Fantasy fiction; Imaginary wars and battles -- Fiction
Then said Lord Spitfire, “No marvel though the spawn of Witchland fear
venom in the cup. They who work commonly such villany against their
enemies, as witness Recedor of Goblinland whom Corsus murthered with
a poisonous draught, shake still in the knees lest themselves be so
entertained to their destruction;” and snatching the cup he quaffed it
to the dregs, and dashed it on the marble floor before the Ambassador,
so that it was shivered into pieces.
And the lords of Demonland rose up and withdrew behind the flowery
hangings into a chamber apart, to determine of their answer to the
message sent unto them by King Gorice of Witchland.
When they were private together, Spitfire spake and said, “Is it to be
borne that the King should put such shame and mockery upon us? Could a
not at the least have made a son of Corund or of Corsus his Ambassador
to bring us his defiance, ’stead of this filthiest of his domestics, a
gibbering dwarf fit only to make them gab and game at their tippling
bouts when they be three parts senseless with boosing?”
Lord Juss smiled somewhat scornfully. “With wisdom,” he said, “and with
foresight hath Witchland made choice of his time to move against us,
knowing that thirty and three of our well-built ships are sunken in
Kartadza Sound in the battle with the Ghouls, and but fourteen remain
to us. Now that the Ghouls are slain, every soul, and utterly abolished
from this world, and so the great curse and peril of all this world
ended by the sword and great valour of Demonland alone, now seemeth the
happy moment unto these late mouth-friends to fall upon us. For have
not the Witches a strong fleet of ships, since their whole fleet fled
at the beginning of their fight with us against the Ghouls, leaving us
to bear the burden? And now are they minded for this new treason, to
set upon us traitorously and suddenly in this disadvantage. For the
King well judgeth we can carry no army to Witchland nor do aught in
his despite, but must be long months a-shipbuilding. And doubt not he
holdeth an armament ready aboard at Tenemos to sail hither if he get
the answer he knoweth we shall send him.”
“Sit we at ease then,” said Goldry, “sharpening our swords; and let
him ship his armies across the salt sea. Not a Witch shall land in
Demonland but shall leave here his blood and bones to make fat our
cornfields and our vineyards.”
“Rather,” said Spitfire, “apprehend this rascal, and put to sea to-day
with the fourteen ships left us. We can surprise Witchland in his
strong place of Carcë, sack it, and give him to the crows to peck at,
or ever he is well awake to the swiftness of our answer. That is my
counsel.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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