“And,” said he, “art thou not chilled, riding thus in the snow?”
“None,” she said, “feels the cold in the race of the Lords of Heurne.”
“And,” said he, “hast thou no fear, here at my side and on my own land, where no one dares to set foot?”
“None,” she said, “knows of fear in the race of the Lords of Heurne.”
“Thou art,” said he, “a brave maid.”
“I,” she said, “am daughter of Roel le Preux, Lord of Heurne.”
He answered nothing to that, and they went on a while without speaking.
Suddenly he said, lifting his head arrogantly: “Am I not truly the Invincible, the Beautiful, the Strong? Shall I not be so always? Yes, for all things come to my aid in the hour of victory. In former times I must needs sing, in cold, snow, wind, and darkness, to call virgins to me, but now the most proud, noble, and beautiful of maids comes hither in broad day without song to call her: sure sign of growing power. Who is my equal? None, save God. He has the heavens and I the earth, and over all living things triumph and mastery. Let come what may, armies, lightning, thunder, tempest; who can stand but I?”
“I!” answered to his hideous blasphemy seven voices speaking together.
Those voices were the echo of the Seven Giants, which sent back every sound seven times over with great force and volume.