CHAPTER 4:

CRIMSON SONG

1

“Then…” Minsky pressed his hands against his twitching cheeks. “The commander was handpicked by the Sacred Ancestor himself? No, could it be…”

No…

No…

No…

Could it be…

Could it be…

Could it be…

A red wind gusted into the generals’ hearts.

Blowing away sand and rock, the wind surfaced a rumor they’d forcibly kept hidden and dared not contemplate.

The Sacred Ancestor has a son.

It existed in a realm of consciousness beyond the reach of thought. Only rumor, which none were allowed to touch, dwelled there.

Suddenly, the bronze door opened, putting an end to the intractable chaos.

The men blinked at the shadow at the door and cried out at once.

Greylancer!

The self-righteousness swelling inside the generals turned to dust and vanished.

It was the moment they acknowledged the presence of the one warrior that eclipsed them all.

“The Six Demon Generals—it has been a long time,” said Greylancer, his voice dripping with disdain rather than nostalgia. The Nobility’s vaunted generals were little more than callow recruits in his eyes. Looking down at the paralyzed men, he said dispassionately, “Gaskell is not here—perished, has he?” and continued, “By order of the Privy Council, I will take command of tomorrow’s attack on the OSB moon base. I expect nothing less than your full efforts.” Giving them not a moment to object, Greylancer ran a hand across the air. “Here is the plan.”

An image of the moon ten meters in diameter appeared before him.

†

“We proceed as planned. Go,” said Greylancer as his chariot picked up speed. Was this some kind of fantasy or fairy tale?

The Greater Noble’s vehicle, racing through space toward Earth’s moon, was none other than a wheeled chariot from human antiquity.

Flying close behind was a fleet of aircraft, all with wings arched like those of bats.

The Nobility had previously attempted several attacks against the OSB frontline base on the far side of the moon three hundred thousand kilometers from Earth but had only managed to delay the OSB infiltration of Earth, a fact that made the temples of the Privy Council members pulse with rage.

None of the allied aircraft’s propulsion nozzles were lit; an antigravitational propulsion field surrounding each of the craft propelled them forward instead.

Perhaps having foreknowledge of the imminent invasion, the OSB commenced their attack. Soon golden laser beams crisscrossed this way and that around the fleet.

“Atomic cannons. If you go down, wait on the lunar surface for the rescue vessel,” Greylancer ordered.

A beam shot at Greylancer’s chariot—and was refracted away as if skipping off an invisible spherical surface.

When the fleet came within three thousand kilometers of the moon, a swarm of OSB aircraft rose up from the surface.

“Move to single combat maneuvers. When you’ve destroyed your target, after me.”

A human field general typically directed operations from the rear. But a Noble of any mettle led his men into battle.

The attack order was not “Forward,” but “After me.” These were Greylancer’s chosen words.

Noblesse oblige—the obligation borne by humans of high birth, royalty and nobility, in return for their high ranking. Driven by this obligation, the Nobility always stood at the vanguard of their fleet. Cowards were they that shouted “Forward!” from a position of safety. Noble warriors simply said, “After me,” and were the first to draw weapons fire.

And so too did the Nobility’s greatest warrior. But were not Nobles immortal? No, the enemy’s primary weapon was not the atomic cannon but what followed.

The OSB fired a spread of graviton spheres. When they came into contact with Noble aircraft, they neutralized the antigravitational propulsion field. One after the next, the ion engines of the bat-shaped aircraft flamed on.

The atomic cannon followed, destroying the aircraft. Then, as the jettisoned pilots plummeted through space, a barrage of stakes and steel arrows rained down to impale them.

Greylancer threaded his chariot past the spheres, destroyed them as he passed, and closed in on the moon base.

The feeling of movement was imperceptible in gravitational field propulsion. No matter how fast he spun, aside from the visual change, Greylancer was incapable of perceiving three-dimensional movement from within his chariot.

“Do not fail me, rear squadron.”

A peculiarly shaped spherical building encircled by rings came into view ahead.

The antiproton cannons affixed on either side of the chariot poured hot beams into the barrier shielding the building.

The antiproton beam was capable of vaporizing protons and all matter in existence.

Yet the beams glanced off the barrier wall and only vaporized the unlucky OSB craft in the vicinity.

It was a deadly gamble. Would the Military Bureau’s dimensional cutter on Earth be able to disrupt the enemy’s barrier from three hundred thousand kilometers away?

