The Lord Corinius stood up, holding the sword point-downward in his hand. His face flamed red as an autumn sky when leaden clouds break apart on a sudden westward and the sun looks out between. “My Lord the King,” said he, “give me where I may sit down: I will make where I may lie down. Ere another moon shall wax again to the full I will set forth from Tenemos. If I do not shortly remedy for you our fortunes which this bloody fool hath laboured to ruinate, spit in my face, O King, withhold from me the light of your countenance, and put spells upon me shall destroy and blast me for ever.”
XIX: THREMNIR’S HEUGH
OF THE LORD SPITFIRE’S BESIEGING OF THE WITCHES IN HIS OWN CASTLE OF OWLSWICK; AND HOW HE DID BATTLE AGAINST CORINIUS UNDER THREMNIR’S HEUGH, AND THE MEN OF WITCHLAND WON THE DAY.
LORD SPITFIRE sat in his pavilion before Owlswick in mickle discontent. A brazier of hot coals made a pleasant warmth within, and lights filled the rich tent with splendour. From without came the noise of rain steadily falling in the dark autumn night, splashing in the puddles, pattering on the silken roof. Zigg sat by Spitfire on the bed, his hawk-like countenance shadowed with an unwonted look of care. His sword stood between his knees point downward on the floor. He tipped it gently with either hand now to the left now to the right, watching with pensive gaze the warm light shift and gleam in the ball of balas ruby that made the pommel of the sword.
“Fell it out so accursedly?” said Spitfire. “All ten, thou saidst, on Rammerick Strands?”
Zigg nodded assent.
“Where was he that he saved them not?” said Spitfire. “O, it was vilely miscarried!”
Zigg answered, “’Twas a swift and secret landing in the dark a mile east of the harbour. Thou must not blame him unheard.”