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

Heming; and on Corsus’s left his daughter Sriva, and those two

remaining of Corund’s Sons on his right. All were there save

Prezmyra, and her had none seen since her lord’s death, but she kept

her chamber. Flamboys stood in the silver stands as of old, lighting

the lonely spaces of the hall, and four candles shivered round the

bier where Corund slept. Fair goblets stood on the board brimmed with

dark sweet Thramnian wine, one for each feaster there, and cold bacon

pies and botargoes and craw-fish in hippocras sauce furnished a light

midnight meal.

Now scarce were they set, when the flamboys burned pale in a strange

light from without doors: an evil, pallid, bale-like lowe, such as Gro

had beheld in days gone by when King Gorice XII. first conjured in

Carcë. Corinius paused ere taking his seat. Goodly and stalwart he

showed in his blue silk cloak and silvered byrny. The fair crown of

Demonland, wherewith Corsus had been enforced to crown him on that

great night in Owlswick, shone above his light brown curling hair.

Youth and lustihood stood forth in every line of his great frame, and

on his bare arms smooth and brawny, with their wristlets of gold; but

somewhat ghastly was the corpse-like pallor of that light on his

shaven jowl, and his thick scornful lips were blackened, like those of

poisoned men, in that light of bale.

“Saw ye not this light aforetime?” he cried, “and ‘twas the shadow

before the sun of our omnipotence. Fate’s hammer is lifted up to

strike. Drink with me to our Lord the King that laboureth with

destiny.”

All drank deep, and Corinius said, “Pass we on the cups that each may

drain his neighbour’s. ‘Tis an old lucky custom Corund taught me out

of Impland. Swift, for the fate of Witchland is poised in the

balance.” Therewith he passed his cup to Zenambria, who quaffed it to

the dregs. And all they, passing on their cups, drank deep again; all

save Corsus alone. But Corsus’s eyes were big with terror as he looked

on the cup passed on to him by Corund’s son.

“Drink, O Corsus,” said Corinius; and seeing him still waver, “What

ails the old doting disard?” he cried. “He stareth on good wine with

an eye as ghastly as a mad dog’s beholding water.”

In that instant the unearthly glare went out as a lamp in a gust of

wind, and only the flamboys and the funeral candles flickered on the

feasters with uncertain radiance. Corinius said again, “Drink.”

But Corsus set down the cup untasted, and stayed irresolute. Corinius

opened his mouth to speak, and his jaw fell, as of a man that

conceiveth suddenly some dread suspicion. But ere he might speak word,

a blinding flash went from earth to heaven, and the firm floor of the

banquet hall rocked and shook as with an earthquake. All save Corinius

fell back into their seats, clutching the table, amazed and dumb.

Crash after crash, after the listening ear was well nigh split by the

roar, the horror broken out of the bowels of night thundered and

ravened in Carcë. Laughter, as of damned souls banqueting in Hell,

rode on the tortured air. Wildfire tore the darkness asunder, half

blinding them that sat about that table, and Corinius gripped the

board with either hand as a last deafening crash shook the walls, and

a flame rushed up the night, lighting the whole sky with a livid

glare. And in that trisulk flash Corinius beheld through the

southwest window the Iron Tower blasted and cleft asunder, and the next

instant fallen in an avalanche of red-hot ruin.

“The keep hath fallen!” he cried. And, deadly wearied on a sudden, he

sank heavily into his seat. The cataclysm was passed by like a wind in

the night; but now was heard a sound as of the enemy rushing to the

assault. Corinius strove to rise, but his legs were over feeble. His

eye lit on Corsus’s untasted cup, that which was passed on to him by

Viglus Corund’s son, and he cried, “What devil’s work is this? I have

a strange numbness in my bones. By heavens, thou shalt drink that cup

or die.”

Viglus, his eyes protruding, his hand clutching at his breast,

struggled to rise but could not.

Heming half staggered up, fumbling for his sword, then pitched forward

on the table with a horrid rattle of the throat.

But Corsus leaped up trembling, his dull eyes aflame with triumphant

malice. “The King hath thrown and lost,” he cried, “as well I foresaw

it. And now have the children of night taken him to themselves. And

thou, damned Corinius, and you sons of Corund, are but dead swine

before me. Ye have all drunk venom, and ye are dead. Now will I

deliver up Carcë to the Demons. And it, and your bodies, with mine

electuary rotting in your vitals, shall buy me peace from Demonland.”

“O horrible! Then I too am poisoned,” cried the Lady Zenambria, and

she fell a-swooning.

“‘Tis pity,” said Corsus. “Blame the passing of the cups for that. I

might not speak ere the poison had chained me the limbs of these

cursed devils, and made ‘em harmless.”

Corinius’s jaw set like a bulldog’s. Painfully gritting his teeth he

rose from his seat, his sword naked in his hand. Corsus, that was now

passing near him on his way to the door, saw too late that he had

reckoned without his host. Corinius, albeit the baneful drug bound his

legs as with a cere-cloth, was yet too swift for Corsus, who, fleeing

before him to the door, had but time to clutch the heavy curtains ere

the sword of Corinius took him in the back. He fell, and lay awrithing

lumpishly, like a toad spitted on a skewer. And the floor of steatite

was made slippery with his blood.

