The Worm Ouroboros by Eric Rücker Eddison (e book reader online .TXT) 📖

>and swung together again. And the light of the moon was abated, and no

light seen save the levin-brand, and the campfires before Owlswick,

and the light of revelry within. So that the Demons camped before the

castle were not ware of those fifteen ships that put out from

Scaramsey on that wild sea and landed two or three miles to the

southward by the great bluff on Thremnir’s Heugh. Nor were they ware

at all of them that landed from the ships: fifteen or sixteen hundred

men-at-arms with Heming of Witchland and his young brother Cargo for

their leaders. And the ships rowed back to Scaramsey through the loud

storm and fury of the weather, all save one that foundered in Bothrey

Sound.

 

But on the morn, when the tempest was abated, might all behold the

putting forth of fourteen ships of war from Scaramsey, every ship of

them laden with men-at-arms. They had passage swiftly over the firth,

and came ahand two miles south of Owlswick. And the ships stood off

again from the land, but the army marshalled for battle on the meads

above Mingarn Hope.

 

Now Lord Spitfire let draw up his men and moved out southward from the

lines before Owlswick. When they were come within some half mile’s

distance of the Witchland army, so that they might see clearly their

russet kirtles and their shields and body-armour of bronze, and the

dull glint of their sword-blades and the heads of their spears, Volle,

that rode by Spitfire, spake and said, “Markest thou him, O Spitfire,

that rideth back and forth before their battle, marshalling them? So

ever rode Corinius; and well mayst thou know him even afar off by his

showiness and jaunting carriage. Yet see a great wonder now: for who

ever heard tell of this young hotspur giving back from the fight? And

now, or ever we be gotten within spear-shot–”

 

“By the bright eye of day,” cried Spitfire, “‘tis so! Will he baulk me

quite of a battle? I’ll loose a handful of horse upon them to delay

their haste ere they be flown beyond sight and finding.”

 

Therewith he gave command to his horsemen to ride forth upon the enemy.

And they rode forth with Astar of Rettray, that was brother-in-law to

Lord Zigg, for their leader. But the Witchland horse met them by the

shallows of Aron Pow and held them in the shallows while Corinius with

his main army won across the river. And when the main body of the Demons

were come up and the passage forced, the Witchlanders were gotten clean

away across the water-meadows to the pass betwixt the shore and the

steeps of Thremnir’s Heugh.

 

Then said Spitfire, “They stay not to form even i’ the narrow way

‘twixt the sea and the Heugh. And that were their safety, if they had

but the heart to turn and stand us.” And he shouted with a great shout

upon his men to charge the enemy, and suffer not a Witch to overlive

that slaughter.

 

So the footmen caught hold of the stirrup-leathers of the horsemen,

and running and riding they poured into the narrow pass; and ever was

Spitfire foremost among his men, hewing to left and to right among the

press, riding on that whelming battletide that seemed to bear him on

to triumph.

 

But now on a sudden was he, who with but twelve hundred men had so

hotly followed fifteen hundred into the strait passage under

Thremnir’s Heugh, made ware too late that he must have to do with

three thousand: Corinius rallying his folk and turning like a wolf in

the pass, while Corund’s sons, that had landed as aforesaid in the

storm in the mirk of night, swept down with their battalions from the

wooded slopes behind the Heugh. In such wise that Spitfire wist not

sooner of any foreshadowing of disaster than of disaster’s self: the

thunder of the blow in flank and front and rear.

 

Then befell great manslaying between the sea-cliffs and the sea. The

Demons, taken at that advantage, were like a man tripped in mid-stride

by a rope across the way. By the sore onset of the Witches they were

driven down into the shallows of the sea, and the spume of the sea was

red with blood. And the Lord Corinius, now that he had done with

feigned retreat, fared through the battle like a stream of

unquenchable wildfire, that none might sustain his strokes that were

about him.

 

Now was Spitfire’s horse slain under him with a spear-thrust, as

riding fetlock-deep in the yielding sand he rallied his men to fling

back Heming. But Bremery of Shaws brought him another horse, and so

mightily went he forth against the Witches that the sons of Corund

were fain to give back before his onslaught, and that wing of the

Witchland army was pressed back against the broken ground below the

Heugh. Yet was that of little avail, for Corinius brake through from

the north, thrusting the Demons with great slaughter back from the

sea, so that they were penned betwixt him and Heming. Therewith

Spitfire turned with some picked companies against Corinius; and well

it seemed for awhile that a great force of the Witches must be whelmed

or drowned in the salt waves. And Corinius himself stood now in great

peril of his life, for his horse was bogued in the soft sands and

might not win free for all his plunging.

 

In that nick of time came Spitfire through the stour, with a band of

Demons about him, slaying as he came. He shouted with a terrible

voice, “O Corinius, hateful to me and mine as are the gates of Hell,

now will I kill thee, and thy dead carcase shall fatten the sweet

meads of Owlswick.”

