“Not yet, my Prince,” whispered the Shadow Witch. “Not yet.”
An arm’s length higher she sent her phantom, and made him pause. Seeing this, sure now that his enemy could go no further, Curling Smoke shot up with lightning swiftness and stood above him at last, stretched to his full height, an immensely tall and straight and slender column, poised on tiptoe to spring and overleap him. His voice rang out hoarsely. “Ah, now you shall not escape me! At last your time has come!”
“Strike!” breathed the Shadow Witch to the waiting Prince. “Strike now!”
Swiftly Prince Ember threw back the Cloak of Ash. The Sword of Fire glowed red as it swung through the air, and redder still as it struck the limbs of Curling Smoke and clove them. As the strange heat of that fairy Sword rushed through his giant frame, Curling Smoke became as naught. His limbs were seized with faintness and trembling. The phantom Prince vanished suddenly from before him, and his own Veil that Blinds rose in darkening folds across his eyes. The Veil that Chokes swept across his mouth, and his turbulent voice was stilled. He began to shrink upward, to waver and fade, and presently he drifted helplessly into the great smoke dome and was swallowed up in it.
Then, also, before the mighty heat that flowed from the Sword of Fire, the walls and dome of the vast smoke chamber, and the smoke wreaths upon the ground, were themselves dissolved, and Prince Ember and the Shadow Witch stood free in the Plain of Ash.
“Ah, my brave Prince! By your Sword of Fire, how gloriously you have conquered!” exclaimed the Shadow Witch, with sparkling eyes.
“Forget not the magic of my dear Lady of the Shadows,” Prince Ember tenderly reminded her, “for without its aid this victory could scarcely have been won.”
The Shadow Witch laughed sweetly. “On, on together, then,” she cried.
