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

>He untied the bands of the sword and drew it singing from its sheath.

“With this sword,” he said, looking lovingly along the blade, “I have

overcome hundreds of mine enemies: Witches, and Ghouls, and barbarous

people out of Impland and the southern seas, pirates of Esamocia and

princes of the eastern main. With this sword I gat the victory in many

a battle, and most glorious of all in the battle before Carcë last

September. There, fighting against great Corund in the press of the

fight I gave him with this sword the wound that was his death-wound.”

 

He put up the sword again in its sheath: held it a minute as if

pondering whether or no to gird it about his waist: then slowly turned

to its place on the wall and hung it up again. He carried his head

high like a warhorse, keeping his gaze averted from the Queen as they

went out from the great armoury in Galing; yet not so skilfully but

she marked a glistening in his eye that seemed a tear standing above

his lower eyelash.

 

That night was supper set in Lord Juss’s private chamber: a light

regale, yet most sumptuous. They sat at a round table, nine in

company: the three brethren, the Lords Brandoch Daha, Zigg, and Volle,

the Ladies Armelline and Mevrian, and the Queen. Brightly flowed the

wines of Krothering and Norvasp and blithely went the talk to outward

seeming. But ever and again silence swung athwart the board, like a

gray pall, till Zigg broke it with a jest, or Brandoch Daha or his

sister Mevrian. The Queen felt the chill behind their merriment. The

silent fits came oftener as the feast went forward, as if wine and

good cheer had lost their native quality and turned fathers of black

moods and gloomy meditations.

 

The Lord Goldry Bluszco, that till now had spoke little, spake now not

at all, his proud dark face fixed in staid pensive lines of thought.

Spitfire too was fallen silent, his face leaned upon his hand, his

brow bent; and whiles he drank amain, and whiles he drummed his

fingers on the table. The Lord Brandoch Daha leaned back in his ivory

chair, sipping his wine. Very demure, through half-closed eyes, like a

panther dozing in the noon-day, he watched his companions at the

feast. Like sunbeams chased by cloud-shadows across a mountain-side in

windy weather, the lights of humorous enjoyment played across his

face.

 

The Queen said, “O my lords, you have promised me I should hear the

full tale of your wars in Impland and the Impland seas, and how you

came to Carcë and of the great battle that there befell, and of the

latter end of all the lords of Witchiand and of Gorice XII. of memory

accursed. I pray you let me hear it now, that our hearts may be

gladdened by the tale of great deeds the remembrance whereof shall be

for all generations, and that we may rejoice anew that all the lords

of Witchland are dead and gone because of whom and their tyranny earth

bath groaned and laboured these many years.”

 

Lord Juss, in whose face when it was at rest she had beheld that same

melancholy which she had marked in him in the library that same day,

poured forth more wine, and said, “O Queen Sophonisba, thou shalt hear

it all.” Therewith he told all that had befallen since they last bade

her adieu in Koshtra Belorn: of the march to the sea at Muelva; of

Laxus and his great fleet destroyed and sunk off Melikaphkhaz; of the

battle before Carcë and its swinging fortunes; of the unhallowed light

and flaring signs in heaven whereby they knew of the King’s conjuring

again in Carcë, of their waiting in the night, armed at all points,

with charms and amulets ready against what dreadful birth might be

from the King’s enchantments; of the blasting of the Iron Tower, and

the storming of the hold in pitch darkness; of the lords of Witchland

murthered at the feast, and nought left at last of the power and pomp

and terror that was Witchland save dying embers of a funeral fire and

voices wailing in the wind before the dawn.

 

When he had done, the Queen said, as if talking in a dream, “Surely it

may be said of these kings and lords of Witchland dead—

 

“These wretched eminent things

Leave no more fame behind ‘em than should one

Fall in a frost, and leave his print in snow;

As soon as the sun shines, it ever melts

Both form and matter.”

 

With those words spoken dropped silence again like a pall athwart that

banquet table, more tristful than before and full of heaviness.

 

On a sudden Lord Brandoch Daha stood up, unbuckling from his shoulder

his golden baldrick set with apricot-coloured sapphires and diamonds

and fire-opals that imaged thunderbolts. He threw it before him on the

table, with his sword, clattering among the cups. “O Queen

Sophonisba,” said he, “thou hast spoken a fit funeral dirge for our

glory as for Witchland’s. This sword Zeldornius gave me. I bare it at

Krothering Side against Corinius, when I threw him out of Demonland. I

bare it at Melikaphkhaz. I bare it in the last great fight in

Witchland. Thou wilt say it brought me good luck and victory in

battle. But it brought not to me, as to Zeldornius, this last best

luck of all: that earth should gape for me when my great deeds were

ended.”

 

The Queen looked at him amazed, marvelling to see him so much moved

that she had known until now so lazy mocking and so debonair.

