Not glory, nor fame. And the drake knew his power. He started to gloat, but the King saw his chance and drove steel down his throat. The drake he did tremble and started to choke, his evil, rank maw filling up with black smoke. He thrashed and he bellowed did old Omnamshacry, but the reaper had claimed him, and bidden, he died. The Ajun were safe. The horde abandoned the gate. And thus ends the ballad of the king and his eight.
