One morning, when the child was well grown and had begun to walk, Rauwenna awoke to a strange sensation. The tower of Galúd was silent. The attendant ladies were not, as was their custom, quietly busying themselves in preparation for her arising. Rauwenna waited for them a long while, but they did not come. Then she arose and clad herself. Still they did not come, so she drank and ate a morsel and gave the child Hirgul some food.
Then she went out into the sloping passageway, but no one was there. She looked into the other chambers where she was wont to spend her time, and into the great hall, but all was silent and deserted.
Returning into the bedchamber, she noticed another door in the inner wall. It was curtained, which was why she had not seen it before, but now the curtain was drawn back. She thought that perhaps this was the chamber of the attendants, where they made their preparations, so she decided to see if they were in it.
The door was not locked, and she turned the handle and stepped inside. Like the other chamber, it was lit by a small shaft through the outer wall’s thickness; but the sunshine was bright. The chamber was as bare as the other was ornate, and the air in it was very cold. All it contained were several low, simple couches of wood, not upholstered. Lying on each was the carven likeness of a person. As she drew closer Rauwenna saw that they seemed all to be women. But they were not carved in stone. They seemed to be fashioned from ice. No, she suddenly understood, they were not likenesses made of ice, but people frozen. They were women smitten into icesleep by Gantzor the Coldsword.
As this took hold of her mind, she then saw that by each figure was a small board inscribed with a name. She guessed before reading that she would recognize them. Each was the name of one of the former consorts of Nagbith. One label read Kastubilla; the next, Nayadúri; the next, Vizíkuma. Here was the most recent: Gildimun. Rauwenna could make out her delicate features, frozen for ever. And next to this she saw an empty couch. But the name was already inscribed on it: Rauwinna.
She stood as if frozen herself. Then the thought came into her mind: I have opened that which was not opened to me. She ran back into the bedchamber, but was brought up short. A thick haze, as of smoke, filled the room. But otherwise, the room was bare. A bare bedstead, a table, two sticklike chairs stood there. The broidered hangings and curtains, the thick carpets, all were gone, as if into smoke. Her rich robes and gowns had vanished. Feeling cold, she looked down at herself: she now had on only her chemise; even today’s gown was gone. And the golden ring had gone from her finger. From a bare cradle, empty of blankets, the child was whimpering.
For a moment Rauwenna was gripped by cold anger against everyone: her attendant ladies, the Prince, the Falakkazri, Suikka, Dayamuna, the Dúmieldimë. Hirgul was the only good left to her. Anger drove her: they must escape at once.
In one corner hung, untouched, the clothes in which she had arrived in Magéraz Urlan-fen. She quickly put them on. She bound the baby to her bosom. She put some food into a bag. Then she left the bedchamber and hastened down the incline. Still she met no one. She went out to the stables. No grooms or riders were there, but the mare Gragadam greeted her as usual with a whinny. Her rich tack was gone: only the rough saddlery and headstall of Sûwikka’s hung where the Falakkazri had left them months before. Rauwenna hastened to saddle the mare. Trembling in fear of discovery, she mounted, the child still at her bosom, and began to ride. She knew only that a downwards course must take her away from Galúd, but not how to find a way out of the city after that.
Rounding a corner, Rauwenna felt her heart jump. She caught sight, ahead of her, of a small detachment of guards marching downhill. She reined the mare back to avoid being seen by them, but they seemed intent on their march. ‘Since I do not know the way out of the city, I could do worse than to follow them, for they may themselves be going that way,’ she said to herself. So, keeping the Falakkazri just in sight, she rode at an easy pace after them, following every turn they took, to left or to right.
The hours crept by, but little by little it became evident that she was coming to the edges of the city. There were now few houses and the fields were broad. Suddenly ahead of her the guards marched off the road into some kind of guardhouse or barracks. The gates closed with a clang. Rauwenna and Hirgul found themselves on the open plains of Arcallumis. It was around noon: the sun was before them in the south, and across the empty lands lay the realm of Dúmiel.
