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Updated: May 5, 2025
And the Firedrake would have made a mouthful of him, then. So she was delighted when she heard this, almost as much delighted as she was afraid that he might fail in the most difficult adventure. For it was one thing to egg on a Remora to kill a Firedrake, and quite another to find the princes if they were alive, and restore them if they were 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.
But the Firedrake, as happy as a wild duck on a lonely loch, was rolling and diving in the liquid flame, all red-hot and full of frolic. "Hi!" shouted the prince. The Firedrake rose to the surface, his horns as red as a red crescent- moon, only bigger, and lashing the fire with his hoofs and his blazing tail. "Who's there?" he said in a hoarse, angry voice. "Just let me get at you!"
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.
"But she does not expect to be looked at," he thought; "and I won't!" On the other hand, he determined to look at the Firedrake; for, of course, he had no delicacy about spying on him, the brute. The prince clapped the glass to his eye, stared out of window, and there, sure enough, he saw the Firedrake. He was floating about in a sea of molten lava, on the top of a volcano.
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.
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.
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