If the cutter failed, Greylancer would fly into the barrier and be reduced to dust. And if the cutter were even a thousandth of a second off, Greylancer would be banished to another dimension.

The Greater Noble did not flinch and pointed the chariot toward the barrier.

Was it his split-second evasive skills he trusted? The Military Bureau’s invention? Or his own luck?

The barrier tore open.

As the chariot plunged into the white one-by-three-kilometer tear in the dimension, the antiproton stream reversed direction and the vortex dragged Greylancer’s craft down onto the lunar surface, right into the OSB’s base.

†

Inside the oddly shaped building there existed silver-colored automatons. Having no natural shape of their own, the OSB had created organic beings by forming and discarding body parts, then stitching the disparate anatomies together. The patchwork beings were designed to carry out simple tasks. In parallel, the OSBs developed new and upgraded incarnations of robots until finally, combining the two offspring populations, they perfected organisms that might best be called cybernetic beings.

Then the protean OSBs adopted the form of their own cybernetic creations and gave rise to a unique civilization.

The OSB appeared to possess a curiosity rivaling that of any other intelligent beings in the universe.

It was only a matter of time before they ventured into the ocean of constellations. In fact, the imminent destruction of their mother planet had made the endeavor all but imperative. As their sun began to expand due to an abnormal nuclear fusion and threatened to engulf the mother planet, the OSB devoted five thousand years to the construction of a massive space fleet. Resting their fates in the stars, they set out for another realm. Tens of thousands of years later, their wandering journey ended with the capture of a lone space probe.

After thoroughly researching its mechanism, the OSB decided to set course for the star system that produced this probe. Their intent was not peaceful coexistence but invasion and conquest. Domination. Uncharted was just another word for wild. Civilizing the wild in their own image—such was the mission their god had appointed them. They were forgiven any means to carry it out.

However, this would take another millennium. Although the OSB had developed a form of lightspeed technology, they discovered a habitable planet en route to the probe’s birthplace and settled there.

They required no longer than a hundred years to make this planet their new home. The OSB slaughtered every extant species, and a strange civilization—one that began as amorphous creatures and later took the form of cyborgs—was born.

The OSB seemed fated to solitude. Scientists concluded that, despite enjoying a period of great prosperity, their civilization would become more isolated and eventually perish. The neighboring star systems were devoid of intelligent life. There were no species left to conquer.

Plagued by pangs of existentialism, the OSBs redirected their attention to the now-legendary probe and the distant stars.

Thus, with a hundred billion stars reflecting in the bodies of their aircraft, they embarked on a millennium-long journey of conquest.

By the time they entered Earth’s solar system, however, the Nobility were already aware of their existence. Anticipating an invasion from outer space, the Nobility had spread an elaborate surveillance network of satellites and planetoid bases throughout the star system.

The first skirmish broke out somewhere near Pluto.

Though the Nobility’s fleet was crushed by the awesome firepower of the OSB, the existence of the Nobility struck fear in the invaders.

Why? Blown into space, the Noble warriors neither froze nor suffocated, but vanished into the void. After entering Pluto’s orbit, five hundred or so Nobles had drifted around the planet until being rescued.

The second battle unfolded in Saturn’s orbit, but despite an eventual retreat, the Nobility had dealt a great blow to the OSB.

Made to reckon with an uncommon foe, the OSB deployed an advance detachment to Earth.

By possessing the humans they encountered, the OSB obtained intelligence on their vampire enemies. They were astounded to learn of the Noble gift of immortality.

Meanwhile, the vampires captured an unfortunate OSB that had stolen the identity of a Noble.

Predicting an even fight in a battle of brute force, the OSB built a permanent base on the far side of the moon in anticipation of a war of attrition. Because they subsisted by altering their form to absorb any nearby energy sources, they required nothing more than solar energy while in their lunar bivouac.

Thus began the war between the OSB and Nobility that would span three thousand years.

2

The moon base was wrapped in silence. No audible alarm was necessary to alert an army of robots, nor was there air to carry any sound to a Noble’s ears.

Robots on combat vehicles sped down the corridors, and fighters swooped down from above.

Gravitational field spheres flew about in every direction. The enemy intended to neutralize Greylancer’s antigravitational field before unleashing an attack.

“I’m going in. Anyone who is able, after me!” Greylancer shouted. He moved to switch off the chariot’s field.

