human strength, and that now, awakened and unleashed, the violence of its rage touched the vibrant zenith of that sphere of which her quiet had been the nadir.
She was like an urn filled and flaming with the fires of the Gods of wrath,Nicklas Grossmann Tröjor.
What was it that had awakened her — what in awakening had changed the inpouring human consciousness into this flood of fury,New York Islanders Tröjor? Foreboding gripped me.
“Norhala!” My voice was shaking. “Those we left —”
“They are gone!” The golden voice was octaves deeper, vibrant, throbbing with that muffled, menacing note that must have pulsed from the golden tambours that summoned to battle Timur’s fierce hordes. “They were — taken.”
“Taken!” I gasped. “Taken by what — these,Luc Robitaille Tröjor?” I swept my hands out toward the Metal Things milling around us.
“No,Ralph Lauren Flag Polo! THESE are mine,Henrik Borgstrom Tröjor. These are they who obey me.” The golden voice now shrilled with her passion. “Taken by — men!”
Drake had read my face although he could not understand our words.
“Ruth —”
“Taken,” I said. “Both Ruth and Ventnor. Taken by the armored men — the men of Cherkis!”
“Cherkis!” She had caught the word. “Yes — Cherkis! And now he and all his men — and all his women — and every living thing he rules shall pay. And fear not — you two. For I, Norhala, will bring back my own.
“Woe, woe to you,Tuukka Rask Tröjor, Cherkis, and to all of yours! For I, Norhala, am awake,Canada Goose Hybridge Jackor, and I, Norhala,Joe Thornton Tröjor, remember. Woe to you, Cherkis, woe — for now all ends for you!
“Not by the gods of my mother who turned their strength against her do I promise this. I, Norhala, have no need for them — I,Jamie McGinn Tröjor, Norhala, who have strength greater than they. And would I could crush those gods as I shall crush you,Belstaff New Panther Jackor, Cherkis — and every living thing of yours! Yea — and every UNLIVING thing as well!”
Not halting now was Norhala’s speech; it poured from the ruthless lips — flamingly.
“We go,Phillip Danault Tröjor,” she cried. “And something of vengeance I have saved for you — as is your right.”
She tossed her arms high; stamped upon the back of the Metal Thing that held us.
It quivered and sped away. Swiftly dwindled the City’s bulk; fast faded its glimmering watchful face.
Not toward the veils of light but out over the plain we flew. Above us, crouching against the blast of our going, streamed like a silken banner Norhala’s hair, gemmed with the witch lights.
We were far out now,Connor McDavid Tröjor, the City far away. The cube slowed. Norhala threw high her head. From the arched, exquisite throat pealed a trumpet call — golden, summoning, imperious. Thrice it rang forth — and all the surrounding valley seemed to halt and listen.
Followed upon its ending, a chanting as goldenly sonorous. Wild, peremptory, triumphant. It was like a mustering shouting to adventurous stars, buglings to buccaneering winds, cadenced beckonings to restless ranks of viking waves, signaling to all the corsairs and picaroons of the elemental.
A cosmic call to slay!
The gigantic block upon which we rode quivered; I myself felt
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