IT was an awful sight to behold!
When the Remora heard the name of the Firedrake, his
hated enemy, he slipped with wonderful speed from the
cleft of the mountain into the valley. On and
on and on he poured over rock and tree, as if a frozen
river could slide downhill; on and on, till there
were miles of him stretching along the valley - miles
of the smooth-ribbed, icy creature, crawling and slipping
forwards. The green trees dropped their leaves
as he advanced; the birds fell down dead from the
sky, slain by his frosty breath! But, fast as
the Remora stole forward, the Firedrake came quicker
yet, flying and clashing his fiery wings. At
last they were within striking distance; and the Firedrake,
stooping from the air, dashed with his burning horns
and flaming feet slap into the body of the Remora.
Then there rose a steam so dreadful,
such a white yet fiery vapour of heat, that no one
who had not the prince’s magic glass could have
seen what happened. With horrible grunts and
roars the Firedrake tried to burn his way right through
the flat body of the Remora, and to chase him to his
cleft in the rock. But the Remora, hissing terribly,
and visibly melting away in places, yet held his ground;
and the prince could see his cold white folds climbing
slowly up the hoofs of the Firedrake - up
and up, till they reached his knees, and the great
burning beast roared like a hundred bulls with the
pain. Then up the Firedrake leaped, and hovering
on his fiery wings, he lighted in the midst of the
Remora’s back, and dashed into it with his horns.
But the flat, cruel head writhed backwards, and, slowly
bending over on itself, the wounded Remora slid greedily
to fasten again on the limbs of the Firedrake.
Meanwhile, the prince, safe on his
hill, was lunching on the loaf and the cold tongue
he had brought with him.
“Go it, Remora! Go it,
Firedrake! you’re gaining. Give it him,
Remora!” he shouted in the wildest excitement.
Nobody had ever seen such a battle;
he had it all to himself, and he never enjoyed anything
more. He hated the Remora so much, that he almost
wished the Firedrake could beat it; for the Firedrake
was the more natural beast of the pair. Still,
he was alarmed when he saw that the vast flat body
of the Remora was now slowly coiling backwards, backwards,
into the cleft below the hill; while a thick wet mist
showed how cruelly it had suffered. But the Firedrake,
too, was in an unhappy way; for his legs were now
cold and black, his horns were black also, though
his body, especially near the heart, glowed still like
red-hot iron.
“Go it, Remora!” cried
the prince: “his legs are giving way; he’s
groggy on his pins! One more effort, and he won’t
be able to move!”
Encouraged by this advice, the white,
slippery Remora streamed out of his cavern again,
more and more of him uncoiling, as if the mountain
were quite full of him. He had lost strength,
no doubt: for the steam and mist went up from
him in clouds, and the hissing of his angry voice
grew fainter; but so did the roars of the Firedrake.
Presently they sounded more like groans; and at last
the Remora slipped up his legs above the knees, and
fastened on his very heart of fire. Then the
Firedrake stood groaning like a black bull, knee-deep
in snow; and still the Remora climbed and climbed.
“Go it now, Firedrake!”
shouted the prince; for he knew that if the Remora
won, it would be too cold for him to draw near the
place, and cut off the Firedrake’s head and
tail.
“Go it, Drake! he’s slackening!”
cried the prince again; and the brave Firedrake made
one last furious effort, and rising on his wings, dropped
just on the spine of his enemy.
The wounded Remora curled back his
head again on himself, and again crawled, steaming
terribly, towards his enemy. But the struggle
was too much for the gallant Remora. The flat,
cruel head moved slower; the steam from his thousand
wounds grew fiercer; and he gently breathed his last
just as the Firedrake, too, fell over and lay exhausted.
With one final roar, like the breath of a thousand
furnaces, the Firedrake expired.
The prince, watching from the hill-top,
could scarcely believe that these two awful scourges
of Nature, which had so long devastated his country,
were actually dead. But when he had looked on
for half-an-hour, and only a river ran where the Remora
had been, while the body of the Firedrake lay stark
and cold, he hurried to the spot.
Drawing the sword of sharpness, he
hacked off, at two blows, the iron head and the tail
of the Firedrake. They were a weary weight to
carry; but in a few strides of the shoes of swiftness
he was at his castle, where he threw down his burden,
and nearly fainted with excitement and fatigue.
But the castle clock struck half-past
seven; dinner was at eight, and the poor prince crawled
on hands and knees to the garret. Here he put
on the wishing-cap; wished for a pint of champagne,
a hot bath, and his best black velvet and diamond
suit. In a moment these were provided; he bathed,
dressed, drank a glass of wine, packed up the head
and tail of the Firedrake; sat down on the flying
carpet, and knocked at the door of the English Ambassador
as the clocks were striking eight’ in Gluckstein.
Punctuality is the politeness of
princes; and a prince is polite when he
is in love!
The prince was received at the door
by a stout porter and led into the hall, where several
butlers met him, and he laid the mortal remains of
the Firedrake under the cover of the flying carpet.
Then he was led upstairs, and he made
his bow to the pretty lady, who, of course, made him
a magnificent courtesy. She seemed prettier and
kinder than ever. The prince was so happy, that
he never noticed how something went wrong about the
dinner. The ambassador looked about, and seemed
to miss someone, and spoke in a low voice to one of
the servants, who answered also in a low voice, and
what he said seemed to displease the ambassador.
But the prince was so busy in talking to his lady,
and in eating his dinner too, that he never observed
anything unusual. He had never been at
such a pleasant dinner!