The glow-worms were shining and the Bats going about again with open eyes when the owl-chariot was seen. The old man took a dark cloak which had belonged to the Bat-King, and, muffling his head and face with it, went to meet the Enchantress. As she stepped out of her car he cried: “Alas, lady! I have bad news. The old man is dead, and the pleasure of slaying one of these wretches is lost. I kept him alive as long as I could, but his captivity told on him and he died.”
“That is of no consequence,” said she. “It is the other two who concern me most. We will make it yet worse for them. But why do you keep your face hidden?”
“Fair one,” replied he, “flying in the daylight, I bruised my cheek against a tree, and I would not that you should see it.”
She laughed. “And why is your voice so strange?” she asked again.
“It is the folds of the cloak that muffle it,” said he.
“And how is it,” she went on, seating herself on the grass, “that you have made no preparations for the execution?”
“All is ready,” he said; “only wait till I call up my people, and you shall choose the manner of their deaths.”
Then he gave a call, and the Bat-creatures surrounded them.
“Bats!” he cried, pointing to the Enchantress, “fall upon this woman and slay her where she stands.”
And almost before she had time to scream they had set upon her, and while she raved and struggled they beat her with their heavy wings, smiting her till she died.