by E R Eddison
So for a time those two defended them of all their power. Yet at such odds could not the issue stand long in doubt, nor Gro’s high mettle make up what he lacked of strength bodily and skill in arms. Cunning of fence indeed was the Lady Mevrian, as they guessed not to their hurt; for the first of them, a great chuff-headed fellow that thought to bear her down with rushing in upon her, she with a deft thrust passing his guard ran clean through the throat; by whose taking off, his fellows took some lesson of caution. But Gro being at length brought to earth with many wounds, they had the next instant caught Mevrian from behind whiles others engaged her in the face, when in the nick of time as by the intervention of heaven was all their business taken in reverse, and all five in a moment laid bleeding on the stones beside their fellows.
Mevrian, looking about and seeing what she saw, fell weak and faint in her brother’s arms, overcome with so much radiant joy after that stress of action and peril; beholding now with her own eyes that home-coming whereof the genii of that land had had foreknowledge and in Gro’s sight shown themselves wild with joy thereof: Brandoch Daha and Juss come home to Demonland, like men arisen from the dead.
‘Not touched,’ she answered them. ‘But look to my Lord Gro: I fear he be hurt. Look to him well, for he hath approved him our friend indeed.’
XXVI
THE BATTLE OF KROTHERING SIDE
How word was brought unto the Lord Corinius that the Lords Juss and Brandoch Daha were come again into the land, and how he resolved to give them battle on the side, under Erngate End; and of the great flank march of Lord Brandoch Daha over the mountains from Transdale; and of the great battle, and of the issue thereof.
LAXUS and those sons of Corund walked on an afternoon in Krothering home mead. The sky above them was hot and coloured of lead, presaging thunder. No wind stirred in the trees that were livid-green against that leaden pall. The noise of mattock and crow-bar came without intermission from the castle. Where gardens had been and arbours of shade and sweetness, was now but wreck: broken columns and smashed porphyry vases of rare workmanship, mounds of earth and rotting vegetation. And those great cedars, emblems of their lord’s estate and pride, lay prostrate now with their roots exposed, a tangle of sere foliage and branches broken, withered and lifeless. Over this death-bed of ruined loveliness the towers of onyx showed ghastly against the sky.
‘Is there not a virtue in seven?’ said Cargo. ‘Last week was the sixth time we thought we had gotten the eel by the tail in yon fly-blown hills of Mealand and came empty home. When think’st, Laxus, shall’s run ’em to earth indeed?’
‘When egg-pies shall grow on apple-trees,’ answered Laxus. ‘Nay, the general setteth greater store by his proclamations concerning the young woman (who likely never heareth of them, and assuredly will not be by them ’ticed home again), and by these toys of revenge, than by sound soldiership. Hark! There goeth this day’s work.’
They turned at a shout from the gates, to behold the northern of those two golden hippogriffs totter and crash down the steeps into the moat, sending up a great smoke from the stones and rubble which poured in its wake.
Lord Laxus’s brow was dark. He laid hand on Heming’s arm, saying, ‘The times need all sage counsel we can reach unto, O ye sons of Corund, if our Lord the King shall have indeed from this expedition into Demonland the victory at last of all his evil-willers. Remember, that was a great miss to our strength when the Goblin went.’
‘Out upon the viper!’ said Cargo. ‘Corinius was right in this, not to warrant him the honesty of such slippery cattle. He had not served above a month or two, but that he ran to the enemy.’
‘Corinius,’ said Laxus, ‘is yet but green in his estate. Doth he suppose the rest of his reign shall be but play and the enjoying of a kingdom? Those left-handed strokes of fortune may yet o’erthrow him, the while that he streameth out his youth in wine and venery and manageth his private spite against this lady. Slippery youth must be under-propped with elder counsel, lest all go amiss.’
‘A most reverend old counsellor art thou!’ said Cargo; ‘of six-and-thirty years of age.’
Said Heming, ‘We be three. Take command thyself. I and my brother will back thee.’
‘I will that thou swallow back those words,’ said Laxus, ‘as though they had never been spoke. Remember Corsus and Gallandus. Besides, albeit he seemeth now rather to be a man straught than one that hath his wits, yet is Corinius in his sober self a valiant and puissant soldier, a politic and provident captain as is not found besides in Demonland, no, nor in Witchland neither, and it were not your noble father; and this one in his youthly age.’
