Slungandi was the master of water and of hidden ways. And even if he had not had the skill to find the hidden entrance of Aulihaudë Ráda, he would have needed only to follow the urgent striving of Sporni to come to the Talyoran that he could feel at his breast.
As soon as he entered the great portal of Aulihaudë Ráda that lay beneath the waters, a guard of the Swan People surrounded him.
‘The Lady awaits you, Master Silûnakánti,’ they said, ‘You will have the goodness to come with us.’
Slungandi had no other purpose than to confront the Lady, thief of the Talyoran, but he knew that he was not at liberty to do otherwise. They conducted him up the winding passages of Spiral Castle, which led upwards from right to left, in opposite mode to Kapgar Kûm. In the midst of all was the throne room of Endáyra. That place was filled with a wavering green and blue light, as if beneath the waters, and suffused with a soft scent. It had the power of soothing the heart and casting sleep upon the senses.
As Slungandi entered, the Lady rose up to greet him. She was tall and slender, clad in white. He hid his anger and desire for the Talyoran, and composed his countenance. He did obeisance and said:
Slungandi greets the great Lady,
Mighty mistress of Midworld’s lake.
Long loitering on lonely ways,
Many meetings I have missed sorely.
Endáyra, Lady of Fleswen ta-Féore, replied softly and courteously:
Silûnakánti, thy lost treasure
Gnaws thy nerves raw; thy naked wrath’s
Not hid by dire hide of dragon.
Come, take comfort, cast away cares,
Have good cheer now. The child with thee,
The mother with me, let them merge anew,
That the quenchèd spark may spring brightly
And united strength ignite again.
Now is time to talk, we two together,
To join forces with fragments healed.
Then all at once a light dawned in the mind of Slungandi, master of sleights. The Lady had got the Talyoran into her possession, but with the shard Sporni severed from her, the mother slept and yielded not to rune or spell. This Slungandi had not known till now. And he saw that the Lady believed that the child Sporni, separate from the mother, was likewise powerless. She thought that neither he nor she could cast rune or spell with the fragment they each held; therefore she sought to prevail upon Slungandi to unite Sporni to the Talyoran. She knew not that Sporni kept within himself a great part of the powers that the unbroken Talyoran had possessed.
So Slungandi now had the upper hand, if he resisted her request that they join forces, and kept Sporni for himself. He knew that she could not take the fragment from him by force, and so she could never make the Talyoran work for her. But even if she kept him prisoner, he thought, he would have the powers of Sporni at his disposal.
Concealing that knowledge from her probing thoughts, Slungandi said:
Nay, Lake’s Lady, I like it not.
Were we to twin the two, that Talyoran
Would cleave to your hand, and my claim be naught.
I’ll not be cheated of the child crystal.
Let both slumber, no spells crafting.
Slungandi sensed the impatience and anger that now passed through the breast of Endáyra. Her countenance, however, remained clear as she replied, kindly enough:
My soul is sad, stout Slungandi,
That you shun my offer to share our might.
My courtesy craves your company still:
You must house herein till your heart changes.
And thus she courteously condemned him to be her prisoner until he became compliant, and this he resolved he never would be. She dismissed him graciously from her presence, and a body of Swanpeople escorted him to his quarters. To his consternation, he was brought back down the spiral passage to a chamber beneath the level of the waters. Unwittingly, the Lady had contrived to prevent his use of Sporni, whose powers were dormant when he lay below water. There was no lock nor bolt upon the door, but Slungandi knew that he could never stroll far from the chamber without the Swanpeople following him at a discreet distance.
And so Slungandi languished in the benevolent but unbreakable hospitality of the Lady of the Lake. He felt Sporni straining constantly at the confines of the wallet that he wore at all times next to his heart, but the Talyoran remained hidden and mute in the far recesses of Aulihaudë Ráda. Slungandi’s resentment of Dreygan grew and grew as he chafed at his confinement and at the loss of the Talyoran. Unable to chant rime or cast rune he decided to write them all in a book, a great work of ûthéa, that the knowledge of them might not be lost. And he wrote the drum songs of Brandubûr likewise. And that book was named Katívat Kumbren, Book of the Deep. The Lady denied him neither parchment, pen, or ink; for she said to herself ‘When I gain the shard and mend the Talyoran, I shall get the book also, and the powers of the Deep will be open to me.’
And the long years wore away, and the centuries, leaving no mark on the bodies or the souls of the Doitherúna: Slungandi, and Endáyra and her Swanpeople, the Falakkazri of Kapgar Kûm, the Kabadri in their halls of stone, the Fâdhéri in the Greenmarch, and the three peoples of Hyilavúna in their inward bliss.
But the weight of the Marûthénath Dagnedh bore ever more heavily down as the years passed: on Melyúnas, who was now called Negobith, confined within his stronghold of Ombros; and on Dreygan in Onskabâ; and on Mivgâ in his great house Higutigna; and on Fúdrofûr and his three Gyúga daughters in his house Fûbrinnig on Mount Zôyeglummi, the Glass Mountain.
And in the dark glades of Nanôr, Murnag bestowed, with more care than she had on herself, a portion of the remaining starfire on each of the principal Valkari: Murungyaldi the Terrible, and Masláryë ta-Valka, and Vombarth, and lastly Nabbolô, whom Murnag despatched into the Forest of Farangrim to watch over Groiznath in his gulbân form.
Likewise, in Onskabâ, the Runewives rejoiced in the possession of ageless life, matching the span of their consorts, the Hawk-headed ones, little knowing the curse of it; and together they sought the counsel of the Deep.
Meanwhile the short lives of the Hyûvandri sped by, but in health and happiness, shepherded by the unfading care of Ingos Earthstepper, whose life matched the lives of the Doitherúna. For he was destined not to depart until his task was done.
Here ends the Tale of the Talyoran.
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