The Fate of Sword-Hunters

You could not be contained in any maze.
You only had to raise your hard right hand
And lay it flat upon the dungeon wall
To trace a path, inexorable as Fate.
That distant giantess may cut the thread;
You fed the present goblins to your sword.

They sung, in taverns, of a magic sword
Long lost, within a grim enchanted maze.
Rumours of rumours, but you traced the thread
To take a map from cold and wrinkled hand:
A cloakèd man, who met a grisly fate
Waiting for heroes, by a tavern wall.

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A Villain’s Holidays

My time is here; all eyes are turned away;
Stood down, the guards who'd watch for evil schemes.
My forces rise and march, this very day,
To strike the sleeping dragon while it dreams.

And on the morrow, other armies ride,
Who will, ere nightfall, spread the word — I rule.
Without their chief, my foes will stand aside,
Or headless fall, if blood does not stay cool.

And when their feasting ends, and weapons rise,
The best-kept knights will find their castles sealed.
The doors to let them out shut fast. My greatest prize,
Their freedom, waiting for them if they yield.

A few scant times the sun will rise once more,
Before the land awakens to my war.