With the perils of the Cave of Darkness left behind, with Curling Smoke
vanquished and driven far off, the Shadow Witch was happy; and in her
presence Prince Ember gave no thought for the moment to any further
danger that might beset them.
Danger was not far distant. In the spot that he had chosen, the Ash
Goblin worked fast and diligently upon the snare with which he meant to
entrap Prince Ember, hoping that he might be able to complete it before
the Prince arrived.
He could plainly see the Elf’s house from where he labored. He believed
the Prince to be still within its walls, and he was sure that none as
yet had crossed its threshold. With his twisted hands he took from the
long bag hidden beneath his cloak the evil ash, of which alone his snare
could be made, and sifted it carefully over the ground. Meanwhile he
repeated the words of enchantment written in his Book of Craft, which he
believed would make certain the capture of Prince Ember, but he took
good care to repeat them silently, lest any, coming upon him unawares,
should overhear them and learn his secret. As the ash fell to the ground
from his fingers, it spread and ran together to form a thin and
web-like film, leaving no spot uncovered.
So treacherous was this snare, that if one but stepped upon its borders,
he would become unable to release his feet from it and would be drawn
helplessly to its centre. There the web would rise upon him from all
sides with lightning swiftness to enmesh him and draw him down till he
was fast bound in its folds, and there he must perish in his vain
efforts to escape. This was the trap that the Ash Goblin was cunningly
and silently preparing for Prince Ember, keeping watch in the meanwhile
for him to approach. He kept himself close to the ground, concealed by
the ashes around him, so like they were in color to his dingy robe, and
the cap that covered his matted grizzled hair. Occasionally he chuckled
to himself at the thought of the discomfiture which lay in store for
Curling Smoke, that boastful giant, whom he believed to be lying in wait
for the Prince near to the Wizard’s Cave. Such confidence had the Ash
Goblin in his snare that never for an instant did he believe that the
Prince could escape it and come within reach of the giant’s arms.
While he worked and exulted thus, he did not forget that in conquering
Prince Ember, he would pay off, also, his old grudge against the Shadow
Witch for her mockery of him.
The Shadow Witch, coming across the Plain of Ash with the Prince,
safe-sheltered by the Cloak of the good Elf, had been sure that they
were now safe from peril, when on a sudden it seemed as if a warning
hand were laid upon her. She stopped and looked around her, but saw
nothing.
Then, with piercing eyes, she scanned the Plain in front. At a
considerable distance from her, bent over the ash, she espied a figure
well-known to her—the Ash Goblin, intent upon some task. She suspected
danger, and caught at the Prince’s mantle, exclaiming beneath her
breath, “The Ash Goblin! See, how stealthily he creeps along! Never does
he venture so far from home unless he has evil plans afoot.”
Prince Ember had forgotten the Ash Goblin, had forgotten the words of
the Elf of the Borderland, but now they returned to him. “Beware of the
Ash Goblin! He is small of stature, but he cannot safely be despised,
for he is very cunning.” He followed the pointing finger of the Shadow
Witch, that he might behold this new enemy, but he strained his eyes in
vain.
“I see nothing but the grey Plain that lies between us and the Elf’s
dwelling,” he replied.
She laid her hand lightly upon his eyes for a moment, and by the magic
of her touch made his vision more keen. “Look now,” she urged,
withdrawing her hand, “and you will see.”
Prince Ember obeyed, and immediately he, too, beheld the ugly form of
the Ash Goblin bending over his snare. “Yes, there he is,” he said, “and
I remember now how earnestly the Elf of the Borderland bade me be on my
guard against his cunning.”
“Ah, my Prince,” the Shadow Witch responded, “you may well be on your
guard. Though he knows the weakness of his body too well to dare to
attack an enemy in fair and open fight, he is powerful in such craft as
he can carry out in secret. Whether or not he is preparing a trap for
us, I cannot tell. One thing is certain, we cannot choose but pass over
the place where he is at work.”
