The Worm Ouroboros

Title: The Worm Ouroboros Author: E. R. Eddison * A Project
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Title: The Worm Ouroboros Author: E. R. Eddison

CONTENTS:
THE INDUCTION I The Castle of Lord Juss II The Wrastling for
Demonland III The Red Foliot IV Conjuring in the Iron Tower V King
Gorice's Sending VI The Claws of Witchland VII Guests of the King in
Carcë VIII The First Expedition to Impland IX Salapanta Hills X The
Marchlands of the Moruna XI The Burg of Eshgrar Ogo XII Koshtra
Pivrarcha XIII Koshtra Belorn XIV The Lake of Ravary XV Queen
Prezmyra XVI The Lady Sriva's Embassage XVII The King Flies His

Haggard XVIII The Murther of Gallandus by Corsus XIX Thremnir's
Heugh XX King Corinius XXI The Parley Before Krothering XXII
Aurwath and Switchwater XXIII The Weird Begun of Ishnain
Nemartra XXIV A King in Krothering XXV Lord Gro and the Lady
Mevrian XXVI The Battle of Krothering Side XXVII The Second
Expedition to Impland XXVIII Zora Rach Nam Psarrion XXIX The
Fleet at Muelva XXX Tidings of Melikaphkhaz XXXI The Demons
Before Carcë XXXII The Latter End of All the Lords of Witchland
XXXIII Queen Sophonisba in Galing ARGUMENT: WITH DATES
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTES ON THE VERSES

To W.G.E. and to my friends K.H. and G.C.L.M. I dedicate this book It
is neither allegory nor fable but a Story to be read for its own sake.
The proper names I have tried to spell simply. The e in Carcë is long,
like that in Phryne, the o in Krothering short and the accent on that
syllable: Corund is accented on the first syllable, Prezmyra on the
second, Brandoch Daha on the first and fourth, Gorice on the last
syllable, rhyming with thrice: Corinius rhymes with Flaminius, Galing
with sailing, La Fireez with desire ease: ch is always guttural, as in
loch.
E.R.E. 9th January 1922

THE INDUCTION
THERE was a man named Lessingham dwelt in an old low house in
Wasdale, set in a gray old garden where yew-trees flourished that had
seen Vikings in Copeland in their seedling time. Lily and rose and
larkspur bloomed in the borders, and begonias with blossoms big as
saucers, red and white and pink and lemon-colour, in the beds before
the porch. Climbing roses, honeysuckle, clematis, and the scarlet
flame-flower scrambled up the walls. Thick woods were on every side
without the garden, with a gap north-eastward opening on the desolate
lake and the great fells beyond it: Gable rearing his crag-bound head

against the sky from behind the straight clean outline of the Screes.
Cool long shadows stole across the tennis lawn. The air was golden.
Doves murmured in the trees; two chaffinches played on the near post
of the net; a little water-wagtail scurried along the path. A French
window stood open to the garden, showing darkly a dining-room
panelled with old oak, its Jacobean table bright with flowers and silver
and cut glass and Wedgwood dishes heaped with fruit: greengages,
peaches, and green muscat grapes. Lessingham lay back in a
hammock-chair watching through the blue smoke of an after-dinner
cigar the warm light on the Gloire de Dijon roses that clustered about
the bedroom window overhead. He had her hand in his. This was their
House.
"Should we finish that chapter of Njal?" she said.
She took the heavy volume with its faded green cover, and read: "He
went out on the night of the Lord's day, when nine weeks were still to
winter; he heard a great crash, so that he thought both heaven and earth
shook. Then he looked into the west airt, and he thought he saw
thereabouts a ring of fiery hue, and within the ring a man on a gray
horse. He passed quickly by him, and rode hard. He had a flaming
firebrand in his hand, and he rode so close to him that he could see him
plainly. He was black as pitch,