The Worm Ouroboros by Eric Rücker Eddison (english readers txt) 📕

snow light-fallen blew in little wisps along the ground, and the rocks

were slippery with an invisible coat of ice. Lord Gro, being troubled

with an ague, excused himself from that faring and kept his tent.

Corund stood beneath the walls with his folk about him. “I have matter

of import,” he cried, “and ‘tis needful it be heard both by the

highest and the lowest amongst you. Ere I begin, summon them all to

this part of the walls: a look-out is enow to shield you of the other

parts from any sudden onslaught, which besides I swear to you is clean

without my purpose.” So when they were thick on the wall above him, he

began to say, “Soldiers of Demonland, against you had I never quarrel.

Behold how in this Impland I have made freedom flourish as a flower. I

have strook off the heads of Philpritz Faz, and Illarosh, and Lurmesh,

and Gandassa, and Fax Fay Faz, that were the lords and governors here

aforetime, abounding in all the bloody and crying sins, oppression,

gluttony, idleness, cruelty, and extortion. And of my clemency I

delivered all their possessions unto their subjects to hold and order

after their own will alone, who before did put on patience and endured

with much heartburning the tyranny of these Fazes, until by me they

found a remedy for their more freedom. In like manner, not against you

do I war, O men of Demonland; but against the tyrants that enforced

you for their private gain to suffer hardship and death in this remote

country: namely, against Juss and Spitfire that came hither in quest

of their cursed brother whom the might of the great King bath happily

removed. And against Brandoch Daha am I come, of insolence untamed,

who liveth a chambering idle life eating and drinking and exercising

tyranny, while the pleasant lands of Krothering and Failze and

Stropardon, and the dwellers in the isles, Sorbey, Morvey, Strufey,

Dalney, and Kenarvey, and they of Westmark and all the western parts

of Demonland groan and wax lean to feed his luxury. To your hurt only

have these three led you, as cattle to the slaughter. Deliver them to

me, that I may chastise them, and I, that am great viceroy of Impland,

will make you free and grant you lordships: a lordship for every man

of you in this my realm of Impland.”

While Corund spake, the Lord Brandoch Daha went among the soldiers

bidding them hold their peace and not murmur against Corund. But those

that were most hot for action he sent about an errand preparing what

he had in mind. So that when the Lord Corund ceased from his

declaiming, all was ready to hand, and with one voice the soldiers of

Lord Juss that stood upon the wall cried out and said, “This is thy

word, O Corund, and this our answer,” and therewith flung down upon

him from pots and buckets and every kind of vessel a deluge of slops

and offal and all filth that came to hand. A bucketful took Corund in

the mouth, befouling all his great beard, so that he gave back

spitting. And he and his, standing close beneath the wall, and little

expecting so sudden and ill an answer, fared shamefully, being all

well soused and bemerded with filth and lye.

Therewith went up great shouts of laughter from the walls. But Corund

cried out, “O filth of Demonland, this is my latest word with you. And

though ‘twere ten years I must besiege this hold, yet will I take it

over your heads. And very ill to do with shall ye find me in the end,

and very puissant, proud, mighty, cruel, and bloody in my conquest.”

“What, lads?” said Lord Brandoch Daha, standing on the battlements,

“have we not fed this beast with pigwash enow, but he must still be

snuffing and snouking at our gate? Give me another pailful.”

So the Witches returned to their tents with great shame. So hot was

Corund in anger against the Demons, that he stayed not to eat nor

drink at his coming down from Eshgrar Ogo, but straight gathered force

and made an assault upon the burg, the mightiest he had yet essayed;

and his picked men of Witchland were in that assault, and he himself

to lead them. Thrice by main fury they won up into the hold, but all

were slain who set foot therein, and Corund’s young son Dormanes

wounded to the death. And at even they drew off from the battle. There

fell in that fight an hundred and fourscore Demons, and of the Imps

five hundred, and of the Witches three hundred and ninety and nine.

And many were hurt of either side.

Wrath sat like thunder on Corund’s brow at suppertime. He ate his meat

savagely, thrusting great gobbets in his mouth, crunching the bones

like a beast, taking deep draughts of wine with every mouthful, which

yet dispelled not his black mood. Over against him Gro sat silent,

shivering now and then for all that he kept his ermine cloak about him

and the brazier stood at his elbow. He made but a poor meal, drinking

mulled wine in little sips and dipping little pieces of bread in it.

So wore without speech that cheerless and unkindly meal, until the

Lord Corund, looking suddenly across the board at Gro and catching his

eye studying him, said, “That was a bright star of thine and then

shined clear upon thee when thou tookest this bout of shivering fits

and so wentest not with me to be soused with muck before the burg.”

“Who would have dreamed,” answered Gro, “of their using so base and

shameful a part?”

“Not thou, I’ll swear,” said Corund, looking evilly upon him and

marking, as he thought, a twinkling light in Gro’s eyes. Gro shivered

again, sipped his wine, and shifted his glance uneasily under that

unfriendly stare.

