Fafnir drew himself together and sent forth from his nostrils a venomous steam. Whatever it touched, whether trees or grass, shrivelled up instantly, as though scorched by fire. But again Siegfried was too quick for him, and Fafnir, who hoped to see a burnt-up body on the ground, was enraged to hear a cheerful voice behind him—“Look out, old growler! the ‘boaster’ is upon thee.”
Then Fafnir set to work in good earnest, and Siegfried found that after all it was no child’s play to fight a dragon. But though blinded and well-nigh choked with the poisonous smoke and steam, Siegfried fought on, nothing daunted. The only vital spot was, he knew, the dragon’s heart, the back and sides of his huge carcass being entirely covered with scaly armor.
Nearer and nearer they closed on one another, till at last Fafnir, with a sudden twist, caught Siegfried in his serpentine tail. But before the coils had time to tighten round him, Siegfried had pierced Needful through a joint of the scaly tail. Fafnir sent up a howl of rage and pain, and for a moment relaxed his grip. With a bound Siegfried leapt on the back of his foe. Fafnir instantly prepared to roll over on one side and so crush Siegfried with his mountainous weight; but in turning, his breast for a brief moment was exposed, and in the twinkling of an eye down swept the sword of Siegfried, burying itself up to the hilt in the dragon’s heart.
With a terrific groan Fafnir rolled over, while Siegfried sprang lightly to one side, crying: “Lie there, old growler, with Needful in thy heart!” In great puffs of smoke and fire, like an overturned steam-engine, came Fafnir’s dying breath. His eyes rolled horribly; fixing them at last on Siegfried, he gasped, “Who art thou, clear-eyed youth?”
“In truth,” replied Siegfried, “I know but little of myself or of my kin.”
“A strange fate is mine!” groaned the dragon. “I, the great giant Fafnir, to die by the hand of a youth unknown even to himself! Young hero, heed well the dying words of him whom thou hast slain. The treasure I guarded is accursed. Death it brought to my brother, and now to me. If thou touch aught of it, the curse rests also on thee. Heed what I say!”
“Oh, tell me more, wise monster!” Siegfried entreated. “Tell me of my parents, and the race from which they sprang. Siegfried is my name!”
Fafnir heaved himself upwards in a last effort to speak. “Siegfried”—he began, gasped for breath and then with a deep groan fell back dead.
As he rolled over on his side, Siegfried drew the sword out of his breast. He felt sorry the giant was dead, and had now quite a kindly feeling for him. Those last words had shown him to be a wise and thoughtful monster. But still, Siegfried was not sure he would take his advice. In drawing out the sword, some of the dragon’s blood chanced to touch Siegfried’s hand. It burnt like a red-hot coal, and he put it quickly to his mouth. As he did so, the song of the bird again fell on his ear. He listened in amazement—for now every note was a word which he understood!
This was what the bird sang in his sweet piping voice: “Hey, Siegfried! Siegfried the Victor has slain the dragon! Now to him belongs the gold, the Ring, and the Tarnhelm. With these he can conquer the world if he will.”