The Worm Ouroboros, Eric Rücker Eddison [epub ebook reader txt] 📗

and the spears of Witchland. And the sun wheeled low over

the dark pines of Westmark, and still no sign from the north.

 

“Thou didst send one forth for tidings?” she said to Ravnor, the third

time she went on the wall.

 

He answered, “Betimes this morning, your highness. But ‘tis slow

faring until a be a mile or twain clear of the castle, for a must

elude their small bands that go up and down guarding the countryside.”

 

“Bring him to me o’ the instant of his return,” said she.

 

With a foot on the stair, she turned back. “Ravnor,” she said.

 

He came to her.

 

“Thou,” she said, “hast been years enow my brother’s steward in

Krothering, and our father’s before him, to know what mind and spirit

dwelleth in them of our line. Tell me, truly and sadly, what thou

makest of this. Lord Spitfire is too late: other else, Goblinland too

sudden-early (and that was his fault from of old). What seest thou in

it? Speak to me as thou shouldst to my Lord Brandoch Daha were it he

that asked thee.”

 

“Highness,” said the old man Ravnor, “I will answer you my very

thought: and it is, woe to Goblinland. Since my Lord Spitfire cometh

not yet from the north, only the deathless Gods descending out of

heaven can save the king. The Witches number at an humble reckoning

twice his strength; and man to man you were as well pit a hound

against a bear, as against Witches Goblins. For all that these be

fierce and full of fiery courage, the bear hath it at the last.”

 

Mevrian listened, looking on him with sorrowful steady eyes. “And he

so generous-noble flown to comfort Demonland in the blackness of her

days,” she said at last. “Can fate be so ungallant? O Ravnor, the

shame of it! First La Fireez, now Gaslark. How shall any love us any

more? The shame of it, Ravnor!”

 

“I would not have your highness,” said Ravnor, “too hasty to blame us.

If their plan and compact have gone amiss, ‘tis likelier King

Gaslark’s misprision than Lord Spitfire’s. We know not for sure which

day was set for this landing.”

 

While he so spake, he was looking past her seaward, a little south of

the reddest part of the sunset. His eyes widened. He touched her arm

and pointed. Sails were hoisted among the masts at Aurwath. Smoke, as

of burning, reeked up against the sky. As they watched, the most part

of the ships moved out to sea. From those that remained, some five or

six, fire leaped and black clouds of smoke. The rest as they came out

of the lee of the land, made southward for the open sea under oar and

sail.

 

Neither spake; and the Lady Mevrian leaning her elbows on the parapet

of the wall hid her face in her hands.

 

Now came Ravnor’s messenger at length back from his faring, and the

old man brought him in to Mevrian in her bower in the south part of

Krothering. The messenger said, “Highness, I bring no writing, since

that were too perilous had I fallen in my way among Witches. But I had

audience of my Lord Spitfire and my Lord Zigg in the gates of

Gashterndale. And thus their lordships commanded me deliver it unto

you, that your highness should be at ease and secure, seeing that they

do in such sort hold all the ways to Krothering, that the Witchland

army cannot escape out of this countryside that is betwixt

Thunderfirth and Stropardon Firth and the sea, but and if they will

give battle unto their lordships. But if they choose rather to abide

here by Krothering, then may our armies close on them and oppress

them, since our forces do exceed theirs by near a thousand spears.

Which tomorrow will be done whate’er betide, since that is the day

appointed for Gaslark the king to land with a force at Aurwath.”

 

Mevrian said, “They know nought then of this direful miscarriage, and

Gaslark here already before his time and thrown back into the sea?”

And she said, “We must apprise them on’t, and that hastily and

tonight.”

 

When the man understood this, he answered, “Ten minutes for a bite and

a stirrup-cup, and I am at your ladyship’s service.”

 

And in a short while, that man went forth again secretly out of

Krothering in the dusk of night to bring word to Lord Spitfire of what

was befallen. And the watchmen watching in the night from Krothering

walls beheld northward under Erngate End the campfires of the Witches

like the stars.

 

Night passed and day dawned, and the camp of the Witches showed empty

as an empty shell.

 

Mevrian said, “They have moved in the night.”

 

“Then shall your highness hear great tidings ere long,” said Ravnor.

 

“‘Tis like we may have guests in Krothering tonight,” said Mevrian.

And she gave order for all to be made ready against their coming, and

the choicest bedchambers for Spitfire and Zigg to welcome them. So,

with busy preparations, the day went by. But as evening came, and

still no riding from the north, some shadows of impatience and anxious

doubt crept with night’s shades creeping across heaven across their

eager expectancy in Krothering. For Mevrian’s messenger returned not.

Late to rest went the Lady Mevrian; and with the first peeping light

she was abroad, muffled in her great mantle of velvet and swansdown

against the eager winds of morning. Up to the battlements she went,

and with old Ravnor searched the blank prospect. For pale morning rose

on an empty landscape; and so all day until the evening: watching, and

waiting, and questioning in their hearts.

