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.