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

lights filled the rich tent with splendour. From without came the

noise of rain steadily falling in the dark autumn night, splashing in

the puddles, pattering on the silken roof. Zigg sat by Spitfire on the

bed, his hawk-like countenance shadowed with an unwonted look of care.

His sword stood between his knees point downward on the floor. He

tipped it gently with either hand now to the left now to the right,

watching with pensive gaze the warm light shift and gleam in the ball

of balas ruby that made the pommel of the sword.

“Fell it out so accursedly?” said Spitfire. “All ten, thou saidst, on

Rammerick Strands?”

Zigg nodded assent.

“Where was he that he saved them not?” said Spitfire. “O, it was

vilely miscarried!”

Zigg answered,“‘Twas a swift and secret landing in the dark a mile

east of the harbour. Thou must not blame him unheard.”

“What more remain to us?” said Spitfire. “Content: I’ll hear him. What

ships remain to us, is more to the purpose. Three by Northsands Eres,

below Elmerstead: five on Throwater: two by Lychness: two more at

Aurwath: six by my direction on Stropardon Firth: seven here on the

beach.”

“Besides four at the firth head in Westmark,” said Zigg. “And order is

ta’en for more in the Isles.”

“Twenty and nine,” said Spitfire, “and those in the Isles beside. And

not one afloat, nor can be ere spring. If Laxus smell them out and

take them as lightly as these he burned under Volle’s nose on

Rammerick Strands, we do but plough the desert building them.”

He rose to pace the tent. “Thou must raise me new forces for to break

into Owlswick. ‘Fore heaven!” he said, “this vexes me to the guts, to

sit at mine own gate full two months like a beggar, whiles Corsus and

those two cubs his sons drink themselves drunk within, and play at

cockshies with my treasures.”

“O’ the wrong side of the wall,” said Zigg, “the masterbuilder may

judge the excellence of his own building.”

Spitfire stood by the brazier, spreading his strong hands above the

glow. After a time he spake more soberly. “It is not these few ships

burnt in the north should trouble me; and indeed Laxus hath not five

hundred men to man his whole fleet withal. But he holdeth the sea, and

ever since his putting out into the deep with thirty sail from

Lookinghaven I do expect fresh succours out of Witchland. ‘Tis that

maketh me champ still on the bit till this hold be won again; for then

were we free at least to meet their landing. But ‘twere most unfit at

this time of the year to carry on a siege in low and watery grounds, the

enemy’s army being on foot and unengaged. Wherefore, this is my mind, O

my friend, that thou go with haste over the Stile and fetch me supply of

men. Leave force to ward our ships a-building, wheresoever they be; and

a good force in Krothering and thereabout, for I will not be found a

false steward of his lady sister’s safety. And in thine own house make

sure. But these things being provided, shear up the war-arrow and bring

me out of the west fifteen or eighteen hundred men-atarms. For I do

think that by me and thee and such a head of men of Demonland as we

shall then command Owlswick gates may be brast open and Corsus plucked

out of Owlswick like a whilk out of his shell.”

Zigg answered him, “I’ll be gone at point of day.”

Now they rose up and took their weapons and muffled themselves in

their great campaigning cloaks and went forth with torchbearers to

walk through the lines, as every night ere he went to rest it was

Spitfire’s wont to do, visiting his captains and setting the guard.

The rain fell gentlier. The night was without a star. The wet sands

gleamed with the lights of Owlswick Castle, and from the castle came

by fits the sound of feasting heard above the wash and moan of the

sullen sleepless sea.

When they had made all sure and were come nigh again to Spitfire’s

tent and Zigg was upon saying goodnight, there rose up out of the

shadow of the tent an ancient man and came betwixt them into the glare

of the torches. Shrivelled and wrinkled and bowed he seemed as with

extreme age. His hair and his beard hung down in elf-locks adrip with

rain. His mouth was toothless, his eyes like a dead fish’s eyes. He

touched Spitfire’s cloak with his skinny hand, saying in a voice like

the nightraven’s, “Spitfire, beware of Thremnir’s Heugh.”

Spitfire said, “What have we here? And which way the devil came he

into my camp?”

But that aged man still held him by the cloak, saying, “Spitfire, is

not this thine house of Owlswick? And is it not the most strong and

fair place that ever man saw in this countree?”

“Filth, unhand me,” said Spitfire, “else shall I presently thrust thee

through with my sword, and send thee to the Tartarus of hell, where I

doubt not the devils there too long await thee.”

But that aged man said again, “Hot stirring heads are too easily

entrapped. Hold fast, Spitfire, to that which is thine, and beware of

Thremnir’s Heugh.”

Now was Lord Spitfire wood angry, and because the old carle still held

him by the cloak and would not let him go, plucked forth his sword,

thinking to have stricken him about the head with the flat of his

sword. But with that stroke went a gust of wind about them, so that

the torch-flames were nigh blown out. And that was strange, of a still

windless night. And in that gust was the old man vanished away like a

cloud passing in the night.

Zigg spake: “The thin habit of spirits is beyond the force of

weapons.”

