and be its queen."

Regretfully, Aeriel turned away. "Give the crown to Poratun."

Lastly, her own brother Roshka came forward beside the bronze stag Pirsalon. Hadin, who had been that Ion's rider during the war, stood back holding the reins of Nightwalker, Roshka's steed. This time it was the man who spoke and not the Ion.

"Erryl, my sister," said Roshka, "now called Aeriel, you are our father's firstborn and the right heir in Pirs. Return with me to take your place as suzeranee."

With the greatest sorrow yet, Aeriel shook her head. "It is true I am Pirs's rightful heir. But you have been its crown prince all the years that I was lost, a slave in Terrain. Be suzerain in my stead, brother. It is what I wish."

Roshka bowed and fell back a pace as the others had done. Another came forward, laughing, then.

"So, little pale one," Orrototo chided, her desert walking stick in hand. Aeriel eyed the cinnamon-colored chieftess of the Ma'ambai and felt her spirit ever so gently lift. "You are refusing all honors and offers of crowns. Could it be, having accomplished your task, you now wish to rest?"

Wearily, Aeriel closed her eyes. If only she might rest. The dark chieftess touched her cheek.

"Come with me," she said. "Wander the dunes of Pendar as once you did. There, everyone goes where she wishes, and everyone is free."

But Aeriel could only shake her head. "Chieftess, my task is not yet done, and I am not yet free."

The other's eyes grew rueful, but at last she, too, fell back. Talb the Mage spoke.

"Daughter, I, also, must go. Now that all this water is back in the world, the mighty underland streams of Aiderlan will once more begin to flow, and someone with a small store of sorcery"—here he scoffed modestly—"should be on hand to help things along. I'd beg you to come and lend your aid, if I'd the least hope of your saying yes."

His wistfulness almost made her smile, though her heart was very sore—but a commotion parted the ranks of Syllva's bowwomen suddenly. The Isterners stepped hastily aside to allow a tight knot of little waist-high people through. None of them were any taller than Talb.

"Sorcery indeed!" the foremost snorted, her red hair falling in four thick braids, one before, one behind each ear. "We can put all in Aiderlan to rights with machines alone, brother. You can keep your sorcery."

Maruha stood indignantly before the little mage. She was garbed all in padded leather, a round shield slung behind one shoulder and a shortsword at her belt. Aeriel spotted Collum and Brandl behind her, and others in battledress—but many in the group wore only the grey tatters of slaves. Marks upon the necks and wrists of some showed where collars and shackles had chafed, though those had now been struck away. They looked thin but flushed with triumph, still dizzy with disbelief. So these were the ones Oriencor had taken, Aeriel guessed, now rescued by their kith. Talb started back from Maruha in surprise.

"Well, sister," he exclaimed. "I vow! It has been a world's age since last we met."

"Longer, since you traipsed off to Lonwury to study your nitpated sorcery. Never had any use for honest machinery, did you? Except apparatus for distilling your infernal drams."

She humphed in disgust. Collum and Brandl exchanged a glance which, Aeriel noted wryly, held more than a little sympathy for Talb. Maruha caught the look and glowered.

"Now your nephew has gotten like notions of running off overland to become a bard! I haven't been able to keep his fingers off that little harp since we left the City of Crystalglass."

"Nephew?" cried Talb, starting forward to embrace the younger duarough. "Young one, well met! I thought you had a family look about you. Would you be a singer of tales, a bard? Best go with the Lady Syllva then and learn her craft."

"Sooth!" exclaimed Maruha. "Such talk simply encourages him."

What more they said, Aeriel did not catch, for Irrylath, kneeling still, had reached and taken her hands. His words were low, for her alone.

"Aeriel," he whispered. "What is this, all these others holding out to you crowns and inviting you to go with them? You mean to come with me, of course."

She met his eyes. They were full of misgiving. Heavily, she shook her head. "I cannot"

His gaze grew baffled. "But the war is over," he cried. "The Witch is dead."

"And the pearl of the world's soul broken," she answered. "Ravenna's sorcery scattered to the winds.

