Nagbith, descendant of the mighty Angantyîr, Ungubith the Great, Lord of Ombros, came to Onskabâ with his father Prámiz as esquire and henchman. He gloried in anticipation of his father’s approval when he came behind and felled the Prince of Dúmiel with his staff. Together they bore the enemy’s body to the anvil Nolgon to be despatched. At the next moment the Hand of Glory would smite the upstart Prince and the land of Dúmiel would be theirs. But suddenly both were transfixed by inward agony from a hideous noise resounding throughout the higher passageways of the Negubána. Then came a worse evil: slinking and sliding, with horrible speed, the eyeless monster, with huge gaping jaws, belching poisonous vapour, half-filled Onskabâ, and as he watched, it fixed its face on his father Prámiz to be its prey. With horrible speed it pursued him into the depths of the cavern. Nagbith saw his father’s hands flung up as he fell and heard his cry before the loathsome neathworm swallowed him up. Then before the full shock reached his mind, Nagbith felt an agonizing blow to his head, and his senses left him.
He awoke to find himself face downward in the Cavern of Onskabâ. The blue coldfire lamps still flickered dimly; the silence was profound; but his skin prickled with the sense of a brooding presence. He cautiously rose and looked about him: there was no sign of the hideous neathworm. But instantly he remembered that now he was fatherless and the heir of the fearful Angantyîr, Ungubith the great. No one knows if he felt any pang of sorrow for the fall of his father Prámiz: for the tales tell that others fostered him till his father took him and was taskmaster over him.
With surprise he saw that the great highseat Fâlagidhron was no longer closed off in darkness, but was open and empty. And then he became aware of a glowing shape, floating not far off in the air of the cavern. It was from that shape that the feeling of a conscious presence flowed. Now he could make out the parts of which it was composed. There was the great Sword Gantzor, glimmering icy-white. And there was the grasping Hand of Dreygan, glowing with a ghastly blue-white light. But above the wrist it terminated. No mighty Arm of Ungubith wielded it. Yet it hung above him, full of menace. And as he gazed on it, the Voice spoke in his mind, the Voice of Ungubith.
Anyatungubith Anku-dultë ta-Dreygan
Ailessultë Gundustungubith
Raunet’ Ópale Kanuk gundsulë-ta Gantzor!
The spirit of Negobith is in the Hand of Dreygan.
The power of Negobith has been exalted.
The White Fist rules with the power of Gantzor!
Nagbith struggled within himself to comprehend what had happened. The gigantic Angantyîr had vanished: the eyeless, mouthless head, the great body swathed in shadows was no more. But the anya of the mighty Lord Ungubith his grandsire still lived and ruled, incarnate in the severed Hand. How was this possible? Yet the dread Voice spoke with the same power as it ever had.
And now the cold Voice began to give Its commands. No word did It speak of Prámiz. He had been a tool of Ungubith, and that tool was now disposed of. Nagbith was the Chief Servant of Ungubith in the place of his father.
Straightway he heard a chilling command: to approach the White Hand and kiss it.
Sovëáremef ko-môlut Ópale Kankuvë
Ônëáremef ru t’Ankutarígil
Let your mouth come to the White Hand
And let it kiss the Hand of Glory.
He approached, shut his eyes, pursed his lips, and let them touch the glowing white skin. A freezing sensation, colder than ice, took hold of his mouth, his face, his head. The cold sank down into his heart and settled there, even as his face became warm again. A power of ill will sprang up within him: hatred of all the enemies of Fíbur. Night entered, and he embraced it: the darkness was now his realm. Now he knew, with utter certainty, that the anya of Ungubith dwelt in the Hand of Glory.
The Voice had Nagbith at its command. He did as It spoke. By the power of Darkspeech he summoned the sleeping Falakkazri who guarded the upper levels. Straightaway they entered Onskabâ, but they cowered away from the Hand in fear. Nagbith delighted maliciously in their terror. Then he commanded them to set forth from Onskabâ. They formed up around him, and took the wide spiral road that wound up to the great hall behind the main gates of Kapgar Kûm. The ghastly Hand went with them, lighting the pathway with its pallid gleam. As Servant of the Hand, Nagbith knew himself all-powerful. Even the Valkari would do his bidding when he came to them. Then as they went forward, another insight came to him, and the knowledge of it filled him with gladness. The Hand could go forth, or back, or to the side, only as he, Nagbith Its servant, went those ways: It went where he went, under Its command.
Nagbith and his picked guard of Falakkazri mounted their skulldeer and prepared to set out for Fíbor, and the Hand of Glory went over them, their baleful light on the darkening plains of Arkallumis.
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