“Whatever may lie in wait for us there, my dear Shadow Witch,” Prince
Ember assured her, “we will meet it unafraid.”
They went directly toward their foe. Nowhere did they see anything that
spoke of danger until they were but a stone’s throw from where the Ash
Goblin knelt. There they stood still to scan his work, and beheld a
delicate mesh, so thin and fine that it was well-nigh invisible,
stretching away to right and left of him and in front of him.
The Shadow Witch, seeing, shrank back aghast. “It is the cunning web of
the Ash Goblin!” she breathed. “None escapes destruction who sets foot
within its bounds.”
Before the Prince could answer, the Ash Goblin rose. He had put the
final touch to his work. The last handful of his ash had been strewn,
the last word of his spell had been pronounced, and weary with long
bending over his work, he drew himself up slowly.
“A goodly snare, a goodly snare,” they heard him mutter to himself.
“Never yet has it failed me—no, nor ever shall, so long as I hold the
secret of my evil ash, so long as I remember the words of my ancient
spell.”
He gloated over it for a moment in silence, and then continued: “To this
snare the feet of Prince Ember must come. When he treads so much as its
border he is lost, and when he is lost, the impudent Shadow Witch in
her dungeon may await her brother’s pleasure for her deliverance. Let
her learn in good time, that it is the Ash Goblin, the Ash Goblin whom
she has so often mocked, who has helped to keep her there.” He wagged
his head exultantly, and sank down again to conceal himself in the
ashes, and there await unseen the coming of the Prince.
The Shadow Witch heard his words, and her cheek grew pale as ivory. She
pressed her hands close together and looked into Prince Ember’s face,
her eyes full of pain. “Alas! my Prince,” she whispered, “it grieves me
that you should encounter so many perils for my sake! And here—ah, here,
I am afraid that all your wondrous fairy power cannot suffice to break
this wicked snare that has been set for you.”
Prince Ember smiled. “Grieve not so, my Shadow Witch,” he consoled her.
“There is no danger that I would not meet gladly for your sake. Think
not that I cannot here match magic with magic, and conquer, for there is
no evil enchantment but must yield before the power of the good fairies
of the Fire.”
With quiet confidence he left the shelter of the Cloak of Ash, and in
his hand was his fairy sword. It shone with a red glory.
The Ash Goblin, crouching upon the ground, keeping his eyes fixed upon
the Elf’s threshold, had heard no syllable that had been spoken, nor
knew that anyone was near.
But now his staring eyes suddenly beheld the place about him suffused
with scarlet light. He leapt to his feet, turning in swift amaze to
learn from whence it came, and saw Prince Ember standing, with Sword
extended like a bar of fire across his snare. From it streamed that
heat, potent and overmastering, wherein its magic dwelt.
“Let the snare of the Ash Goblin perish before the power of the Sword of
Fire!” exclaimed the Prince, and as he uttered the words the Ash Goblin
saw the web that he had been at such pains to prepare, begin to shrivel
and shrink away, and presently it had vanished completely from the
surface of the Plain.
A frenzied shriek burst from the Ash Goblin at the sight of his work
destroyed before his very eyes and by the one for whom the snare had
been laid. Coward though he was, he would have rushed upon the Prince to
attack him with all his puny strength, had not the heat which streamed
from the Sword of Fire made his limbs powerless to stir from the spot
where he lay hid, had not the glow which surrounded him become so
intense that he was forced to bury his head in his cloak, lest his eyes
should be blinded by it.
Crouching there, wrapped to the very crown of his head in his dingy
cloak, he heard again the voice of Prince Ember.
“Depart quickly,” commanded the Prince, “lest you be consumed in like
manner as your evil snare.”
Then the Ash Goblin rose and fled away in terror from the place where he
had hoped to triumph, fled on and on, until he came to the threshold of
his own hut. In desperate haste he undid the door, and rushing in,
closed and barred it fast, to shut out the spell of the conquering
Sword.
[Illustration]