While Prince Ember had passed from place to place, everywhere meeting and conquering the perils that beset him and his companion, the Wind in the Chimney had not been unmindful of his promise to Black Shadow. On the contrary, he was only too willing to help the Wizard.

As soon as the Wizard’s messenger had departed from him, he despatched a half dozen of his keenest and most agile Breezes to the Chimney Mouth to spy upon the Elf’s house from thence, and bring him word at once the moment the Prince was seen to cross its threshold.

During the time, therefore, that the Imps had been keeping guard at the entrance to the Wizard’s cavern, the Breezes, on their part, had been industriously looking across the Plain from the Chimney Mouth, but with no better fortune in the one case than in the other.

Once, it is true, they, like the Ash Goblin, had espied the Elf’s door open slowly and remain so for a moment, and they had waited eagerly for the Prince to come forth, but no one had appeared, and presently the door had closed again and had remained fast shut ever since.

The Wind, sitting on his rough seat in the Chimney, began to chafe at the delay. He did not overlook the fact that the Breezes were merry fellows, and that, though they took no liberties while they were under his eye, and talked only in whispers among themselves when they perched in the Chimney nooks, they had only to be out of his sight to begin to whisk gaily about and dance and sing in the liveliest possible manner, so as to enjoy their freedom to the utmost.

He began to believe that even on this occasion, in spite of the strictness of his commands, they were amusing themselves after their usual fashion, and, becoming more and more careless and inattentive to their duty, had allowed Prince Ember to go on his way unobserved.

Leaning forward in his seat, he called down to them gruffly, demanding to know whether any sign had yet been seen of the stranger prince. When he received their answer, he was more than ever convinced of their negligence and gave orders that one of their number should go out and scour the Plain, to discover whether the Prince was anywhere about. But the one who had been sent returned to say that there was nothing to be seen but the yellow fog of Curling Smoke.

The Wind shrugged his great shoulders contemptuously. “The affairs of Curling Smoke do not interest me,” he declared.

For a little longer he waited and then began to stir about impatiently upon his Chimney seat.

“Go out and search the Plain more carefully than was done by your fellow,” he shouted to another of the Breezes. “It is quite impossible that the Prince should still be in the Elf’s house.”

Swift to obey his master, the second Breeze went forth, yet came back in a little while, declaring that he had seen no one but the Ash Goblin, bending over the ground as though intent upon some task.

“Bah!” exclaimed the Wind. “Why do you come to me with such news as that? What difference can it make to me what such a wretched creature as the Ash Goblin is doing? Let him amuse himself with his trifles as he pleases.”

Thus rebuffed, his servant retreated shamefacedly to his post, and again the Wind waited.

Such a great length of time had passed since they had taken up their vigil at the Chimney Mouth, that the Breezes themselves were beginning to be uneasy, and to suspect that by means of some enchantment the Prince had actually escaped them.Then they bethought them of the moment when the Elf’s door had been seen to open and shut without anyone coming out of it, and they were troubled, and wondered whether they should, perhaps, have made the matter known to their master at the time.

Finally, one of their number, bolder than the rest, summoned up his courage and went and told the Wind of it.

“What!” shrieked the Wind, rising in a tempest of rage. “Can it be that you saw anything so important as this and brought me no word of it? Magic has been at work! This Prince has without doubt escaped me. Even at this instant he may be upon the Plain under the very eyes of my watchers!”

Hurling the messenger from him, the Wind rushed down to the Chimney Mouth. He buffeted to right and left the Breezes who stood there, and whirled out upon the Plain to see for himself whether or not what he suspected was true.

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.

Knowing what was in her heart, Prince Ember bent to her. “Dear Lady of the Shadows,” he said, “to serve you is my highest joy. And now there is no other enemy left for us to dread. I have but to lead you home.”