Now Rauwenna spurred Gragadam. ‘To your mistress’s house, Gragadam,’ she cried, but spoke not the rest of her thought. The mare shot away like the wind, intent on returning to her mistress. The weather turned foul, but Rauwenna cared not. Her anger drove her. After two day’s riding, with a cold night sheltering in a hazel brake, they began to come among trees, and as they went, the trees became thicker. They had entered the Greenmarch. ‘Will the Fâdhéri arise with thickets of spears to arrest their progress?’ she wondered. ‘Let them but try. If only I had with me the axe Ganting!’
But for all the Fâdhéri knew, they were fugitives from Magéraz Urlan-fen, seeking refuge in Dúmiel. They made no sign and let them pass.
On the third day, very early in the morning, Rauwenna approached the house of Sûwikka. While they were still out of earshot, Gragadam whinnied with pleasure. Rauwenna quickly dismounted and made the reins fast to a tree. She intended to arrive unannounced. With stealth she came to the window and looked in. There lay Sûwikka asleep in bed. Above her fireplace hung the axe Ganting. How Rauwenna longed to bring that blade down upon the Ûthéga’s neck. She crept to the door, and pushed. It opened. Two steps took her to the fireplace. She reached up, and her fingers touched the haft of Ganting.
As they did so, from the bed, came the harsh voice of Sûwikka:
Fetch me that blow, and you will fail to hear
The course of fate that must follow surely.
You must listen first and learn duly.
Rauwenna said:
Why should I listen, and let you live?
You, the weaver of my wasted fortunes!
Death merciless your doom should be.
Sûwikka said:
What wasted fortune? You are fate’s weapon,
And your son is Dúmiel’s sign of downfall.
Rauwenna said:
By your story, spun to snare me
I was to be ruler of richest realms!
Yet that Prince framed me for frozen death
By the stroke of Gantzor. I was stripped to rags,
Fíbor’s fugitive, in fearful flight,
My child only to cheer my being.
No thanks to you that by thinking fast
And bold moving, and the mare’s virtue
I am back alive, to bring vengeance.
Sûwikka laughed scornfully.
O bold escape! You slipped away
By your skill and speed? You deceive yourself!
Depart could none but by the Prince’s will.
He gave you leave and let you go,
Stood down servants and sly lebengri,
Sent guards as guides. Now grasp the game!
You brought Nagbith’s son, Southlanders’ doom,
Safe to Dúmiel. Set aside vengeance
For the time being, to betide duly.
Visit Tídris. Avow sorrow.
Sue for pardon and sisters’ peace.
Affect friendship, and faithful kinship.
Let Hirgul flourish in the family’s heart
And thrive, favoured, till the fated hour,
When the viper strikes with venom ripe.
Though Sûwikka’s words were weak, her voice had its wonted power to persuade. The conviction that her son had a destiny to achieve took hold of Rauwenna’s mind, but her feelings for the ûthéga grew no warmer.
Your words, Sûwikka, have worked their spell.
I embrace for Hirgul his bright future.
I will kneel to sister in assumed sorrow,
And betray Tídris through pretended faith.
Now as kind comrades let us kiss and part.
She knelt by the bed and reached for the ûthéga’s neck; but as she brought her lips to Sûwikka’s she whispered:
May these lips carry the cold comfort
Of the Hand of Glory to grip Sûwikka
With Coldsword Gantzor’s curse unending
And to wither with frost warm lifespirits.
Sûwikka fell back upon her bed. Her vital spirits congealed within her. She was scarcely able to rise. And henceforth she could walk but a few paces, and her servant had to attend on her day and night.
Rauwenna rose up and returned to Gragadam. She thought:
‘No loss to Sûwikka if this mare remains in my keeping.’
Then she and Hirgul set out for Tídris.
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