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

grieve thee with a woful tale, madam, we were most bloodily

overthrown, and our army merely brought to not-being. And in the mid

rout, Zigg stole an instant to charge me by my love for him ride to

Krothering as if my life lay on it and the weal of all of us, and bid

you fly hence to Westmark or the isles or whither you will, ere the

Witches come again and here entrap you. Since save for these walls and

these few brave soldiers you have to ward them, no help standeth any

more ‘twixt you and these devilish Witches.”

 

Still she was silent. He said, “Let me not be too hateful to you, most

gracious Lady, for this rude tale of disaster. The suddenness of the

times bar any pleasant glozing. And indeed I thought I should satisfy

you more with plainness, than should opinion of I know not what false

courtliness bind me to show you comfort where comfort is not.”

 

The Lady Mevrian stood up and took him by both hands. Surely the light

of that lady’s eyes was like the new light of morning glancing through

mists on the gray still surface of a mountain tarn, and the accent of

her voice sweet as the voices of the morning as she said, “O Astar,

think me not so unhandsome, nor yet so foolish. Thanks, gentle Astar.

But thou hast not supped, and sure in a great soldier battle and swift

far riding should breed hunger, how ill soever the news he beareth.

Thy welcome shall not be the colder because we looked for more than

thee, alas, and for far other tidings. A chamber is prepared for thee.

Eat and drink; and when night is done is time enough to speak more of

these things.”

 

“Madam,” he said, “you must come now or ‘tis too late.”

 

But she answered him, “No, noble Astar. This is my brother’s house. So

long as I may keep it for him against his coming home I will not creep

out of Krothering like a rat, but stand to my watch. And this is

certain, I shall not open Krothering gates to Witches whiles I and my

folk yet live to bar them against them.”

 

So she made him go to supper; but herself sat late that night alone in

the Chamber of the Moon, that was in the donjon keep above the inner

court in Krothering. This was Lord Brandoch Daha’s banquet chamber,

devised and furnished by him in years gone by; and here he and she

commonly sat at meat, using not the banquet hall across the court save

when great company was present. Round was that chamber, following the

round walls of the tower that held it. All the pillars and the walls

and the vaulted roof were of a strange stone, white and smooth, and

yielding such a glistering show of pallid gold in it as was like the

golden sheen of the full moon of a warm night in midsummer. Lamps that

were milky opals self-effulgent filled all the chamber with a soft

radiance, in which the bas-reliefs of the high dado, delicately

carved, portraying those immortal blooms of amaranth and nepenthe and

moly and Elysian asphodel, were seen in all their delicate beauty, and

the fair painted pictures of the Lord of Krothering and his lady

sister, and of Lord Juss above the great open fireplace with Goldry

and Spitfire on his left and right. A few other pictures there were,

smaller than these: the Princess Armelline of Goblinland, Zigg and his

lady wife, and others; wondrous beautiful.

 

Here a long while sat the Lady Mevrian. She had a little lute wrought

of sweet sandalwood and ivory inlaid with gems. While she sat

a-thinking, her fingers strayed idly on the strings, and she sang in a

low sweet voice:

 

There were three ravens sat on a tree.

They were as black as they might be.

With a downe, derrie down.

The one of them said to his make.

Where shall we our breakefast take?

Downe in yonder greene field.

There lies a knight slain under his shield.

His hounds they lie downe at his feete.

So well they can their master keepe.

His haukes they flue so eagerly.

There’s no fowle dare him come nie.

Downe there comes a fallow doe

As great with yong as she might goe.

She lift up his bloudy hed.

And kist his wounds that were so red.

She gat him up upon her backe.

And carried him to earthen lake.

She buried him before the prime;

She was dead herselfe ere even-song time.

God send every gentleman

Such haukes, such hounds, and such a

With a downe, derrie down.

 

With the last sighing sweetness trembling from the strings, she laid

aside the lute, saying, “The discord of my thoughts, my lute, doth ill

agree with the harmonies of thy strings. Put it by.”

 

She fell to gazing on her brother’s picture, the Lord Brandoch Daha,

standing in his jewelled hauberk laced about with gold, his hand upon

his sword. And that lazy laughter-loving yet imperious look of the

eyes which in life he had was there, wondrous lively caught by the

painter’s art, and the lovely lines of his brow and lip and jaw, where

power and masterful determination slumbered, as brazen Ares might

slumber in the arms of the Queen of Love.

 

A long while Mevrian looked on that picture, musing. Then, burying her

face in the cushions of the long low seat she sat on, she burst into a

great passion of tears.

XXIII

THE WEIRD BEGUN OF ISHNAIN NEMARTRA

 

Of the counsel taken by the witches touching the

conduct of the war: whereafter in the fifth assault

the castle of Lord Brandoch Daha was made a

prey unto Corinius.

