And then, somehow, some way, they three of them pulled themselves onto the top of the mountain. Safe at last.

The king began his climb up the steep, rocky cliff. The ropes attached to his waist began to strain as he quickly fell behind the two men attached to the other ends of the ropes, who were climbing faster than he was. His general looked down and paused, fingers gripping the rocky cliff with all his strength.

“Your Majesty… everything all right?”

“No. I mean, yes… I don’t know.” The king gasped, sweat making his fingers slip on the rocky surface. “I’m not sure I can do this.”

“You can. You must.” The general tugged on the rope. “You will.”

The king continued climbing, one hand slowly in front of the other. His heart was beating wildly, his breath short. He glanced down and his head began to swim. They were high enough now that falling would almost certainly spell death. How could his weary muscles continue to support him? And if he fell….

Suddenly, the rope around the king’s waist went slack. That could only mean one thing. He hugged the side of the mountain, flattening his body against the rocks as a body hurtled past him, screaming. One of the soldiers attached to him had slipped and fallen.

The king clung to the mountainside, the general above him. The weight of the soldier below them pulled mightily around their waists, threatening to rip them both off the mountain and to their doom below.

“Your Majesty! Your dagger! Use it! Use it now!” the general shouted.