Fantasy fiction; Imaginary wars and battles -- Fiction
The King gave him a frump to his face. Gro held his peace again awhile,
but seeing the King would have more, he said, “Since it likes your
majesty to demand my counsel, I will speak. You know, Lord, of all your
men in Carcë Corinius is least my friend, and if I back him you will
be little apt to think me moved by interest. In my clear judgement, if
Corund be barred from this journey (as reason is, I freely embrace it,
he must bide in Impland, both to harvest there his victories and to
deny the road to Juss and Brandoch Daha if haply they return from the
Moruna, and besides, time, as you most justly say, O King, calleth for
speedy action): if he be barred, you have no better than Corinius. A
complete soldier, a tried captain, young, fierce, and resolute, and one
that sitteth not down again when once he standeth up till that his will
be accomplished. Send him to Demonland.”
“No,” said the King. “I will not send Corinius. Hast thou not seen
hawks that be in their prime and full pride for beauty and goodness,
but must be tamed ere they be flown at the quarry? Such an one is he,
and I will tame him with harshness and duress till I be certain of him.
Also I have sworn and told him, last year when in his drunkenness he
betrayed my counsel and o’erset all our plans, broke me from Pixyland
and set my prisoners free, that Corund and Corsus and Laxus should
be preferred and advanced before him until by quiet service he shall
purchase my good will again.”
“Give then the glory to Corsus, but to Corinius the rude work on’t for
a tiring. Send him as Corsus’s secretary, and your work shall be better
performed, O King.”
But the King said, “No. Thou art a fool to think he would receive it,
that being in disgrace could not humble himself but look bigger than
before. And certainly I will not ask him, and so give him the glory to
refuse it.”
“My Lord the King,” said Gro, “when I said unto you, I like not Corsus,
you did scoff. Yet ’tis no simple niceness made me say it, but because
I do fear he shall prove a false cloth: he will shrink in the wetting
and can abide no trial.”
“By the blight of Sathanas,” said the King, “what crazy talk is this?
Hast forgot the Ghouls twelve years ago? True, thou wast not here. And
yet, what skills it? When the fame hath gone back and forth through all
the world of their great spill when Witchland stood i’ the greatest
strait that ever she stood, and more than any other Corsus was to
praise for our delivering. And since then, five years later, when he
held Harquem against Goldry Bluszco, and made him at last to give over
the siege and go home most ingloriously, and else had all the Sibrion
coast been the Demons’ appanage not ours.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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