Fantasy fiction; Science fiction; South America -- Fiction
effort he recovered himself and went on. "That is all that I would ask;
let them remember me and think kindly of me. You will see in those days
who has spoken truly--whether I, or Coryon. You will know how false has
been every word he has said to you to-day. Even what he says about my
friends is false; they are _not_ in his power, nor has he deprived them
of their magic power, as you will all quickly see. To say that by his
atrocious so-called religious rites he has guarded and advanced this
country is a lie----"
"Silence!" exclaimed Coryon, who had all this time been moving
restlessly in his seat.
"I come from a land--the greatest on the earth--that has an empire
upon which the sun ne'er sets; we have no such wicked murders called
sacrifices; yet we are safe against our enemies, and----"
"Silence, I tell thee! What think'st thou we care about thy country or
thyself?" Coryon burst out.
"I say," Leonard went on, disregarding him, "that every word this man
utters is a lie. He cannot say one single sentence without uttering a
lie----"
"If thou sayest more, I will have thee scourged as well as killed,"
Coryon cried, in growing rage. "It speaketh well to these good people
for my patience that I have let thee have thy say thus far. Never, for
many a year, has mortal dared to flout me to my face as thou hast
done."
"O Coryon!" Leonard exclaimed, turning and facing him, "truly did I say
that thou could'st not speak one single sentence without uttering some
lie, and now thou art convicted. For I know of one, at least, that has
flouted and dared thee to thy face; one whose spirit thou couldst not
quell; and she but a woman--her name Fernina!"
At this a perfect howl of rage escaped from Coryon's lips. He sprang up
and clutched at the air, and gasped; and, for a moment, Leonard half
thought he would have a fit. But he recovered himself, and shouted, in
a screaming voice,
"Seize him! Gag him! Lay him on the feeding-ladle of our sacred tree!
We will see how he fancies its embrace!" Then, turning round and
addressing some one near him, he cried out,
"Bring forward the princess, that she may witness this my act of
justice towards the murderer she would have taken to her bosom. Let my
future wife look on. Ha! ha! ha! My future wife! How dost thou like the
title, murderer of my son, and would-be king?"
His rage was something fearful to behold; many even of his own
myrmidons trembled, and they made speed to do his bidding.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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