It was all that stood between us and the winding down of the world. That is the true war," she whispered, struggling. "Our victory at Winterock has only won a respite. We must use it wisely. Someone must regather the lost soul of the world."

Irrylath's grip on her hands tightened, his words, his look suddenly desperate. "But not you. Not you, Aeriel! You have already done far more than enough. Let another undertake the task."

"What other?" she asked. "There is none. Ravenna chose me."

The pearlstuff in her blood stirred uneasily. Stand firm, it murmured. You must not waver. Did you rescue the world only to abandon it now?

"I must return to the City of Crystalglass," Aeriel whispered. "I must learn to read the Ancient script…"

The pearl's vision loomed before her. Overwhelmed by the task's immensity, she made to turn away.

Almost roughly, the prince pulled her back to him.

"I will go with you," he started, and for a moment his eyes burned with hope.

"You cannot!" she cried. "Don't you see? You have sworn to obey the equustel's charge, to be king in Avaric…"

He stared at her, his face stricken, his breath grown short.

"Stay," Irrylath implored her. "Only stay with me, Aeriel. I will make you queen in Avaric."

Lifting her gaze, she looked past him to Sabr, dismounted now, near enough to overhear. She stood watching the two of them with astonishment and barely guarded joy.

Aeriel told Irrylath, "Avaric already has a queen."

He whirled to see to whom she looked, then turned back with a cry. " You are my wife. I married you

."

Shaking her head, she touched his cheek. "Two years were all we had, love," she whispered, "and we squandered them."

The pearlstuff in her blood was seething now. Make an end to it, quickly, Ravenna within her warned. If passion overrules you, all the world is lost.

"Be king in Avaric," Aeriel managed, "and think no more of me."

Fierce triumph lit the eyes of the bandit queen. Her gaze pounced on Irrylath.

"No!" he cried. "Don't leave me. Aeriel, you are my wife, the keeper of my heart..."

Grief had her by the throat. She could not speak. The pearl's radiance within her brightened dangerously. Her breast ached where there should have been no pain. Irrylath, too, seemed to feel some twinge. He frowned, wincing, laying one hand upon his breastbone. His gaze fell on the Edge Adamantine.

"What have you done?" he gasped, astonished, like one pinned through with a sword. She knew that she must pull away from him at once, lest the roiling sorcery within her scathe him. "Aeriel, what have you done?"

"Give your heart to Sabr," she managed. "Of course you are drawn to her." Fool! she cursed herself.

Fool not to have understood before. "For you see yourself in her—your very image—unbroken and unscarred. You as you might have been if the Witch had never touched you."

Sabr started eagerly forward, but her cousin warned her away with a savage look. "Never!"

Aeriel tried desperately to pull away, but he still held fiercely to her hands.

"I'll not wed Sabr."

The joy that lanced through Aeriel to hear him say it was almost too sweet to bear. She wanted to savor it, so tempted then—as she had been in the Witch's tower—to forget the world and go with him.

She wanted to weep, to fall into his arms, but her eyelids were marked with white stars from the Witch's touch, and she had no power of tears anymore.

Enough. The Ancient voice reproved her sternly. No more of this. You have sworn to renounce him for the sake of the world.

The pearlstuff rose in a white-hot, singeing flash. Aeriel cried out in surprise, heard Irrylath's echoing cry. He dropped her hands. She saw him gazing at his own as though they were numbed or burned.

"Take care!" she cried, bitterly aware her warning came too late. She should have broken from him long since, and yet, selfishly, she had lingered. Irrylath shook his head as if dizzy. He was able to flex his fingers a little, slowly. She remembered the white fire of the burning sword and hoped fervently that his hurt was not great, not permanent. He gazed at her, dumbstruck. The chain about her wrist had begun to glow.

"The Ravenna has enchanted you," he whispered.

Aeriel tugged at the chain, but it would not come free. "Some of her sorcery is in me now."