“‘Tis well. Through the guts,” said Corinius. No might he had to draw

forth the sword, but staggered as one drunken, and fell to earth,

propped against the jambs of the lofty doorway.

Some while he lay there, harkening to the sounds of battle without;

for the Iron Tower was fallen athwart the outer wall, making a breach

through all lines of defence. And through that breach the Demons

stormed the hold of Carcë, that never unfriendly foot had entered by

force in all the centuries since it was builded by Gorice I. An ill

watch it was for Corinius to lie harkening to that unequal fight,

unable to stir a hand, and all they that should have headed the

defence dead or dying before his eyes. Yet was his breath lightened

and his pain some part eased when his eye rested on the gross body of

Corsus twisting in the agony of death upon his sword.

In such wise passed well nigh an hour. The bodily strength of Corinius

and his iron heart bare up against the power of the venom long after

those others had breathed out their souls in death. But now was the

battle done and the victory with them of Demonland, and the lords Juss

and Goldry Bluszco and Brandoch Daha with certain of their fighting

men came into the banquet hall. Smeared they were with blood and the

dust of battle, for not without great blows and the death of many a

stout lad had the hold been won. Goldry said as they paused at the

threshold, “This is the very banquet house of death. How came these by

their end?”

Corinius’s brow darkened at the sight of the lords of Demonland, and

mightily he strove to raise himself, but sank back groaning. “I have

gotten an everlasting chill o’ the bones,” he said. “Yon hellish

traitor murthered us all by poison; else should some of you have

gotten your deaths by me or ever ye won up into Carcë.”

“Bring him some water,” said Juss. And he with Brandoch Daha gently

lifted Corinius and bare him to his chair where he should be more at

ease.

Goldry said, “Here is a lady liveth.” For Sriva, that sitting on her

father’s left hand had so escaped a poisoned draught at the passing of

the cups, rose from the table where she had cowered in fearful

silence, and cast herself in a flood of tears and terrified

supplications about Goldry’s knees. Goldry bade guard her to the camp

and there bestow her in safe asylum until the morning.

Now was Corinius near his end, but he gathered strength to speak,

saying, “I do joy that not by your sword were we put down, but by the

unequal trumpery of Fortune, whose tool was this Corsus and the King’s

devilish pride, that desired to harness Heaven and Hell to his

chariot. Fortune’s a right strumpet, to fondle me in the neck and now

yerk me one thus i’ the midriff.”

“Not Fortune, my Lord Corinius, but the Gods,” said Goldry, “whose

feet be shod with wool.”

By then was water brought in, and Brandoch Daha would have given him

to drink. But Corinius would have none of it, but jerked his head

aside and o’erset the cup, and looking fiercely on Lord Brandoch Daha,

“Vile fellow,” he said, “so thou too art come to insult on Witchland’s

grave? Thou’dst strike me now into the centre, and thou wert not more

a dancing madam than a soldier.”

“How?” said Brandoch Daha. “Say a dog bite me in the ham: must I bite

him again i’ the same part?”

Corinius’s eyelids closed, and he said weakly, “How look thy womanish

gew-gaws in Krothering since I towsed ‘em?” And therewith the creeping

poison reached his strong heartstrings, and he died.

Now was silence for a space in that banquet hail, and in the silence a

step was heard, and the lords of Demonland turned toward the lofty

doorway, that yawned as an arched cavern-mouth of darkness; for Corsus

had torn down the arras curtains in his death-throes, and they lay

heaped athwart the threshold with his dead body across them,

Corinius’s swordhilts jammed against his ribs and the blade standing

a foot’s length forth from his breast. And while they gazed, there

walked into the shifting light of the flamboys over that threshold the

Lady Prezmyra, crowned and arrayed in her rich robes and ornaments of

state. Her countenance was bleak as the winter moon flying high amid

light clouds on a windy midnight settling towards rain, and those

lords, under the spell of her sad cold beauty, stood without speech.

In a while Juss, speaking as one who needeth to command his voice, and

making grave obeisance to her, said, “O Queen, we give you peace.

Command our service in all things whatsoever. And first in this, which

shall be our earliest task ere we sail homeward, to stablish you in

your rightful realm of Pixyland. But this hour is overcharged with

fate and desperate deeds to suffer counsel. Counsel is for the

morning. The night calleth to rest. I pray you give us leave.”

Prezmyra looked upon Juss, and there was eye-bite in her eyes, that

glinted with green metallic lustre like those of a shelion brought to

battle.

“Thou dost offer me Pixyland, my Lord Juss,” said she, “that am Queen

of Impland. And this night, thou thinkest, can bring me rest. These

that were dear to me have rest indeed: my lord and lover Corund; the

Prince my brother; Gro, that was my friend. Deadly enow they found

you, whether as friends or foes.”

Juss said, “O Queen Prezmyra, the nest falieth with the tree. These

things hath Fate brought to pass,