“Commander, you mustn’t do anything rash!” a voice said from the image of the console floating next to his ear. The two-dimensional grid contained all of the ship’s controls within easy reach. “You will be cannon fodder if you lower your ship’s field.”

“Yunus.” Greylancer muttered the name of his subcommander. “I can’t be bothered to turn the field on and off. Only those that can need follow.”

Robots armed with shoulder-mounted blade-launchers flanked the Noble and fired.

Greylancer dropped the field and reached for his lance.

He swung the massive weapon, and several explosions erupted in the vacuum around him. When the blades traveling at supersonic speed made contact with the lance, the convergence of the two opposing forces disintegrated the blades. Blue electromagnetic waves and ash scattered everywhere.

At what speed was such a feat possible? With what force? How do you track each blade and strike it down, Greylancer?

A rain of black arrows fell from the inky sky. The robots faithfully executed the legendary Earthian tactic for slaying vampires, only their arrows traveled at thirty-four kilometers per second.

Greylancer stood against each and every arrow shot at him. How exquisite, how awesome was the flash of his lance. And the arrows reversed their courses.

The arrows shot through the robots’ faces, heads, and torsos, and felled one robot after the next, tendrils of blue lightning lashing out from their failing bodies.

Before he realized it, Greylancer was alone in the skies.

There were metal walls to the right and left of him that cascaded down like waterfalls into the darkness below. He could not see bottom, as the chariot’s console was not registering a measurement.

At the outset of the attack, Noble chariots had released nano-sized sensor insects to gather information on the base.

Greylancer’s target was the energy core. The chariot’s computer system was supposed to guide him there based on the intelligence gathered by the sensor insects.

The console projected in the the air read:

Distance to target converted to Noble measurement: 24,986 floors down.

More enemy aircraft approached. They numbered over a hundred. An object resembling a sphere with a stabilizer mounted on it unleashed a storm of blades and stakes.

The chariot repelled the attack and, powered by its ion engines, dropped in a straight line into the abyss at seventeen kilometers per second.

The g forces crushed Greylancer’s face and nearly tore away his hair.

Countless red lights blipped on the console, in radar-mode.

Here they come. Greylancer’s wind-twisted lips curled all the more. He was smiling.

The enemy dispersed.

After downing the blizzard of blades and stakes head-on, Greylancer rapped his knuckles against the handrail.

“Let us go somewhere they will not expect.”

The robots repositioned themselves just as their computers directed, their formation aligning with how Greylancer routinely engaged multiple enemies. They placed unqualified trust in the analysis the computer extrapolated from an unfathomable number of scenarios.

But a full-frontal charge—

An impossibly long lance came at the robots from an impossible angle and plunged into their power units.

The lance laid waste to the aircraft too, sending them spiraling down as if they were chasing after a foe that had momentarily broken through the line.

This destruction, brought about by Greylancer’s dreadful design, wrought even more devastation on the OSB.

The aircraft plummeted right into the path of the OSB infantry’s counterattack. The volley of blades and stakes struck and bounced off the falling, flaming aircraft, virtually shielding Greylancer from the brunt of the attack. The chariot’s antigrav field went back up and filled with air.

“Distance to target?”

The answer flashed across the console. No change.

Greylancer furrowed his brows, seemingly confused by the computer’s answer. Whether a hundred thousand floors or a million floors below ground, at this speed he should be upon the energy core by now.

“What is it—a space warp?”

Negative. The target is mobile.

The power core is moving…? Greylancer thought, and then a flash of inspiration. “The moving walls…so the entire interior of the base is repositioning at supersonic speed. Counterstrategy?”

Increase velocity. The target’s velocity is fifty kilometers per second.

“So it dares outrun this Noble?” He smiled a devilish smile, both beautiful and bloodcurdling. “Accelerate to fifty point five kilometers per second.”

Affirmative. However, the combustion chamber will exceed heat capacity.

“The result?”

Explosion.

“Do it.”

Fool.

In 0.5 seconds, the chariot’s rate of descent surpassed that of the walls.

A green diagram glowed on the console.

It was a schematic of the base.

One point in the center pulsed red.

Greylancer’s eyes glimmered scarlet. He had found the target.

Target acquisition in two seconds.

“Fifty-five kilometers per second.”

Affirmative. The mechanized voice sounded appalled.

