The Worm Ouroboros

by E R Eddison

  “Chat, chat, chat!” said the King. “Perdition catch me if I can find a meaning in it! What dost thou bid me do?”

  Corsus met the King’s eye at last. He braced himself as if to meet a blow. “Throw not your cloak in the fire because your house is burning, O King. Surrender all to Juss at his discretion. And trust me the foolish softness of these Demons will leave us freedom and the wherewithal to live at ease.”

  The King was leaned a little forward as Corsus, somewhat drythroated but gathering heart as he spake, blurted forth his counsel of defeat. No man among them looked on Corsus, but all on the King, and for a minute’s space was no sound save the sound of breathing in that chamber. Then a puff of hot air blew a window to with a thud, and the King without moving his head rolled his awful glance forth and back over his council slowly, fixing each in his turn. And the King said, “Unto which of you is this counsel acceptable? Let him speak and instruct us.”

  All did sit mum like beasts. The King spake again, saying, “It is well. Were there of my council such another vermin, so sottish, so louse-hearted, as this one hath proclaimed himself, I had been persuaded Witchland was a sleepy pear, corrupted in her inward parts. And that were so, I had given order straightway for the sally; and, for his chastening and your dishonour, this Corsus should have led you. And so an end, ere the imposthume of our shame brake forth too foul before earth and heaven.”

  “I admire not, Lord, that you do strike at me,” said Corsus. “Yet I pray you think how many Kings in Carcë have heaped with injurious indignities them that were so hardy as give them wholesome counsel afore their fall. Though your majesty were a half-god or a Fury out of the pit, you could not by further resisting deliver us out of this net wherein the Demons have gotten us caught and tied. You can keep geese no longer, O King. Will you rend me because I bid you be content to keep goslings?”

  Corinius smote the table with his fist. “O monstrous vermin!” he cried, “because thou wast scalded, must all we be afeared of cold water?”

  But the King stood up in his majesty, and Corsus shrank beneath the flame of his royal anger. And the King spake and said, “The council is up, my lords. For thee, Corsus, I dismiss thee from my council. Thou art to thank my clemency that I take not thy head for this. It were for thy better safety, which well I know thou prizest dearer than mine honour, that thou show not in my path till these perilous days be overpast.” And unto Corinius he said, “On thy head it lieth that the Demons storm not the hold, as haply their hot pride may incense them to attempt. Expect me not at supper. I lie in the Iron Tower to-night, and let none disturb me there at peril of his head. You of my council must attend me here four hours ere to-morrow’s noon. Look to it well, Corinius, that nought shalt thou do nor in any wise adventure our forces against the Demons till thou receive my further bidding, save only to hold Carcë against any assault if need be. For this thy life shall answer. For the Demons, they were wisest praise a fair day at night. If mine enemy uproot a boulder above my dwelling, so I be mighty enow of mine hands I may, even in the nick of time that it tottereth to leap and crush mine house, o’erset it on him and pash him to a mummy.”

  So speaking, the King moved resolute with a great strong step toward the door. There paused he, his hand upon the silver latch, and looking tigerishly on Corsus, “Be advised,” he said, “thou. Cross not my path again. Nor, while I think on’t, send me not thy daughter again, as last year thou didst. Apt to the sport she is, and well enow she served my turn aforetime. But the King of Witchland suppeth not twice of the same dish, nor lacketh he fresh wenches if he need them.”

  Whereat all they laughed. But Corsus’s face grew red as blood.

  On such wise brake up the council. Corinius with the sons of Corund and of Corsus went upon the walls ordering all in obedience to the word of Gorice the King. But that old Duke Corsus betook him to his chamber in the north gallery. Nor might he abide even a small while at ease, but sate now in his carven chair, now on the windowsill, now on his broad-canopied bed, and now walked the chamber floor twisting his hands and gnawing his lip. And if he were distraught in mind, small wonder it were, set as he was betwixt hawk and buzzard, the King’s wrath menacing him in Carcë and the hosts of Demonland without.

  So wore the day till supper-time. And at supper was Corsus, to their much amaze, sitting in his place, and the ladies Zenambria and Sriva with him. He drank deep, and when supper was done he filled a goblet saying, “My lord the king of Demonland and ye other Witches, good it is that we, who stand as now we stand with one foot in the jaws of destruction, should bear with one another. Neither should any hide his thought from other, but say openly, even as I this morning before the face of our Lord the King, his thought and counsel. Wherefore without shame do I confess me ill-advised to-day, when I urged the King to make peace with Demonland. I wax old, and old men will oft embrace timorous counsels which, if there be wisdom and valiancy left in them, they soon renounce when the stress is overpast and they have leisure to afterthink them with a sad mind. And clear as day it is that the King was right, both in his chastening of my faint courage and in his bidding thee, O King Corinius, stand to thy watch and do nought till this night be worn. For went he not to the Iron Tower? And to what end else spendeth he the night in yonder chamber of dread than to do sorcery or his magic art, as aforetime he did, and in such wise blast these Demons to perdition even in the spring-tide of their fortunes? At no point of time hath Witchland greater need of our wishes than at this coming midnight, and I pray you, my lords, let us meet a little before in this hall that we with one heart and mind may drink fair fortune to the King’s enchantery.”

  With such pleasant words and sympathetical insinuations, working at a season when the wine-cup had caused to unfold some gayness in their hearts that were fordone with the hard scapes and chances of disastrous war, was Corsus grown to friendship again with the lords of Witchland. So, when the guard was set and all made sure for the night, they came together in the great banquet hall, whereas more than three years ago the Prince La Fireez had feasted and after fought against them of Witchland. But now was he drowned among the shifting tides in the Straits of Melikaphkhaz. And the Lord Corund, that fought that night in such valiant wise, now in that same hall, armed from throat to foot as becometh a great soldier dead, lay in state, crowned on his brow with the amethystine crown of Impland. The spacious sidebenches were untenanted and void their high seats, and the crossbench was removed to make place for Corund’s bier. The lords of Witchland sate at a small table below the dais: Corinius in the seat of honour at the end nearest the door, and over against him Corsus, and on Corinius’s left Zenambria, and on his right Dekalajus son to Corsus, and then 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 befor
e 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 south-west 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 a-writhing 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 heart-strings, 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 sword-hilts 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.

  I
n 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 she-lion 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, and we be but Fate’s whipping-tops bandied what way she will. Against thee we war not, and I swear to thee that all our care is to make thee amends.”

  “O, thine oaths!” said Prezmyra. “What amends canst thou make? Youth I have and some poor beauty. Wilt thou conjure those three dead men alive again that ye have slain? For all thy vaunted art, I think this were too hard a task.”

  All they were silent, eyeing her as she walked delicately past the table. She looked with a distant and, to outward seeming, uncomprehending eye on the dead feasters and their empty cups. Empty all, save that one passed on by Viglus, whereof Corsus would not drink; and it stood half drained. Of curious workmanship it was, of pale green glass, its stand formed of three serpents intertwined, the one of gold, another of silver, the third of iron. Fingering it carelessly she raised her glittering eyes once more on the Demons, and said, “It was ever the wont of you of Demonland to eat the egg and give away the shell in alms.” And pointing at the lords of Witchland dead at the feast, she asked, “Were these also your victims in this day’s hunting, my lords?”