Wrenogal: Act III, xxxii-xxxv

xxxii

“M—Master Porrick, urgent, please, look out:

the flame of Dustan stands ahead of us.

I—I cannot know how he has found our route,

but witnesses saw just how perilous

he was to an entire town! Say now

to flee! Or send a warrior to fight

him off, and let our own lives so allow

another venture under a new light!”

“What’s this that haunts me! That old wench? Go, tell

the archers to filet him ere he strikes!”

But Erison was too far to see well,

and so dodged their so crudely volleyed spikes.

And though he knew not who owned the parade,

he knew enough to make a fair fight’s trade.

xxxiii

So, satisfying vengeance woke again

within the heart of he who bore the blade

that burned more now, it seemed, even more than

when in poor Dustan it was used to raid.

What are you doing, fool? The Shadow said,

as Erison raised up the Shroud before

his face, as he ran forward into dread,

into the implied many arrows more.

“You’ll be the shield for me,” he laughed. “You’ll take

the brunt of what they throw at me, until

I’m there to puncture all the holes they’d make

in me, until they’ve had their purchased thrill!”

The Shroud spoke not to this, but seethed to see

the callousness of his insanity.

xxxiv

A flaming sword burned through a wagon’s rein,

and sent its horses running off alone,

and sent many a forged and unforged vein

into the dirt: both of man’s blood, and stone.

A cry came from its wielder’s tongue: a shriek

of something that was not what man would make.

Another cry came from a wagon—weak—

quite real, but with an innocence quite fake.

A knight looked on, and let the sequence go—

allowed the massacre before his face—

who knew what all who know true battle know:

that rage is not a manageable race.

A seraph watched, too, on all parties there;

and smiled, and he called the matter fair.

xxxv

A cold, uneasy curiosity

surrounded o’er Nevgondian. Say, ‘knight’,

what is it that you are so keen to see

in this vain man—this brash, pathetic blight?

I admit, it is entertaining now,

to see his rage consume him. How they fall.

But you chased him here. Why do you allow

his plight to be the tale on which you call?

You do not chase for vengeance. Loyalty

you’ve said is why you still do as you do.

If I told you you could be, from this, free—

would this true promise be of worth to you?

I tell you, Aerandel would know no part.

Or is that really what regales your heart?