Fantasy fiction; Imaginary wars and battles -- Fiction
Gro answered, “Mainly true, O King, though somewhat now and then he
windeth truth to his turn, swelling overmuch his own achievement. As
at Grunda, where he maketh too great the Demons’ army, that by a just
computation were fewer than us, and the battle was not ours nor theirs,
for while our left held them by the sea they stormed our camp on the
right. And well I think ’twas to enveagle us into country that should
be likelier to his purpose that Vizz fell back toward Owlswick in the
night. But as touching the battle of Crossby Outsikes Corsus braggeth
not too much. That was greatly fought and greatly devised by him, who
also slew Vizz with his own hands in the thick of the battle, and made
a great victory over them and scattered all their strength, coming upon
them at unawares and taking them upon advantage.”
So saying Gro stretched forth his delicate white fingers to the goblet
at his side and drank. “And now, O King,” said he, leaning forward over
his knees and running his fingers through the black perfumed curls
above his ears, “I am to tell you the uprising of those discontents
that infected all our fortunes and confounded us all. Now came
Gallandus with some few men down from Breakingdale, leaving his main
force of fourteen hundred men or so to hold the Stile as was agreed
upon aforetime. Now Gallandus had advertisement of Spitfire come out of
the west country where he was sojourning when we came into Demonland,
disporting himself in the mountains with hunting of the bears that do
there inhabit, but now come hot-foot eastward and agathering of men at
Galing. And on Gallandus’s urgent asking, was held a council of war
three days after Crossby Outsikes, wherein Gallandus set forth his
counsel that we should fare north to Galing and disperse them.
“All thought well of this counsel, save Corsus. But he took it mighty
ill, being stubborn set to carry out his predetermined purpose, which
was to follow up this victory of Crossby Outsikes by so many cruel
murthers, rapes, and burnings, up and down the country side in Upper
and Lower Tivarandardale and down by Onwardlithe and the southern
seaboard, as should show those vermin he was their master whom they did
require, and the scourge in your hand, O King, that must scourge them
to the bare bone.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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