Lady Nirea touched the Mink's arm tenderly. "We'll all be weapons in your hands now, Revel. Tools to make a civilization again—to make the last verse of the old song come true."
"Let's sing it," said Dawvys, a little in his cups by now. "Let's all sing it loud."
"The gods have flown beyond the sky,
The priests toil underground;
The gentry's curse is lifted free,
And all our foes are downed....
"Now over all the Mink he reigns,
And gone are rank and caste;
The ruck is lifted from the mire—
And we are free at last!"
They finished the rousing song and looked expectantly at the Mink; but he had borne back Lady Nirea on the bench and was kissing her with enormous warmth, so that even a prophetic song, written about him ages before he was born, could not tear loose from him the only chains that would ever bind him again—the wrought-steel, invisible, shatter-proof shackles of Nirea's love.