With that she swept on, and in an instant stamped again. “Open thy eyes! What dost thou see?”
“I see behind me,” said Mirko, “a faint light, in front of me is darkness so dense that when I hold my finger before my eyes I cannot see it.”
“Well, we must go through that also; shut thy eyes and hold firmly.”
She sped on anew, and again stamped. “Open thy eyes! What dost thou see now?”
“I see,” said Mirko, “the most glorious, light, beautiful, snow-covered mountains, and in the midst of them a silken meadow; in the centre of the silken meadow something dark.”
“This silken meadow,” said the steed, “belongs to the Hero of the Plain; and the dark object in the middle is his tent, woven from black silk. Now close thy eyes or not as may please thee. We shall go there directly.” Mirko spurred the steed, and they were at the tent in a twinkle.
Mirko sprang from his steed and left her at the tent by the side of that of the Hero of the Plain, and entered himself. Within lay a warrior stretched on the silken grass, sleeping; but a sword above him was cutting around in every direction, so that a fly could not light on his body. “Well,” thought Mirko to himself, “though he be a good warrior I could slay him in slumber; but it would not be honorable to slay a sleeping man. I will wait till he rises.” Then he went out and tied his steed fast to the tent, near the other, stretched himself on the silken grass, and called: “Sword out of thy sheath!” and the sword cut around above him, as his sword above the Hero of the Plain, so that a fly could not touch his body.
When the Hero of the Plain woke up and saw that a horse was tied near his own, he marvelled, and said: “What does this mean? I am here seven hundred years, and I have not seen a strange horse near mine before. Whose can this be?” He rose, went out, and saw Mirko sleeping near the tent with the sword cutting above him. “That,” said he, “is an honest warrior; he has not slain me while sleeping. It would not become me to touch him now.”
Then he pushed the foot of the sleeping hero with his own. Mirko jumped up straightway, and the Hero of the Plain asked: “Who art thou, and on what journey?” Mirko told whose son he was, and what his journey. “God has brought thee, dear younger brother,” said the Hero; “thy father is my old friend, and thou, I see, art as good as thy father. But I have need of thee. This great silken meadow which thou seest, is every day filled with enemies, and every day I cut them down; but to-day as thou art with me, we shall not hurry. Come, let us eat and drink; let them crowd.” Then the two went in, ate and drank till the enemy had so increased that they reached almost to the tent. The Hero of the Plain sprang then to his feet and said: “Up, my comrade, we’ll soon finish.” Both leaped into their saddles and rushed to the centre of the enemy, crying out, “Sword from the sheath!” The swords hewed off the heads of the countless multitude, so there was scarcely room to move for bodies. Twelve of the opposing warriors now flee from the rear, the Hero of the Plain and Mirko pursuing. They come to a glass mountain; the twelve warriors rushing ahead. Mirko pursues in hot haste. On the top of the mountain there is a nice, level space; he sees them running upon it. He gallops after them; but all at once they are as if the ground had swallowed them. Mirko springs to the place where they disappear, finds a breach and a deep opening with winding steps. His steed rushes into the opening and down the stairs; they are soon in the lower world.
Mirko looks around the lower world and sees a shining diamond castle, which serves instead of the sun down there. The twelve fleeing warriors rush towards the castle, he after them, and ordering his sword out of the sheath, cuts off their heads in a moment. The next instant Mirko stands before the diamond castle. Within, there is such a clatter and pounding that the whole interior trembles and shivers. He dismounts and enters. Inside is an old witch weaving, and the racket is deafening. The building is full of armed men. The infernal old witch weaves them. When she throws her shuttle to the right, two hussars spring out on horseback; when she throws it to the left, two men on foot jump out armed.