Fantasy fiction; Imaginary wars and battles -- Fiction
Now for nineteen days fared those brethren and their company eastward
through Outer Impland: first across a country of winding sleepy rivers
and reedy lakes innumerable, then by rolling uplands and champaign
ground. At length, on an even, they came upon a heath running up
eastward to a range of tumbled hills. The hills were not lofty nor
steep, but rugged of outline and their surface rough with crags and
boulders, so that it was a maze of little eminences and valleys grown
upon by heather and fern and rank sad-coloured grass, with stunted
thorn trees and junipers harbouring in the clefts of the rocks. On the
water-shed, as on an horse’s withers, looking west to the red October
sunset and south to the far line of the Didornian Sea, they came upon a
spy-fortalice, old and desolate, and one sitting in the gate. For very
joy their hearts melted within them, when they knew him for none other
than Brandoch Daha.
So they embraced him as one beyond hope risen from the grave. And he
said, “Through the Straits of Melikaphkhaz was I borne, and wrecked at
last on the lonely shore ten leagues southward from this spot, whither
I won alone, having lost my ship and all my dear companions. In my
mind it was that ye must fare by this road to Muelva if ye suffered
shipwreck in the outer coasts of Impland.
“Harken,” he said, “and I will tell you a wonder. A seven-night have
I awaited you in this roosting-stead of daws and owls. And it is a
caravanserai of great armies that pass by in the wilderness, and
having parleyed with two I await the third. For well I think that
here I have made discovery of a great mystery, one that hath engaged
the speculations of wise men for years. For on that day of my coming
hither, when sunset was red, as now you see it, behold an army marching
up from the east with great flags a-flaunting in the wind and all kinds
of music. Which I beholding, methought if these be enemies, then goeth
down my life’s days with honour, and if friends, then cometh provender
from those waggons of burthen that follow this army. A weighty
argument; since not so much as the smell of victuals had I, save nasty
nuts and berries of the open field, since I came forth of the sea.
So went I, taking my weapons, on the walls of this spy-fortalice and
hailed them, bidding them say forth their quality. And he that was
their captain rode up under the walls, and hailed me with all courtesy
and noble port. And who think ye ’twas?”
They answered nought.
“One that hath been famous,” said he, “up and down the earth for a
marvellous valorous and brave soldier of fortune. Have ye forgot that
enterprise of Gaslark that had its burying in Impland?”
“Was he little and dark,” asked Juss, “like a keen dagger suddenly
unsheathed at midnight? Or bright with the splendour of a pennoned
spear at a jousting on high holiday? Or was he dangerous of aspect like
an old sword, rusty in the midst but bright at point and edge, brought
forth for deeds of destiny at the fated day?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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