“Pish!” said Spitfire. “Was this a spirit? I hold it rather a

simulacrum or illusion prepared for us by Witchland’s cunning, to

darken our counsel and shake our resolution.”

On the morrow while yet sunrise was red, Lord Zigg went down to the

sea-shore to bathe in the great rock pools that face southward across

the little bay of Owlswick. The salt air was fresh after the rain. The

wind that had veered to the east blew in cold and pinching gusts. In a

rift between slate-blue clouds the low sun flamed blood-red. Far to

the southeast where the waters of Micklefirth open on the main, the

low cliffs of Lookinghaven-ness loomed shadowy as a bank of cloud.

Zigg laid down his sword and spear and looked southeast across the

firth; and behold, a ship in full sail rounding the ness and steering

northward on the larboard tack. And when he had put off his kirtle he

looked again, and behold, two more ships a-steering round the ness and

sailing hard in the wake of the first. So he donned his kirtle again

and took his weapons, and by then were fifteen sail a-steering up the

firth in line ahead, dragons of war.

So he fared hastily to Spitfire’s tent, and found him yet abed, for

sweet sleep yet nursed in her bosom impetuous Spitfire; his head was

thrown back on the broidered pillow, displaying his strong shaven

throat and chin; his fierce mouth beneath his bristling fair

moustachios was relaxed in slumber, and his fierce eyes closed in

slumber beneath their yellow bristling eyebrows.

Zigg took him by the foot and waked him and told him all the matter:

“Fifteen ships, and every ship (as I might plainly see as they drew

nigh) as full of men as there be eggs in a herring’s roe. So cometh

our expectation to the birth.”

“And so,” said Spitfire, leaping from the couch, “cometh Laxus again

to Demonland, with fresh meat to glut our swords withal.”

He caught up his weapons and ran to a little knoll that stood above

the beach over against Owlswick Castle. And all the host ran to behold

those dragons of war sail up the firth at dawn of day.

“They dowse sail,” said Spitfire, “and put in for Scaramsey. ‘Tis not

for nothing I taught these Witchlanders on the Rapes of Brima. Laxus,

since he witnessed that downthrow of their army, now accounteth

islands more wholesomer than the mainland, well knowing we have nor

sails nor wings to strike across the firth at him. Yet scarcely by

skulking in the islands shall he break up the siege of Owlswick.”

Zigg said, “I would know where be his fifteen other ships.”

“In fifteen ships,” said Spitfire, “it is not possible he beareth more

than sixteen hundred or seventeen hundred men of war. Against so many

I am strong enough to-day, should they adventure a landing, to throw

‘em into the sea and still contain Corsus if he make a sally. If more

be added, I am the less secure. Therefore occasion calleth but the

louder for thy purposed faring to the west.”

So the Lord Zigg called him out a dozen men-at-arms and went

a-horseback. By then were all the ships rowed ashore under the southern

spit of Scaramsey, where is good anchorage for ships. They were there

hidden from view, all save their masts that showed over the spit, so

that the Demons might observe nought of their disembarking.

Spitfire rode with Zigg three miles or four, as far as the brow of the

descent to the fords of Ethreywater, and there bade him farewell.

“Lightning shall be slow to my hasting,” said Zigg, “till I be back

again. Meantime, I would have thee be not too scornfully unmindful of

that old man.”

“Chirking of sparrows!” said Spitfire. “I have forgot his brabble.”

Nevertheless his glance shifted southward beyond Owlswick to the great

bluff of tree-hung precipice that stands like a sentinel above the

meadows of Lower Tivarandardale, leaving but a narrow way betwixt its

lowest crags and the sea. He laughed: “O my friend, I am yet a boy in

thine eyes it seemeth, albeit I am well-nigh twenty-nine years old.”

“Laugh at me and thou wilt,” said Zigg. “Without this word said I

could not leave thee.”

“Well,” said Spitfire, “to lull thy fears, I’ll not go a-birdsnesting

on Thremnir’s Heugh till thou come back again.”

Now for a week or more was nought to tell of save that Spitfire’s army

sat before Owlswick, and they on the island sent ever and again three

or four ships to land suddenly about Lookinghaven or at the head of

the firth, or southaway beyond Drepaby, as far as the coastlands under

Rimon Armon, harrying and burning. And as oft as force was gathered

against them, they fared aboard again and sailed back to Scaramsey. In

those days came Volle from the west with an hundred men and joined him

with Spitfire.

The eighth day of November the weather worsened, and clouds gathered

from the west and south, till all the sky was a welter of huge watery

leaden clouds, separated one from another by oily streaks of white.

The wind grew fitful as the day wore. The sea was dark like dull iron.

Rain began to fall in big drops. The mountains showed monstrous and

shadowy: some dark inky blue, others in the west like walls and

bastions of clotted mist against the hueless mist of heaven behind

them. Evening closed with thunder and rain and lightning-torn banks of

vapour. All night long the thunder roared in sullen intermission, and

all night long new banks of thundercloud swung together and parted