In the deep cave Onskabâ, beneath the Round Halls of Kapgar Kûm, Dreygan the Icesmith, last of the race of the Frost Giants, prepared to forge the great Coldsword Gantzor. All about the icy walls the lamps of blue coldfire hissed out their freezing breath. In the midst, the great stone anvil, Nolgon, with its double horns, stood ready to receive the blows of Gantâr, the hammer of Dreygan.
Above the anvil Nolgon, suspended from the far distant roof of the cavern by a fine silver chain, hung the beautiful crystal of the stars, the Talyoran. It was famed among the Hyilavúna for its powers, but for long it had been unjustly in the keeping of Slungandi, the Drumster of the Deeps. Here it seemed to gather the dim light of the lamps and concentrate it into a pure blue beam that fell on the surface of the anvil.
Not far from the door of Onskabâ sat the small, wizened figure of Slungandi, the Drumster of the Deeps, his large head tilted, his hands aloft. Between his feet stood the Drum Brandubur, broad-bellied and taut, wrought of fine dragon hide. Dreygan the Icesmith made a sign with his hand, and Slungandi began to strike Brandubur, a deep and steady sound:
Dûmbâ dâbun dûbunda bâbunda
Dâbun dûbunda bâbunda dûmbâ
Dûbunda bâbunda dûmbâ dâbun
Bâbunda dûmbâ dâbun dûbunda
Then came the eight Netâka runewives, who raising their dark right hands chanted the Runes of Frozen Time:
Mugâ hânum mikhan-dâ kubudamîn
Hânum mikhan-dâ kubudamîn mugâ
Mikhan-dâ kubudamîn mugâ hânum
Kubudamîn mugâ hânum mikhan-dâ
Then Dreygan summoned the hawk-headed ones, the Falakkazri, whom mortals call the Kúmi Netári. The eight Netâka wormwardens entered Onskabâ, two by two, following their chief staff-bearer. In their gauntleted hands they hauled the great chain Káwrungdaga. The links of Káwrungdaga were fixed to the mighty throat ring Boyglir. That ring encircled the freezing neck of Firungwáfi, the grisly Gangworm of the underworld. Inch by inch the wormwardens drew Firungwáfi across the floor of Onskabâ. The icy talons of the gangworm scraped and slid on the stony ground. His huge head wagged from side to side. Already the runesleep was driving down the black eyelids over his frosty eyes. The wormwardens strode south and north, east and west, two by two. The chain Káwrungdaga stood taut in their hands. The ring Boyglir beneath the gangworm’s tossing head stuck fast between the horns of the anvil Nolgon.
Louder and quicker like a long-armed ape Slungandi the Drumster of the Deeps beat on Brandubur the Drum of the Underworld. Louder and quicker the runewives chanted. At a slow swaying pace they encircled the vast grey body of the gangworm. From the south came Dreygan, his hands in gauntlets of dragon hide. Shaking his hoary locks, he laid a hand on each closed eye of the gangworm and chanted a stave of conjuration:
Firungwáfi, worm under world,
Dreygan runes you, Icesmith rimes you:
Yewsap of coldworm, yield icevenom,
Weave winterspit as weapon of war!
Slowly the beads of melting ice spittle formed on the jaw of Firungwáfi, and one by one they dripped on to the surface of the anvil Nolgon. Faster they ran, joining together into bitter globes of ironblood. A pale bloom, like a freezing mist, formed about the glassy liquid, and behold, suddenly they became as it were a long streak of pallid blue, widest near to the hands of the Smith, narrow at the further end. At once the Smith Dreygan released the eyes of the gangworm. The runewives in their dance stepped back. The wormwardens hauled Firungwáfi away by the neck. Forth they dragged the drowsy monster from the cave Onskabâ.
Then straightway Dreygan the icesmith smote with the hammer Gantâr upon the coldworm’s spittle lying on the anvil Nolgon, a measured blow at the tip of the icy tongue. The sound echoed dully in the deep cave Onskabâ. One blow followed another, ice sparks flying, a rhythmical beat, unhasting and unceasing.
Brandubur spoke and the eight runewives chanted and Gantâr smote. Hour upon hour the hammer Gantâr rose and fell upon the anvil Nolgon, and all night long the drum and the song intoned. In the Upperworld the last star faded and the sun began his daily journey, and then the striking of Gantâr ceased. Slungandi beat no longer. The Netâka runewives stilled their chant and glided away to their chambers.
But even as the last blow of Gantâr descended upon the newforged edge of Gantzor, the hammer in its swing smote the edge of the Talyoran. The crystal parted from its chain and flew across the cavern and into a dark recess, the opening of an air shaft. There came a clattering as it struck the floor and rolled away and downwards, echoing as it descended. Then there was a splash: it had fallen into water, far below Onskabâ.
And as the hammer struck the Talyoran, a long thin sliver split from it and sped like a flickering arrow, fast and deadly; it burst through the dragonhide of the drum Brandubur, and in its fall pierced the foot of Slungandi. Slungandi the Drumster of the Deeps bellowed aloud in pain and fury. He seized the sliver of crystal, wrapped it in the ruined skin of Brandubur, and hastily bestowed them both in the wallet at his side. Then he took a lamp and hastened to the corner where the Talyoran had fallen and thrust it into the dark opening of the shaft. A draught of air came up it from somewhere far below. Down there, no doubt, the Talyoran had fallen, deep into waters at the roots of Mount Hogunoth.
Slungandi sprang up and stalked towards the door of the cave Onskabâ with a glance of malice towards the towering Icesmith. He intoned this runevow in anger:
Rue shall Dreygan, Drumster’s wounding,
Crystal’s spilling, star-jewel’s loss,
Slaying of drum — and Slungandi’s oath.
For spoil, this splinter, spearhead to be,
Slungandi makes malefactors’ bane!
Dreygan the Icesmith, heedless of the ire and threats of the drumster, grasped the newforged coldsword by the hilt and swept the blade towards the roof of Onskabâ. He rimed a naming rime:
Born of gangworm, of drake’s belly
Be now coldsword, Gantzor by name,
Bane of life heat, breathing stiller,
Warmth bereaver, frost enchainer.
By a sound stroke you will sunder stone
None shall withdraw save who drove you home,
And by this sign shall you be known.
And so saying he thrust Gantzor down deep into the stone anvil Nalgon, so that it stood upright. Thus he exulted in the powers of Gantzor: the power to enchain into icy forgetfulness anyone that draws breath; the power to penetrate solid stone with a single thrust.
But then he laid a mighty lockspell upon the sword with this rime:
Whose hand but Dreygan’s, the drake’s master
Shall seize Gantzor and smite a foe,
Shall with like smiting be himself smitten,
Stunned for stunning, slain for slaying,
Chaining with cold for cold-death dealing
With stiffened sinews in sleep agelong.
Thus Dreygan doomed any who should obtain his Coldsword and use it against an adversary. They should suffer the same harm as that which they inflicted: light for light, heavy for heavy, cold-death for cold-death, life-loss for murder. Slungandi, lurking just beyond the door of Onskabâ, heard that curse. But the Kúmi Netári had departed and none of them heard it.
The wormwardens bestowed Firungwáfi secure in his den Handuvandûr behind the great gate Mathúr Tahanduvandûr, with the chain Káwrungdaga fettered to mighty stanchions in the floor of his prison. Then they returned to Dreygan and all joined in praising the power of the Underworld Icesmith and the virtues of the sword in the stone.
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