He awoke to find himself on a hard bed in a damp prison cell with almost no light. The blindfold had been removed; but when he tried to question his jailer, he was warned that he would be killed if he opened his mouth again. Since he knew that these men would not hesitate to carry out their threats, he took care from then on to behave like a mute.
For many days he saw no one but the surly and taciturn man who brought him food. But one day, a girl came into his prison cell, followed by a man carrying a bucket of hot water. The man ordered him to undress, then the girl washed him from head to foot, and trimmed and combed his hair and beard. Madig guessed from these preparations that he was about to be taken before some important dignitary — probably the ruler himself.
After being washed, he was ordered to dress. Then he was blindfolded again and led through echoing stone corridors and out of the jail. Although he could see nothing but a crack of daylight under the blindfold, he could tell that he was being escorted through the streets of a fairly large town or city, for the road underfoot was hard and smooth. He was also aware that there were other people in these streets, for he could hear their footsteps. Yet the strange thing was that it was all so silent that, although he strained his ears, he could hear no sound of voices. His companions also remained silent and Madig was afraid to open his mouth.
Now they mounted a flight of steps, and he heard the creaking of a massive door, and the sound of it closing behind them. They crossed a stone-flagged floor, and he knew from the echo of his footsteps that they were in a large hallway; after that they passed through another great door and into a chamber whose atmosphere was as cold as ice. Madig sensed that his companions had left him and that he was now in the presence of the ruler of this city. And although Madig was famous for his bravery, he now found himself overcome by a strange feeling of dread, as if in the presence of a dangerous predator, so that it was hard to control the trembling of his limbs. Then a soft voice spoke from a place that seemed to be in front of him and above his head — Madig guessed that the ruler of this city was seated on a throne at the top of a flight of steps.
“I want you to carry a message to the ruler of the spiders.” The voice had a whispering, throaty sound, as if there was something wrong with the vocal chords. “Are you listening?”
“Yes, lord.”
“I want you to tell your master that these lands belong to me, and that I shall destroy anyone who invades them. Repeat that.”
“I am to tell my master. . .”
“Lower your voice. I am not deaf.”
“No, lord.” Madig was disconcerted; he had seemed to himself to be speaking in his normal voice. Now he lowered it to little more than a whisper. “I am to tell my master that these lands belong to you, and that you will destroy anyone who invades them.”
“Good. You may also tell him that I am a magician, and that I can render this city invisible, so that it would serve no purpose to try to find it. Do you understand?”
“Yes, lord. I am sure my master. . .”
“Now go!”
“Yes, lord.” But as he turned to go, the hoarse voice said: “Wait.” Madig heard the soft swish of garments descending toward him, but no sound of footsteps.
“You will also tell your master that I shall hold your companions as hostages, and that unless his answer is satisfactory, they will all die.”
“Yes, lord.” Madig’s heart sank, for he already knew that Kasib the Warrior would be enraged by the threat, and that therefore his companions were already doomed. Yet at least he would be free to avenge them. . .
But, as if reading his thoughts, the unseen man continued: “You will also die. My arm is long and I do not release my grip.”
Madig’s hand was taken in a hand that was cold and strangely rough — it reminded him of the hand of a leper, covered with scales of decaying skin. As the fingers closed, Madig screamed with pain; the grip was so powerful that he felt it could have crushed the bones of his hand into powder.
Now the unseen man brought his mouth close to Madig’s ear. “One more thing.” And as he spoke, Madig realized, with a shock of horror, that although the mouth was within an inch of his ear, he could feel no breath. “Tell your master that if he ignores my warning, his people will suffer a catastrophe that will make the massacres of Ivar the Cruel seem insignificant.” He released Madig’s hand.
“Yes, lord.”
“You have one month — thirty days. If you return here with a satisfactory answer before that time, you and your companions will be spared. If not, you will all die.”
As the cold hand released his, Madig’s senses felt as if they were being sucked from him. When he opened his eyes again, the blindfold had been removed, and he was back in his prison cell. He noticed that his right hand was covered with blood, and that his arm felt cold and numb. Later that evening, after supper, he fell into an exhausted slumber. When he woke up, he was again being carried on a stretcher, this time up an irregular slope, and was again blindfolded. In the distance he could hear the roaring of a river. The glimmer of light that penetrated the bottom of the blindfold was fitful, and he guessed that his captors were carrying torches, and that they were again traveling by night.
For the next six days he was made to march over rough and difficult terrain, and was always so exhausted by the end of the day that he slept heavily until aroused the next morning. He noticed that his companions spoke only in the briefest of monosyllables, but that for most of time, they were silent.
One morning, Madig was awakened by the sun on his face. It seemed to him that he had been allowed to sleep much longer than usual. He lay there, listening for some indication that his captors were preparing a meal, but the silence finally convinced him that he was alone. He pushed up the blindfold, and saw that he was lying in a wide valley which he recognized — it would later become known as the Valley of the Dead. The sun was high in the sky, and his companions were nowhere to be seen. But they had left a cloth containing food and drink, and this convinced him that he was free. It took him two days to make his way back to Cibilla.
By now, the numbness in his arm had crept into his shoulder, and he was suffering from a permanent fever. Madig calculated that he had twenty days still to live. This is why he refused the help of doctors, and insisted on being taken to the city of the Death Lord. There he was conducted immediately into the presence of Kasib the Warrior, where he delivered the message from the unknown enemy. The Death Lord listened silently, and when Madig had finished, questioned him closely about his period in captivity — how many days’ march lay between the wastes of Kend and the stronghold of the enemy, and how far he had marched before being freed. From these questions, Madig knew that the Death Lord was contemplating an attack on the realm of the enemy, and that he himself was doomed to die. He felt no resentment, for he knew that it was impossible that the Death Lord should submit to the threats and insults of a mere human being.
Physicians attempted to cure Madig as he lay on his sick bed; but none could discover what was wrong with him. The sensation of paralysis had reached his chest, then began to pass downward toward his feet. The fever made him delirious, and he talked endlessly of the companions he had left in the hands of the enemy. And, exactly as the enemy foretold, he died on the thirtieth day.
Hundreds of spider balloons scoured the Gray Mountains from the wastes of Kend to the Lake of Silence, but found no trace of any city or even so much as a shepherd’s hut. By that time the first snows of the winter had begun to fall and Kasib the Warrior knew that his revenge would have to be delayed until the following summer. And it was precisely one year later that the armies of the Death Lord were destroyed in the Valley of the Dead, the threat of the unknown enemy was fulfilled.