King Haggard's SongThe walls crumble beneath my feet, the mountain dissolves. What is it, in your level eyes, that makes the mountain shift to the uneasy shuffle of power not quite asleep? Look. Here the sea races toward the rock, foam and spume, prancing in rainbow attandance, necks arched and horns delicate, whiter than winter or clean air. It ebbs before my face, and the power sleeping in heartless rock. You see it. Yet, there is nothing there. The walls dissolve. The mountain stirs fitfully. Nothing moves me, except your eyes, and the silverspray of my unpossessed tranquility. I am the Law! Do not deny me! All things of power are mine, and all of beauty, save one. Save one. The waves prance forward at the sight of your hair. The air is clean, where you are. All things are mine, save one. What victory yours? With shining eyes, pierce my flesh: emptiness does not rush out. You will know my hand: the wound of my wanting has your shape. What victory leaves your flesh bearing my hand, my heart at peace in your possession? For the old gentleman, long dead, who told me the meaning of the pearl-chasing dragon: Reverend Teacher, it is more complex even than you told.