In the deep cave Onskabâ, beneath the Round Halls of Kapgar Kûm, Dreygan the Icesmith, last of the race of the Frost Giants, was once more seated on his great highseat, Fâlagidhron. All about the icy walls the lamps of blue coldfire hissed out their freezing breath. In the midst stood the great stone anvil, Nolgon, with its double horns; leaning against it Gantâr, the hammer of Dreygan. Upright in the midst of the anvil stood the great Sword, thrust into the stone by the hands of Groiznath.
The eyes of Dreygan were closed. His hands were arranged stiffly on his great knees. His body was rigid. It was his body only. The anya was gone.
On the right-hand side of Fâlagidhron stood Prámiz, elder son of Negobith, and on the left-hand side, Groiznath, the younger son. Ranged around the sides of Onskabâ stood, unmoving, the hawk-headed ones, the Falakkazri, whom mortals call the Kúmi Netári.
Then entered the arch-mage Murungyaldi, sent by the Angûthégri of Nanôr. She was appointed to conduct the rite: the calling of the Anya of Negobith into the flesh-house of Dreygan the Icegiant. Murungyaldi stood in the midst like a dark cloud, robed and hooded in grey, holding in one hand a long black staff. In a low, deep voice she began to speak.
In the Name of Night! All nyandri here
Must bind boldly by blood and bone
Their heart and soul to this housing rite;
And must now acknowledge that in Nature’s despite
We take the Ganga’s house of flesh
To give to Negobith, the Night’s Master.
This act is accursed by Entellári,
And all powers undark. We place ourselves
Under Negobith’s Yoke at Night’s command.
Now all say Yea, who to the Yoke assent.
Then all in the cave called out ‘Yea’. At once, to their confusion, Prámiz and Groiznath each felt a stinging pain spreading across their shoulders. It was the Yoke of Negobith. Being the sons of the Lord of Ombros did not exempt them from his Yoke. In the midst of the rite, they could make no complaint, nor could they deny that they had freely given their assent. Each kept still and silent as the rite went forward.
By the door of Onskabâ sat the small, wizened figure of Slungandi, the Drumster of the Deeps, his large head tilted, his hands aloft. Between his feet stood the Drum Brandubur, broad-bellied and taut, wrought of fine dragon hide. Murungyaldi made a sign with her staff, and Slungandi began to strike Brandubur, a deep and steady sound:
Dûmbâ dâbun dûbunda bâbunda
Dâbun dûbunda bâbunda dûmbâ
Dûbunda bâbunda dûmbâ dâbun
Bâbunda dûmbâ dâbun dûbunda
Then Murungyaldi summoned the eight Netâka runewives, who raising their dark right hands chanted the Rune of Summoning.
Luzâ yânum mikhan-dâ kuzulamîn
Yânum mikhan-dâ kuzulamîn luzâ
Mikhan-dâ kuzulamîn luzâ yânum
Kuzulamîn luzâ yânum mikhan-dâ
Louder and quicker Slungandi the Drumster of the Deeps beat on Brandubur the Drum of the Underworld. Louder and quicker the runewives chanted. At a slow swaying pace they encircled the white form of the icegiant. From one side came Groiznath, from the other Prâmiz, each with his hands in gauntlets of dragonhide. Shaking their heads, each laid one hand on one closed eye of the frostgiant and the other on one of his great hands.
Then Murungyaldi chanted a stave of conjuration:
In the Name of Night, and of Naught’s daughters,
We bid the door of Dreygan’s body
To open now. And Negobith’s anya
By the blood and bone of the brothers twain,
We straightly summon to step swiftly
To fill flesh-house and this frame possess.
Murungyaldi made another sign with her staff. Immediately there was silence in the cavern. The runewives ceased chanting and Slungandi his beating. Together Groiznath and Prâmiz lifted their hands away from the body. Then Murungyaldi cried aloud:
Kagdar-kî kathû-mikhan-dâ ikhtafis-kûr anyatungubith!
