While Prince Ember had passed from place to place, everywhere meeting
and conquering the perils that beset him and his companion, the Wind in
the Chimney had not been unmindful of his promise to Black Shadow. On
the contrary, he was only too willing to help the Wizard.
As soon as the Wizard’s messenger had departed from him, he despatched a
half dozen of his keenest and most agile Breezes to the Chimney Mouth to
spy upon the Elf’s house from thence, and bring him word at once the
moment the Prince was seen to cross its threshold.
During the time, therefore, that the Imps had been keeping guard at the
entrance to the Wizard’s cavern, the Breezes, on their part, had been
industriously looking across the Plain from the Chimney Mouth, but with
no better fortune in the one case than in the other.
Once, it is true, they, like the Ash Goblin, had espied the Elf’s door
open slowly and remain so for a moment, and they had waited eagerly for
the Prince to come forth, but no one had appeared, and presently the
door had closed again and had remained fast shut ever since.
The Wind, sitting on his rough seat in the Chimney, began to chafe at
the delay. He did not overlook the fact that the Breezes were merry
fellows, and that, though they took no liberties while they were under
his eye, and talked only in whispers among themselves when they perched
in the Chimney nooks, they had only to be out of his sight to begin to
whisk gaily about and dance and sing in the liveliest possible manner,
so as to enjoy their freedom to the utmost.
He began to believe that even on this occasion, in spite of the
strictness of his commands, they were amusing themselves after their
usual fashion, and, becoming more and more careless and inattentive to
their duty, had allowed Prince Ember to go on his way unobserved.
Leaning forward in his seat, he called down to them gruffly, demanding
to know whether any sign had yet been seen of the stranger prince. When
he received their answer, he was more than ever convinced of their
negligence and gave orders that one of their number should go out and
scour the Plain, to discover whether the Prince was anywhere about. But
the one who had been sent returned to say that there was nothing to be
seen but the yellow fog of Curling Smoke.
The Wind shrugged his great shoulders contemptuously. “The affairs of
Curling Smoke do not interest me,” he declared.
For a little longer he waited and then began to stir about impatiently
upon his Chimney seat.
“Go out and search the Plain more carefully than was done by your
fellow,” he shouted to another of the Breezes. “It is quite impossible
that the Prince should still be in the Elf’s house.”
Swift to obey his master, the second Breeze went forth, yet came back
in a little while, declaring that he had seen no one but the Ash Goblin,
bending over the ground as though intent upon some task.
“Bah!” exclaimed the Wind. “Why do you come to me with such news as
that? What difference can it make to me what such a wretched creature as
the Ash Goblin is doing? Let him amuse himself with his trifles as he
pleases.”
Thus rebuffed, his servant retreated shamefacedly to his post, and again
the Wind waited.
Such a great length of time had passed since they had taken up their
vigil at the Chimney Mouth, that the Breezes themselves were beginning
to be uneasy, and to suspect that by means of some enchantment the
Prince had actually escaped them.
Then they bethought them of the moment when the Elf’s door had been
seen to open and shut without anyone coming out of it, and they were
troubled, and wondered whether they should, perhaps, have made the
matter known to their master at the time.
Finally, one of their number, bolder than the rest, summoned up his
courage and went and told the Wind of it.
“What!” shrieked the Wind, rising in a tempest of rage. “Can it be that
you saw anything so important as this and brought me no word of it?
Magic has been at work! This Prince has without doubt escaped me. Even
at this instant he may be upon the Plain under the very eyes of my
watchers!”
Hurling the messenger from him, the Wind rushed down to the Chimney
Mouth. He buffeted to right and left the Breezes who stood there, and
whirled out upon the Plain to see for himself whether or not what he
suspected was true.
It so happened that Prince Ember and the Shadow Witch were crossing the
Plain directly in front of the Chimney Mouth at that instant.
Then what the Elf of the Borderland had feared immediately came true.
The keen eyes of the Wind pierced the spell of the Weaver elf. His rough
blasts shattered it. Snatching the fairy Cloak from the shoulders of the
travelers, he beat it quickly back into the loose ashes of which it had
been woven, and drove them off and away into the wide spaces of the
Borderland, there to settle down at last wherever they would.
Thus were Prince Ember and the Shadow Witch revealed to the gaze of
their most powerful enemy.
The Prince needed none to tell him who this new foe was, nor did he
quail at sight of him, though he knew that he might well fear for his
companion and himself. Quickly he thrust the Shadow Witch behind him,
and with his Sword of Fire in his hand awaited his coming.
With a loud howl the Wind was upon them. Against this terrific onset the
Prince held firm, and as the Wind dashed himself upon the Sword,
thinking to wrest that from him, also, it leapt to life, a broad and
beauteous sheet of scarlet flame, that rose in an ascending barrier high
and yet higher at every buffet that it sustained. The more the Wind
flung himself upon it in fury, the greater it waxed in power and
brilliance, the stronger the heat that flowed from it in mighty waves.
Cowed by it, the Wind retreated for a moment, but seeing that the flame
waned when he did so, he took fresh courage and raged against it once
more. Yet quite in vain. Wielding his Sword with steady hand, protected
by its wall of leaping fire, its rampart of glowing heat, the Prince met
him at every turn dauntless and unharmed.
Still farther back stood the Shadow Witch, her tall form swaying in the
blasts of the Wind. At his advance her black hair streamed behind her
like a cloud; her grey garments and long grey sleeves, illumined by the
red glory of the Sword, billowed round her like floating banners.
Through the fierceness of the fight her voice was heard cheering the
Prince sweetly, that his courage might not fail.
So the battle raged: on the one side with unavailing fury, wild shouts,
insolent boasting, and slowly wasting strength; on the other hand with
steadfast courage, quietness and undimmed confidence.
For long the Wind could not believe it possible that he would be
vanquished, but gradually he was convinced that the foe whom he had
despised was invincible. Humiliated and sullen, he determined to give up
the losing fight. With one last shriek of rage and discomfiture, that
rang out to the farthest confines of the Plain and echoed across the
Borderland, he fled back in haste to the Chimney, and hurled himself
into its depths.
Prince Ember put up his Sword. The Shadow Witch stole to his side to
thank him for this new deliverance, but her exceeding gratitude made
her dumb. She could only lay her hands in his, and look into his beloved
face in silence.
Knowing what was in her heart, Prince Ember bent to her. “Dear Lady of
the Shadows,” he said, “to serve you is my highest joy. And now there is
no other enemy left for us to dread. I have but to lead you home.”
[Illustration]