 

But the other lords of Demonland stood up and flung down their

jewelled swords on the table beside Lord Brandoch Daha’s. And Lord

Juss spake and said, “We may well cast down our swords as a last

offering on Witchland’s grave. For now must they rust: seamanship and

all high arts of war must wither: and, now that our great enemies are

dead and gone, we that were lords of all the world must turn shepherds

and hunters, lest we become mere mountebanks and fops, fit fellows for

the chambering Beshtrians or the Red Foliot. O Queen Sophonisba, and

you my brethren and my friends, that are come to keep my birthday with

me tomorrow in Galing, what make ye in holiday attire? Weep ye

rather, and weep again, and clothe you all in black, thinking that our

mightiest feats of arms and the high southing of the bright star of

our magnificence should bring us unto timeless ruin. Thinking that we,

that fought but for fighting’s sake, have in the end fought so well we

never may fight more; unless it should be in fratricidal rage each

against each. And ere that should betide, may earth close over us and

our memory perish.”

 

Mightily moved was the Queen to behold such a violent sorrow, albeit

she could not comprehend the roots and reason of it. Her voice shook a

little as she said, “My Lord Juss, my Lord Brandoch Daha, and you

other lords of Demonland, it was little in mine expectation to find in

you such a passion of sour discontent. For I came to rejoice with you.

And strangely it soundeth in mine ear to hear you mourn and lament

your worst enemies, at so great hazard of your lives and all you held

dear, struck down by you at last. I am but a maid and young in years,

albeit my memory goeth back two hundred springs, and ill it befitteth

me to counsel great lords and men of war. Yet strange it seemeth if

there be not peaceful enjoyment and noble deeds of peace for you all

your days, who are young and noble and lords of all the world and rich

in every treasure and high gifts of learning, and the fairest country

in the world for your dear native land. And if your swords must not

rust, ye may bear them against the uncivil races of Impland and other

distant countries to bring them to subjection.”

 

But Lord Goldry Bluszco laughed bitterly. “O Queen,” he cried, “shall

the correction of feeble savages content these swords, which have

warred against the house of Gorice and against all his chosen captains

that upheld the great power of Carcë and the glory and the fear

thereof?”

 

And Spitfire said, “What joy shall we have of soft beds and delicate

meats and all the delights that be in manymountained Demonland, if we

must be stingless drones, with no action to sharpen our appetite for

ease?”

 

All were silent awhile. Then the Lord Juss spake saying, “O Queen

Sophonisba, hast thou looked ever, on a showery day in spring, upon

the rainbow flung across earth and sky, and marked how all things of

earth beyond it, trees, mountain-sides, and rivers, and fields, and

woods, and homes of men, are transfigured by the colours that are in

the bow?”

 

“Yes,” she said, “and oft desired to reach them.”

 

“We,” said Juss, “have flown beyond the rainbow. And there we found no

fabled land of heart’s desire, but wet rain and wind only and the cold

mountain-side. And our hearts are a-cold because of it.”

 

The Queen said, “How old art thou, my Lord Juss, that thou speakest as

an old man might speak?”

 

He answered, “I shall be thirty-three years old tomorrow, and that is

young by the reckoning of men. None of us be old, and my brethren and

Lord Brandoch Daha younger than I. Yet as old men may we now look

forth on our lives, since the goodness thereof is gone by for us.” And

he said, “Thou O Queen canst scarcely know our grief; for to thee the

blessed Gods gave thy heart’s desire: youth for ever, and peace. Would

they might give us our good gift, that should be youth for ever, and

war; and unwaning strength and skill in arms. Would they might but

give us our great enemies alive and whole again. For better it were we

should run hazard again of utter destruction, than thus live out our

lives like cattle fattening for the slaughter, or like silly garden

plants.”

 

The Queen’s eyes were large with wonder. “Thou couldst wish it?” she

said.

 

Juss answered and said, “A true saying it is that ‘a grave is a rotten

foundation.’ If thou shouldst proclaim to me at this instant the great

King alive again and sitting again in Carcë, bidding us to the dread

arbitrament of war, thou shouldst quickly see I told thee truth.”

 

While Juss spake, the Queen turned her gaze from one to another round

the board. In every eye, when he spake of Carcë, she saw the lightning

of the joy of battle as of life returning to men held in a deadly

trance. And when he had done, she saw in every eye the light go out.

Like Gods they seemed, in the glory of their youth and pride, seated

about that table; but sad and tragical, like Gods exiled from wide

Heaven.

 

None spake, and the Queen cast down her eyes, sitting as if wrapped in

thought. Then the Lord Juss rose to his feet, and said, “O Queen

Sophonisba, forgive us that our private sorrows should make us so

forgetful of our hospitality as weary our guest with a mirthless

feast. But think ‘tis because we know thee our dear friend we use not

too much ceremony. Tomorrow we will be merry with thee, whate’er

betide thereafter.”

 

So they bade goodnight. But as they went out into the garden under

the stars, the Queen took Juss aside privately and said to him, “My

lord,