At the first golden sound of Gebren, the white hand ceased its descent and hung in the air. The figures of Prámiz the father and Nagbith the son stiffened and stood, unable to move, beside the anvil Nolgon. All was still while Gebren sounded six more times. As the seventh sound of Gebren died away, the two figures began to turn their heads towards the mouth of the great cave Onskabâ, but their eyes and mouths grew round and wide, and a horror filled their faces. Nagbith remained rooted to the spot, but Prâmiz began to back away.
At the very moment when Thilfri reached the mouth of Onskabâ, the fearful Presence caught up with her. There was a violent rush of air that blew her sidewise, and it passed her by. It blocked out what little light there was in the passage. She sensed a huge moving thing, as it were a massive serpent or worm, that filled the tunnel completely. It seemed to move in convulsive bursts, oozing along the ground without the motion of legs. The next moment its vast dark mass squeezed through the entrance to the cavern. It rose up towards the cavern’s roof, obliterating much of the scanty light. In a further moment it turned and opened a pair of shadowy jaws, seeking the fleeing figure of Prámiz. It moved with hideous jerks into the far recesses of Onskabâ and vanished in the darkness. There came a wailing cry from the place where it was, and then stillness.
Nagbith, son of Prámiz, stood aghast, motionless. He was not thirty paces away from Thilfri, and so, without a thought, she hurled the hammer with all her might. It caught him on the back of the head and he fell to the ground. Paying no further heed to him, Thilfri ran to the anvil to see if Arbros lived. But as she reached Nolgon she caught sight of the ghastly hand, released from the power of Gebren’s song, raising itself again to strike. On the floor of the cave, where Arbros had dropped it, lay the great sword Daganarth. As if a voice had spoken, the thought came to her that it alone had power to oppose Gantzor. Quickly she dropped her brother’s weapon, Daitharon, and stooping took up Daganarth. Grasping Sporni and Daganarth together in both her hands she lifted them high above her head. Just as the white arm began again to bring Gantzor down on the prone figure of Arbros, she swung the blade of Daganarth against it with all her might.
There came a blinding flash of light. A sound like a sudden blast of thunder filled Onskabâ. Daganarth shore right through the great arm, severing the livid hand from the long shadowy arm. Then the blade burst into a thousand pieces. A great shock ran up Thilfri’s arm and neck and into her head; she fell senseless to the floor.
But that great flash and blast brought Arbros out of his stupor. He lifted his head towards the place from which it had come and saw the Sword Gantzor, still grasped by the severed Hand, floating above him, and the myriad shards of Daganarth twisting and turning in the void. A great roar, as of rage and hatred, burst from the dark shadows, echoing all around Onskabâ, then dying away. To his horror, the figure of Negobith revealed itself for one moment where it sat, with its eyeless, mouthless face, and then shrank rapidly down into a shapeless mass on the ancient highseat Fâlagidhron. But the white Hand, grasping Gantzor, remained, by some witchery, suspended in the air. As Arbros watched, with eyes unwillingly fixed upon it, a grey stream, as of some noisome liquid, surged out of the dark heap on Fâlagidhron that had been the Angantyîr, and was sucked into the Hand, which grew bloated and luminous with a ghastly bluish light.
Averting his eyes with an effort from the loathsome Hand, and forgetting the pain of his head, Arbros leapt from the anvil Nolgon and stepped quickly to the fallen figure of his esquire. He could not tell whether his companion was alive or dead. He took Sporni from the limp hand and stowed him safely away. He snatched up Daitharon and sheathed it beside him in Daganarth’s place. Then, stooping, he seized the helpless body by the arms and dragged it on to his back. Not looking back at the glimmering Hand or pausing to consider where Prámiz and Nagbith might be, Arbros moved with speed out of the accursed cavern and back up the wide winding passage to the great gates of Kapgar Kûm. It was a long journey, and at every step he dreaded to hear the footfall of the enemy or feel the bite of Gantzor, for he did not know if the evil Hand had the power of motion.
At last he came forth from the great Gate of Kapgar Kûm and into the fresh air, and behold, the first light of morning was touching the tops of the eastern hills of Karûn Kabdath. The great horse Raupeskë was awaiting him there, and to his momentary joy, Damarâw was beside him. It seemed that one horse had called to the other so that he might find his way from the place where his rider had left him.
Considering in his mind how best to convey his companion home, Arbros quickly laid the body down and loosened the raiment to feel for breath and heartbeat, but he could feel none. Then he cried out with shock and sorrow, as he saw that this was not the man Lansenet, but Lansenet’s twin sister Thilfri, with her golden hair cut short, framing her beautiful face. He lifted her with awe and bound her body lightly over the saddle of Damarâw, and then fashioned a leading rein for the horse, which he took in hand as he climbed into Raupeskë’s saddle. Crying to both horses, Arbros urged them forward and away from the great Gates of Kapgar Kûm.
In gloom and sorrow, Arbros and Raupeskë sped towards Dúmiel, Damarâw following behind with Thilfri on his back. All the way from the Northlands to the realm of Dúmiel Arbros thought only of the plight of Thilfri and the anguish of Lansenet when he should see her. He had little joy in the outcome of the combat. The terrible hand of Negobith had been hewn from its body, but it seemed that it continued to live by some evil power, still wielding the Coldsword Gantzor as it floated in the air. Moreover, though that was a far lesser evil, the great sword Daganarth, forged in defiance of Gantzor by Nozdusombath of Hlund in a distant age, was no more.
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