Corund drank awhile in silence, then flushing suddenly a darker red,

said, leaning heavily across the board at him, “Dost know why I said

‘not thou’?”

“‘Twas scarce needful, to thy friend,” said Gro.

“I said it,” said Corund, “because I know thou didst look for another

thing when thou didst skulk shamming here.”

“Another thing?”

“Sit not there like some prim-mouthed miss feigning an innocence all

know well thou hast not,” said Corund, “or I’ll kill thee. Thou

plottedst my death with the Demons. And because thyself hast no shred

of honour in thy soul, thou hadst not the wit to perceive that their

nobility would shrink from such a betrayal as thy hopes entertained.”

Gro said, “This is a jest I cannot laugh at; or else ‘tis madman’s

brabble.”

“Dissembling cur,” said Corund, “be sure that I hold him not less

guilty that holds the ladder than him that mounts the wall. It was thy

design they should smite us at unawares when we went up to them with

this proposal thou didst urge on me so hotly.”

Gro made as if to rise. “Sit down!” said Corund. “Answer me; didst not

thou egg on the poor snipe Philpritz to that attempt on Juss?”

“He told me on’t,” said Gro.

“O, thou art cunning,” said Corund. “There too I see thy treachery.

Had they fallen upon us, thou mightest have thrown thyself safely upon

their mercy.”

“This is foolishness,” said Gro. “We were far stronger.”

“‘Tis so,” said Corund. “When did I charge thee with wisdom and sober

judgement? With treachery I know thou art soaked wet.”

“And thou art my friend!” said Gro.

Corund said in a while, “I have long known thee to be both a subtle

and dissembling fox, and now I durst trust thee no more, for fear I

should fall further into thy danger. I am resolved to murther thee.”

Gro fell back in his chair and flung out his arms. “I have been here

before,” he said. “I have beheld it, in moonlight and in the barren

glare of day, in fair weather and in hail and snow, with the great

winds charging over the wastes. And I knew it was accursed. From Morna

Moruna, ere I was born or thou, O Corund, or any of us, treason and

cruelty blacker than night herself had birth, and brought death to

their begetter and all his folk. From Morna Moruna bloweth this wind

about the waste to blast our love and bring us destruction. Ay, kill

me; I’ll not ward myself, not i’ the smallest.”

“‘Tis small matter, Goblin,” said Corund, “whether thou shouldst or

no. Thou art but a louse between my fingers, to kill or cast away as

shall seem me good.”

“I was King Gaslark’s man,” said Gro, as if talking in a dream; “and

between a man and a boy near fifteen years I served him true and

costly. Yet it was my fortune in all that time and at the ending

thereof only to get a beard on my chin and remorse at heart. To what

scorned purpose must I plot against him? Pity of Witchland, of

Witchland sliding as then into the pit of adverse luck, ‘twas that

made force upon me. And I served Witchland well: but fate ever fought

o’ the other side. It was that counselled King Gorice XI. to draw out

from the fight at Kartadza. Yet wanton Fortune trod down the scale for

Demonland. I prayed him not wrastle with Goldry in the Foliot Isles.

Thou didst back me. Nought but rebukes and threats of death gat I

therefrom; but because my redes were set at nought, evil fell upon

Witchland. I helped our Lord the King when he conjured and made a

sending against the Demons. He loved me therefor and upheld me, but

great envy was raised up against me in Carcë for that fact. Yet I bare

up, for thy friendship and thy lady wife’s were as bright fires to

warm me against all the frosts of their ill-will. And now, for love of

thee, I fared with thee to Impland. And here by the Moruna where in

old days I wandered in danger and in sorrow, it is fitting I behold at

length the emptiness of all my days.”

Therewith Gro fell silent a minute, and then began to say: “O Corund,

I’ll strip bare my soul to thee before thou kill me. It is most true

that until now, sitting before Eshgrar Ogo, it hath been present to my

heart how great an advantage we held against the Demons, and the glory

of their defence, so little a strength against us so many, and the

great glory of their flinging of us back, these things were a

splendour to my soul beholding them. Such glamour hath ever shone to

me all my life’s days when I behold great men battling still beneath

the bludgeonings of adverse fortune that, howsoever they be mine

enemies, it lieth not in my virtue to withhold from admiration of them

and well nigh love. But never was I false to thee, nor much less ever

thought, as thou most unkindly accusest me, to compass thy

destruction.”

“Thou dost whine like a woman for thy life,” said Corund. “Cowardly

hounds never stirred pity in me.” Yet he moved not, only looking

dourly on Gro.

Gro plucked forth his own sword, and pushed it towards Corund

hilt-foremost across the board. “Such words are worse than sword-thrusts

betwixt us twain,” said he. “Thou shalt see how I’ll welcome death. The

King will praise thee, when thou showest the cause. And it will be sweet

news to Corinius and them that have held me in their hate, that thy love

hath