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

opened on that dale, and the reek of no man’s hearthstone burdened the

winds that blew thither. And that gable-crested peak at the head of

the dale was the southernmost of the Forks of Nantreganon, nursery of

the vulture and the eagle. And a hidden way was round the right

shoulder of that peak, over the toothed ridge by Neverdale Hause to

the upper waters of Tivarandardale.

On an afternoon of sultry summer heat it so befell that they rested

below the hause on a bastion of rock that jutted from the south-western slope. Beneath their feet precipices fell suddenly away from a

giddy verge, sweeping round in a grand cirque above which the mountain

rose like some Tartarian fortress, ponderous, cruel as the sea and

sad, scarred and gashed with great lines of cleavage as though the

face of the mountain had been slashed away by the axe-stroke of a

giant. In the depths the waters of Dule Tarn slept placid and

fathomless.

Gro was stretched on the brink of the cliff, face downward, propped on

his two elbows, studying those dark waters. “Surely,” he said, “the

great mountains of the world are a present remedy if men did but know

it against our modern discontent and ambitions. In the hills is

wisdom’s fount. They are deep in time. They know the ways of the sun

and the wind, the lightning’s fiery feet, the frost that shattereth,

the rain that shroudeth, the snow that putteth about their nakedness a

softer coverlet than fine lawn: which if their large philosophy

question not if it be a bridal sheet or a shroud, hath not this

unpolicied calm his justification ever in the returning year, and is

it not an instance to laugh our carefulness out of fashion? of us,

little children of the dust, children of a day, who with so many

burdens do burden us with taking thought and with fears and desires

and devious schemings of the mind, so that we wax old before our time

and fall weary ere the brief day be spent and one reaping-hook gather

us home at last for all our pains.”

He looked up and she met the gaze of his great eyes; deep pools of

night they seemed, where strange matters might move unseen, disturbing

to look on, yet filled with a soft slumbrous charm that lulled and

soothed.

“Thou’st fallen a-dreaming, my lord,” said Mevrian. “And for me ‘tis a

hard thing to walk with thee in thy dreams, who am awake in the broad

daylight and would be a-doing.”

“Certes it is an ill thing,” said Lord Gro, “that thou, who hast not

been nourished in mendicity or poverty but in superfluity of honour

and largesse, shouldst be made fugitive in thine own dominions, to

lodge with foxes and beasts of the wild mountain.”

Said she, “It is yet a sweeter lodging than is to-day in Krothering.

It is therefore I chafe to do somewhat. To win through to Galing, that

were something.”

“What profit is in Galing,” said Gro, “without Lord Juss?”

She answered, “Thou wilt tell me it is even as Krothering without my

brother.”

Looking sidelong up at her, where she sat armed beside him, he beheld

a tear a-tremble on her eyelid. He said gently, “Who shall foreknow

the ways of Fate? Your highness is better here belike.”

Lady Mevrian stood up. She pointed to a print in the living rock

before her feet. “The hippogriff’s hoofmark!” she cried, “stricken in

the rock ages ago by that high bird which presideth from of old over

the predestined glory of our line, to point us on to a fame advanced

above the region of the glittering stars. True is the word that that

land which is in the governance of a woman only is not surely kept. I

will abide idly here no more.”

Gro, beholding her so stand all armed on that high brink of crag,

setting with so much perfection in womanly beauty manlike valour,

bethought him that here was that true embodiment of morn and eve, that

charm which called him from Krothering, and for which the prophetic

spirits of mountain and wood and field had pointed his path with a

heavenly benison, meaning to bid him go northward to his heart’s true

home. He kneeled down and caught her hand in his, embracing and

kissing it as of her in whom all his hopes were placed, and saying

passionately, “Mevrian, Mevrian, let me but be armed in thy good grace

and I defy whatever there is or can be against me. Even as the sun

lighteth broad heaven at noon-day, and that giveth light unto this

dreary earth, so art thou the true light of Demonland which because of

thee maketh the whole world glorious. Welcome unto me be all miseries,

so only unto thee I may be welcome.”

She sprang back, snatching away her hand. Her sword leapt singing from

the scabbard. But Gro, that was so ravished and abused that he

remembered of nothing worldly but only that he beheld his lady’s face,

abode motionless. She cried, “Back to back! Swift, or ‘tis too late!”

He leaped up, barely in time. Six stout fellows, soldiers of Witchland

stolen softly upon them at unawares, closed now upon them. No breath

to waste in parley, but the clank of steel: he and Mevrian back to

back on a table of rock, those six setting on from either side. “Kill

the Goblin,” said they. “Take the lady unhurt: ‘tis death to all if

she be touched.”

