Terry drew on Gregor’s leather gloves, then took the reins from Arabelle, as the first phalanx of flying wraiths approached them. Maurice muttered and a golden orb surrounded the chariot, providing a necessary force field. Then Arabelle began the spell that would conjure up the mighty sand-castle-destroying wind. She stood tall in the chariot, her platinum wand glittering, her voice like a great bell, ringing across the sand. The syllables were terrible to hear, great and terrible. She stopped, and then the wind began.

It was a vicious thing—it was a wind intent upon destruction—a wind that enslaved sand, that drove every grain of sand into whirling madness. Buffeted by it, Terry held on to the reins with a death grip, and Maurice’s knuckles grew white on the sides of the chariot as he uttered his spell and tried to hold on. They could hear the screams of the trolls and the human army as sand whipped up from the beach and became a deadly weapon, choking and blinding them. The wind did not affect the horses, who flew through it like it was an ocean breeze, but the chariot bopped and bounced behind them like a toy. The sky grew dark as the sandstorm whirled higher and higher, and it became impossible to see more than 10 feet ahead. Sand whipped into their eyes and mouths.

“Is it working?” shouted Terry to Arabelle as she glanced to her side. “Arabelle!”

She was covered in sand, like a statue. Maurice’s golden orb could do nothing against the storm.

“Stop chanting and use the wooden wand to help Arabelle!” Terrry shouted to Maurice behind her. The orb disappeared. But when Terry glanced back, she saw that it was not because Maurice had obeyed her orders. He, too, was covered in sand. Terry realized it was only a matter of seconds before the same thing happened to her. She flicked the reins desperately—it took all her strength.

“Aethon! Pyrois!” she shouted. “Get us out of here!”

In response, the horses flew straight up, higher and higher until they were out of the range of the sandstorm. The wind blew some sand off of her two companions, and they began to cough and shake themselves. Terry’s arm and shoulder muscles were strained to the breaking point, and the horses knew it. They took their lead, going higher into the sky, where the sun was at its zenith. Terry pulled with all her might to rein them in, desperate to retain control.

“I’ve got to land them,” Terry shouted, and with all her strength managed to direct them down, away from the beach, towards the eucalyptus forest. The flew swiftly towards the ground, willfully, while she barely controlled them. The chariot landed with horrible jolt, and Arabelle coughed out the spell that would send them home before they decided to fly there with them in tow. The three of them stood in a forest clearing and watched the horses disappear into the sky.

“I thought you both were dead,” Terry said flatly.

“Just almost,” Maurice said, coughing weakly.

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“Oh, God, air,” Arabelle said. “It feels good to breathe.”

“What happened?”

“That’s—” cough—“the spell—cough—” Arabelle replied.

“Do you think it worked?” Terry said.

Arabelle shrugged. “I can’t tell,” she said. “At least it covered our tracks. Or we’d be overrun right now by some regiment of the wizard’s army.”

“Yes,” Terry said. “We’re safe for the moment, but we’ve still got to move fast. Maurice, that’s your department. Use your sandals to run towards the beach—you’re almost invisible when you run. Check out the damage and report back. ”

Terry and Arabelle were still brushing sand off of themselves when he returned.

“Do you want the good news first, or the bad news?”

“The good news,” Terry said.

“Okay. We did a lot of damage to the troops.”

“What’s the bad news?” Arabelle said.

“The castle stands,” he said grimly.

“What? How?” Terry cried.

“I don’t know,” Arabelle said. “I’ve never tried that spell before. And I couldn’t keep up with it once we were caught in the sandstorm. I could have given more power to it if we had been in a sheltered spot.”

“Well that’s good to know now,” Terry said. “But we had one shot. We can’t stay here for long—they’ll be looking for us as soon as they regroup.”

“They won’t figure we’ve landed so close,” Maurice said. “And they’re pretty beat up. We wiped out a lot of their human troops.”

“Oh,” Terry said. The horror of what they had unleashed suddenly struck her, in spite of her hatred towards those who would ally with the wizard and attack her father, the king. Maybe some of them would have changed their minds tomorrow. Maybe some of them had their jewelry unfairly seized by the Duke, and made a bad decision to join the wizard out of frustration. The heaviness of war crept in on her. So much death.

“May their souls rest in peace,” she murmured.

They decided to camp where they were for the night, and send Maurice to find Gregor and share the news of the battle. Gregor left as soon as it was dark, and the night dragged miserably on. They didn’t dare light a fire, and after some discussion they decided not to use any magic means of camouflage.

“These creatures can smell magic,” Arabelle said. “We have to depend on the fact that they need to spend today regrouping.”

“This is the time to attack,” Terry said.

“I can’t call the horses right now,” Arabelle replied. “I’m not strong enough. That spell took a lot out of me.”

“But you both took healing potions,” Terry said.

“Yes,” Arabelle replied. “I’m physically okay, and I can do spells, but calling the horses of Apollo is something beyond what a healing potion can fix.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to call them in the morning?” Terry asked, worriedly.

“I don’t know,” Arabelle confessed. “I need to sleep.”

They both dozed intermittently all night, waking to every rustle and crack of the forest. It was dawn before Maurice returned, exhausted and dirty from his travels. He sat down with them and sipped from a water skin.

“I told Gregor of our battle,” Maurice said. “He was disappointed, to be sure, but encouraged me with his own success. He has managed to raise an army—quite an army—of miscreants, vagrants, pickpockets, petty criminals. They love him. They’ve had several skirmishes with the wizard’s troops—they call him General Gregor, terror of the Ogres. He’s killed half a dozen in the last day. He says he’ll be at your father’s castle by tomorrow at the latest.”

“That’s great news!” Terry said. The sun had risen completely by then. “Arabelle, can you call the horses? We must attack again.”

“Yes,” Arabelle said. She waved her wand and called their names.

“Aethon!”

“Pyrois!”

They waited expectantly. But no horses came.

“I was afraid of that,” Arabelle said.

The blood drained out of Maurice’s exhausted face. “What are we going to do?”