CANTO IV: The attack on the harbor by Mawish, captain of Orkon's vanguard. The Paladins rush to the battle. Yalyan and Geilarjana are slain in the first assault. Fanhal withdraws to the Mountain.
A brassy clamour sounds upon the deep
And sable banners, high above the mist
Like ravens augur the vulture's coming feast
As the harbor fills with tall and crowded ships.
The harbor-master raises to his lips
A trophy taken from a dark-fleeced goat
And on that bugle sounds a warning note.
The chain is raised--too late! One tower falls
Overthrown by Orkon's cunning arts.
Now from the southern fort the banner tall
Of Sencan wavers in a hail of darts.
Then fish-eyed monsters from the water start
And pull the harbor-guards into the foam,
And the blood of men is slick upon the stones.
At feast the guard of Fanhal hear the horn
And swiftly rising to his feet each man
Looks with flashing eyes upon his lord
And gropes for steel with quick and eager hands.
"Hark! The noise of war!" says brave Yalyan,
"Now by your love and leave I'll swift away
To see what sort of guests you entertain."
Then up the maiden leaped, and called for arms--
She laid aside her robes of scarlet silk
And donned the gleaming mail by hammer forged.
She buckled on a sword with jeweled hilt
And raised a shining helm with silver gilt.
The tender maid was changed before their eyes,
Into a tall and shining warrior-knight.
Then up leaped Geilarjana from his plate
And drew his father's blade of Living Ice:
"I swear no maid, however skilled with blade,
Will go before the son of Vasyirai!
Inharpeim*, forged in ancient times,
Shall feast upon the enemies of the king
And with their wails will make the mountain ring."
*Eagle-shark
Then down he spend unto the harbor-mouth
And none could check him, lend him mail or helm.
The paving-stones were ringing with his shouts--
The stones which Ranhor laid to guard his realm.
His onslaught was so hot he overwhelmed
The vanguard marching up the harbor road
And spattered purple gore upon the stones.
"Now come!" he said, "and taste of Fanhal's best!
It seems you thought to find him unprepared
To entertain so many hungry guests.
But see! The table's laid, the portions shared,
And every preparation made with care.
The rich red wine is ladled all around--
And more than you can drink, as you have found."
Then all the howling host of Orkon's slaves
Broke upon his sword, as when some cliff
Upon the island coast withstands the waves
That set the boats of fishermen adrift.
His burning sword was singing in his grip
As Nalshbo hid their faces from its light
And threw aside their weapons in their flight.
Then rasped a chain upon those ancient stones.
A dark form, writhing, shrouded in old rags
Stood before the burning sword alone,
And with a pitted blade he smote the slab:
Once--twice--the pavement split and cracked
And hurled the young man forward to the ground
While twisted shapes ring the warrior round.
Cold Inharpeim rang upon the stones
While Geilarjana wallowed in his blood.
The dark and writhing figure then intoned
A cruel and baleful song, while monsters cut
Away the head and hands, their greed to glut.
So Geilarjana, of Fanhal's paladins
Was first to fall amid the awful din.
But bold Yalyan cut short that monstrous feast
For, coming down with threescore flashing spears
By the Road of Ranhor from the East,
She formed a bristling wedge, and gave a fierce
And ululating battle-cry that pierced
The air, and set the Nalshbor minions all to flight--
But the hunched and hungry monsters turned to fight.
O see! the maid has laid aside her maiden's charms
And strides with shining lance into the fray!
While in the distance Fanhal's force in arms
Issues from the Mountain in array.
Then the shrouded form with pitted blade
Strikes the rocks again until they ring
And to the maiden fierce begins to sing:
"The pits in which your fathers knew despair
Are calling now. Those drums which beat the time
Are stretched with skin your fathers cured with tears
While toiling in anguish in the mines.
Come back, come down, to Orkon's service bind
Yourselves; forget the faithless light of day!
See, Mawish comes to carry you away!"
But the iron-hearted maiden did not serve,
But bore down upon Mawish with gleaming lance.
"The wombs of Queens do not to thralls give birth,
Nor are men enslaved by fickle chance.
'Tis but when vigil sleeps that tyrants grasp--
Such sloth you found mong the Hills of Jade;
'Tis elsewhere in the fortress Ranhor made.
"For there is planted here a mighty seed
Of that fruit the stem of Lanenomen bore
Who the kin of Star and Water freed
And from the Mines of Torment led them forth."
So, undaunted, Yalyan to the fore
Charged, and Mawish struck with such a blow
That, writhing, to the ground he was laid low.
"Then serpents coursed across the scarlet stone
And writhed in knots around the maiden's feet.
She cried, and struck the baleful head of one,
While dozens more knotted in a heap
And pulled her down. Then round her, horned beasts
Bit and brayed and slew the maiden's men
Who vainly sought to free their paladin.
Then the serpents backwards quickly swarmed
Into the rags of Mawish, secreting slime,
And raised from earth the hunched and writhing form
Which he had worn in long-forgotten times.
No Nalshbori was Mawish: with heaven's lights
He was numbered once, until the fall
Of Vishnarr, who brought grief to mortals all.
Now do metal spurs rasp the scarlet stones
And the monarch's banners flutter in the wind,
As the host of Fanhal, coming up the road,
Drives the host of Mawish back again.
Then round the fallen heroes the Paladins
Make a ring of deadly spears; then kneels the king,
And to the fallen spear-maid gently sings:
"Now rest, brave heart, undaunted in the teeth
Of foes who froze the blood of lesser men,
And let the songs of those who sing our grief
Tell of Yalyan, maiden paladin.
She was ever forward in the din
And press of battle, for she loved her lord,
And proved that love with spear and flashing sword."
"My lord I loved," the dying maiden gasped,
"But loved him otherwise than you have known.
My heart for fruits forbidden long has grasped--
'Tis well that it lies breaking on this stone,
Crushed, by changeful serpents cruelly choked."
Then Yalyan breathed her last, and lay her down
At the knees of him who bore the crown.
Now the harbor crowds with creaking hulls
Of black-sailed galleys with rows of grinding oars,
And the teeming troops out-shout the black-winged gulls--
'Til shuddering silence falls upon the horde.
Then Orkon comes; and at the coming of their lord
The hosts are trembling, filled with crawling dread,
And bow before the crown upon his head.
That crown he plucked from the dying hands of one
Who was the last of Treian lords to rule
In Lanenkarr, the seat of mighty Lanenom
Which shining stood, as radiant as a jewel.
No song names the last Treian to rule:
He was forgotten in the long abyss of time,
And lost to e'en the memory of rhyme.
Then Fanhal sees his man shrink back in fear
And cow before the coming of that foe
Who, against the march of Lanenomen's spears
Had woven his enchantments long ago.
So Fanhal sets his liege-men in a row
Of serried ranks to rear-guard his escape
And with his dead withdraws beyond the gates.
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