Groiznath was alone in Onskabâ. He was in no little pain from a blow that would have been the bane of an ordinary Hyûvanya, but with the Doitherân blood of his mighty father in his veins his frame was well able to withstand it. He sat down on Slungandi’s stool and set himself to think Slungandi’s thoughts.
The Drumster had taken with him Brandubur, even though it might encumber him. Perhaps it would somehow aid his flight? Then Groiznath suddenly saw that his gauntlets were not lying anywhere near the anvil Nolgon. He guessed that Slungandi had picked them up in the turmoil. Those gloves were wrought by Murnag ta-Valka just so that he who wore them might not suffer Dreygan’s curse when he struck with Gantzor. Therefore Slungandi must intend to use the Sword himself, or deliver both Sword and gloves to someone else for their use. Slungandi must have hidden Gantzor and at this hour gone to retrieve it. Hidden it where? Hid under Hogunoth. Under Hogunoth was where he, Groiznath, was. But there were places lower even than the frosty cavern Onskabâ.
Suddenly a memory of long ago came to Groiznath. He saw again in his mind that day during the Giants’ Wars when he found the Secret River Ûthálu and navigated it, at the risk of his life, down to the Giants’ quayside. He recalled the staircase, forgotten for so long, with its great stone treads, made for the feet of giants, rising in an endless spiral. He had climbed that staircase up and up, in the blind dark, until with relief he reached the upper levels and found the door that opened, without the need of a special rune, into the Upper Halls.
Then in his mind he scanned again the faces of his three adventurous companions, who were lost in the wreck of their raft. They were outlaws, Hyûvandri in exile from their tribes, men about whom he knew little and asked nothing. He pictured the silent one who called himself Gwasdalyága, that one who seemed to have hidden powers, and an Entelláka air about him. Surely that one had been no Hyûvanka, but Slungandi, the renegade Entelláwa, disguised, but now in memory recognizable, Slungandi the sly. He must have survived the wreck of the raft and escaped, unseen by Groiznath.
It now seemed certain whither Slungandi had fled and where Gantzor must have been hidden. Groiznath ran to Dreygan’s armoury, which was still well stocked with weapons. Dreygan’s servants had kept them all ready for use. Quickly he found a bow small enough to handle and took a quiver of arrows. He noticed a pair of boots. They were the boots of Dreygan the Frostgiant, made for a being eight or nine feet in height. He thought of the size of the steps in the spiral stairway, made for the passage of Giants. He carried off the boots. He hastened up the great staircase to the main level, taking a chance that he would be able to open the door into the spiral stairway, the one that had let him pass the other way so many years before.
There it was, in the first hall behind the great gates. A thin outline on the wall whose purpose none but the knowing would guess. Groiznath placed his hands upon it. There was, of course, no handle, and it opened outwards. He knew but one Opening Rune. He breathed it upon the hard silent stone.
Gantë thûr, hlafaremef.
To his joy and amazement, he felt the great stone slab pressing against him, saw the black void behind growing rapidly larger, and heard the open door grind to a halt upon its hidden hinges. He stepped inside the opening and found himself on the flat landing stone in the midst of the stairway. The door closed behind him. The darkness was not quite complete. Outside, it was early morning, and a tiny glimmer of light came in from a shaft somewhere above. He stood and listened, hoping that the sound of anyone on the stairway would be enlarged by the great circular tunnel.
And sure enough, from somewhere far below, came a rhythmic tap of footsteps on the widely spaced stairs and the faint sound of hard breathing. That was surely Slungandi on the run. He was already a long way down the stairway leading to the underground quay.
Groiznath placed his feet in the great boots and began to descend as swiftly as possible. It would have been impossible to walk far in the boots on level ground, but here they added to the length of his legs so that he could step naturally down — in truth, he could almost run down the stairway. They were cold within, achingly cold, but he could endure that. They had fur on the outside which protected his feet from the stones whenever he slipped in his hasty descent. But this he rarely did, for the soles were rough, and gripped the stone.
A long time passed as he sped round and down. His breath was now short, his head was becoming dizzy, and his legs were tiring with the weight of the great boots. But he was catching up on the fugitive. He could hear Slungandi’s laboured breathing and the sound of his feet as he jumped from one great step to the next. They could not be far from the lowest level.
Groiznath thought carefully. What would happen when he caught up with Slungandi? He must not kill him straight away. He must force him to bring Gantzor from its hiding place. Otherwise it might never be found. But if Slungandi had the gauntlets, which he surely did, he could safely smite Groiznath with Gantzor. So Groiznath must wait until Slungandi had Gantzor in his hands and at once shoot him with the bow. Groiznath believed that Slungandi was cornered and had no way of escape, with or without Gantzor, except back up the staircase. He slowed his descent, took the bow from his back, tested it, and reached an arrow from the quiver. He set it in his bow hand, as he continued on his way down. He had been an archer in the Giants’ wars. He smiled with confidence in himself.
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