The Stone-Giant, Mivgâ the Mighty, dwelt by the upper reaches of the river Haldossilu, where it rushed along its rocky bed through many shallows and rapids. Here also the ancient Giants’ road from Kapgar Kûm to Mount Zôyeglummi crossed the river by a stone bridge with a graceful single arch. Mivgâ himself had been one of the masons who made that bridge centuries before, and he never tired of walking up on to the bridge and admiring its cunning design. On his regular journeys there he rarely met any other speaking being. He saw many bears and deer, of course, but few nyandri, apart from the occasional party of Kabadri hurrying between their settlements. Since the wars the Entellári had avoided the place, and no Hyûvandri lived so far north.
Mivgâ was one of the the three remaining ruling giants. Dreygan the Frostgiant and Fúdrofûr the Fellgiant were the others. While they three lived and breathed, the Great Runes of Binding kept Negobith the chief of sorcerors under restraint, so that the Midworld remained free from his yoke. Otherwise, the Three never exercised joint power. It was a very long time since they had met to take counsel for the realm. They were sometimes contemptuously called Kât’ Engûna, the Three Do-Nothings. Instead, Fúdrofûr on his mountain, and Mivgâ by the river, allowed Dreygan to rule the Northlands, and he did that tyrannously.
Mivgâ, then, was amazed when he saw, approaching from the south, a wain drawn by goatbeasts and driven by Dreygan the Frostgiant, Smith of the Underlands. What could have brought him, without his retinue, so far from Onskabâ?
Mivgâ stepped on to the road, forcing Dreygan to halt his furious progress towards Mount Zôyeglummi, which only increased his impatient anger.
Mivgâ, though, was not in a hurry.
Well-met and hail, white-haired Dreygan!
What brings Frost-giant to this far steading?
Is it I, Mivgâ, mighty stone-giant
Whom you seek speedily? or a secret tryst?
On Zôyeglummi fair Gyúgri dwell!
Already Dreygan was not in a mood to be delayed, but now the notion that he might be going to Zôyeglummi to woo one of Fúdrofûr’s daughters, rather than to slay Fúdrofûr himself, stirred him to even greater fury. He brandished Gantzor the Coldsword, and cried:
Hold your gabbing, grey gatekeeper!
No petty matter presses me hard,
But just vengeance for vile treason.
Go see yourself: bid my servants show.
Firungwáfi was felled by deed
Of foul Fúdrofûr. Fight him I shall
And lay him low. This lethal sword,
The blade Gantzor, shall bind his limbs
In ice embrace, without ending.
And with that Dreygan whipped up the goatbeasts and drove off so fast that Mivgâ had to step swiftly out of the road.
The slow processes of Mivgâ’s thought gradually worked him into a ferment of resentment and jealousy. To begin with, the epithet ‘gatekeeper’ was a slight. In the days of the great wars, Mivgâ and his warriors had guarded the eastern approaches to Kapgar Kûm. There was an old, substantial gate, long disused, at a lower level than the great upper gateway beside the Giants’ road. After the wars it had been sealed up, and lay forgotten. But back in the time of his captainship, Mivgâ had held the highly honoured title of Guardian of the Gate. ‘Gatekeeper’, indeed!
Then, the thought came to Mivgâ that he would indeed go and see for himself; but he would not approach the main gate like a curious stranger, and likely as not be insulted by Dreygan’s servants. He would enter by that ancient east gate — his gate — and find his way to Onskabâ from there — he was certain he still knew the way. And then he had a second thought: while Dreygan was gone, why should he not set himself up in Dreygan’s highseat, Fâlagidhron, and command his servants? He might not wield Gantzor, nor Gantâr, but had he not Drothnîr, the hammer with which the bridges, walls, and roads of the world had been fashioned?
And that brought to mind another forgotten grievance. Long ago he, Mivgâ, had bespoken a great Sword from Dreygan, Smith of the Underlands, to be his weapon to wield in the defence of Kapgar Kûm. Dreygan had forged it for himself alone to use, and had single-handedly routed the enemy, stealing in one hour the glory due to Mivgâ for a hundred years’ valiant resistance. Dreygan had broken his word: he had made the Coldsword for himself. The blade was by rights Mivgâ’s. He would exact just vengeance, indeed!
He returned to his house, took up torches and tinder, and grasped Drothnîr. Then he strode with haste south along the Giants’ road which ascended into the high passes of the Dagnath Nebren. He swiftly passed by the great upper gates of Kapgar Kûm, which stood unguarded on the outside, though no doubt wakefully watched by the Netári within. He followed the road down the other side of the mountain until, late in the day, he reached a turning to the right. How well he remembered it! Many skirmishes had been fought here, and much blood spilt. A yew tree, older than the road, marked the place where the slain lay. The road was neglected, overgrown with brush and grasses. When he, Mivgâ, took sole power, he would have it cleared, and would make it the approach to his restored gateway. Gatekeeper indeed! He would have hawk-headed gatekeepers in troops, guarding it by turns.
And now the rockwall rose abruptly before him, the flank of Mount Hogunoth ascending in huge steps, vaster by far than giants could straddle. There in the distance was a small dark square. The gate! He recalled the details of its shaping as he came closer. It was formed like a kâdrollad, two upright boulders supporting a third as lintel, but here moulded in the living rock. The doors between were of stone, too. He had been one of the masons that made them. He came close and touched their surface lovingly. At once he remembered the opening spell, and before he had time to think, he spoke it:
Mathúr hlafaremef!
As if they had been in constant use, and not neglected for a hundred years, the doors swung wide. Mivgâ lit his torch and stepped inside.
But there was a reason why the eastern gate of the round halls of Kapgar Kûm was never used. Haldo Malvân; the Grey Sleeper. No one knew when or how the Sleeper came to dwell in the Eastern Incline. No one knew what the Sleeper looked like or sounded like. The few who evaded its embrace and returned to the outside world spoke of meeting a grey breath, thicker than Sheefra-mist, that drew out their own breath and made them drowsy, heavy with the beginning of sleep. If they were lucky, they turned and made their escape; but such were few.
No one spoke openly about the Grey Sleeper. Many of those who heard about it dismissed it as an invented tale, designed to keep folk out of Kapgar Kûm. Mivgâ had not been inside Kapgar Kûm for centuries. And he had not heard the tales. Only Slungandi, Drumster of the Deep, seeker-out of dark secrets, and traveller in every region, might have warned Mivgâ, but he had not passed that way for a long while.
Torch in hand, Mivgâ began to descend the great eastern incline. Once, no doubt, it led almost directly to Onskabâ. But the blue icelights of Onskabâ did not come in sight. Instead the passage grew darker. A thick mist began to gather. The torch expired for lack of air. The mist seemed to fill Mivgâ’s head and body. He fell into a grey sleep where he stood and sank to the rocky floor. He was not seen in the Outer World again. They say that the hammer Drothnîr, shaper of the walls of Tesdámo, lies there still.
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