Thilfri awoke. The evil mists and cruel chanting were both gone. Damarâw was gently nuzzling her face. She got up and embraced the horse’s neck. His warmth gave her courage. Her hand was still clasped tightly round Sporni, the crystal wandkey of Slungandi. As she lifted him, a pale light glowed around his jagged length. It was dark, and of course the Moon was not to be seen, but the stars, the laudividni, were clustered thickly, and by their light she could make out the stony hillside, and in the midst of it, the shape of a gateway. It was fashioned like a kâdrollad, an ill-omened form, carved into the rock. The gates too were of stone.
Without taking thought, she stepped up to the looming gateway. She pressed the point of Sporni to the centre of the stone door and spoke the rune:
Mathûr hlafaremef
That was all it took. A dark line appeared, running from the lintel to the sill, and each of the pair of gates swung silently inwards. Out of the opening a wave of fear and menace flowed. Thilfri held Sporni up as if to ward it off.
Trembling all over, Thilfri forced her feet to step over the sill of the gateway and began to walk into the passage beyond. Sporni’s dim light seemed to show smooth walls on either side and a paved floor, sloping down towards the roots of Mount Hogunoth. Behind her, she heard a soft noise as the double gates closed of their own accord and shut her in. She was inside the Eastern Incline of Kapgar Kûm, of which evil tales are told.
She walked downwards in the gloom for a long time, and nothing changed around her. It was damp and chilly, and she began to notice a strange smell which she could not place. It was as if the air in the passage was becoming thick and hard to breathe. Then her foot met something small but heavy which she kicked a short distance away before she stopped. She bent down and, by the gleam of Sporni, discerned a shape like a handle joined to a crosspiece. It was covered in dust, as if it had been there for centuries. It was a hammer, such as a mason might use. She picked it up.
Into her mind, unbidden, came a name: Drothnir. She did not know why it should come to her. But indeed tales were told among the Hyúvandri about the Stonegiant Mivgâ, who built the bridges of Thrâyeldim with the power of his hammer Drothnir. Truly it was a well-wrought hammer. Though it was heavy, it was not unwieldy, not too great for Thilfri to wield if she had need to do so. She said to herself, ‘it might as well go with me as lie unused in this dark passage.’
With the hammer in one hand, and Sporni held high before her in the other, she continued on the downward path. She wondered why she was not too terrified to go on. It must be the virtue of Sporni, she thought.
Suddenly, the incline came to an end. There was a blank wall in front of her. A draught of air was blowing from the left. Gradually she could make out openings on either side, one to the right, one to the left. She held Sporni higher to see each in turn. The right-hand way was dark and narrow. It had an evil feeling about it. The left-hand way was broader and continued on downwards. She half turned to start down that way, but noticed a shape on the wall facing her. Something circular, suspended above the floor, it seemed. She looked more closely. It was like a shield. But it was not a shield. It was a disc of burnished metal. It hung in a wooden frame with feet upon the floor. She felt its surface. It was smooth and cold, and even from her light touch it gave out a low ringing sound.
The disc drew her. She looked at it closely in the dim light of Sporni. There was writing upon it. She read:
Gebren fe-hlabut
Yathi marw’ ilmadus
Sovet Beden ankuvë
Drothâ-f ta-Gebren
In-tagédë ro-Malvân
Kath’ ailethur Fringa.
My name is Gebren
When need is great
The Hammer comes to the hand
Strike me, Gebren
To awaken the Sleeper
Then the Helper will arise.
At that instant Thilfri heard far off the unmistakeable sound of the clash of swords. She spoke aloud:
Need is great, for the Lord Arbros faces two adversaries in the cavern alone. And the Hammer has come to my hand.
She did not hesitate. It was as if another guided her actions. Taking Sporni in her left hand and the Hammer in her right she swung her arm and smote the disc in its very centre. Immediately a loud sound filled the air, not a deafening sound, but a sweet, strong, humming voice, as if Gebren were singing. No such sound had been heard in the dark, barren Halls of Kapgar Kûm since the days of the Lendégri, when Gangri and Kabadri toiled together in harmony to build the stronghold. Nor did that voice seem to die away: it sang on and on. Thilfri felt its waves in her chest, thrilling her heart. In exhilaration, she struck Gebren again. Seven times she struck, and the golden sound welled up and spilled through all the Round Halls of Kapgar Kûm.
Then Thilfri turned to the leftward path and ran, as fast as ever she could, down the sloping passage towards Onskabâ. But not only for the love of Arbros did she run; suddenly she knew, by an instinct of fear, that something alive, something breathing, indeed the Grey Sleeper, was coming behind her with rhythmic movements, gliding, it seemed, without footfalls; and she dared not look round.
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