Receive the anya of Negobith until Night release you!
All watched the lifeless form of Dreygan on the highseat Fâlagidhron. But as they watched, the felt a motion of the air of the cavern. A strong draught began to stream in. It was chill, seemingly colder even than the frosty air of Onskabâ, and it made a sound like a long, deep breath. Stronger and stronger grew the grim sound, till it had the tones of a cold, malevolent voice. The words that formed in the hearers’ minds were these:
I, anya of Negobith, come.
I, dead but mighty, come.
I, servant of Night, come.
Mine is the Giant’s flesh-house.
Mine is the form of Dreygan
Mine is the mind of Negobith yet.
Suddenly with a flash of blue the eyes opened. The Falakkazri, whom few feelings touch, gave out a slight gasp. Before them all an Angantyîr, a phantom giant of the dark, began to take shape.
The pale form of Dreygan’s body slowly changed its hue. It turned grey and then black. The hoary visage of Dreygan took on a hollow look, as of a skull just covered with skin. The eyes and mouth contracted until they resembled darker holes in a dark mask. The figure had the lofty stature of the old Icegiant, and his massive frame, but was magnified with huge shadows like a vast cloak of darkness. It did not move from the highseat Fâlagidhron, and yet its presence seemed to fill the whole cave. All those present felt themselves seeming to diminish in size and shrink away, oppressed as if by an overwhelming weight.
As they all watched, motionless, the Negobith-Dreygan now reached out a sinewy hand, that, still white like ice, stood out from the darkness of his body. The shining hand moved towards the anvil Nolgon. The voice spoke in their minds:
Negobith has risen to rule Thrayeldim!
All must yield to the Yoke of the Master.
His sceptre of rule is the Sword Gantzor
He will hold Coldsword with the Hand of Dreygan!
But as the white hand moved slowly towards the hilt of the Sword, Groiznath stepped hastily forward and grasped it first, crying out:
The owner only can unsheath Gantzor!
My hand drove him into Dreygan’s stone:
It shall unlock and loose him thence.
To me in life he belongs solely.
On Negobith’s knee he shall never lie!
Those in the cave looked on in shock as Groiznath wrenched the sword from the anvil Nolgon and out of the reach of Negobith’s descending hand. He made to sheath it: but his hand stayed in mid course, as if frozen. Somehow, without quitting Fâlagidhron, the shrouded figure of the Angantyîr loomed over him, and in the holes that were his eyes a white light gleamed. As they confronted one another, Murungyaldi addressed the watchers’ minds with words of darkspeech:
Cave’s Yokeservants, require yielding!
Compel obedience with binding thought.
The rebel son shall Sword surrender
Then vengeance taste for vain resistance.
Every mind in Onskabâ bent itself on one thought: to will Groiznath to give up the Sword to Negobith. A mighty force seemed to take hold of his right arm and draw it back towards the towering Master of Night; even as he added the grip of his left hand to his right, the force began to prise open his fists; then the very gauntlets were dragged from his hands, and at last the Sword slipped from his clutches. It flew like a crossbow bolt towards the ghastly white hand of Negobith, which caught it by the hilt and swept it up in the air. The gauntlets fell quietly behind the highseat Fâlagidhron. The eyes of all were fixed on the sword. But Slungandi, creeping on hands and knees, picked up the gauntlets, and wormed his way back to his corner by the door unheeded.
The vast shadow that housed Negobith, lord of Ombros, lifted the Sword, and Murungyaldi cried out with this stave:
Anyatungubith Dreygan-dulte
Atasovulder gundzungubith
Ópale kangule raufeder
Gundusta Gantzor raufeder!
The spirit of Negobith is in Dreygan.
The power of Negobith has returned.
He rules with the white hand.
The power of Gantzor rules.
Every knee in the cave Onskabâ bent in homage, every head bowed, and every tongue chanted that stave in response.
Then before anyone could move or speak again, the Angantyîr that housed the anya of Negobith brought the Sword down upon the neck of Groiznath.
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