It was the final day of the journey to Kapgar Kûm. The road now wound along the slopes of the Dagnath Nebren, Mountains of Darkness. It was cold and the wind blew keenly, but the wintry sun shone upon them.
Ingos Earthstepper continued carefree. He sang as he marched along. The four Entellári did not fear the Kúmi Netári, but foreboded evil. Nevertheless, they made their accustomed music in their hearts together, and took comfort in the bright berries of their branches of holly.
Slungandi, as was his custom, came behind, calculating in his mind.
They came to a place where the road entered a narrow valley and climbed steeply between the hills. The sun was now sinking in the west and already the road was in deep shadow. But now the shadow seemed to thicken as if it took substance from the air. It became very cold and dank. The air about them was now like a thick mist. They could see nothing beyond a few feet on every side. The Entellári lit their lamps. The beams from them seemed to reflect back from the walls of mist. It became an effort to push the vapours aside as they stepped forwards.
Mirutháli said:
‘Vangu ta-Hyífra. It is a mist of the Sheefra.’
Ingos replied:
‘Negobith is preparing his welcome, and would have it be a surprise, so he shrouds it!’
Ventikiltis said:
‘He has won the Sheefra to his side. All dark things favour the rule of Ombros.’
Ingos replied:
‘The road at least is true. It runs to Kapgar, and our feet have but to follow it.’
Safataiwë, turning round to address Slungandi, said:
‘We know not how Negobith Oigenas got free, or how he overthrew the three mighty Gangri. Perhaps Master Slungandi can tell.’
But Slungandi was not there. They halted, but he did not catch them up. They called into the mist, but their voices echoed back to them. And then, other voices began to call from within the dark mist.
The voices were cold and rhythmical. And there were words. The words were repeated over and over. It was a rune of nothingness, of Night and Naught. It was hateful to the ears of the Entellári, but it did not daunt them. Ingos remained cheerful. He said:
‘They are not as happy as the gulls of the great ocean.’
Then began a drumming, a deep and steady sound:
Dûmbâ dûbân dâbunda bâbunda
Dûbân dâbunda bâbunda dûmbâ
Dâbunda bâbunda dûmbâ dûbân
Bâbunda dûmbâ dûbân dâbunda
On and on it went, while the voices chanted with it. Mirutháli said:
‘The Drumster of the Deep has returned to his trade.’
Ingos said :
‘Then his Master is pleased with him. He has accomplished the quest of Gantzor, and the quest of Ingos was completed for him.’
Polanelya said:
‘Ai, how this drumming oppresses my heart! Surely soon we should come to the gates of Kapgar Kûm?’
Ingos replied:
‘Alas, not. The mist has overthrown the loyalty of the road. We have taken a turning unwittingly. Do you see how narrow the path is now, and how much steeper? It was, no doubt, the design of the Sheefra.’
Mirutháli said:
‘This, I deem, leads to the high place of Hogunoth, where Awatekwe Ránag, the Ruined Ring stands. That is not a place of good omen!’
Ingos said:
‘For us, or for him, I wonder?’
Almost as they spoke, the mist was blown away like a curtain in the wind. The sound of the chanting and drumming was now fainter, but came from before them. They were on a high path, winding up the side of the mountain. There loomed up in the light of their lamps, a great mass of rock, a kâdrollad, built of three equal-sized but mighty boulderstones, two upright, one balanced above them. It was the entrance to the Ruined Ring. Ingos passed through first, and the Entellári maidens followed. At once all their lamps went out. At the same time the drumming and chanting came to a loud climax.
Before the travellers was a wide flat space, levelled from the mountaintop by the hands of the ancient giants. Huge stones that might once have been buildings stood or lay around the edge of the circular space. It was lit by the ghastly blue glare of nightlanterns, that hissed and sputtered. To one side, the Netáka runewives chanted with eerie voices, and behind them could just be seen a seated figure whose long arms beat out the monotonous rhythm on a huge drum of dragonhide. At intervals around the ring the Kúmi Netári were placed, silent sentinels with hawk-head helms and black staves.
In the midst of all was a dark mass only just visible against the night sky, a person sitting on a raised-up seat whose head and arms could be made out, but no face: no eyes, no mouth. The figure raised one hand, and the chanting and drumming ceased. A chilling voice began to speak.
Ever honourable Ingos, welcome!
Entelláka escort, welcome,
Wisely no one weapon bearing:
Gantzor the great that governs Kapgar
Brooks no rival in the ruined ring.
We bade you come, Ingos Earthstepper,
For this one purpose. We have pledged to set
The Yoke of Ombros on all Hyûvandri,
Kabadri too, if they bow their necks.
We offer Ingos all-wielding sway
Over men of Midworld, and meek women,
If he will yield his neck to the Yoke of Ombros.
Ingos replied:
What if that wayward neck ~ likes to feel the west wind
And to bear sheaves home ~ with the free reaper folk
And to wear a bright garland ~ and disdains Night’s Yoke?
And Negobith’s voice came again, full of malice:
Then of neck-business there is another deal.
For in the last Age Ingos presumed
To spurn the neck of Night’s Master
And to leave us bound for length of years.
That score is to settle, but we will set it aside
If you yield your neck to the Yoke of Ombros.
If not, that neck will be notched by Gantzor.
And at that the huge dark form lifted the great coldsword from its knees and rose to its feet, holding Gantzor high and menacing above its faceless head.
Ingos stood his ground, but bowing slightly, replied:
Then, Lord Oigenas, ~ you must take your due.
Ingos will never assent ~ to unjust dealings!
The great living form hissed with impatience at the use of the common name ‘Oigenas’. It took a stride forward so that it stood towering over Ingos. The four Entellári could not repress a gasp of horror. At that, a cold, mocking laugh suddenly came from the dark form.
O fine defenders! Female fighters!
Worthy warriors for a weakling lord!
Deadly Gantzor shall drink your blood
When he has had his fill of Ingos’ flesh!
Then the great blade descended on Ingos. There was a blinding blue flash, a deafening crack as of sudden thunder, and a vast icy cloud erupted, enveloping the whole of the ruined ring.
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