Terry, her cheek pressed to the edge of the cliff, drew a deep breath. There had to be one more foothold—there had to! But she could see nothing. Then she craned her neck up, and saw one little tiny rock jutting out of the edge of the cliff. It was not enough to hold her weight—but if she could hang from it for just a second, she might be able to swing her way into the crevice. The sun was blasting on her now—as hot as a late afternoon sun in the mountains can be. Its radiation and the stress of her situation was making her pour with sweat, not to mention the horrid cries of the fledgling beasts as they prepared to feast on her friends.

Terry closed her eyes. “I,” she whispered, “am a warrior. I conquer my most powerful opponent, my own self.” She breathed deeply from her nose, and using a well of strength that she didn’t know she had, willed herself to stop sweating. At that moment, the smallest breeze sprang up and she flipped her hand over, letting it caress her right palm, drying it. Then, she grabbed the tiny overhang and swung her body into the crevice, which she sensed immediately was wide enough to welcome her. It was maybe six feet deep—enough to hide the three of them until they could figure out what to do next.

The afternoon sun poured into the ragged crevice, and she wrapped the rope around the ragged jutting ledge until it was taut against the cliff’s side. Maurice stepped out immediately—the eagles were starting to look hungry. As gaunt and nimble as he was, he was able to edge himself across in twice the time that it had taken Terry with the help of the rope as a foothold. They stood in the crevice in the bright afternoon sunlight, and urged Gregor to begin to cross.

“Gregor! Come on!” Terry said.

Gregor was standing out of sight of Terry and Maurice, with his back to the side of the nest nearest the crevice where they stood. His sword and shield were at the ready.

“No,” he said. “I’m going to die here. I’d rather die fighting these beasts than slipping and falling to my death below!”

“Gregor, you must come!” Maurice said.

“Can’t hear you,” Gregor said. The first hatchling was now almost fully dry. Gregor watched it warily as it began to look around for food. For him.

“Not me, you horrid beast,” he said. “I’m too leathery.”

From Maurice and Terry’s vantage point, all they could see was the very edge of the nest, but they could hear Gregor’s shouts. “Look!” Terry said, and pointed. There were two black silhouettes in the afternoon sky.

“Here comes mom and dad,” Terry shouted.

“Good! More blood for my sword,” Gregor replied, and from the screams of the fledglings, it was clear the fight was on.

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“What can we do?” Terry said, as they both peered out into the afternoon sky.

“Perhaps I can help,” a quiet voice said behind them.

Maurice and Teresa whirled around. Behind them stood a young woman in a tall, pointed cap and a deep blue robe, embroidered in gold with the constellations.

“Where did you come from?” Terry said.

“Do you know flying magic?” Maurice said, cutting to the chase.

“I know floating magic,” the young woman corrected him. She produced a wand from the folds of her robe, and leaned out the window. Then she spoke a few words in the old language. Sparks flew out of her wand, and Gregor floated straight up into the sky.

Gregor roared with displeasure. “Stop it,” he said. “I hate heights!”

“It’ll be over in a minute, Gregor,” Teresa called out encouragingly, as he floated gently from the nest, 20 feet over to the crevice where the three of the awaited him.

“I can’t bring him in through the crevice,” the woman said. “He’s too big.”

“Grab his arm!” Teresa said, and both of them pulled at him until he popped into the cave like a backwards cork. All three of them tumbled in a heap on the floor.

“Ugh,” Gregor said, wiping his sword on his pants. “You should have left me to die.”

“Oh, Gregor,” Terry said, “Don’t be foolish. Thank you,” she added, scrambling to her feet. “We owe you everything.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” the woman said. The sun was finally sinking below the level of the crevice, but instead of sinking into gloom, the cave continued to glow.

“I’m Arabelle,” she added.

“Incredibly nice to meet you Arabelle” Terry said.

“Thank you,” she replied. “And welcome to my home.”

She pushed at the far wall of the little narrow crevice, and it opened into a huge cave. The three of them looked around. It looked much like the cave in the illustration at the abbey in the northern city. It was a garden of earthly delights. Butterflies danced about the room, and the floor was a soft, green lawn. Above the crevice, where seeds were likely to float in, a tuft of hardy mountain grass grew like mistletoe. There were fruit trees, and flowers, and a peaceful bower with a vast, plush sofa. Terry sank into it gratefully. A fountain danced behind them.

“You don’t mind, do you?” Terry asked. “We’re exhausted.”

“No, no, make yourself at home,” Arabelle said. “I so rarely get visitors.”

“I wonder why,” Gregor muttered.

“Wash your sword in the fountain, if you wish,” Arabelle said. “The waters will grow clean again.”

So Gregor dipped his sword into the fountain, and red ribbons snaked from it for just an instant, then dissolved as if they had never been there.

“We’re rather on a quest to meet you,” Terry said, “or someone like you,” she added.

“Are you?” Arabelle said. “You had quite a funny way of getting here!”

“Indeed,” Maurice replied. “That was my fault. But it’s true—we’re here to see you, I think. The kingdom is great danger, and we need your help.”

“Ah, the kingdom!” Arabelle replied. “Who was it that was king last time I visited? I think it may have been your grandfather, your highness!”

“So you know who I am?” Terry said.

“The family resemblance is unmissable,” Arabelle replied. “Now tell me, what type of trouble are you facing?”

Briefly, Terry told her that the evil wizard of the north had returned, intent upon destruction of the kingdom. She told of the undead army he had raised, and the flying wraiths, and the wraithlords. Finally, she told of Old Tom, and their quest to find the suncaves, where the grass grew upside down.

Arabelle listened intently. “So old Zyzzyva is up to his tricks,” she said. “He never could let go of a grudge. I always hoped his studies would mellow him, but of course I was wrong. I’m sorry to hear about your troubles,” she said, “but I don’t think I can help you.”