Every year Companions Choose as they have done before;
The Chosen come with shining hopes to learn the Heralds' lore
And every year the Heralds sigh and give the same advice:
“All those who would hold Magic's Power must then pay Magic's Price.”
Oh there was danger in the North, that's all that Vanyel knew
An enemy of power dark sought Heralds out then slew
But only those with Magic's Gift were slain by silent rage
Till Vanyel of them all was left the only Herald-Mage
Yes from the North the danger came, beyond the Border far;
The Forest did not stay Dark Death nor did the mountains bar
And Vanyel cried, “We die, my liege, and know not why nor where!
So send me North, my King, that I may find the answers there!”
Then North went Vanyel—not alone, though 'twas of little aid
A Bard was like to be to him, and Stefen was afraid—
He feared that he would fail the quest, a burden prove to be—
Dared not let Vanyel go alone to face dark sorcery
So out beyond the Border there, beyond the Forest tall
Into the mountains deep they went that stood an icy wall—
To find the wall had cracked and found there was a passage new
A path clean cut that winding ran a level course and true
This path was wrought by magecraft; Vanyel knew that when he saw
The mountains hewn by power alone, a power he felt with awe—
But to what purpose? Something moved beyond them on the trail;
They watched and hid, and what they found there turned them cold and pale
An army moved in single file, by magic cloaked and hid—
An army moved on Valdemar that marched as they were bid
A darker force than weaponry controlled the men in place
For Vanyel looked—and Vanyel knew an ancient evil's face
Then Vanyel turned to Stefen and he told the Bard to ride
To warn the folk of Valdemar: “They call me Magic's Pride!
It's time I earned that name—now go! I'll hold this army back
Until the arms of Valdemar can counter their attack!”
So Stefen rode, and so it is no living tongue can tell
How Vanyel fought, nor what he wrought, nor how the Herald fell
The army came, but not in time to save the Herald-Mage
Although the pass was scorched and cracked by magic power's rage
They fought the dark ones back although they came on wave by wave
No trace they found of Vanyel, nor of his Companion brave—
They only found the focus-stone, the gift of Stefen's hand
Now blackened, burned, and shattered by the power that saved their land
They only found the foemen who into the woods had fled
And each one by unseen, uncanny powers now lay dead
As if the Forest had somehow bestirred itself that day—
Had Vanyel with his dying breath commanded trees to slay?
And still the Forest of the North guards Valdemar from harm
For Vanyel's dying curse is stronger far than mortal arm
And every year the Chosen come despite the old advice:
“All those who would be Magic's Pride must then pay magic's price!”
