Slungandi the Drumster of the Deep and unwilling yokeservant of Negobith returned to Kapgar Kûm, driving Dreygan’s wain with the Frostgiant’s body on it. But the Round Halls were no longer a silent citadel as they had been when Dreygan ruled in Onskabâ. They were filled with sound: the tramp of feet, the rumble of wheels, the creaking of pulleys, and harsh cries of command. For now the Master of Ombros had arisen to take his throne, and his yokeservants were busy setting up the appurtenances of his realm.
As soon as Slungandi halted the wain at the upper gates, the two Falakkazri following him dismounted from their grisly beasts, which were led away by other yokeservants, while lesser yokeservants took over the wain and began to haul away the blasted body of the Frostgiant to the freezing caverns where it might lie uncorrupt till the world changes.
Angash and his lieutenant directed Slungandi with their staves down a long dark passage and through other gates into the great Round Hall in the midst of Kapgar Kûm. It was lit with a blue light from many flaring torches of a kind other than those that lit up Onskabâ. Dread fell upon Slungandi as he entered. In the centre of the hall was an indistinct dark mass, something like a great figure seated on a throne. Shapes like a head, arms, feet could be dimly made out. But no face could been seen in the head: no eyes, no mouth, just something like a great helm. And there was no sound, and yet a voice spoke in Slungandi’s mind. A cold, slow, toneless voice, full of power that made his limbs rigid and unable to stir.
Drumster of Deeps, now of Deeps’ Master,
Shall get dragonhide and drum again
To mark our triumph. First, mend treason:
Dreygan’s weapon by deeds of yours
Is beyond our reach. You shall find it
Or from Negobith never neck-ransom take!
And a second task to test your wit:
My former fellow in friendly wise
The prince Ingos, to a peaceful parley
You shall persuade sweetly, and send hither.
Lest from two errands you tend to stray
Gentle Angash shall ease compliance:
Aid loyalty with a lively sight.
The voice ceased and Slungandi, trembling all over, regained the use of his limbs. At once the two Falakkazri pushed him out of the hall and led him down the many stairs towards Onskabâ. The voice of Angash in his mind told him that they were to visit Handuvandur, the former den of Firungwáfi. A foreboding came to him that the den had a new occupant: one that he, Slungandi master of sleights, would not dare to trifle with as he had trifled with the iceworm.
They came to Mathúr Tahanduvandur. From within came a bestial roaring, like a screaming mixed with bellowing. The wormwardens unlocked the great gates and rolled them back. Slungandi beheld a creature bound with the collar Boyglir and the chain Káwrungdaga as Firungwáfi had been. But the grisly iceworm seemed to his memory comely and gentle in comparison with the foul monster that, in his place, strained at its bonds: the mouth red and slavering, full of great yellow teeth, the eyes blazing with fury, the great clawed feet grasping and scraping at the floor, the huge wings thumping against the walls of the den, the tail thrashing. And the reek of that beast was unbearable. Even the Falakkaska wardens, they whom mortals fear, showed signs of distaste. One of them took a long pitchfork and stabbed it into the carcase of a beast and tossed it to the monster, which seized on it, rending and crushing and devouring it in a few moments.
‘Behold Hugturágis, O Drumster of the Deep.
The favourite beast of the Master of Ombros.
You would not entice him with frostberries, I think,’
—came the mocking voice of Angash in Slungandi’s mind.
Back up the great stairway they took him and thrust him out of doors. A yokeservant came leading a skulldeer, ready saddled for him, and Angash reminded him:
A year and a day to yield Gantzor
To the Deep Master, or death follows.
Deliver that blade, and as the lord’s herald
You shall drum again on dragonhide.
And a year and a day to induce Ingos,
Hearthless wanderer, to hasten here
To Negobith’s halls, and Night’s welcome.
Very soon Slungandi was riding the Giants’ road, back to Zôyeglummi, the Glass Mountain. He wondered very much what Negobith meant by seeking a meeting with Ingos Earthstepper. Their last meeting had been a nearly mortal battle. Ingos overcame Negobith, and the Guardians of Thrâyeldim decreed that he should be confined in the depths of Ombros. But now that decree had been annulled, and he had risen to the Overworld. ‘Night’s welcome’ sounded ominous.
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