The Worm Ouroboros E. R. Eddison (book series to read TXT) 📖

heads and arms smitten off, men hewn in sunder from crown to belly, ay, to the saddle, riderless horses maddened, blood splashed up from the ground like the slush from a marsh.

“So for a time, till we had spent the vantage of our onset and felt for the first time the weight of their strength. For Corinius, as it appeareth, was now himself ridden from the vanward where he had beat back for a time our main army, and set on against my Lord Brandoch Daha with horsemen and spearmen; and commanded his sling-casters besides to let freely at us and drive us toward the camp.

“And now in the great swing of the battle were we carried back to the camp again; and there was a sweet devils’ holiday: horses and men tripping over tent-ropes, tents torn down, crashes of broken crockery, and King Laxus come thither with sailors from the fleet, hamstringing our horses while Corinius charged us from the north and east. That Corinius beareth him in battle more like a devil from Hell than a mortal man. I’ the first two strokes of’s sword he overthrew two of our best captains, Romenard of Dalney and Emeron Galt. Styrkmir, that stood in’s way to stop him, a flung down with’s spear, horse and man. They say he met twice with my Lord Brandoch Daha that day, but each time were they parted in the press ere they might rightly square together.

“I have stood in some goodly battles, father, as well thou knowest: first following my Lord and my Lord Goldry Bluszco in foreign parts, and last year in the great rout at Crossby Outsikes, and again with my Lord Spitfire when he smote the Witches on Brima Rapes, and in the murthering great battle under Thremnir’s Heugh. But never was I in fight like to this of yesterday.

“Never saw I such feats of arms. As witness Kamerar of Stropardon, who with a great two-handed sword hewed off his enemy’s leg close to the hip, so huge a blow the blade sheared through leg and saddle and horse and all. And Styrkmir of Blackwood, rising like a devil out of a heap of slain men, and though’s helm was lossen and a was bleeding from three or four great wounds a held off a dozen o’ the Witches with’s deadly thrusts and sword-strokes, till they had enough and gave back before him: twelve before one, and he given over for dead a while before. But all great deeds seemed trash beside the deeds of my Lord Brandoch Daha. In one short while had he three times a horse slain stark dead under him, yet gat never a wound himself, which was a marvel. For without care he rode through and about, smiting down their champions. I mind me of him once, with’s horse ripped and killed under him, and one of those Witchland lords that tilted at him on the ground as he leaped to’s feet again; how a caught the spear with’s two hands and by main strength yerked his enemy out o’ the saddle. Prince Cargo it was, youngest of Corund’s sons. Long may the Witchland ladies strain their dear eyes, they’ll ne’er see yon hendy lad come sailing home again. His highness swapt him such a swipe o’ the neck-bone as he pitched to earth, the head of him flew i’ the air like a tennis ball. And i’ the twinkling of an eye was my Lord Brandoch Daha horsed again on’s enemy’s horse, and turned to charge ’em anew. You’d say his arm must fail at last for weariness, of a man so lithe and jimp to look on. Yet I think his last stroke i’ that battle was not lighter than the first. And stones and spears and sword-strokes seemed to come upon him with no more impression than blows with a straw would give to an adamant.

“I know not how long was that fight among the tents. Only ’twas the best fight I ever was at, and the bloodiest. And by all tellings ’twas as great work o’ the other part, where my Lord and his folk fought their way up on to the Side. But of that we knew nothing. Yet certain it is we had all been dead men had my Lord not there prevailed, as certain ’tis he had never so prevailed but for our charging of their flank when they first advanced against him. But in that last hour all we that fought among the tents thought each man only of this, how he might slay yet one more Witch, and yet again one more, afore he should die. For Corinius in that hour put forth his might to crush us; and for every enemy there felled to earth two more seemed to be raised up against us. And our own folk fell fast, and the tents that were so white were one gore of blood.

“When I was a little tiny boy, father, we had a sport, swimming in the deep pools of Tivarandarwater, that one boy would catch ’tother and hold him under till he could no more for want of breath. Methinks there’s no longing i’ the world so sore as the longing for air when he that is stronger than thou grippeth thee still under the water, nor no gladness i’ the world like the bonny sweet air i’ thy lungs again when a letteth thee shoot up to the free daylight. ’Twas right so with us, who had now said adieu to hope and saw all lost save life itself, and that not like to tarry long; when we heard suddenly the thunder of my Lord’s trumpet sounding to the charge. And ere our startled wits might rightly think what that portended, was the whole surging battle whipped and scattered like the water of a lake caught up in a white squall; and that massed strength of the enemy which had invested us round with