Shadowland. Spider World 06 by Colin Wilson

The Magician held out his hand to Niall, still smiling. Suddenly, Niall’s sense of involvement with the audience disappeared, and gave way to anger and disgust. He was, after all, the ruler of his own city, and to treat him merely as an envoy seemed a calculated insult. Niall turned to look at Typhon, about to say: “Does the karvasid not understand that I am the ruler of the spider city?”

Typhon looked helpless and apologetic, but this eyes said quite clearly: “Go on, for heaven’s sake, do it.”

Niall knew what he must do. He looked into the Magician’s eyes, shook his head firmly, and said: “No.”

What happened next was so fast that he had no time to anticipate it. The Magician’s smile changed to an expression of dangerous fury, and a tremendous blow struck Niall on the side of the head, making him see stars. He felt his other cheek strike against the floor, and for a moment he lost consciousness.

When his vision cleared, the captain was struggling against two moogs, who were obviously immune to his will-force and poisonous sting. One of the spider’s claws gripped a moog by the elbow, and the forearm fell onto the floor; no blood ran from the stump, and the moog went on fighting as if nothing had happened. The two other moogs joined in, and within moments, the spider had been smashed to the ground by a tremendous blow on the head.

Niall tried to raise himself on all fours, but had no strength. The Magician’s face was demoniacal with rage and hatred, and for a moment Niall thought he was about to die. Instead another blow drove the breath out of his body and filled him with nausea. For a bewildered moment he was in the air about ten feet above his body, then swooped down into it and spun into blackness.

When he woke up, he was a mass of pain: his body, his head, his face, his cheeks. His lower lip seemed as large as a balloon, and he felt as if he had no skin on the left side of his face. His stomach hurt as if someone had kicked him in it, and all his ribs felt bruised. It was so agonizing when he tried to move that he lay still again. He could hear a loud wheezing noise, then realized it was his own breath.

He was also cold. When he opened his eyes — although only the right would open fully — he realized why. He was lying on a stone floor in a prison cell. A dim yellow light shone through a barred hole in the door. Light also leaked through a grating behind him, and a draft indicated that there must be a window there. Below this there was a wooden bed suspended from the wall by two chains.

He forced himself to his hands and knees and pulled himself up by the bed. His hands encountered something soft — a blanket. When he climbed onto the bed, he found a wooden block intended as a pillow. He covered himself with the blanket, lay down facing the door, and fell into an uneasy sleep.

When he opened his eyes again, the light outside his cell door had been turned off. By the gray daylight from behind him, he could see that the wall was made of green stone blocks, which told him that he was probably still in the palace. He knelt on the bed and peered upward through the grating. On its far side, there was a sloping ramp of stone, at the top of which was a barred window. He tucked the blanket more closely around him, in an attempt to conserve his body heat, and lay there passively, feeling the throbbing of the bruises on his left side, and a larger bruise on the right side of his head where he had been struck.

Suddenly he felt the presence of his mother; she was repeating his name. In his completely quiescent state, he could hear her as clearly as if she was in the room.

“Are you all right?”

He knew she would not be deceived if he said yes. Since she was inside his head, she could feel his discomfort as if it was her own. He said: “No. I’m in prison.”

“But why?”

“I offended the Magician by refusing to kiss his hand.”

He could sense that she wanted to ask him more questions about this, and so was glad when she asked instead: “Are you hurt?”

“Bruised. And very cold.”

There was a silence. Then she said: “Yes, I can feel it. Shall we send spider balloons to try and rescue you?”

Niall knew the answer to that. If the spiders threatened to invade Shadowland, the Magician would respond by killing him.

“No. I don’t think I’m in any immediate danger, so don’t worry.”

“But what does he want?”

Niall said with feeling: “If I knew that I’d feel better!”

“Is there anything I can do?”

A thought occurred to Niall.

“Do you have a fire in your room?”

He knew that his mother lived on the windiest corner of the palace, and that her maid Deberis liked to start the day by lighting a large fire.

“Not here, but in the next room.”

“Please stand by it and get as warm as you can. Then try to transfer some of it to me.”

Niall had no idea if this was possible, but a minute later he could actually experience the glow of the fire on her legs and body.

“Can you feel that?”

“Yes.”

“Wait a minute and I’ll put my heavy robe on.”

Within a few moments, he was as warm as if he was also standing in front of the fire. He knew that his mother must be uncomfortably hot, but was too grateful for the warmth to worry about that. At last he was beginning to feel human again. Then the glow began to fade, and he realized that she was becoming tired.

She asked: “Can this Magician read thoughts?”

“Yes.”

“Then you must be very careful.” Her voice was becoming faint, and her next words were almost inaudible. “I will try and communicate this evening.”

Then her presence faded completely.

Now feeling more cheerful, Niall swung his feet off the bed and sat up — and gave a gasp of pain as his bruises were reactivated. The discomfort was as intense as trying to lower himself into a bath that was too hot, and made him grit his teeth and curse under his breath. He pulled the blanket round him like a cloak, and moved to the foot of the bed, where the draft was less strong.

But at least the pain had made him concentrate, and reminded him of the ability he had discovered through the thought mirror. He closed his eyes, concentrating hard, screwing up his face, and immediately felt relief. Moreover, the concentration revived the warmth his mother had communicated. This made the bruises and scratches throb more than ever, but the warmth made up for it.

A slight sound from behind him made him turn and peer upward through the grating; a bird had hopped through the bars of the outer window. Instantly, he knew it was the raven, and chuckled with delight, then glanced over his shoulder at the cell door to make sure he had not been heard.

The bird now fluttered across to the grating, on which it perched looking down at him. Niall’s telepathic contact with it told him that it recognized he was in trouble.

He lost no time transferring his consciousness to its brain. It cost him more effort than usual, no doubt because he was tired; but as soon as he found himself behind the raven’s eyes, he felt much better. Looking down at his own face, he became aware of the bruise that was turning purple and the skin missing from his left cheek. Then he urged the bird to return to the window, and to fly upward.

They were in a circular inner courtyard, with barred windows all around it. The raven flapped upward until it was hovering above the palace, and Niall could see that it extended over a wider area than he had realized. It was built in the form of a medieval castle, with three parallel circular walls. He directed the bird to perch on the topmost turret, then looked around to take his bearings.

The courtyard with the dungeons was in the center of the palace, and it was obvious that even if a prisoner could escape through his cell window, he would still be trapped. The only door out of the courtyard led to a narrow passage between two buildings, at the end of which there was another wall with a door.

The bird was perched on the guttering of the turret. A number of other birds were also perched on the roof and in cornices; this was understandable, since the palace towered above the city; by normal daylight, it would have afforded a view to the northern cliffs, but even in the dull light of Shadowland, the view was spectacular. Birds, Niall realized, enjoy looking down from a height. Niall himself disliked heights, but looking through the bird’s eyes, felt the same pleasure as the raven.