Fantasy fiction; Imaginary wars and battles -- Fiction
“So thou shalt,” said Corinius. “This it is: that we Witches be better
men than thou and thy hen-hearted Pixies, and better men than the
accursed Demons. No need to hide it further. Two of that brood we have
laid by the heels, and nailed ’em up on the wall of the old banquet
hall, as farmers nail up weasels and polecats on a barn door. And there
shall they bide till they be dead: Juss and Brandoch Daha.”
“O most villanous lie!” said the King. “I’ll have thee hewn in pieces.”
But Corinius said, “I nurse your honour, O King. We must no longer
skulk before these Pixies.”
“Thou diest for it,” said the King, “and it is a lie.”
Now was dead silence for a space. At last the Prince sat down slowly.
His face was white and drawn, and he spake unto the King, slowly and
in a quiet voice: “O King, that I was somewhat hot with you, forgive
me. And if I have omitted any form of allegiance due to you, think
rather that in my blood it is to chafe at such ceremonies than that I
had any lack of friendship unto you or ever dreamed of questioning your
over-lordship. Aught that you shall require of me and that lieth with
mine honour, aught of ceremony or fealty, will I with joy perform. And,
save against Demonland, is my sword ready against your enemies. But
here, O King, tottereth a tower ready to fall athwart our friendship
and pash it in pieces. It is known to you, O King, and to all the
lords of Witchland, that my bones were whitening these six years in
Impland the More if Lord Juss had not saved me from the barbarous Imps
that followed Fax Fay Faz, who besieged me four months with my small
following shut up in Lida Nanguna. My friendship shall you have, O
King, if you yield me up my friends.”
But the King said, “I have not thy friends.”
“Show me then the old banquet hall,” said the Prince.
The King said, “I will show it thee anon.”
“I will see it now,” said the Prince, and he rose from his seat.
“I will dissemble with thee no longer,” said the King. “I do love thee
well. But when thou askest me to yield up to thee Juss and Brandoch
Daha, thou askest a thing all Pixyland and thy dear heart’s blood were
unable to purchase from me. These be my worst enemies. Thou knowest not
at what cost of toil and danger I have at last laid hand on them. And
now let not thy hopes make thee an unbeliever, when I swear to thee
that Juss and Brandoch Daha shall rot and die in prison.”
And for all his gentle speeches, and offers of wealth and rich
advantage and upholding in peace and war, might not La Fireez shake the
King. And the King said, “Forbear, La Fireez, or thou wilt vex me. They
must rot.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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