The Worm Ouroboros · Chapter 19 (1/2)

Lord Spitfire sat in his pavilion before Owlswick in mickle discontent. A brazier of hot coals made a pleasant warmth within, and 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 cock-shies with my treasures.”

“O’ the wrong side of the wall,” said Zigg, “the master-builder 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-at-arms. 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 good night, 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 a-drip 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 night-raven’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 seashore 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 bloodred. 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 today, 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 and swung together again. And the light of the moon was abated, and no light seen save the levin-brand, and the campfires before Owlswick, and the light of revelry within. So that the Demons camped before the castle were not ware of those fifteen ships that put out from Scaramsey on that wild sea and landed two or three miles to the southward by the great bluff of Thremnir’s Heugh. Nor were they ware at all of them that landed from the ships: fifteen or sixteen hundred men-at-arms with Heming of Witchland and his young brother Cargo for their leaders. And the ships rowed back to Scaramsey through the loud storm and fury of the weather, all save one that foundered in Bothrey Sound.

But on the morn, when the tempest was abated, might all behold the putting forth of fourteen ships of war from Scaramsey, every ship of them laden with men-at-arms. They had passage swiftly over the firth, and came aland two miles south of Owlswick. And the ships stood off again from the land, but the army marshalled for battle on the meads above Mingarn Hope.

Now Lord Spitfire let draw up his men and moved out southward from the lines before Owlswick. When they were come within some half mile’s distance of the Witchland army, so that they might see clearly their russet kirtles and their shields and body-armour of bronze, and the dull glint of their sword-blades and the heads of their spears, Volle, that rode by Spitfire, spake and said, “Markest thou him, O Spitfire, that rideth back and forth before their battle, marshalling them? So ever rode Corinius; and well mayst thou know him even afar off by his showiness and jaunting carriage. Yet see a great wonder now: for who ever heard tell of this young hotspur giving back from the fight? And now, or ever we be gotten within spear-shot⁠—”

“By the bright eye of day,” cried Spitfire, “ ’tis so! Will he baulk me quite of a battle? I’ll loose a handful of horse upon them to delay their haste ere they be flown beyond sight and finding.”

Therewith he gave command to his horsemen to ride forth upon the enemy. And they rode forth with Astar of Rettray, that was brother-in-law to Lord Zigg, for their leader. But the Witchland horse met them by the shallows of Aron Pow and held them in the shallows while Corinius with his main army won across the river. And when the main body of the Demons were come up and the passage forced, the Witchlanders were gotten clean away across the water-meadows to the pass betwixt the shore and the steeps of Thremnir’s Heugh.

Then said Spitfire, “They stay not to form even i’ the narrow way ’twixt the sea and the Heugh. And that were their safety, if they had but the heart to turn and stand us.” And he shouted with a great shout upon his men to charge the enemy, and suffer not a Witch to overlive that slaughter.

So the footmen caught hold of the stirrup-leathers of the horsemen, and running and riding they poured into the narrow pass; and ever was Spitfire foremost among his men, hewing to left and to right among the press, riding on that whelming battle-tide that seemed to bear him on to triumph.

But now on a sudden was he, who with but twelve hundred men had so hotly followed fifteen hundred into the strait passage under Thremnir’s Heugh, made ware too late that he must have to do with three thousand: Corinius rallying his folk and turning like a wolf in the pass, while Corund’s sons, that had landed as aforesaid in the storm in the mirk of night, swept down with their battalions from the wooded slopes behind the Heugh. In such wise that Spitfire wist not sooner of any foreshadowing of disaster than of disaster’s self: the thunder of the blow in flank and front and rear.

Then befell great manslaying between the sea-cliffs and the sea. The Demons, taken at that advantage, were like a man tripped in mid-stride by a rope across the way. By the sore onset of the Witches they were driven down into the shallows of the sea, and the spume of the sea was red with blood. And the Lord Corinius, now that he had done with feigned retreat, fared through the battle like a stream of unquenchable wildfire, that none might sustain his strokes that were about him.