In the King’s place at the banquet table sat a grave old man in a dark green robe. He seemed to have thrown off his jolly leprechaun manifestation entirely, with the defeat of the wizard. The four of them jumped to their feet.

“Welcome, sir,” Terry said.

“There is no reason to welcome me,” Old Tom said, and quoted part of the queen’s old rhyme.

Woe to the generation when

My face is seen in life again

“Are we in so much danger, then?” Arabelle asked.

Old Tom didn’t respond directly.

“What you face,” he said to Terry, “goes far beyond your battle with the trolls. If I could take this away from you, I would. You are on the cusp of releasing great chaos into the world, and nothing, not even Old Tom, can stop it. Worse, it will change our alliance forever.”

“Just tell me what to do!” Terry said. “Or what not to do.”

For a moment, Old Tom seemed to want to respond. His face became very strained and his lips parted. Then anger flashed on his face.

“Your boon as the youngest was already granted!” he shouted, and the castle echoed horribly with his words. Then he disappeared, and the candles blew out with him, leaving the four in a shuddering darkness.

Maurice struck a match, giving a shadowy outline to his face, then lit the nearest candle. It felt 10 degrees colder in the castle.

“What did he mean?” Terry said. “What am I going to do?”

“I felt almost scared of him,” Arabelle said.

“Me, too.”

Gregor shifted in his chair. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s try to find Arabelle’s wand.”

The four of them, much cowed, exited the castle. The new moon provided very little light and the shadows upon them were deep. They found their way to the royal stables and secured a torch for themselves, then crossed the royal lawns until they came to the spot where Zyzzyva had disappeared. A great scorched spot marked the battle, and a sense of evil still hung in the air.

“Do you dare try to cast a spell when everything still feels so … unsettled?” Terry asked.

“It’s my only chance, to retrieve my wand,” Arabelle said. “Maybe you all should—stand back.”

“Is this safe?” Terry asked.

“Who knows?” Maurice said. “But it’s Arabelle’s doing, not yours. And I dare you to try and stop her.”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

“I wouldn’t if I could,” Terry said. “She needs her wand.”

Arabelle’s spell wasn’t spoken. Instead, she lifted both arms over her head in a sweeping gesture, then rotated counterclockwise as her hands drifted down to her sides. In one sharp gesture, she raised her arms again, and repeated her rotation, only clockwise this time. It was like she was building up some sort of magical momentum, trying to suck her wand back out from wherever it was. Terry looked up. It seemed like one star had increased in brilliance. It got bigger and brighter, and nearer, and became Arabelle’s platinum wand, jetting out of the sky into her upraised hand. Arabelle clasped it in triumph, and her three companions surrounded her, cheering and embracing her. They made an odd picture--Gregor lifted her on his shoulders and marched her in a triumphant circle. Arabelle held the magic wand aloft as Terry and Maurice followed, clapping and jumping. Old Tom’s warning was completely forgotten in their jubilation.

After a few moments of delirium, Gregor bent his great bulk forward, letting Arabelle off of his shoulders.

“I can’t believe it,” she said. “I just can’t believe it. My wand!” And she burst into happy tears as Terry embraced her.

“I’m so happy for you,” Terry said. “For us!”

“Me too,” Arabelle said. Then she waved her wand in the air so that a soft glow surrounded them, enough to see their way easily back to the castle.

“Let’s get some sleep,” Gregor said. “We’re gonna need it.”

This time, as they walked past the hulking figure of Talia, they could see much more details due to Arabelle’s magic glow spell. Her face was still frozen in a twisted rage, with her tongue hanging out of the side of her mouth. But what Terry noticed was not her face, but a golden sparkle emanating from her temple.

“Is that—my ball?” she asked. “Can you brighten the glow, Arabelle?”

Arabelle waved her wand and the glow around them increased, and Terry could see that it truly was her golden ball, still lodged in the temple of the monster that had been her sister.

“My ball!” she breathed. “My golden ball! There it is!”

“Where?” Gregor said—then, “Oh. Ew.”

The four of them stared at the place on Talia’s temple where the golden ball was sunk, about halfway in.

“Do you—think you can get it out?” Arabelle asked.

“Should you?” Maurice added.

“Why not? It’s my ball,” Terry said.

“I don’t know,” Maurice said uneasily. “It just seems—part of her, now. And the wizard used powerful magic on her. It may be best not to disturb whatever is going on there.”

“Oh, bosh,” Gregor said. “That’s nothing but another dead monster, with Terry’s weapon stuck in its carcass. We just need to grab it. Then all of our weapons are restored. We’re going to need every last weapon we’ve got.”

“Will you do it?” Terry asked. “I don’t think I could bear to.”

“Are you sure about this?” Maurice said.

“Yes! Gregor, see if you can pluck it out, will you, please?”

“Of course,” Gregor said, and walked toward massive body, which was crumpled into a fetal position, until he reached the ogre-sized head. The monster was on its side, with its face slightly turned towards the ground, so that the temple was about to Gregor’s waist. Gregor put both hands on the ball and hesitated, then gave a pull.

“I can’t get a grip on it,” he said. “It’s too small for my hands. Terry, if you want this, you’re going to have to get it yourself.”

The blood drained from Terry’s face.

“Okay,” she said. She walked slowly to where Gregor stood and placed both hands on the golden ball. She could see how Gregor wouldn’t be able to grab it—it was well lodged in the flesh of the monster. The ball was oddly warm, and Terry felt a sudden sense of repulsion.

I shouldn’t be doing this, she thought, but then she gave a mighty pull.

The flesh resisted, seeming to suck back at the ball. Terry pulled even harder, reminded absurdly of childhood fights over toys and dolls.

With a horrid, squishing sound, the ball came free, and Terry took a couple of stumbling steps backwards, into Gregor’s arms.

“Watch out!” Gregor said, as a putrid green fluid erupted briefly from the hole in Talia’s temple.

Then something else emerged. And both of them began to scream.