 

So went they at length to supper on this third night after Aurwath

field. And ere supper was half done was a stir in the outer courts,

and the rattle of the bridge let down, and a clatter of horsehooves on

the bridge and the jasper pavements. Mevrian sat erect and expectant.

She nodded to Ravnor who wanting no further sign went hastily out, and

returned in an instant hastily and with heavy brow. He spake in her

ear, “News, my Lady. It were well you bade him to private audience.

Drink this cup first,” pouring out some wine for her.

 

She rose up, saying to the steward, “Come thou, and bring him with

thee.”

 

As they went he whispered her, “Astar of Rettray, sent by the Lord

Zigg with matter of urgent import for your highness’s ear.”

 

The Lady Mevrian sat in her ivory chair cushioned with rich stuffed

silks of Beshtria, with little golden birds and strawberry leaves with

the flowers and rich red fruits all figured thereon in gorgeous

colours of needlework. She reached out her hand to Astar who stood

before her in his battle harness, muddy and bebloodied from head to

foot. He bowed and kissed her hand: then stood silent. He held his

head high and looked her in the face, but his eyes were bloodshot and

his look was ghastly like a messenger of ill.

 

“Sir,” said Mevrian, “stand not in doubt, but declare all. Thou

knowest it is not in our blood to quail under dangers and misfortune.”

 

Astar said, “Zigg, my brother-in-law, gave me this in charge, madam,

to tell thee all truly.”

 

“Proceed,” said she. “Thou knowest our last news. Hour by hour since

then, we watched on victory. I have no mean welcome feast prepared

against your coming.”

 

Astar groaned. “My Lady Mevrian,” said he, “you must now prepare a

sword, not a banquet. You did send a runner to Lord Spitfire.”

 

“Ay,” said she.

 

“He brought us advertisement that night,” said Astar, “of Gaslark’s

overthrow. Alas, that Goblinland was a day too soon, and so bare alone

the brunt. Yet was vengeance ready to our hand, as we supposed. For

every pass and way was guarded, and ours the greater force. So for

that night we waited, seeing Corinius’s fires alight in his camp on

Krothering Side, meaning to smite him at dawn of day. Now in the night

were mists abroad, and the moon early sunken. And true it is as ill it

is, that the whole Witchland army marched away past us in the dark.”

 

“What?” cried Mevrian, “and slept ye all to let them by?”

 

“In the middle night,” answered he, “we had sure tidings he was afoot,

and the fires yet burning in his camp a show to mock us withal. By all

sure signs, we might know he was broke forth northwestward, where he

must take the upper road into Mealand over Brocksty Hause. Zigg with

seven hundred horse galloped to Heathby to head him off, whiles our

main force fared their swiftest up Little Ravendale. Thou seest,

madam, Corinius must march along the bow and we along the bowstring.”

 

“Yes,” said Mevrian. “Ye had but to check him with the horse at

Heathby, and he must fight or fall back toward Justdale where he was

like to lose half his folk in Memmery Moss. Outlanders shall scarce

find a firm way there in a dark night.”

 

“Certain it is we should have had him,” said Astar. “Yet certain it is

he doubled like a hare and fooled us all to the top of our bent:

turned in his tracks, as later we concluded, somewhere by Goosesand,

and with all his army slipped back eastward under our rear. And that

was the wonderfullest feat heard tell of in all chronicles of war.”

 

“Tush, noble Astar,” said Mevrian. “Labour not Witchland’s praises,

nor imagine not I’ll deem less of Spitfire’s nor Zigg’s generalship

because Corinius, by art or fortune’s favour, dodged ‘em in the dark.”

 

“Dear Lady,” said he, “even look for the worst and prepare yourself

for the same.”

 

Her gray eyes steadily beheld him. “Certain intelligence,” said he,

“was brought us of their faring with all speed they might eastaway

past Switchwater; and ere the sun looked well over Gemsar Edge we were

hot on the track of them, knowing our force the stronger and our only

hope to bring them to battle ere they reached the Stile, where they

have made a fortress of great strength we might scarce hope to howster

them out from if they should win thither.”

 

He paused. “Well,” said she.

 

“Madam,” he said, “that we of Demonland are great and invincible in

war, ‘tis most certain. But in these days fight we as a man that

fighteth hobbled, or with half his gear laid by, or as a man half

roused from sleep. For we be reft of our greatest. Bereft of these,

such sorrows befall us and such doom as at Thremnir’s Heugh last

autumn shattered our strength in pieces, and now this very day yet

more terribly hath put us down on Switchwater Way.”

 

Mevrian’s cheek turned white, but she said no word, waiting.

 

“We were eager in the chase,” said Astar. “I have told thee why,

madam. Thou knowest how near to the mountains runneth the road past

Switchwater, and the shores of the lake hem in the way for miles

against the mountain spurs, and woods clothe the lower slopes, and

dells and gorges run up betwixt the spurs into the mountain side. The

day was misty, and the mists hung by the shores of Switchwater. When

we had marched so far that our van was about over against the stead of

Highbank that stands on the farther shore, the battle began: greatly

to their advantage, since Corinius had placed strong forces in the

hills on our right flank, and so ambushed us and took us at unawares.

Not to