“What is the captive princess doing?”
“She is sitting on a high tower behind an iron grating. The magician stands on guard.”
“If you are real men,” the prince cried, “you will all help me to free her.”
The three comrades promised they would.
They led the prince straight through the gray rocks by a defile which Keen made with his eyes, and on and on through high mountains and deep forests. Whatever obstacle was in the way one or another of the three comrades was able to remove it.
By late afternoon they had crossed the last mountain, had left behind them the last stretch of dark forest, and they saw looming up ahead of them the Iron Castle.
Just as the sun sank the prince and his followers crossed the drawbridge and entered the courtyard gate. Instantly the drawbridge lifted and the gate clanged shut.
They went through the courtyard and the prince put his horse in the stable, where he found a place all in readiness. Then the four of them marched boldly into the castle.
Everywhere—in the courtyard, in the stables, and now in the various rooms of the castle—they saw great
