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 a thousand needle-pointed roving arrows prick me, urging me on to some jubilant, reckless orgy of destruction.
Obeying that summoning there swirled to us cube and globe and pyramid by the score--by the hundreds.