High above on his tower, the lonely king had looked up and seen the vast fish swimming through the sky. He stood up and saw it swim past him, a beast unimaginably beautiful and mysterious, a thing that defied words. A terrible, wonderful, lonely creature waiting for someone to join it. And so the king had leapt from the tower built of his conceit and tried to learn to fly. And he had felt, for the first time in decades, the sense of inferiority, of challenge, that he had lacked. It was wonderful. And as Niers had played he had known it in his bones. He was not good enough to match this
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