‘That is true,’ said Heming. ‘Thou hast justly reproved me.’
Now while they were a-talking, came one from the castle and made obeisance unto Laxus saying, ‘You are inquired for, O king, so please you to walk into the north chamber.’
Said Laxus, ‘Is it he that was newly ridden from the east country?’
‘So it is, so please you,’ with a low leg he made answer.
‘Hath he not had audience with King Corinius?’
‘He hath sought audience,’ said the man, ‘but was denied. The matter presseth, and he urged me therefore seek unto your lordship.’
As they walked toward the castle Heming said in Laxus’s ear, ‘Knowest thou not this brave new piece of court ceremony? O’ these days, when he hath ’stroyed an hostage to spite the Lady Mevrian, as today was ’stroyed the horse-headed eagle, he giveth not audience till sundown. For, the deed of vengeance done, a retireth himself to his own chamber and a wench with him, the daintiest and gamesomest he may procure; and so, for two hours or three drowned in the main sea of his own pleasures, he abateth some little deal for a season the pang of love.’
Now when Laxus was come forth from talking with the messenger from the east, he fared without delay to Corinius’s chamber. There, thrusting aside the guards, he flung wide the shining doors, and found the Lord Corinius merrily disposed. He was reclined on a couch deep-cushioned with dark green three-pile velvet. An ivory table inlaid with silver and ebony stood at his elbow bearing a crystal flagon already two parts emptied of the foaming wine, and a fair gold goblet beside it. He wore a long loose sleeveless gown of white silk edged with a gold fringe; this, fallen open at the neck, left naked his chest and one strong arm that in that moment when Laxus entered reached out to grasp the wine cup. Upon his knee he held a damosel of some seventeen years, fair and fresh as a rose, with whom he was plainly on the point to pass from friendly converse to amorous privacy. He looked angrily upon Laxus, who without ceremony spoke and said, ‘The whole east is in a tumult. The burg is forced which we built astride the Stile. Spitfire hath passed into Breakingdale to victual Galing, and hath overthrown our army that sat in siege thereof.’
Corinius drank a draught and spat. ‘Phrut!’ said he. ‘Much bruit, little fruit. I would know by what warrant thou troublest me with this tittle-tattle, and I pleasantly disposing myself to mirth and recreation. Could it not wait till supper time?’
Ere Laxus might say more, was a great clatter heard without on the stairs, and in came those sons of Corund.
‘Am I a king?’ said Corinius, gathering his robe about him, ‘and shall I be forced? Avoid the chamber.’ Then marking them stand silent with disordered looks, ‘What’s the matter?’ he said. ‘Are ye ta’en with the swindle or the turn-sickness? Or are ye out of your wits?’
Heming answered and said, ‘Not mad, my lord. Here’s Didarus that held the Stile-burg for us, ridden from the east as fast as his horse might wallop, and gotten here hard o’ the heels of the former messenger with fresh and more certain advertisement, fresher by four days than that one’s. I pray you hear him.’
‘I’ll hear him,’ said Corinius, ‘at supper time. Nought sooner, if the roof were afire.’
‘The land beneath thy feet’s afire!’ cried Heming. ‘Juss and Brandoch Daha home again, and half the country lost thee ere thou heard’st on’t. These devils are
home again! Shall we hear that and still be swill-bowls?’
Corinius listened with folded arms. His great jaw was lifted up. His nostrils widened. For a minute he abode in silence, his cold blue eyes fixed as it were on somewhat afar. Then, ‘Home again?’ said he. ‘And the east in a hubbub? And not unlikely. Thank Didarus for his tidings. He shall sweeten mine ears with some more at supper. Till then, leave me, unless ye mean to be stretched.’
But Laxus, with sad and serious brow, stood beside him and said, ‘My lord, forget not that you are here the vicar and legate of the King. Let the crown upon your head put perils in your thoughts, so as you may harken peaceably to them that are willing to lesson you with sound and sage advice. If we take order tonight to march by Switchwater, we may very well shut back this danger and stifle it ere it wax to too much bigness. If o’ the contrary we suffer them to enter into these western parts, like enough without let or stay they will overrun the whole country.’
