In the court of every city in the lands of Ro, a sorceress sits. And in the mind
s of that city's people, each sorceress weaves a song. She and her sisters sing
of the liberation of the land, the taming of the highland tribes, and the birth
of a precious new race: the children of a dead god.
Of course, they do not si
ng of the death of young Prince Christophe at the hands of that god. Particularl
y as his replacement dances so well to their tune. Yet all songs have an end.
