Tall and powerful as was the unexpected enemy who now beset him, Prince Radiance did not quail. Quickly he laid his hand upon his scabbard and his voice rang clear, “Magician though you be, I fear you not. Neither do I obey. Stand back then from my path, for I follow the Princess White Flame, and yield to none.”
Curling Smoke gave no word in answer but flung his veil of smoke instead full in the Prince’s face. He thought to see it sting his eyes to instant blindness, but it was not so. Before it could come near him to do him harm the Sword of Flames answering its master’s hand had leapt from its scabbard, and was raised on high. Back from its splendor the Veil that Blinds drifted—drifted—till it settled limp across the magician’s arm. By the mere lifting of that fairy sword its power had been scattered, and its magic spent. Curling Smoke beheld it with astonishment and anger. Yet he did not hesitate. Grimly he snatched from his arm the Veil that Chokes, and flung it in its turn toward the Prince. He looked to have it take from Prince Radiance his very breath, so great was its pungent stifling power. But this also failed for the Sword of Flames met and clove it, and striking to right and left rent it in pieces. It fell in a thousand fragments about the magician’s feet.
The Sword of Flames leapt from its scabbard and was raised on high.
Then Curling Smoke in a frenzy of wrath sprang upon the Prince to clutch him with his arms and bear him down.
Swiftly did Prince Radiance meet his onset, and right valiantly did he wield his Sword of Flames. Though Curling Smoke put forth all his craft, though he writhed now here, now there, seeking to ensnare the Prince, though he towered above him at one instant or in the next curled about his knees to drag him to the earth, yet everywhere the shining Sword sharp and invincible met him. Everywhere its violet splendor flashed; around him and through him, until at last the magician’s very form was scattered and driven away in floating wisps of smoke.
Prince Radiance sheathed his Sword of Flames. Before him lay the open path, and not far away hovered the Princess. Across the space between them came her exquisite voice, calling tremulously her joy at his new deliverance from peril, and the fear for him that had been hers.
“Nay, then, my White Flame,” he answered, “fear not for me ever. But one grief have I—that I have not yet overtaken you; but one fear is mine—that I may lose you in my journeyings. Over both of these, hope, like a star, shines always. Happiness awaits us in the end. Doubt it not.”