 

Corinius answered him, “Bloody Spitfire, last of three whelps, for thy

brothers are by now dead and rotten, I shall give thee a choke-pear.”

 

Therewith Spitfire shot a twirl-spear at him. It missed the man but

smote the great horse in the shoulder so that he plunged and fell in a

heap, hurt to the death. But the Lord Corinius lighting nimbly on his

feet caught Spitfire’s horse by the bridle rein and smote it on the

muzzle, even as he rode at him, so that the horse reared up and

swerved. Spitfire made a great blow at him with an axe, but it came

slantwise on the helmet ridge and glented aside in air. Then Corinius

thrust up under Spitfire’s shield with his sword, and the point

entered the big muscle of the arm near the armpit, and glancing

against the bone tore up through the muscles of the shoulder. And that

was a great wound.

 

Nevertheless Spitfire slacked not from the fight, but smote at him

again, thinking to have hewn off his arm the hand whereof still

clutched the bridle-rein. Corinius caught the axe on his shield, but

his fingers loosed the rein, and almost he fell to earth under that

mighty stroke, and the good bronze shield was dented and battered in.

 

Now with the loosing of the reins was Spitfire’s horse plunged

forward, carrying him past Corinius toward the sea. But he turned and

hailed him, crying, “Get thee an horse. For I count it unworthy to

fight with thee bearing this advantage over thee, I a-horseback and

thou on foot.”

 

Corinius cried out and answered, “Come down from thine horse then, and

meet me foot to foot. And know it, my pretty throstle-cock, that I am

king in Demonland, which dignity I hold of the King of Kings, Gorice

of Witchland, mine only overlord. Meet it is that I show thee in

combat singular, that vauntest thyself greatest among the rebels yet

left alive in this my kingdom, how much greater is my might than

thine.”

 

“These be great and thumping words,” said Spitfire. “I shall thrust

them down thy throat again.”

 

Therewith he made as if to light down from his horse; but as he strove

to light down, a mist went before his eyes and he reeled in his

saddle. His men rushed in betwixt him and Corinius, and the captain of

his bodyguard bare him up, saying, “You are hurt, my lord. You must

not fight no more with Corinius, for your highness is unmeet for

fighting and may not stand alone.”

 

So they that were about him bare up great Spitfire. And the mellay

that was stayed while those lords dealt together in single combat

brake forth afresh in that place. But all the while had furious war

swung and ravened below Thremnir’s Heugh, and wondrous was the valour

of the Demons; for many hundred were slain or wounded to the death,

and but a small force were they that yet remained to bear up the

battle against the Witches.

 

Now those that were with Spitfire departed with him in the secretest

manner that they could out of the fight, wrapping about him a watchet-coloured cloak to hide his shining armour. They stanched the blood

that ran from the great wound in his shoulder and bound it up

carefully, and carried him a-horseback by Volle’s command into

Tremmerdale by secret mountain paths up to a desolate corrie east of

Sterry Gap, under the great scree-shoot that flanks the precipices of

the south summit of Dina. A long time he lay there senseless, like to

one dead. For many hurts had he taken in the unequal fight, and

greatly was he bruised and battered, but worst of all was the sore

hurt Corinius gave him ere they parted betwixt the limits of land and

sea.

 

And when night was fallen and all the ways were darkened, came the

Lord Volle with a few companions utterly wearied to that lonely

corrie. The night was still and cloudless, and the maiden moon walked

high heaven, blackening the shadows of the great peaks that were like

sharks’ teeth against the night. Spitfire lay on a bed of ling and

cloaks in the lee of a great boulder. Ghastly pale was his face in the

silver moonlight.

 

Volle leaned upon his spear looking earnestly upon him. They asked him

tidings. And Volle answered, “All lost,” and still looked upon

Spitfire.

 

They said, “My lord, we have stanched the blood and bound up the

wound, but his lordship abideth yet senseless. And greatly we fear for

his life, lest this great hurt yet prove his bane-sore.”

 

Volle kneeled beside him on the cold sharp stones and tended him as a

mother might her sick child, applying to the wound leaves of black

horehound and millefoil and other healing simples, and giving him to

drink out of a flask of precious wine of Arshalmar, ripened for an age

in the deep cellars below Krothering. So that in a while Spitfire

opened his eyes and said, “Draw back the curtains of the bed, for ‘tis

many a day since I woke up in Owlswick. Or is it night indeed? How

went the fight, then?”

 

His eyes stared at the naked rocks and the naked sky beyond them. Then

with a great groan he lifted himself on his right elbow. Volle put a

strong arm about him, saying, “Drink the good wine, and have patience.

There be great doings toward.”

 

Spitfire stared round him awhile, then said violently, “Shall we be

foxes and fugitive men to dwell in holes o’ the hollow mountain side?

So the bright day is done, ha? Then off with these trammels.” And he

fell a-tearing at the bandage on his wounds.

 

But Voile prevented him with strong hands, saying, “Bethink thee how

on thee alone, O glorious Spitfire, and on thy wise heart and valiant

soul that delighteth in furious war, resteth all