Then King Theophile leaped down and rushed forward to see what was
frightening the animal; and all at once he crashed against something
hard, and his broken right arm fell to his side. He grew gray, not with
pain but with sheer terror, for he could see nothing, yet his arm had
been broken upon a substance that felt like granite.

As he gazed wildly about him, he saw the first phalanx of his army pitch
back with bleeding foreheads; and their eyes rolled in amazement, for
they could see nothing, yet they had driven themselves against stones.

"On! On!" cried King Theophile, for he trusted again to his senses which
revealed only a peaceful landscape and in the distance, haloed with the
mists, a calm army waiting and smiling. That smile of the foe was like
poison in the King's veins, and again he rushed forward, this time to
bruise and cut his head, so that the blood poured over his white mantle.

Then he grew faint with fear as he beheld his soldiers clawing the
empty airs and turning horror-stricken countenances to him. "Sire,"
they whispered, "something is holding us back. Something is here that
we do not see!"

At that moment the air-spies dropped to the ground like tired birds. "The
wind holds us back," cried one. "No!" exclaimed another, "we broke our
machines against a wall miles in the air! This is a bewitched country."

"We will wait and try again," said King Theophile.

So they encamped on the spot, and far off in the haze they saw the other
army pitch its tents, and they heard the soldiers singing. All night
their banners waved in the wind and the faint music continued.