Slungandi, Drumster of the Deep, exulted in his own wiles. He threaded his way through the maze of tunnels beneath Kapgar Kûm. At dusk on the day after the loosing of Firungwáfi he broke from the cover of the caverns and strode on his way through the eastern forests. The next day he was walking along the bank of the grey river Haldossilu, that winds, overhung by willow and alder, into the heart of Nanôr, realm of witches. He sought her who was most mighty in spells and in runemaking, Murnag ta-Valka, once the consort of Negobith the Great (though few knew that but Slungandi, spier of secrets).
Not far from the river stood Imbrig, the house of Murnag, heart of the witchland. A great palisade was set around it. The gate of gurnal wood was named Thúrbal and its iron latch Sinkarad. Slungandi knew their names and approached without hesitation. Yet as his finger touched the string of the latch, Thúrbal cried out:
Tyeder ailé hlafarúyat Imbrig Sinkarad
an daredh gundrollat in-ravinédë Thúrbal?
Who lifts Sinkarad, latch tree of Imbrig,
Or Thúrbal’s threshold thinks of crossing?
For Murnag ta-Valka the aged was sightless, yet a power of seeing was set on the beams and joints, the staves and lintels, the frames and rooftrees of her house Imbrig, that no one might approach secretly.
Slungandi the undaunted drumster and sleightmaster assumed the voice of Prámiz the Proud, the son of Murnag ta-Valka and Negobith the Great, who in truth was then imprisoned on the far peak of Mount Thorodas, and responded:
The wise Murnag’s most mighty son
Home from bondage seeks hearth-welcome
Mother’s counsel and kind embrace
And a binding-spell for boasting foes.
Then he took from a sheath on his left side the blade Sporni and touched Sinkarad the iron latch, and behold, the gate Thúrbal opened to him. He followed the many-hued pavement to the door of Imbrig. At a touch from Sporni it flew open and Slungandi, bowing his head beneath the low lintel, entered Murnag’s outer chamber, where she was wont to receive guests. It was filled with a perfumed smoke that after only a breath or two made the senses reel; but Slungandi pressed the point of Sporni to his side and his brain cleared.
By the smoky fire in a far corner sat Murnag the aged, staff in hand, on a low stool. She turned her sightless face, framed by long grey tresses, towards Slungandi, saying:
Is it well for Son to sojourn afar
Agelong away, then await blessings
From spurned mother, Murnag the Old?
And Slungandi said:
It is well, Mother, that your son Prámiz
From escaping foes, and scorning nets
Of Entellári, at your lap kneeleth,
To ask your aid in enemies’ fall.
And he came near, and knelt before the old witch woman, and took her hands, and laid them to his head. Now be it known that Prámiz the son of Murnag ta-Valka had skin the thickest and most leather-like and hairless of any mortal or immortal, for it had been seared when he went to steal the fire of the stars and never softened, but was like the skin of a dragon. And Slungandi by his art and in his wrath at Dreygan had caused the dragonhide, of which his ruined drum Brandubur was made, to enwrap the whole of his body and cling tightly to it. And so when Murnag’s hands touched the head and shoulders of Slungandi, it was as if she touched her son Prámiz. And this device and her blindness were well for Slungandi, for his head bore curled hair and his skin was brown, whereas the head of Prámiz was hairless and his skin pale. Then Murnag ta-Valka said:
As scent of beasts is breath of Prámiz;
As smooth dragonhide your skin, O son.
Strange that tidings of my son’s freedom
Came not quicker than captives run.
Then rising from the fire, and taking her staff Gonnlar, she moved swiftly across the chamber, and fetched the three cups of welcome. She gave Slungandi the first, the cup of unwariness. But Slungandi, rising to his feet, dipped Sporni into it so that the liquor froze, then dropped the frozen potion into a wallet at his right side. Then she gave him the second, the cup of mirth. Again Slungandi dipped Sporni into it so that it froze and bestowed it in the wallet. Then she gave him the third, the cup of mind-opening. Yet again Slungandi dipped Sporni into the cup and bestowed the frozen potion in his wallet.
Then Slungandi seized the staff Gonnlar. He took Sporni and held its point to the middle of the brow of sightless Murnag. He said:
Plight-dealing Dame, young Prámiz knows
That ere the hated ones, the Hyilavúna,
Stole back sky-fire from son Prámiz,
Mother Murnag mingled one spark
With naked naphtha, under night’s helmet
And keeps it still, safe in cell-pit.
Spoils suffered-for he straight demands
Or shall, less sonlike, go seek his own.
Then Slungandi taking Gonnlar in one hand drove Murnag before him with Sporni to the brink of the ladder leading down to her underground store-room.
Let Murnag now, meek, deliver
Sky-fire to son, or with sudden haste
Slip to cell-floor and sleep soundly.
Cowed, Murnag descended the ladder, not without a look of loathing on her sightless face. Even without the staff Gonnlar she moved unhesitatingly across the beaten floor of the underground cell. She seized an earthen vessel from a shelf and swinging round she hurled it with full force up through the opening of the trapdoor, crying
Sly Slungandi comes sleight-crafty
But mindskilled Murnag mocks his tricks.
Death of Dreygan he shall deal today
But fate will find the foolish drumster.
Nine shall knit him to Night’s master,
Staves make slave of Slungandi.
Fûbraváni on a far shoreland
Shall rue my son’s sword-bargain.
But Slungandi was the most skilled of eye and hand of all the Entellári, renegade though he was. He thrust out Sporni and caught the crock by its handle as it flew. Then stooping he slammed the trapdoor down upon the opening, and fixed the witch’s staff across it, crying:
Slungandi scorns sightless one’s curse,
Repays welcome that witch prepared.
Let good Gonnlar now guard Murnag
Let her kick her heels in her cool cellar.
Laughing inwardly and exulting in his booty, Slungandi made haste to leave Imbrig, the witch’s house. He knew that he must depart quickly, for Murnag had great powers, and many ways to get free of the temporary prison that he had placed her in. He dashed down the path leading to the grey river Haldossilu. Near to Imbrig the river ran over a shallow ford. Slungandi did not slacken his pace when he reached the bank; he waded straight across to the far side. He trusted the water to hinder Murnag’s work of seeking him and her servant beasts from seizing him.
Plunging into the woods, he hastened to a place that he knew where he might practice his runecraft undisturbed. Fef Heigum was its name, a low bare hillock raised above the woodland floor, filled with dark power from the rimes and runes of ages. Now with words of his own cunning craft, he peeled off the dragonhide from his body and reclothed himself with the garments in his wallet. Then, seated on Fef Heigum, he once again bent his mind on the dragonhide. He spread it upon the bare earth of Fef Heigum and traced lines on it with the tip of Sporni. Then he carefully took a small quantity of the mixture from the crock he had brought from Murnag ta-Valka and sprinkled it over the hide. He lifted up the dragonhide, and behold, it now took the form of a pair of long tapered wings. He strapped them with thongs to his back. Then he spoke a rime of flying.
Hide of flightworm, hear Slungandi!
Reclaim cunning of cloud-piercing!
Spark of starpath, speed dragon-wings,
Bear Slungandi to Zôyeglummi.
And with that he leapt from the top of Fef Heigum. The wings at once began to beat with strong and steady pulses. Slungandi the master of sleight soared upwards, rapidly leaving the forest behind him. With the speed of a flightworm he flew towards the north, towards the great mountain ranges surrounding Mount Zôyeglummi, the Glass Mountain.
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