There was a great highway, built by the hands of giants, from the upper gateway of Kapgar Kûm to Mount Zôyeglummi, passing, as has been said, over the Haldossilu river by Mivgâ’s great bridge. Although Zôyeglummi was high, its southwestern slopes were quite gentle, and the giant’s road wound its way almost to the top. Travelling by night and by day, Dreygan sped to the mountaintop. With only a short delay occasioned by the curiosity of Mivgâ, the journey took little longer than Slungandi’s two journeys, the one to Nanôr on foot and the other to Zôyeglummi in the air. Not long after the Drumster of the Deep had beguiled the Fellgiant and taken flight on his dragonhide wings, Dreygan’s wain was drawing near the summit of Zôyeglummi.
He left his wain and the six goatbeasts in a grove near where the great giant-road ended. He ascended a stone stairway leading to the top of the Glass Mountain and there before him was Fûbrinnig, the house of Fúdrofûr. In front of the door stood the great fellgiant himself. At sight of him, Dreygan’s cold wrath burst forth again. The hairs of his head and beard stood forth like icicles, his eyes grew cold and hard, and his breath came almost like the breath of Firungwáfi.
Now comes doom with Dreygan, deal shall Gantzor
A stroke of cold-death, to slay were kinder.
Pay shall Fúdrofûr for Firungwáfi
And wanton ruin of worm’s lustberries.
Gantzor the coldsword flashed with blue flame. In the same instant Fúdrofûr caught sight of his foe and seized the spear Tonxor from the weapon-rest built by Slungandi. Its broad head, blazing with star-fire, shone out above the summit of Zôyeglummi, dazzling the eyes of Dreygan as he advanced. Fúdrofûr shouted:
Tyrant Dreygan shall Tonxor fell;
Fúdrofûr fell-giant with fire of stars
Shall melt the heart of hated worm-lord.
Laugh shall Gyúgri aloud at victory.
Dreygan with one bound bore down upon Fúdrofûr and wielded the coldsword Gantzor against him, but even as he did so, Fúdrofûr made a sure cast with Tonxor at the breast of Dreygan. There came a mighty burst of smoke mixed with steam. It engulfed the two combatants, the house Fûbrinnig, and the whole mountaintop, billowing with a deep rumbling roar. Stones tumbled and crashed. From a hiding place on a nearby hillside, Slungandi heard the noise and saw the spreading vapours. He smiled with satisfaction.
When the keen mountain wind at length cleared away the vapours, three figures were standing by the ruins of Fûbrinnig: the Gyúgri, daughters of Fúdrofûr. Before them, on the glassy mountaintop, lay the fellgiant himself, now white and rigid in the grip of icedeath, more deadly than mortals’ fate. Near him lay the great Icesmith Dreygan, forger of Gantzor, blasted by blazing starfire. Between them lay the spear Tonxor, its head smoking, and the great Coldsword Gantzor itself, unscathed.
Despite the fate of their sire, the three Gyúgri were again laughing aloud. Alas, they had had little love for Fúdrofûr. He had greatly abused them by word and deed. Now they rejoiced at their new freedom.
Then the eldest, Fandrumin the Gyúga, stepped between the bodies and seized Gantzor by the hilts. She said:
As father’s wergild this weapon Gyúgri
Take as tried treasure to treat with neighbours
And as fell defence when foes threaten.
Then the second sister, Fulgimur, spoke:
Great Zoyeglummi, grimmest abode,
Gyúgri leave now gladly to birds;
Fûbrinnig’s fall is fetters’ breaking.
Then Furgumal the third sister said:
Haste we, sisters, to the hid dwelling
The refuge fashioned ere Fúdrofûr fell
Known to no one beneath skylands.
With that, each of the three Gyúgri hoisted on to her broad shoulders her cauldron, which she had filled with goods salvaged from the wreck of Fûbrinnig. Then they turned their backs on the stairway that led down to the beginning of the giants’ road. They took to a narrow track that sank suddenly down behind the top of Zôyeglummi and plunged into a rough region of tumbled boulders, quite different from the barren glassy slopes above, and bearing the beginnings of green growth. They soon vanished from the sight of any watcher through a shady cleft in the hills that wound northwards, deep into the great mountain ranges. Here was where they had had to go daily to fetch water from a fresh spring, and here beneath the heights of the mountain called Sabankos, they had discovered a place of refuge, a natural shelter scooped from the hills in former ages by weather or water or ice, and here they had made ready a secret home against the day when Fúdrofûr’s watchfulness should fail.
A waterfall, not wide but very high, poured from the crags above the rocky path and rushed many fathoms to a deep lake below. Its name was Marípei, the Great Outpouring. Behind the fall was the entrance to the cavern. Within lay a series of caves which led downwards within the mountain, perhaps the old course of the water in former days. In the lowest cave of all a wide fissure in the floor opened straight into the dark waters of the lake. That entrance could never be guessed at by one standing without, and would be perilously hard to find if he should dive beneath the water.
The three Gyúgri had prudently provided themselves with torches to use in the lower caverns that had no openings to let in light from the outside. They carried Gantzor the coldsword down through the passages in the rock to the lowest cavern, the one that opened into the lake. They hid Dreygan’s blade in the darkest recess of the cave. Then, returning to the upper chambers, they set up their cauldrons and wove a spell of impenetrability around the door of Gyúkabâ, their refuge beneath the mountain that is named Sabankos.
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