So for a time those two defended them of all their power. Yet at such

odds could not the issue stand long in doubt, nor Gro’s high mettle

make up what he lacked of strength bodily and skill in arms. Cunning

of fence indeed was the Lady Mevrian, as they guessed not to their

hurt; for the first of them, a great chuff-headed fellow that thought

to bear her down with rushing in upon her, she with a deft thrust

passing his guard ran clean through the throat; by whose taking off,

his fellows took some lesson of caution. But Gro being at length

brought to earth with many wounds, they had the next instant caught

Mevrian from behind whiles others engaged her in the face, when in the

nick of time as by the intervention of heaven was all their business

taken in reverse, and all five in a moment laid bleeding on the stones

beside their fellows.

Mevrian, looking about and seeing what she saw, fell weak and faint in

her brother’s arms, overcome with so much radiant joy after that

stress of action and peril; beholding now with her own eyes that homecoming whereof the genii of that land had had foreknowledge and in

Gro’s sight shown themselves wild with joy thereof: Brandoch Daha and

Juss come home to Demonland, like men arisen from the dead.

“Not touched,” she answered them. “But look to my Lord Gro: I fear he

be hurt. Look to him well, for he hath approved him our friend

indeed.”

How word was brought unto the Lord Corinius

that the Lords Juss and Brandoch Daha were

come again into the land, and how he resolved to

give them battle on the side, under Erngate End;

and of the great flank march of Lord Brandoch

Daha over the mountains from Transdale; and of

the great battle, and of the issue thereof.

LAXUS and those sons of Corund walked on an afternoon in Krothering

home mead. The sky above them was hot and coloured of lead, presaging

thunder. No wind stirred in the trees that were livid-green against

that leaden pall. The noise of mattock and crow-bar came without

intermission from the castle. Where gardens had been and arbours of

shade and sweetness, was now but wreck: broken columns and smashed

porphyry vases of rare workmanship, mounds of earth and rotting

vegetation. And those great cedars, emblems of their lord’s estate and

pride, lay prostrate now with their roots exposed, a tangle of sere

foliage and branches broken, withered and lifeless. Over this

death-bed of ruined loveliness the towers of onyx showed ghastly

against the sky.

“Is there not a virtue in seven?” said Cargo. “Last week was the sixth

time we thought we had gotten the eel by the tail in yon fly-blown

hills of Mealand and came empty home. When think’st, Laxus, shall’s

run ‘em to earth indeed?”

“When egg-pies shall grow on apple-trees,” answered Laxus. “Nay, the

general setteth greater store by his proclamations concerning the

young woman (who likely never heareth of them, and assuredly will not

be by them ‘ticed home again), and by these toys of revenge, than by

sound soldiership. Hark! there goeth this day’s work.”

They turned at a shout from the gates, to behold the northern of those

two golden hippo griffs totter and crash down the steeps into the

moat, sending up a great smoke from the stones and rubble which poured

in its wake.

Lord Laxus’s brow was dark. He laid hand on Heming’s arm, saying, “The

times need all sage counsel we can reach unto, O ye sons of Corund, if

our Lord the King shall have indeed from this expedition into

Demonland the victory at last of all his evil-willers. Remember, that

was a great miss to our strength when the Goblin went.”

“Out upon the viper!” said Cargo. “Corinius was right in this, not to

warrant him the honesty of such slippery cattle. He had not served

above a month or two, but that he ran to the enemy.”

“Corinius,” said Laxus, “is yet but green in his estate. Doth he

suppose the rest of his reign shall be but play and the enjoying of a

kingdom? Those lefthanded strokes of fortune may yet o’erthrow him,

the while that he streameth out his youth in wine and venery and

manageth his private spite against this lady. Slippery youth must be

under-propped with elder counsel, lest all go amiss.”

“A most reverend old counsellor art thou!” said Cargo; “of

six-and-thirty years of age.”

Said Heming, “We be three. Take command thyself. I and my brother will

back thee.”

“I will that thou swallow back those words,” said Laxus, “as though

they had never been spoke. Remember Corsus and Gallandus. Besides,

albeit he seemeth now rather to be a man straught than one that hath

his wits, yet is Corinius in his sober self a valiant and puissant

soldier, a politic and provident captain as is not found besides in

Demonland, no, nor in Witchland neither, and it were not your noble

father; and this one in his youthly age.”

“That is true,” said Heming. “Thou hast justly reproved me.”

Now while they were a-talking, came one from the castle and made

obeisance unto Laxus saying, “You are inquired for, O king, so please

you to walk into the north chamber.”

Said Laxus, “Is it he that was newly ridden from the east country?”

“So it is, so please you,” with a low leg he made answer.

“Hath he not had audience with King Corinius?”

“He hath sought audience,” said the man, “but was denied. The matter

presseth, and he urged me therefore seek unto your lordship.”

As they walked toward the castle Heming said in Laxus’s ear, “Knowest

thou not this brave new piece of court ceremony? O’ these days, when

he hath ‘stroyed an hostage to spite the Lady Mevrian, as to-day was

‘stroyed the horse-headed eagle, he giveth not audience till sundown.

For, the deed of vengeance done, a retireth himself to