Zigg took him by the foot and waked him and told him all the matter: “Fifteen ships, and every ship (as I might plainly see as they drew nigh) as full of men as there be eggs in a herring’s roe. So cometh our expectation to the birth.”
“And so,” said Spitfire, leaping from the couch, “cometh Laxus again to Demonland, with fresh meat to glut our swords withal.”
He caught up his weapons and ran to a little knoll that stood above the beach over against Owlswick Castle. And all the host ran to behold those dragons of war sail up the firth at dawn of day.
“They dowse sail,” said Spitfire, “and put in for Scaramsey. ’Tis not for nothing I taught these Witchlanders on the Rapes of Brima. Laxus, since he witnessed that downthrow of their army, now accounteth islands more wholesomer than the mainland, well knowing we have nor sails nor wings to strike across the firth at him. Yet scarcely by skulking in the islands shall he break up the siege of Owlswick.”
Zigg said, “I would know where be his fifteen other ships.”
“In fifteen ships,” said Spitfire, “it is not possible he beareth more than sixteen hundred or seventeen hundred men of war. Against so many I am strong enough to-day, should they adventure a landing, to throw ’em into the sea and still contain Corsus if he make a sally. If more be added, I am the less secure. Therefore occasion calleth but the louder for thy purposed faring to the west.”
So the Lord Zigg called him out a dozen men-at-arms and went a-horseback. By then were all the ships rowed ashore under the southern spit of Scaramsey, where is good anchorage for ships. They were there hidden from view, all save their masts that showed over the spit, so that the Demons might observe nought of their disembarking.
Spitfire rode with Zigg three miles or four, as far as the brow of the descent to the fords of Ethreywater, and there bade him farewell. “Lightning shall be slow to my hasting,” said Zigg, “till I be back again. Meantime, I would have thee be not too scornfully unmindful of that old man.”
“Chirking of sparrows!” said Spitfire. “I have forgot his brabble.” Nevertheless his glance shifted southward beyond Owlswick to the great bluff of tree-hung precipice that stands like a sentinel above the meadows of Lower Tivarandardale, leaving but a narrow way betwixt its lowest crags and the sea. He laughed: “O my friend, I am yet a boy in thine eyes it seemeth, albeit I am well-nigh twenty-nine years old.”
“Laugh at me and thou wilt,” said Zigg. “Without this word said I could not leave thee.”