Greylancer’s body groaned under the pressure brought on by the g forces. He felt his ribs snap and stab his internal organs. Greylancer coughed up blood. The force felt as if he were being crushed beneath a hundred-ton boulder.

Gradually, the chariot leveled off, and at the same time his bones healed. The organs inside his body regained function. It was evidence of why Nobles were Nobles.

One hundred thousand kilometers to target.

Greylancer read the message off the console and said, “Dimensional vortex shot. Just one shot.”

Affirmative. Escape route secured. However, probability of escape is one percent.

“That’s plenty. Fire!”

In the next instant, darkness filled his vision.

The dimensional shot—a weapon that not only destroys the target but also banishes the debris to another dimension—had dragged its handler into another world as well.

†

He was conscious and clear-headed.

Exactly eight seconds passed before the darkness dissipated. The scene that appeared in its place was a familiar one.

White clouds drifted across the blue sky. Greylancer stared pensively at the verdant foothills spreading in the distance. To the right of where he lay face up on the grass was the chariot, careened and battered.

Daytime. Though the time inside the vortex had felt like eight seconds, at least half a day appeared to have passed.

“No, perhaps days, or months.”

At least the time of year seemed to be the same. The soft rays of late autumn shone down on the Noble and on the chariot next to him.

“Day…”

Greylancer passed the time as he’d done many times before, lying perfectly still, looking up at the blue sky as if it were the first he’d ever seen. A faint scent tickled his nostrils.

Several minutes passed before he realized something was amiss.

“What?”

Greylancer tried to twist his body to stand. Nothing. His arms and legs remained motionless.

He could still move his eyes. His arms were fine, as well as his legs.

But he seemed longer from the waist down. He fixed a hard stare below. His waist and legs lay cold and lifeless an arm’s length away from the rest of his body.

The grass around him was drenched in blood. His blood.

“I can’t move. So now what?” Greylancer gnashed his teeth, frustrated by the unsightly damage to his frame. Was the battle on the moon still going on? If so, he was useless, helpless. His pride as a warrior forbade him from accepting this reality. “Someone come this way. Kneel before me so I may satisfy my craving and regain my freedom.”

With this utterance, he heard footsteps approaching from his left.

The sound of slow, tiny steps treading over the grass sounded like a woman was coming near.

Greylancer did not let out a sound. What was he to do? It appeared he would have to rely on human help, but what if the sight of him as he was now fomented vengeful thoughts? Though possessing an ample sense of superiority over his subjects, he hardly underestimated them.

Before he could gather his thoughts, the footsteps stopped before where Greylancer lay.

Her hair, hanging down to her waist, sparkled in the wind. Although her pink dress with a blue-flower pattern was patched and washed-out, it suited her as if she could wear nothing else.

She might have been fifteen, sixteen years old. Her pale skin, with nary a trace of color from the summer sun, was a fitting complement to her lovely features, which did not appear at all provincial.

But it was not the girl’s beauty that made Greylancer’s eyes narrow into slivers.

With her right hand gripping a stick, the girl was looking nervously right and left, her eyes closed.

“Can you not see?” They were the first words Greylancer uttered to the girl.

Her face turned toward him. “Who are you? You aren’t from around here.”

“How can you tell?”

“Your accent is different.”

It is said the other senses become sharper in the blind, a necessity for survival.

“Hm. I am a traveler. I’m…resting my legs awhile.”

“Oh, you’ve come to just the place.”

“Yes, the view seems very nice.”

The girl tilted her head slightly. “Seems…are you blind as well?”

Finally, a question came to his lips. “What brings you here?”

“I came to admire the view,” she answered innocently, to which Greylancer responded, “But you do not see.”

“I can see even if I can’t. I can feel how the wind brushes against my skin, and the smell of flowers and grass fills my chest. My brother tells me the sky is blue, and that is enough for me to see. Everything. But you must see so much better than I.”

“I’m afraid I’m too tired to move.”

“Oh. Are you hungry?”

“That may be,” replied Greylancer, as the blood continued to drain out of him.

“Oh…” The girl knitted her brows with worry before quickly smiling. “Someone will come to fetch me in half an hour. Then perhaps you can come to my home.”

“Sadly, I have rather a particular palate. Your meals won’t do.”

“Well.” The girl pouted a bit, but her anger faded quickly. Her sunny face revealed that this was just her personality. “Then what is it you eat?”

“Would you like to know?”

