TO KILL THE WITCH-KING

When Gareth's holy sword did flash on high

When Zhengyi's form was shattered.

A blackened flame of detritus

His corporeal form a'tattered.

When did victory's claim ring loudly

When did hearts of hope swollen pride

Rejoice brave men, at Gareth's blow

The pieces of Zhengyi flung wide.

But you cannot kill what is not alive

You cannot strike a notion

You cannot smite with force of arm

The magic of dark devotion.

Thus Gareth's sword did undo

The physical, the corporeal shattered.

The Witch-King focus was denied

The magical essence scattered.

So hearken you children to Mother's words

Walk straight to Father, follow.

For a piece of Zhengyi watches you

In dark Wilderness's hollow.

The smallish man skated along the magically greased, downward sloping corridor, his feet moving in short stabs to continue scrabbling ahead and keep him upright—no easy task. Wisps of smoke rose from his battered traveling cloak and a long tear showed down the side of his left pant leg, with bright blood oozing beneath.

Artemis Entreri slid into the right hand wall and rolled along it, not using it to break his dizzying dash, for to do so would be to allow the lich to catch sight of him.

And that, above all else, the assassin did not want.