 

NOW was little time for debate or conjecture, but with the morrow’s

morn came the Witchland army once more before Krothering, and a herald

sent by Corinius to bid Mevrian yield up the castle and her own proper

person lest a worse thing befall them. Which she stoutly refusing,

Connius let straight assault the castle, but won it not. And in the

next three days following he thrice assaulted Krothenng, and, failing

with some loss of men to win an entry, closely invested it.

 

And now summoned he those other lords of Witchland to talk with him.

“How say ye? Or what rede shall we take? They be few only within to

man the walls; and great shame it is to us and to all Witchland if we

get not this hold taken, so many as we be here gone up against it, and

so great captains.”

 

Laxus said, “Thou art king in Demonland. Thine it is to take order

what shall be done. But if thou desire my rede, then shall I give it

thee.”

 

“I desire each one of you,” said Corinius, “to show forth to me

frankly and freely his rede. And well ye know I strive for nought else

but for Witchland’s glory and to make firm our conquest here.”

 

“Well,” said Laxus, “I told thee once already my counsel, and thou

wast angry with me. Thou madest a mighty victory on Switchwater Way;

which had we followed up, pushing home the sword of our advantage till

the hilts came clap against the breastplate of our adversary, we might

now have exterminated from the land the whole nest of them, Spitfire,

Zigg, and Volle. But now are they gotten away the devil knows whither,

for the preparing of fresh thorns to prick our sides withal.”

 

Corinius said, “Claim not wisdom after the event, my lord. ‘Twas not

so thou didst advise. Thou didst bid me let go Krothering: a thing I

will not do, once I have set mine hand to it.”

 

Laxus answered him, “Not only did I so advise thee as I have said, but

Heming was by, and will bear me out, that I did offer that he or I

with a small force should keep this comfit-box shut for thee till thou

shouldst have done the main business.”

 

“‘Tis so,” said Heming.

 

But Corinius said, “‘Tis not so, Heming. And were it so, ‘tis easily

seen why he or thou shouldst hanker for first suck at this luscious

fruit. Yet not so easy to see why I should yield it you.”

 

“That,” said Laxus, “is very ill said. I see thy memory needs jogging,

and thou art sliding into ingratitude. How many such like fruits hast

thou enjoyed since we came out hither, that we had all the pains and

plucking of?”

 

“O cry thee mercy, my lord,” said Corinius, “I should have remembered,

dreams of Sriva’s moist lips keep thee from straying. But enough of

this fooling: to the matter.”

 

Lord Laxus flushed. “By my faith,” said he, “this is very much to the

matter. ‘Twere well, Corinius, if thy loose thoughts were kept from

straying. Spend men on a fortress? Better assay Galing, then: that

were a prize worth more to our safety and our lordship here.”

 

“Ay,” said Heming. “Seek out the enemy. ‘Tis therefore we came hither:

not to find women for thee.”

 

Thereupon the Lord Corinius struck him across the table a great buffet

in the face. Heming, mad wroth, snatched out a dagger; but Gro and

Laxus catching him one by either hand restrained him. Gro said, “My

lords, my lords, you must not word it so dangerous ill. We have but

one heart and mind here, to magnify our Lord the King and his glory.

Thou, Heming, forget not the King hath put authority in the hand of

Corinius, so that thy dagger set against him setteth most treasonably

against the King’s majesty. And thou, my lord, I pray be temperate in

thy power. Sure, for want of open war it is that our hands be so ready

for these private brawls.”

 

When by fair words this stew was cooled again, Corinius bade Gro say

forth his mind, what he thought lay next to do. Gro answered, “My

lord, I am of Laxus’s opinion. Abiding here by Krothering, we fare as

idle cooks toying with sweetmeats while the roast spoils. We should

seek out power and destroy it where still it fareth free, lest it

swell again to a growth may danger us: wheresoever these lords be

fled, think not they’ll be slack to prepare a mischief for us.”

 

“I see,” said Corinius, “ye be all three of an accord against me. But

there is no one beam of these thoughts your discourse hath planted in

me, but is able to discern a greater cloud than you do go in.”

 

“It is very true,” said Laxus, “that we do think somewhat scornfully

of this war against women.”

 

“Ay, there’s the cover off the dish!” said Corinius, “and a pretty

mess within. Y’are woman-mad, every jack of you, and this blears your

eyes to think me sick o’ the same folly. Thou and thy little dark-eyed

baggage, that I dare swear bath months ago forgot thee for another.

Heming here and I know not what sweet maid his young heart doteth on.

Gro, ha! ha!” and he fell alaughing. “Wherefore the King saddled me

with this Goblin, he only knoweth, and his secretary the Devil: not I.

By Satan, thou hast a starved look i’ the eyes giveth me to think the

errand I sent thee to Krothering gates did thee no good. My cat’s

leering look showeth me that my cat goeth a catterwawing. Dost now

find the raven’s wing a seemlier hue in a wench’s hair to set they

cold blood aleaping than tawny red? Or dost think this one bath a

softer