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

lords of Demonland dead and gone, the captives following with the

morning’s tide. And here and there like an undertone to these

triumphant tidings, contrary rumours, whispered low, like the hissing

of an adder from her shadowy lair: all not well, the lord Admiral

wounded, half his ships lost, the battle doubtful, the Demons escaped.

So came that lady into the great hall; and there were the lords and

captains of the Witches all in a restless quiet of expectation. Duke

Corsus lolled forward in his seat down by the crossbench, his breath

stertorous, his small eyes fixed in a drunken stare. On the other side

Corund sate huge and motionless, his elbow propped on the table, his

chin in his hand, sombre and silent, staring at the wall. Others

gathered in knots, talking in low tones. The Lord Corinius walked up

and down behind the crossbench, his hands clasped behind him, his

fingers snapping impatiently at whiles, his heavy jaw held high, his

glance high and defiant. Prezmyra came to Heming where he stood among

three or four and touched him on the arm. “We know nothing, madam,” he

said. “He is with the King.”

She came to her lord. “Thou didst send for me.”

Corund looked up at her. “Why, so I did, madam. Tidings from the

fleet. Maybe somewhat, maybe nought. But thou’dst best be here for’t.”

“Good tidings or ill: that shaketh not Carcë walls,” said she.

Suddenly the low buzz of talk was hushed. The King stood in the

curtained doorway. They rose up all to meet him, all save Corsus that

sat drunk in his chair. The crown of Witchland shed baleful sparkles

above the darkness of the dark fortress-face of Gorice the King, the

glitter of his dread eyeballs, the deadly line of his mouth, the

square black beard jutting beneath. Like a tower he stood, and behind

him in the shadow was the messenger from the fleet with countenance

the colour of wet mortar.

The King spake and said, “My lords, here’s tidings touching the truth

whereof I have well satisfied myself. And it importeth the mere

perdition of my fleet. There hath been battle off Melikaphkhaz in the

Impland seas. Juss bath sunken our ships, every ship save that which

brought the tidings, sunk, with Laxus and all his men that were with

him.” He paused: then, “These be heavy news,” he said, “and I’ll have

you bear ‘em in the old Witchiand fashion: the heavier hit the heavier

strike again.”

In the strange deformed silence came a little gasping cry, and the

Lady Sriva fell a-swooning.

The King said, “Let the kings of Impland and of Demonland attend me.

The rest, it is commanded that all do get them to bed o’ the instant.”

The Lord Corund said in his lady’s ear as he went by, taking her with

his hand about the shoulder. “What, lass? if the broth’s split, the

meat remaineth. To bed with thee, and never doubt we’ll pay them yet.”

And he with Corinius followed the King.

It was past middle night when the council brake up, and Corund sought

his chamber in the eastern gallery above the inner court. He found his

lady sitting yet at the window, watching the false dawn over Pixyland.

Dismissing his lamp-bearers that lighted him to bed, he bolted and

barred the great iron-studded door. The breadth of his shoulders when

he turned filled the shadowy doorway; his head well nigh touched the

lintel. It was hard to read his countenance in the uncertain gloom

where he stood beyond the bright region made by the candle-light, but

Prezmyra’s eyes could mark how care sat on his brow, and there was in

the carriage of his ponderous frame kingliness and the strength of

some strong determination.

She stood up, looking up at him as on a mate to whom she could be true

and be true to her own self. “Well?” she said.

“The tables are set,” said he, without moving.

“The King bath named me his captain general in Carcë.”

“Is it come to that?” said Prezmyra.

“They have hewn a limb from us,” answered he. “They have wit to know

the next stroke should be at the heart.”

“Is it truly so?” said she. “Eight thousand men? twice thine army’s

strength that won Impland for us? all drowned?”

“‘Twas the devilish seamanship of these accursed Demons,” said Corund.

“It appeareth Laxus held the Straits where they must go if ever they

should win home again, meaning to fight ‘em in the narrows and so

crush ‘em with the weight of’s ships as easy as kill flies, having by

a great odds the bigger strength both in ships and men. They o’ their

part kept the sea without, trying their best to ‘tice him forth so

they might do their sailor tricks i’ the open. A week or more he

withstood it, till o’ the ninth day (the devil curse him for a fool,

wherefore could a not have had patience?) o’ the ninth morning, weary

of inaction and having wind and tide something in his favour”; the

Lord Corund groaned and snapped his fingers contemptuously. “O I’ll

tell thee the tale tomorrow, madam. I’m surfeited with it tonight.

The sum is, Laxus drownded and all that were with him, and Juss with

his whole great armament northward bound for Witchland.”

“And the wide seas his. And we expect him any day?”

“The wind hangeth easterly. Any day,” said Corund.

Prezmyra said, “That was well done to rest the command in thee. But

what of our qualified young gentleman who had that office aforetime.

Will he play o’ these terms?”

Corund answered, “Hungry dogs will eat dirty puddings. I think he’ll

play, albeit he showed his teeth i’ the first while.”

“Let him keep his teeth for the Demons,” said she.

