Meantime Arbros rode on up the Giants’ Road; he could not stop to wait for his esquire, but must trust that he would follow and that Sporni would keep them both safe. Suddenly the voices ceased and the mist was withdrawn and he saw dimly before him, but unmistakable, the Great Gates of Kapgar Kûm.
And behold, the gates were open, and there gaped wide before him the huge gateway and, stretching dark beyond it, the first hall of the Hauli Garnath Kûm, the Round Halls of Kapgar Kûm. In great fear, Arbros descended from his horse Raupeskë, and led him to a tree near by, where he tethered him loosely. And caressing the horse gently, he said:
Friend Raupeskë, we have lost Lansenet, but perchance he will find you here and know by you that I have entered within this evil place, and it may be that he will dare to follow me. And perchance neither he nor I shall return by the day’s end; and if so be, find your way to Tídris and show the people by your empty saddle that I have fallen.
Then drawing the great sword Daganarth, mocker of Gantzor, he stepped resolutely into the gateway. And behold a wonder: the sword began to glow dimly in the darkness of Kapgar Kûm. And Arbros exclaimed:
Praised be the Kabdath of Hlund; truly they are the masters of all good runes.
Arbros passed along the hallway as it inclined gradually to the south and downwards. But someone had been here not long before, for there were lamps high up on the walls, lamps burning with a dim blue light. But the silence was complete. As he gradually turned a part-circle, the last lamp went out of sight and the next came into view. And so he stepped down and round, down and round, he knew not how many circles round nor how many storeys down, until suddenly a somewhat brighter shape showed itself to his right. It was the doorway of Onskabâ. He stood under its arch and looked into the space within, only a little better lit than the passage, and full of shadows lurking in the corners. A feeling of a great ill will flowed out from the midst of the cavern, as if something that hated humankind dwelt within; but neither face nor form could be seen.
Arbros took courage, gripping the hilts of Daganarth, and stepped forward into the Cave of Onskabâ. It seemed to be a vast empty space, dimly lit by icefire lamps on the distant walls. To the right-hand side the darkness seemed deeper and heavier and from there the malice seemed to flow. Between himself and that dark wall Arbros perceived a low shape, and drawing near he saw that it was a great grey anvil. It was indeed Nolgon, the anvil of Dreygan the Icesmith, on which Gantzor the Coldsword was forged ages ago at the close of the Giants’ Wars.
Then a voice spoke close by him:
Prince Prámiz welcomes you, Child of the Well, to Onskabâ: your first and last visit, I trust, but not our first meeting. I was too merciful that time and did not favour you with Fûbraváni’s fate. This time there will be no mistake. And here is Lord Nagbith, my noble son, and my esquire. See how he holds no weapon. But you have come without a like servant? No matter, for there shall be no need of one when our bargain has been struck.
Looking to his left, Arbros beheld two dark figures, the taller all in black, and seeming to have no hair under his helm or on his chin, and the younger with fair youthful locks and a cloudy grey cloak, with a staff in his hand. And Arbros said:
Lord Arbros thanks the Prince for his welcome, and greets Lord Nagbith. My esquire, Lansenet, has been delayed in a mist of the nameless Hyífra, by your courtesy, maybe. He will doubtless come in time, perhaps to avenge my fall or perhaps to help me bring your bodies to burial, my noble lords.
Without warning, Prâmiz leapt up on to the great anvil Nolgon and swept out his sword Slugnir. Arbros darted to the other side of the anvil so as to keep both Prâmiz and Nagbith in sight, then brandished Daganarth; and he flashed suddenly with brilliant white fire like the light of the stars on the night when he was forged in Hlund.
With frightful speed, Slugnir shot down upon the helm of Arbros, but at the last moment Arbros swept Daganarth upwards to meet him. The two swords dashed together: there was a blinding flash, and Slugnir’s blade shattered into a thousand pieces. For one moment Prâmiz wavered, dazed at the loss of his sword, and as he did so, Arbros sprang on to the other end of the huge anvil and thrust at his enemy. The armour turned the point of Daganarth, but Prámiz lost his balance and dropped heavily to the floor, sprawling on his back. Arbros stepped swiftly down and, standing over Prámiz, poised the point of Daganarth at his throat. He said:
Spilt blood my sword savours never —
So I pray Prámiz his pledge confirm:
To swear this night on Nolgon’s horn,
That he cease to trouble Tídris’ people,
That Dûmieldári dwell in freedom,
By Yoke unbranded through years endless.
But Prámiz merely sneered from beneath his helm, and cried:
Let it now be known what Nagbith holds!
Then Nagbith came up privily from behind and brought his staff down upon the head of Arbros, and he fell stunned, dropping Daganarth. The father arose from the ground, and he and his son seized the insensate Arbros and dragged him the short distance to Nolgon, where they stretched his body upon the anvil’s top. Then together they called aloud:
Lord of Aumbrus, arise in power
Rule with the might of the white fist
With the power of Gantzur, rule.
Take all your rightful realm
Let all peoples receive the Yoke of Ungubith!
The place of darkness beyond Nolgon began to mould itself into a shape, and where there had been a great shadow there now loomed a form like that of a giant, dimly robed, but with no eyes or mouth to be seen in the head. From the midst of the towering figure a pallidly glowing hand emerged, a fist gripping the long grey shape of a sword, Gantzor! Slowly, a scarcely seen arm was raised, and the pale white hand lifted the great blade high, ready to bring it down upon the neck of Arbros.
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