"It is magic, sorcery, witchcraft," he groaned.

But the remembrance of his last words, of his scornful defiance of God,
came back to him, and with it a conviction that he had indeed lifted up
his arm against the Holy One. He felt a sickening feeling of horror and
despair rush upon him, when loud cries calling him from beneath aroused him.

"We must charge through them; we cannot burn here; we must die fighting
sword in hand, it is all that is left."

Not one voice spoke of surrender amongst those fierce warriors, or of
seeking mercy.

It was indeed high time, for all efforts to extinguish the flames had
proved vain; every part of the castle was on fire; the fiery element
streamed from the lower windows, and curled upwards around the towers;
it crackled and hissed in its fury, and the atmosphere became unfit to
breathe; it was like inhaling flame. Sparks flew about in all
directions, dense stifling smoke filled every room. Not a man remained
in the hall, when Redwald rushed down the gallery, holding his breath,
for the hot air scorched the lungs; when, just as he arrived, the
staircase fell with a huge crash, and the flames shot up in his face,
igniting hair and beard, and scorching his flesh. He rushed back to the
opposite end of the passage, only to meet another blast of fire and
smoke--for they had ignited the hall in twenty places at once; they
had done their work all too well. He rushed to the room he had left,
shut the door for a moment's respite from flame and smoke, and then,
springing at the window, strove to tear the bars down, but all in vain.