As haloed patriarchs, hewn from the stone

Atop the arches, mid the cornices

Where gargoyles grimace at the bitter taste

Of dusty rainwater, watch heretics

Self-excommunicated all depart,

Stoic, still militant, and stony-faced

Shed not one tear, for all the rain pours down,

So did the remnant of the Old Man's host

From guard atop the wall watch silently

The long serpentine line the witchfolk walked,

Their packs and bundles swaying as they leaned

Upon this foot, then that, so they advanced

Without real steps, as do those waiting on

Their turn at some officialdom, past which

They have their liberty to go their way.

Yet one among the guard looked on them not;

One stood upon the rampart with his face

Fixed outward, with his back toward the heights,

His gloves about his neck, his scowl bent on

The sooty, hissing corpse-horde spread below.

He watched them long, in silence, where they stood

Like men stricken with sleep upon their feet,

And at length, without turning, he spoke, “When

The wind shifts round, I can not only smell

Their inward rot smoldering, I can hear

Their sizzling, like the sounds of windblown sand

Eating the mountainside. If this wall cracks,

Among us slaying they will be, and till

The last of them was dust they would not pause.

Yet they, perhaps, are kinder than are you.

They speak not. So at least they tell no lies.

Their hate, if hate they can, is obvious,

But you deal blows that cannot be looked for

And have doomed us more deeply than they could

Without your aid." Behind him, King Roam's voice

Responded, “Do not think we wish you ill.

We merely wish ourselves better than you.

Our treachery is contingent. Their hate

Is deep and needfulest necessity.

If this wide plain below us were all cleaned

Of these filth revenants, what cause would then

Between us beget enmity?" “It is

Begotten," growled the boxer, “It is born.

For all your might have beens, the Soot are here

And you have chosen not to stand with us."

The Witch King leaned against the battlement.

“What surety have you, Shane Falconi,

That you are of this 'us' you eulogize?

That, when they stand, you will be there at all?"

He mused, and smiled when Shane stiffened in shock,

“The Old Woman has given me of you

Some certain secrets, some uncertain lore.

I know the prophecies you almost heard,

But what of them? We both are men of deeds

So let me tell you what I know of yours.

Since you woke somewhere in this afterworld

You have been much in doubt if this be death.

Were I you, I can vouch that I would doubt.

For see, can you deny that if you took

A blow sufficient to unfix your mind

So that it no more tasted the real world

The dream that took its place would be as this?

Where you are crowned with glory for your fists,

Your only instruments of pride, in life

Or mayhap in undreaming. Where your sad

And hopeless thirst for honor is allayed

As could it never have been in the world

You left, one way or another. Where you

Are 'brother' called, and 'champion.' You could

Not have composed a fitter fantasy

With twenty concussions! What does that say

Upon the odds that all this, you composed?"

“Only that if this be indeed a dream

Shane growled, “you do give me no cause to wake."

King Roam tapped his pipe against the stones

And idly said, “What if I told you I

Do know the name you seek but can't recall,

Say I know there's a figure you have seen

In dreams and memories only from behind.

Say the Old Woman told me she yet lives,

So if you dream, why then, tis no more than

The second half of blinking, and you will

Be back with her. Would that be cause to wake?"

“Then do you mean to tell me that I can?"

Shane asked, all suspicion. The Witch King smiled,

“I mislike prophecies. I am not pleased

When I must play the hand I have been dealt

Come hell or water high. Yet yours at least

A kernel has of truth. You lived too late

For warriors like yourself. Were you not taught

Always to say goodbye before you took

To battle, as all brave men used to do

Who might no more return? If you had gone

To your death ready, willing, with farewell

Though nevermore we meet upon your lips,

Why then you would be bounden here as are

The rest. But you did not. And so you yearn

For her you left no farewell, and you dream,

And this dream haunts the ghost, Falconi, and

By it the ghost may yet retrace his steps

Back into life. Call this waking, or call

This resurrection, or call this return.

You may go back. You need not stay. You may

With my folk come on exodus. No need

To sing their long Lama Sabacthani,

To glimpse the Sulfur Carrier, or face

Its wrath. You need not die a second time,

So come!" King Roam stretched forth his hand to clasp

With Shane's. The boxer only glared and said,

“When next you sound your traitor's mouth at me

I will strike it," and he would say no more.

Eventually the Witch King shrugged, and left,

And as he went he sighed, “There's always some

Who do not have the sense to come inside

From hurricanes." Shane did not turn to watch

The afternoon was waning. The hubbub

Behind him of the witchfolk throng had shrunk

To bare murmur, when at his elbow came

A voice that said, “Please, these high battlements

Are too high for me, and I cannot see.

Would you lift me, warrior?" Beside him, Shane

Saw her who had so carelessly foretold,

And who had at the council spoken not,

And now upon tiptoe craned up as tall

As she was able. Shane frowned, but took her

Small hand in his, and on his shoulders set

The child. She looked with curiosity

Down on the Soot. “It is too bad,"

She said, “That there should be such creatures, who

Annihilate whatsoever they can

For nothing but the annihilating.

So I am glad that somebody took thought

For how to stop them. My heart warms that you

And all your fellow slain but not at rest

Stand against them. They should not be let prowl

Through world on world, working the ruin of each,

But somebody should shout upon them 'Nay!'

