“Why do you laugh?” said Ciad, when he reached him.
“I’m laughing for the joy of killing you,” said Feach-An-Choille.
“Wouldn’t it be better to laugh after?” said Ciad.
Then he raised his spear, and he and the Feach went at the fight. The noise and the din and the fierceness of the fight was such that the boars came down from the hills, and the deer came up from the valleys, and the birds from the woods of the world loaded the tree tops around, to watch. If Feach-An-Chruic was a great fighter, Feach-An-Choille was a far greater, but as great as he was, Ciad’s courageous spirit was still greater, and when the sun was behind the trees in the west, Ciad put the Feach down.
“You’re a brave man,” said the Feach, when he was down. “What can I do for you?”
“You can give me the bottle of loca and the Riches of the World,” said Ciad.
“I cannot,” said the Fezch. “I’m sorry. I had the bottle of loca and the Riches of the World only one night, when the King of Persia took them from me. And now,” said the Feach, “you may as well return home, for you can never get them from the King of Persia.”
“Why cannot I?” said Ciad.
“Because,” he said, “the King of Persia, when he got the Riches of the World, called together at once the Seven Wizards of the East, and had them lay spells on him, so that no man could ever conquer him.”
“I’m sorry for that,” said Ciad, “but I’ll not return home; I’ll travel on to meet my fate.”