“This very ship was ta’en,” said Corund, “and sent home by them in a

bravado to tell us what betid: a stupid insolent part, shall cost ‘em

dear, for it hath forewarned us. The skipper had this letter for thee:

gave it me monstrous secretly.”

Prezmyra took away the wax and opened the letter, and knew the writer

of it. She held it out to Corund: “Read it to me, my lord. I am tired

with watching; I read ill by this flickering candle-light.”

But he said, “I am too poor a scholar, madam. I prithee read it.”

And in the light of the guttering candles, vexed with an east wind

that blew before the dawn, she read this letter, that was conceived in

manner following:

“Unto the right high mighti and doubtid Prynsace the Quen of Implande,

one that was your Servaunt but now beinge both a Traitor and a

manifald parjured Traitor, which Heaven above doth abhorre, the erth

below detest, the sun moone and starres be eschamed of, and all

Creatures doo curse and ajudge unworthy of breth and life, do wish

onelie to die your Penytent. In hevye sorrowe doo send you these

advisoes which I requyre your Mageste in umblest manner to pondur wel,

seeinge ells your manyfest Overthrowe and Rwyn att hand. And albeit in

Carcee you reste in securitie, it is serten you are there as saife as

he that hingeth by the Leves of a Tree in the end of Autumpne when as

the Leves begin to fall. For in this late Battaile in Mellicafhaz Sea

hath the whole powre of Wychlande on the sea been beat downe and

ruwyned, and the highe Admirall of our whole Navie loste and ded and

the names of the great men of accownte that were slayen at the

battaile I may not numbre nor the common sorte much lesse by reaisoun

that the more part were dround in the sea which came not to Syght. But

of Daemounlande not ij schips companies were lossit, but with great

puissaunce they doo buske them for Carsee. Havinge with them this

Gowldri Bleusco, strangely reskewed from his preassoun-house beyond

the toombe, and a great Armey of the moste strangg and fell folke that

ever I saw or herd speke of. Such is the Die of Warre. Most Nowble

Prynsace I will speke unto you not by a Ryddle or Darck Fygure but

playnly that you let not slipp this Occasioun. For I have drempt an

evill Dreeme and one pourtend ing ruwyn unto Wychlande, beinge in my

slepe on the verie eve of this same bataille terrified and smytten

with an appeering schape of Laxus armde cryinge in an hyghe voise and

lowd, An Ende an Ende an ende of All. Therefore most aernestly I do

beseek your Magestie and your nowble Lorde that was my Frend before

that by my venemous tresun I loste both you and him and alle, take

order for your proper saffetie, and the thinge requyers Haste of your

Magestes. And this must you doo, to fare strayght way into your owne

cuntrie of Picselande and there raise Force. Be you before these

rebalds and obstynates of Demounlande in their Prowd Attempts to

strike at Wychlande and so purchas their Frenshyp who it is verie

sertan will in powre invintiable stand before Carsee or ever Wychlande

shall have time to putt you downe. This Counsell I give you knowinge

full well that the Power and Domynyon of the Demouns standeth now

preheminent and not to be withstode. So tarry not by a Sinckinge

Schippe, but do as I saye lest all bee loste.

“One thinge more I telle you, that shall haply enforce my counsell

unto you, the hevyeste Newes of alle.”

“‘Tis heavy news that such a false troker as he is should yet

supervive so many honest men,” said Corund.

The Lady Prezmyra held out the letter to her lord. “Mine eyes dazzle,”

she said. “Read thou the rest.” Corund put his great arm about her as

he sat down to the table before the mirror and pored over the writing,

spelling it out with one finger. He had little book-learning, and it

was some time ere he had the meaning clear. He did not read it out;

his lady’s face told him she had read all ere he began.

This was the last news Gro’s letter told her: the Prince her brother

dead in the sea-fight, fighting for Demonland; dead and drowned in the

sea off Melikaphkhaz.

Prezmyra went to the window. Dawn was beginning, bleak and gray. After

a minute she turned her head. Like a shelion she looked, proud and

dangerous-eyed. She was very pale. Her accents, level and quiet,

called to the blood like the roll of a distant drum, as she said,

“Succours of Demonland: late or never.”

Corund beheld her uneasily.

“Their oaths to me and to him!” said she, “sworn to us that night in

Carcë. False friends! O, I could eat their hearts with garlic.”

He put his great hands on her two shoulders. She threw them off. “In

one thing,” she cried, “Gro counselleth us well: to tarry no more on

this sinking ship. We must raise forces. But not as he would have it,

to uphold these Demons, these oath-breakers. We must away this night.”

Her lord had cast aside his great wolfskin mantle. “Come, madam,” said

he, “to bed’s our nearest journey.”

Prezmyra answered, “I’ll not to bed. It shall be seen now, O Corund,

if that thou be a king indeed.”

He sat down on the bed’s edge and fell to doing off his boots. “Well,”

he said, “every one as he likes, as the goodman said when he kissed

his cow. Day’s near dawning; I must be up betimes, and a sleepless

night’s a poor