"Has she given you her sorcery to wield at your will, or does her sorcery wield you?" he demanded, staring at the chain. "Are you now become the Ravenna's creature as wholly as I once belonged to the Witch?"

The thought horrified her. She could not answer him.

You gave your oath to me voluntarily, the pearl-stuff within reminded insistently, but Aeriel took no comfort. The fine, interlocking links of Ancient silver glimmered, unbreakably strong.

"Be my husband if you must," she bade Irrylath, "in Avaric. I shall be far away in NuRavenna."

His eyes grew hard and bright, hands clenched into fists at his breast. "I'll win you back," he whispered. "On my life, I swear it! I'll find a way to break the Ancient's spell and bring you back to me."

Her heart leapt to hear him say it. But she feared he did not believe a word. How could such brave nonsense ever come to pass? Surely he must realize that Ravenna's sorcery—even scattered and diminished as it was—was far too mighty for any mortal to overcome. She had no doubt she would never see him again, and the taste was bitter, bitter on her tongue. He called her name.

"Aeriel. Aeriel!"

She could not bear the pain of gazing on him more and forced herself to turn away.

Someone was approaching over the black marsh flats, coming very slowly with a halting step. He must have been in view for some time, Aeriel realized, unnoticed by anyone. A heron, perfectly white, skimmed the air ahead of him and alighted on the ground before Aeriel.

"We missed the battle, I see," she remarked, cocking her head and looking about. "Just as well."

"Who comes?" Aeriel asked, though even as she said it, she knew. She would know his halt step anywhere. The heron fanned her crest.

"The Lighthousekeeper of Bern, of course. I was to fetch him at the proper hour. Ravenna's behest from long, long ago. We've been traveling for daymonths."

"Yes," the Lighthousekeeper panted, drawing near. "It seems an age. I feel quite spent. I was not made for such journeying. I have something for you, Lady Aeriel—for Ravenna's other daughter is, I see, no more."

He held out to her a hoop of white metal with twelve-and-one sharp, upright prongs.

"Is this what lay at the heart of your lighthouse flame?" she asked. The pearlstuff in her blood leapt, crackling at the sight, but she herself felt no anticipation or joy.

The Keeper nodded. "My task has always been to guard it for the world's heir."

Aeriel nodded and bowed her head. He placed the circlet upon her brow. The crown felt hollow, empty. Aeriel scarcely noticed its weight. Her enchanted blood shimmered, singing and alive. The darkness was suddenly full of light. Lifting her eyes, Aeriel saw the constellation called the Maidens'

Dance by some and by others the Crown wavering in heaven. Its stars drew nearer, descending, taking on the appearance of candle flames. In another moment, thirteen maidens stood about her, all made of golden light: those whose souls she had once rescued from the darkangel in Avaric. It seemed so long ago.

"Eoduin, Marrea…" She called them each by name.

"We understand at last," Marrea, the first and eldest, said, "how it was that you should come among us. We had thought you would join us in deep heaven, but we see now that it is we who must join you here below."

In the space of a moment, she dwindled, her tiny yellow flame floating in the air to alight on Crowns gw> one of the foremost prongs of the crown, burning brilliant upon its tip. Aeriel felt a new sensation kindling within her. One by one, the other maidens followed the first. The crown felt filled now, but still feather-light. Eoduin was the last.

"Forgive me for having been so impatient to have you among us in Orm," she said. "Cold heaven has been very lonesome without you."

As she, too, assumed her place, opposite Marrea's flame, the white heron took wing and settled into the space between the two foremost prongs. Doing so, she shrank, becoming part of the crown, head bowed to her breast and her long, slender wings falling to flank the pale girl's cheeks.

Aeriel's blood answered the flame in the crown. The pearlstuff rose in her, magnified, seemed suddenly to catch fire. Aeriel felt once more a keen, farranging perception, very like the pearl's but immeasurably stronger. The interlocking pattern of the marsh flats unfolded before her. The stars above wheeled and circled one another like burning beads. She felt that she might see to the world's end if she tried, or even deeper into heaven.