“Yes.” A look of trepidation spread across her beautiful face. Just what had she sensed from the traveler’s reply?

“Come closer.” Greylancer’s eyes glowed crimson, as the sweet bouquet of blood wafted in his face.

3

The severed lower half of the giant’s body lay in a pool of blood, beckoning the other half to come closer.

The sight was enough to make even the most fearless human choose retreat.

Nevertheless, the blind girl began to walk toward Greylancer without even the slightest hint of hesitation. Despite her likely sharpened sense of smell, the stench of blood did not reach her upwind.

Aided by her stick, the tiny figure, hot blood coursing through its veins, crept closer, ever closer.

She stepped forward again, and as one wooden shoe hovered over the pool of blood—

“Stop,” Greylancer said.

“Huh?” The girl teetered but managed to bring back her foot next to the other.

“Never you mind. Go now.”

“But…” The girl’s face clouded.

“It will soon turn cold. Go back to your home.”

“Will you be all right?”

“Yes, I am rested now.”

Like a stone turned to a flower, her suspicious look instantly gave way to a smile. “I’m glad,” she said. “But I’m not to leave until my companion comes for me. Perhaps we can talk awhile.”

“You must leave now!” His voice was stern. Greylancer was fighting back fierce urges.

The smell of his own blood around him stung his nostrils. It was what his enervated body was craving. Fresh blood. The one thing that will save you, and it was flowing through the young body standing before you.

Yet why did he stop?

The girl, clinging to her stick with both hands, gazed down in the direction of the voice with unsighted eyes. “My name is Leticia. Who are you?”

“No one you need concern yourself about.”

The heartbroken girl—Leticia—pouted a little and then smiled. “Then you’ll be Mr. No-Name. Where did you come from?”

“From the other side of the planet.”

“This planet?” she asked, after a pause. “My, you have been on a long journey! Tell me, what is the other side like?”

“What day and month is it now?” asked Greylancer. After she answered, he muttered to himself, “A day has passed. Does the war continue above?”

“What?”

“Never you mind. Have you heard anything about the moon?”

“The moon…?” The girl thought for a moment. Then her blond hair rippled as she bobbed her head in the affirmative. “I heard a rumor that the Nobility’s fleet destroyed the OSB base. In celebration of this victory, our blood tribute has been decreased by a tenth.”

“Is that so?” Greylancer felt his fatigue dissipate, knowing his immediate return was not necessary.

Crooking her head, the girl asked, “But why would you ask about the moon? Oh, I know. You must be a troubadour!”

“Troubadour?”

“How wonderful. I’ve always wanted to meet one—someone who travels the world composing songs, that is. I never imagined it would be today. You must come home with me, please. Well, it’s not exactly my home, but my mother and father are nice people. They so enjoy having visitors, they will be glad to see you.”

“Will they, now?”

“Yes.” Leticia nodded eagerly like a child.

Seeing this, Greylancer asked, “Have you been blind since birth?”

She seemed taken aback by the question. “What—no. Since I was five.” Until then, the world had shined for her.

“Are you bitter?”

“Why, of course.”

“You surprise me.”

“Why is that?”

“I have asked others in your state .the same question. They all answered no.”

“I understand some people feel that way. But I…” A glimmer rolled down from the hand over her eye.

“What is it?” Greylancer asked and was surprised by his own reaction. Have I taken an interest in a human?

“I used to see the sky, the moon, the stars, flowers and the forest, animals, houses, and everyone. I used to see everything, until suddenly…I would have been happier had I been blind at birth.” Then, Leticia shook her head, her body trembling. “I’m sorry. Prattling on to a complete stranger, I wonder why. I’m sorry for boring you.”

“No.” Greylancer stared at the troubled girl. Who would have guessed that a Noble was capable of looking upon a human with such kindly eyes? “It was an inconsiderate question. Forgive me.”

“Please don’t trouble yourself. I’m used to it.”

“Have you tried every possible means?” he asked.

“It’s all right.” The girl smiled cheerfully.

“It is not. There may be a cure if you go to the Capital.”

“Are you saying that I should have an operation at the hands of the Nobility?”

“That’s right. The Nobility have the means to restore your sight, even reproduce the same eyes you previously had.” The pale-skinned beauty smiled sadly this time. “What is it?”

Her lovely hands covered both eyes. “It was a Noble who took my sight.”

“Oh…was it your overseer?”

