When Kwífa awoke at sunrise on the day after Slungandi’s arrival, the house was empty. Slungandi had gone, taking the Sword and the Drum with him. The mattress on which he had lain was neatly rolled up in one corner of the parlour. The river mud and leaves which had been brought in with it had been cleared away. Even the grate had been cleared of ashes and swept. The broken arrow had been taken away too. The parlour was neat and clean. There was nothing left to show that the strange guest had passed the night there.
That is to say, nothing until the next day when, as was her habit, Kwífa swept the parlour. In the dark corner behind the door, the broom met something hard. She went to it and picked it up. It looked like a great piece of broken glass, yet the edges were not jagged. It could have been a diamond, but it was not regularly shaped, and far too big. But it was as clear as crystal and when she held it up to the light it cast pure rays all around it. Slungandi’s bag had been stowed away in that corner. Perhaps this thing had fallen out, unnoticed. Could it be valuable? Whether it was or not, it was strangely beautiful. She liked it, and wanted to keep it. She could never have thrown it away. In fact, she kept it hidden, in a cavity of the kitchen wall behind a loose stone, where not even the Dabargi man would find it.
No one saw Slungandi arrive and, as far as she knew, no one saw him leave. Apart from the crystal, it was as if he had never been there. Kwífa went on with her life just as she always had. She soon forgot about him, even sometimes when she took out the mysterious crystal and let the sun shine through it.
But one night she awoke with a fright. Someone was knocking at the door between the kitchen and the parlour. Then with relief she heard the voice of the Dabargi man. It was not usual that he should speak to her, but her fright subsided, for she knew him. She called out, ‘I am coming,’ and put on her cloak, and opened the door.
The Dabargi man was standing in the kitchen, holding up a golden lantern. Kwífa glanced around and noticed that he had not done any of the chores that she had left for him.
He said:
‘Dame Kwífa, you did well to welcome Silugíri into your house. You saved his life, for I was able to tend that wound he had. And he sends you his thanks, and says that he believes that a thing of his fell from his bag in your house, and begs that you will give it to me that I may convey it back to him. You cannot have failed to find it. It has the form of a great piece of broken glass, but its edges are smooth.’
At this Kwífa was perplexed, for she loved the crystal too much to surrender it. So she lied, and said:
‘Master Tormakkendus (for so I have learnt you are named), I know not the thing of which you speak. But if I find this thing of the Lord Slungandi’s (for he it was, I understand), I will give it back to you, be sure of that.’
Then the countenance of Tormakkendus changed, and he said:
For two things you shall pay, for three things be in debt:
For concealing the crystal, and lying to Tormak,
For speaking his name, and the Drumster’s also.
No joy shall you have of the jewel you have hid,
Rough hands shall seize it, and you shall have naught!
Then, before Kwífa could speak, Tormakkendus strode from the house, dowsing his lantern, and hastened home.
Then Kwífa’s troubles began. First, Tormakkendus, the Dabargi man, came no more. Her household chores piled up, for they were too much for her. The house became untidy and dirty. Soon she decided that she would have to leave her house, sell the donkey and the cow, and ask the village elders to give her lodging in the houses of the poor.
One evening, not long before her departure, Kwífa was packing up her few belongings. Then she remembered the beautiful crystal. She had been so ashamed of concealing it from Tormakkendus that she had not looked at it again. She fetched it from its hiding place. In the light of the setting sun it sparkled and shot out rays of many beautiful colours. Again she wondered if it might be valuable — might bring her wealth. But how could she ever find that out?
At that very moment she heard the tramp of feet in the lane. She looked up, and saw four men approaching. They were not Hyúvandri of the Westlands, or Farangri, or Perêikatíri. They had travelled far, it seemed, for their clothes, which were of a strange fashion, were weather-stained and muddy. And they bore long staves in their hands.
Then one, who was their leader, spoke:
‘Greetings, dame! You have in your hands what we are seeking. It is not yours; it was stolen from our master. So hand it over without a fuss.’
The men had by now surrounded her, and with little effort another of them put out his hand, pulled the crystal roughly from her fingers, and conveyed it into his wallet. Kwífa was too terrified to protest: it was as the Dabargi man had foretold.
‘Now we have some questions to ask you. Someone left this — gem — with you, a visitor. We wish to know his name.’
She said, trembling:
‘He told me it was Silugíri,’
‘But you know that was a false name, and you can tell us his true name!’
They all had their staves level and outstretched, hemming her in.
‘I overheard — it was — the Lord Slungandi!’
‘Ah, good. That was what we thought. And now you can tell us where he was going to after he departed from you.’
She replied, truthfully:
‘He did not tell me.’
‘But we think you know nonetheless. It will spare us all trouble if you simply tell us.’
The staves pinned her tightly by the waist.
‘I know not the places —. He said “I shall take it to Ingos, to the isle where he lies.”’
‘And what was that which he would take, pray?’
‘Something he carried with him — ah, do not hurt me! — a sword, yes, it was a great sword!’
‘You will oblige us with its name, good dame!’
‘He — said it was wrought by Dreygan the Frostgiant. Gant—…’
‘Gantzor. So it was. We thank you. And now we shall leave you in peace. Here is gold for your trouble.’
One of them tossed her a small purse. Then they departed.
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