Words: Al Frank
There lived once two brothers, both born on Dorsai,
And strong and well favored were they.
They trained in their youth for to carry the sword --
And in their young manhood they soldiered away.
The star-road was waiting, it bore them afar,
To battle, to honor, and fame.
For Kensie and Ian, the two men of war --
True sons of the household of Graeme.
They rose to be leaders, they bled with their men,
In quarrels that were not of their own.
And Kensie burned bright with the hardship they shared --
While Ian grew colder than stone.
As different as winter and summer they grew,
Grim warrior and fair cavalier.
And never two brothers so different as they --
And never two brothers so near.
The fighting had ended on far St. Marie,
In a victory certain and clear.
And after the battle a cowardly shot --
Did cut down the young cavalier.
When Ian found out that his brother had died,
And that his assassins were known.
Something within him went out like a light --
And left him forever in darkness alone.
"Come bring them to me" Said Ian the Grim,
"And let me look at them plain.
And I will destroy them with only my hands --
For surely it's me that they've slain!"
They took him, they stripped him and mocked at his grief,
For they thought he could work them no ill.
And guns in their hands brought him there while they laughed --
At the prisoner held to their will.
There were three there with pistols, and he all unarmed,
With nary a weapon to find.
But Ian walked out through that doorway alone --
And left three dead bastards behind.
Never a tear he let fall in his grief,
Though half of his soul had been slain.
And lost when his brother went into the earth --
And never he found it again.
Oh, Ian and Kensie are gathered to rest,
For we speak of the days long gone by.
But outworlders listen and mark what we say --
Who murders our brothers shall die.
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