Though he might as well try to hold the tide."

“Did not your king," Shane grumbled, “call our stand

Fruitless and senseless? And is he not right

Now that his needed aid is left and gone?

This tide, I cannot halt it with my voice

Nor with my fists. When you are high and dry

Should you look back, you will not even see

The place I was ere I was swept away,

And swept away we all shall surely be

No matter if we stand or if we flee."

She answered, dangling her stockinged feet,

“I shall not so look back. I shall not leave.

I shall remain and see this tide myself

Whatever Roam may say, and we will find

That howsoever fallen be the world

It will not be so fallen that there is

No final rally, no almost too late,

No final catastrophe turned to good

The more incredibly as suddenly.

So wait, Shane Champion, and be surprised

With me." She smiled, and plucked a pebble from

The mortar crack, and dropped it idly, as

A man might toss shell fragments in the sea.

Shane followed it, but lost its place somewhere.

Before he could guess at its landing, one

Soot in the foremost ranks collapsed, head cracked,

And toppled. In a moment its place was

With another filled so it could not be

Discerned at all even where it had stood.

“You must not stay," Shane whispered, shocked, “I shall

Not suffer that a little girl should be

Left behind without refuge." “If you are,"

She interrupted with a tiny hand

Over the boxer's mouth, “to refuse flight,

To safety spurn, to risk your all upon

A glory and a stand you think hopeless

When you might leave it, how much more may I

Who knows the glory to have yet some hope?"

“You are a child!" the boxer objected,

Plucking her from his shoulders to the wall.

“As is your berserker," she sallied back.

“You ought not be exposed to such peril!"

“No more ought you, and yet in them you thrive."

“You have not died. You have your business still

With life and living in some other world

Less doomed." With soft unconscious gravity, she said,

“Did I not tell you, did not Roam explain,

That so do you?" In the stunned silence came

The sound of boots on stone and armor clank,

Then Varr and Klau were with them. “Sinks the sun,"

Varr breathed in deep, “and as it sinks, there grows

Conviction in my heart that the time comes

Swiftly and sure, when we shall learn indeed

How dead we are, by finding that we die.

The board is set, the seed is sown, the strands

Of destiny and that which might have been,

Save one, are severed off. But one path now

Is open to us, and we have not far

Upon it to travel." “I care nothing,"

Klau snorted, puffing out his chest, “for what

Men yet mortal would say, whether or not

I live or die or some third thing beyond.

So long as I may use my sword to win

What fate has given me." Klau looked up to

Shane with the eager smile of one who sees

At length the end of some thing long endured,

But then his faced turned puzzled. “Were not all,"

He said, “yon witchfolk to have left and gone?

E'en now the last of them is departed,

How is it they have left this least behind?"

“How is it the Old Man has left the least,"

She retorted, “to lead his last defeat-“

“She will not go," Shane sighed, “She does not heed

The danger, and I know no more how to

Explain that this is no place for children!"

The girl slid from her seat, planted her feet,

And stared coldly and regally at them.

“You said you needed us. You were dismayed

When Roam abandoned you. Well here is one

Who will not hope abandon, as did he!"

Klau shrugged, “Then I was wrong. If we needed

The help of you and yours, your king would not

Have left. Since we do not have help, that shows

But that we shall need no help. All I need

Is this my sword, which shall by prophecy

Strike down the Sulfur Carrier. No need to risk

Your life as well. Go now." Varr pulled his chin,

Saying, “Though I am loath to turn down help

From any source, I cannot in honor

Allow an infant maid amid the thick

And thorniness of battle such as this."

“Does it seem that I care what you allow?"

She stamped. “You should," Shane answered, “For if you

Will not seek safety of yourself, then I

Will drag you up the mountain pass, seek out

Whatever gate or portal is found there

And toss you through." But ere his hand could clap

Upon her shoulder, came a chilling wind

And subtle alteration in the light

Of the almost-set sun. All stood stock still

Breath hammering in bright, reflexive shock

And looked up just in time to see the sun

Blaze deep unnatural blue. Then in the light

That made each face an icy famine skull,

They heard a sound like screaming in the sky,

Like curtains being rent from seam to seam,

Like air compressing in the bullet's wake,

Like thick glass shattering as if the dome

Of sky above were cracked and something punched

Right through. Then as they looked, transfixed, there came

A bolt of boiling fire through the air.

It struck the valley floor behind the Soot.

It rocked the earth. It sent cracks up the wall

To puddle round Shane's feet like dusty rain.

The rocks nearby, at the heat of its fall

Turned molten and glassy. The rear ranks of

The Soot horde flattened and were turned to dust.

A moment later, and the smoke swept past

The rampart, and the smell of it was foul,

Oily, clinging, and reeking of sulfur.

Shane blinked his streaming eyes clear, and he saw

Arising ponderously from the dust

And coalescing in among the fumes,

A shape, hulking and simian. It raised

A blunt featureless head. Then ear to ear

Like cut-throat's victim, spread a jagged gash

All jack-o-lantern malice smile without

All all-consuming furnace heart within,

Beneath two eyes of soulless, brutelike hate

That shone like headlights in the summer haze,

And out of both leaked sallow tongues of flame.