Corinius rolled his eye upon him. ‘Can nothing,’ he said, ‘prescribe unto thee obedience? Look to thine own charge. Is the fleet in proper trim? For there’s the strength, ease, and anchor of our power, whether for victualling, or to shift our weight against ’em which way we choose, or to give us sure asylum if it were come to that. What ails thee? Have we not these four months desired nought better than that these Demons should take heart to strike a field with us? If it be true that Juss himself and Brandoch Daha have thrown down the castles and strengths which I had i’ the east and move with an army against us, why then I have them in the forge already, and shall now bring them to the hammer. And be satisfied, I’ll choose mine own ground to fight them.’
‘There’s yet matter for haste in this,’ said Laxus. ‘A day’s march, and we oppose ’em not, will bring them before Krothering.’
‘That,’ answered Corinius, ‘jumpeth pat with mine own design. I’ll not go a league to bar their way, but receive ’em here where the ground lieth most favourable to meet an enemy. Which advantage I’ll employ to the greatest stretch of service, standing on Krothering Side, resting my flank against the mountain. The fleet shall ride in Aurwath haven.’
Laxus stroked his beard and was silent a minute, considering this. Then he looked up and said, ‘This is sound generalship, I may not gainsay it.’
‘It is a purpose, my lord,’ said Corinius, ‘I have long had in myself, stored by for the event. Let me alone, therefore, to do that my right is. There’s this good in it, too, as it befalleth: ’twill suffer that dive-dapper to behold his home again afore I kill him. A shall find it a sight for sore eyes, I think, after my tending on’t.’
The third day after these doings, the farmer at Holt stood in his porch that opened westward on Tivarandardale. An old man was he, crooked like a mountain thorn. But a bright black eye he had, and the hair curled crisp yet above his brow. It was late afternoon and the sky overcast. Tousle-haired sheep-dogs slept before the door. Swallows gathered in the sky. Near to him sat a damosel, dainty as a meadow-pipit, lithe as an antelope; and she was grinding grain in a hand-mill, singing the while:
Grind, mill, grind,
Corinius grinds us all;
Kinging it in widowed Krothering.
The old man was furbishing a shield and morion-cap, and other tackle of war lay at his feet.
‘I wonder thou wilt still be busy with thy tackle, O my father,’ said she, looking up from her singing and grinding. ‘If ill tide ill again what should an old man do but grieve and be silent?’
‘There shall be time for that hereafter,’ said the old man. ‘But a little while is hand fain of blow.’
‘They’ll be for firing the roof-tree, likely, if they come back,’ said she, still grinding.
‘Thou’rt a disobedient lass. If thou’dst but flit as I bade thee to the shiel-house up the dale, I’d force not a bean for their burnings.’
‘Let it burn,’ said she, ‘if he be taken. What avail then for thee or for me to be a-tarrying? Thou that art an old man and full of good days, and I that will not be left so.’
A great dog awoke beside her and shook himself, then drew near and laid his nose in her lap, looking up at her with kind solemn eyes.
The old man said, ‘Thou’rt a disobedient lass, and but for thee, come sword, come fire, not a straw care I; knowing it shall be but a passing storm, now that my Lord is home again.’
‘They took the land from Lord Spitfire,’ said she.
‘Ay, hinny,’ said the old man, ‘and thou shalt see my Lord shall take it back again.’
‘Ay?’ said she. And still she ground and still she sang:
Grind, mill, grind,
Corinius grinds us all.
After a time, ‘Hist!’ said the old man, ‘was not that a horse-tread i’ the lane? Get thee within-doors till I know if all be friendly.’ And he stooped painfully to take up his weapon. Woefully it shook in his feeble hand.
But she, as one that knew the step, heeding nought else, leapt up with face first red then pale then flushed again, and ran to the gate of the garth. And the sheepdogs bounded before her. There in the gate she was met with a young man riding a weary horse. He was garbed like a soldier, and horse and man were so bedraggled with mire and dust and all manner of defilement they were a sorry sight to see, and so jaded both that scarce it seemed they had might to journey another furlong. They halted within the gate, and all those dogs jumped up upon them, whining and barking for joy.