Time enough for that, the voice of Ancient sorcery within her promised, in NuRavenna. There, by such means, you shall regather the soul of the world. But haste now. Time is short.

A cool, misty white fire ran along her skin. Aeriel turned back to the others standing before her. She felt utterly alone: they had all shrunk back, staring at her—the Lighthousekeeper, the Lady Syllva and the rest, even Talb—all save for Irrylath, whose head was bowed to his hands. Sabr stood by him, hands like hawks upon his shoulders. He seemed oblivious to her. Even her fierce look of victory had washed away in astonishment as she gazed at Aeriel.

It was not her eyes, though, that Aeriel sought. She found Erin among the crowd. The burning sword hung sheathed at her side, but even through the scabbard, Aeriel was aware of the blade's fire stirring and brightening, answering her own. "Without hesitation, the dark girl came forward.

"And what of you, Erin?" Aeriel asked. "All have told me their intentions but you. Will you go with the Mariners among whom you were born, back to their isles in the Sea-of-Dust?"

One hand resting on the pommel of her glaive, the dark girl shook her head. "I will not. Perhaps one day. Yes, I was born among the Mariners— of that I have no doubt. But I was raised in other lands and hardly feel at ease among my own people, whose tongue I do not even speak, or among the people of Zambul that once enslaved me, or anywhere. I have had but one true friend in all my life."

For a moment, Erin cast her gaze to the sword whispering at her side, then looked up, bold.

"I care not whether some now call you Ravenna's daughter or that you have no shadow and wear a burning crown. You are the only light I know. I want no other fellowship than yours. It seems that I alone of all this throng have it in my power to choose my road. Aeriel, I would go with you."

Aeriel closed her eyes. She would not be alone then, after all. Here at the beginning, at least, one companion would accompany her.

"The Flame in Orm robbed me of my shadow," she whispered, "but I am not without one, ever. If not for you, Erin, I would be lost."

Fearlessly, the dark girl put her arms around her.

"My darkness," breathed Aeriel.

Erin answered, "My light."

Aeriel turned and faced them all.

"Fare you well," she told them. No more remained to be said.

Palms together, Syllva and her Istern sons bowed to her. Talb, Roshka, and the duaroughs made reverence. The islanders, the bowwomen, even Sabr's dismounted cavalry knelt. Orrototo's desert folk gravely nodded. Even Pendarlon and Avarclon and the other Ions saluted her. All paid homage but the king of Avaric, who wept, and the bandit queen who could not console him.

Erin still had hold of her hand. The burning crown's fire seemed to affect her no more than the fire of the sword. Aeriel was glad of it, for someone bold enough not to let her go. It would be a long road to NuRavenna. The light of the crown blazed bright against the night. As she and Erin set out, she heard Brandl's bell-sweet harp behind them, his clear, young voice raised in song:

"On Avaric's white plain,

where an icarus now wings

To steeps of Terrain

from Tour-of-the-Kings,

And damozels twice-seven

his brides have all become:

A far cry from heaven,

a long road from home—

Then strong-hoof of a starhorse

must hallow him unguessed

If adamant's edge is to plunder

his breast.

Then, only, may the Warhorse

and Warrior arise

To rally the warhosts, and thunder

the skies.

But first there must assemble

those the icari would claim.

A bride in the temple

must enter the flame,

With steeds found for six brothers, beyond

a dust deepsea,

And new arrows reckoned, a wand

given wings—

That when a princess-royal's

to have tasted of the tree,

Then far from Esternesse's

city, these things:

A gathering of gargoyles,

a feasting on the stone,

The Witch of Westernesse's

hag overthrown.

Whereafter shall commence

such a cruel Sorceress War,

To wrest recompense

for a land leaguered sore.

With her broadsword Bright Burning,

the shadow Black-as-Night,

From exile returning,

shall dare dragons' might

For love of one above who, flag unfurled,

lone must stand,

The pearl of the soul of the world

in her hand.

When Winterock to water

falls flooding, foes to drown,

Ravenna's own daughter

shall kindle the crown."

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