Post Scriptum

   Chaos... A seething veil of clouds over the writhing incredible
corners of the horizon... Shadows of the dead, walking under the measured battle of combat
drums... An element of destruction consuming Avalon...
   And in your hand is a blade, one of the edges of which is only visible
in the moonlight...But you leave the battlefield because he called you
the one whose call even the Prince cannot help but respond to.
   This is the call of Death.
   Graysvandir falls on the step, rolls - and, frozen for a second -
ndu at the very edge of the stairs, slides into the abyss.
   And you don’t see how behind your back slowly, slowly,
inherent in true greatness, Kolvir settles and collapses into itself
- as if it was empty inside - and this is no longer a peak, but the mouth of a vul-
kana, and a little old man with a funny baby face something
puts it in your hand, you unclench your palm, look at it for a long time,
what lies on it... What needs to be said? Something from the classics, probably
new... And you say:
   - The one who has seen the City no longer needs your Ring...
   Seems quite appropriate. You smile. Gold rim, how-
Knowing the tongues of hellish fire, he flies into the vortex of Chaos...
   That's it. You can leave.
   You pat the little man on the shoulder, grin...
   And you leave.

   June 14, 1995 at St. Vincent Hospital in Santa Fe,
New Mexico, died at age 57 

                         Roger ZELAZNY