560-562 (Ralquez: The Sword of Locrien; Act Two)

i

I spoke to one who'd watched that very scene,
when Wrenogal invoked dread, undeserved,
in every heart that saw him—while, unseen,
the flametouched seraph Locrien observed.

The Wren, again, knew not what had been done
to aid him on that victorious flight;
but I shall tell you—for the very one
I've mentioned told it to me that same night:

'The dark one on the dragon raised his sword,
and shouted as if fire was his thrall,
for every inch of his blinding blade roared
with flames that answered his inciting call.'

But when I've asked the Wren of this detail,
no fact or fiction from it can prevail.

~~~

They flew back to the Prowler, which stayed fast

‘neath Aeonia’s absent, watchful eye;

and they thought quickly–for what was now past

would follow them if they stayed in the sky.

On the Northeastern shore, there is a cove

bestrangled by sharp mountains in its sea.

No ship had ever moored there–all who drove

nearby were dashed and, from their oars, ripped free.

But this one might be different, thought he

who’d towed his ship behind a dragon’s wake.

The fell teeth of that cove may disagree

with sailors, but, for dragons, jaws forsake.

Thus, tied again to the ship underneath,

the Wren made for the cruel Cove of Fell Teeth.

~~~

At last when overcast the sky had drawn,

and threatened storm again at any time,

the confidence of Wrenogal was gone,

replaced by something sickly and sublime.

Sublime, for even living it can’t hide

the way such stakes as his were mythical;

and sickly, for, beneath a smock of pride,

he knew his state was deeply pitiful.

What could a safe cove do, even if there

he could retreat, reborn as a recluse?

How sour forever would taste the air–

how tight the light would wrap him like a noose.

But now the cove was on his horizon

and his next hurdle set to overcome.