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 the 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.”
