A cruel smile touched the Druid's lipless mouth. He whispered, "So may
all enemies of Mider die."
Lycon broke in, "We've conquered, Elak. The army of Kiriath fled when
you killed Sepher. And, gods, I'm thirsty!" He rescued the cup and
drained it.
Elak did not answer. His wolf face was dark; in his eyes deep sorrow
dwelt. He did not see the triumphant banners of the dragon tossing in
the wind, nor did he envision the throne of Cyrena that waited. He was
remembering a low, rippling voice that spoke with longing of the fields
and hearth-fires of earth, a slim, inhuman hand that had reached through
a curtain--a sea-witch who had died to save a world to which she had
never belonged.
The shadow was lifted from Atlantis; over Cyrena the golden dragon ruled
under great Mider. But in a sunken city of marble beauty the shadows of
Mayana would mourn for Poseidon's daughter.
[The end of _Dragon Moon_ by Henry Kuttner]