Fantasy fiction; Imaginary wars and battles -- Fiction
Let worthy minds ne’er stagger in distrust
To suffer death or shame for what is just,
and that which we sow in darkness must unfold in the open light of day,
lest it be found withered in the very hour of maturity. Nor would I
have urged thee otherwise, but that I do throughly fear these Demons,
and all my mind was to take their plotting in reverse. Do then one
thing only for us. If we set sail homeward and they on our heels, they
will fall upon us at a disadvantage, for they have the swifter ship;
or if they get to sea before us, they will lie in wait for us on the
high seas. Suffer us then to sail to-night, and do thou on some pretext
delay them here for three days only, that we may get us home or ever
they leave the Foliot Isles.”
“I will not gainsay thee in this,” answered the Red Foliot, “for here
is nought but what is fair and just and lieth with mine honour. I will
come to your booths at midnight and bring you down to your ship.”
• • • • •
When Gro came to the Witches’ booths he found them guarded even as
the Red Foliot had said, and the booths of them of Demonland in like
manner. So went he into the royal booth where the King lay in state
on a bier of spear-shafts, robed in his kingly robes over his armour
that was painted black and inlaid with gold, and the crown of Witchland
on his head. Two candles burned at the head of King Gorice and two at
his feet; and the night wind blowing through the crannies of the booth
made them flare and flicker, so that shadows danced unceasingly on
the wall and roof and floor. On the benches round the walls sat the
lords of Witchland sullen of countenance, for the wine was dead in
them. Balefully they eyed Lord Gro at his coming in, and Corinius sate
upright in his seat and said, “Here is the Goblin, father and fosterer
of our misfortunes. Come, let us slay him.”
Gro stood among them with head erect and held Corinius with his eye,
saying, “We of Witchland are not run lunatic, my Lord Corinius, that
we should do this gladness to the Demons, to bite each at the other’s
throat like wolves. Methinks if Witchland be the land of my adoption
only, yet have I not done least among you to ward off sheer destruction
from her in this pass we stand in. If ye have aught against me, let me
hear it and answer it.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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