Ere the soldier was well down from the saddle he had a sweet armful. ‘Softly, my heart,’ said he, ‘my shoulder’s somewhat raw. Nay, ’tis nought to speak on. I’ve brought thee all my limbs home.’
‘Was there a battle?’ said the old man.
‘Was there a battle, father?’ cried he. ‘I’ll tell thee, Krothering Side is thicker with dead men slain than our garth with sheep i’ the shearing time.’
‘Alack and alack, ’tis a most horrid wound, dear,’ said the girl. ‘Go in, and I’ll wash it and lay to it millefoil pounded with honey; ’tis most sovran against pain and loss of blood, and drieth up the lips of the wound and maketh whole thou’dst no credit how soon. Thou hast bled over-much, thou foolish one. And how couldst thou thrive without thy wife to tend thee?’
The farmer put an arm about him, saying, ‘Was the field ours, lad?’
‘I’ll tell you all orderly, old man,’ answered he, ‘but I must stable him first,’ and the horse nuzzled his breast. ‘And ye must ballast me first. God shield us, ’tis not a tale for an empty man to tell.’
‘’Las, father,’ said the damosel, ‘have we not one sweet sippet i’ the mouth, that we hold him here once more? And, sweet or sour, let him take his time to fetch us the next.’
So they washed his hurt and laid kindly herbs thereto, and bound it with clean linen, and put fresh raiment upon him, and made him sit on the bench without the porch and gave him to eat and drink: cakes of barley meal and dark heather-honey, and rough white wine of Tivarandardale. The dogs lay close about him as if there was warmth there and safety whereas he was. His young wife held his hand in hers, as if that were enough if it should last for aye. And that old man, eating down his impatience like a schoolboy chafing for the bell, fingered his partisan with trembling hand.
‘Thou hadst the word I sent thee, father, after the fight below Galing?’
‘Ay. ’Twas good.’
‘There was a council held that night,’ said the soldier. ‘All the great men together in the high hall in Galing, so as it was a heaven to see. I was one of their cupbearers, ’cause I’d killed the standard-bearer of the Witches, in that same battle below Galing. Methought ’twas no great thing I did; till after the battle, look you, my Lord’s self standing beside me; and saith he, “Arnod” (ay, by my name, father), “Arnod,” a saith, “thou’st done down the pennon o’ Witchland that ’gainst our freedom streamed so proud. ’Tis thy like shall best stead Demonland i’ these dog-days,” saith he. “Bear my cup tonight, for thine honour.” I would, lass, thou’dst seen
his eyes that tide. ’Tis a lord to put marrow in the sword-arm, our Lord.
‘They had forth the great map o’ the world, of this Demonland, to study their business. I was by, pouring the wine, and I heard their disputations. ’Tis a wondrous map wrought in crystal and bronze, most artificial, with waters a-glistering and mountains standing substantial to the touch. My Lord points with’s sword. “Here,” a saith, “standeth Corinius, by all sure tellings, and budgeth not from Krothering. And, by the Gods,” a saith, “’tis a wise disposition. For, mark, if we go by Gashterndale, as go we must to come at him, he striketh down on us as hammer on anvil. And if we will pass by toward the head of Thunderfirth,” and here a pointeth it out with’s sword, “down a cometh on our flank; and every-gate the land’s slope serveth his turn and fighteth against us.”
‘I mind me o’ those words,’ said the young man, ‘’cause my Lord Brandoch Daha laughed and said, “Are we grown so strange by our travels, our own land fighteth o’ the opposite party? Let me study it again.”
‘I filled his cup. Dear Gods, but I’d fill him a bowl of mine own heart’s blood if he required it of me, after our times together, father. But more o’ that anon. The stoutest gentleman and captain without peer.
‘But Lord Spitfire, that was this while vaunting up and down the chamber, cried out and said, “’Twere folly to travel his road prepared us. Take him o’ that side he looketh least to see us: south through the mountains, and upon him in his rear up from Mardardale.”
‘“Ah,” saith my Lord, “and be pressed back into Murkdale Hags if we miss of our first spring. ’Tis too perilous. ’Tis worse than Gashterndale.”