“Perish the thought!” Leticia shook her head wildly. “You must never say such a thing. Lord Mayerling looks after us with great care. I don’t know any Noble who is more decent.”

“Mayerling...” The Greater Noble mumbled the name of his comrade in a barely audible voice. “That favormonger. Nevertheless, just my fortune that I’ve landed in his territory. He will have to receive me as a guest if he wants to repay his debts.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Who was the Noble that took your sight?”

“I was given away for adoption as a girl. My real family didn’t have the means to bring up a worthless girl like me. But I became this way because a neighboring family fled the village to join the Anti-Nobility Alliance. They were captured by the overlord’s men and brought back to the village to be executed. Are you familiar with execution by quartering?”

“I know it. The condemned’s neck, arms, and legs are chained to wagons and rended apart.” Greylancer imagined the gruesome scene and licked his lips in spite of himself. The bloodbath.

The girl, none the wiser, lowered her gaze and recalled the incident. “The people who fled were not the only ones to be executed. Their actions wrought the same fate on their families, among them a young man who often looked after me as a child. I clung to him as he was being dragged to the execution ground. That was when the overlord’s retainer lashed his whip across my eyes. I’ve lived in darkness ever since.”

“A hard fate. The Noble who took your sight will suffer a death a hundred times more cruel than that of your friend.”

“Don’t talk like that.” The girl shook her head, shaking off tears from her eyes and cheeks. “I’ve had enough with death and hurt. The Nobility may think nothing of being dismembered, but we humans must die screaming and crying in agony.”

“Hm,” Greylancer mused, looking down at his severed lower half.

“I’m sorry, I’ve only just met you. My emotions have gotten the best of me. I just thought that a bard might understand so many things.” Wiping away the tears, Leticia said, “Perhaps you’ll compose for me a song.”

“A song?”

“Yes.”

“First, answer me this. Who was the overseer that robbed you of your sight?”

“It was Lord Greylancer.”

A cool wind brushed across the prairie. Waves of grass rippled where Greylancer lay. “Leticia…” he muttered. “Answer me another. You don’t sound angry. Do you not bear a grudge against this overlord?”

“He did not order this man to take my sight from me.”

“Yes, but—”

“But there is not enough anger in this world to express what I feel for the man who did this to me. If ever I found his grave, I would stop at nothing to drive a stake into his heart. But I bear no resentment toward the overlord.”

“This overlord aside, do you not resent the Nobility?”

“My mother taught me that fate is the messenger of both happiness and misfortune.”

“Your mother…? She abandoned you, did she not?”

“It was the only way they could survive. My mother and father held my hand and cried, time and again, over how sorry they were.”

“Is parting always so sorrowful?”

“You must be a fortunate man to ask such a question. I’m glad.”

“Glad?”

“Yes, I’m glad that people like you exist. I’m glad to have met you.”

Greylancer directed his eyes away from her smile and looked up.

A clear moon was now visible in the darkening blue sky. Only the day before, he’d been engaged in a vicious battle on the far side of the moon, and now he lay in a field on his home planet three hundred thousand kilometers away.

By his side stood a blind girl who told him she was happy they met.

“What else did your mother teach you?”

“Nothing will come of blaming fate. That I am free to go on hating the cause of my misfortune, but to never think of the world as an evil place. I may hate the Noble that took my sight, but I must not blame any of the others. The Nobility are alive as we are, and as long as they exist, they stray and suffer as we do. That is why I do not hate the Nobility.” Raking up her loose hairs, Leticia urged him. “Now compose a song for me, please.”

Then came Greylancer’s astounding answer: “You have been warned—it will be poorly composed.”

“Yes, all right.” The golden-haired girl nodded once, her dress looking like the most becoming garment in all the world.

The girl closed her eyes and stood beneath the blue sky.

Were Greylancer to reveal that he’d composed a song before, the Nobles might fold up in laughter at the world’s greatest joke ever told.

Yet, in fact, he had.

Just one verse.

Greylancer searched for it in the cobwebs of memory.

After the wind stroked his hair a second time, out of his crimson lips came a song:

When first you entered with a shadow and began to dance

I could not see the controlling strings

Dance, will you

Dance, will you

Cut the strings of fate into the night and dance

And make Fate fall in step with me

Waves of grass nodded their approbation. The wind blew. Twilight wrapped the nightsong and its poet in an embrace.