“Will you go back to your hole and swear, on your honour as a Firedrake, to listen quietly?”
“On my sacred word of honour,” said the beast, casually scorching an eagle that flew by into ashes. The cinders fell, jingling and crackling, round the prince in a little shower.
Then the Firedrake dived back, with an awful splash of flame, and the mountain roared round him.
The prince now flew high above him, and cried:
“A message from the Remora. He says you are afraid to fight him.”
“Don’t know him,” grunted the Firedrake.
“He sends you his glove,” said Prince Prigio, “as a challenge to mortal combat, till death do you part.”
Then he dropped his own glove into the fiery lake.
“Does he?” yelled the Firedrake. “Just let me get at him!” and he scrambled out, all red-hot as he was.
“I’ll go and tell him you’re coming,” said the prince; and with two strides he was over the frozen mountain of the Remora.