The green flag fluttered in the air, and Terry flexed the muscles in her thighs, pushing as hard as she could to get started. They were to circle the village green four times. For the first dozen paces, the runners stayed in a crowded bunch, but almost immediately the group began to break up into its faster and slower runners. To her relief, Terry saw that she was keeping pace with Maurice and a couple of others, while the crowd of runners fell behind and a few stragglers huffed and puffed at the rear. Now they were about to complete their first circuit, and Terry felt good. Maurice and another villager were ahead of her, but only by two paces, and they were not gaining. She kept her composure and maintained her pace, her feet pounding on the village green. By the time they completed the second circuit, their relative position had not changed.

In the third circuit ,Terry sensed that she was ready to take the second runner. She felt an inner strength and agility that she knew had come from her brief time of fighting wraiths. The girl who had tossed a golden ball around only a couple of days ago, while athletic, would not have been able to outrace the fastest man in the village, let alone keep pace with someone who was probably the fastest man in ten villages. I am a warrior, Terry thought, and she used the phrase as her mantra, letting it match the rhythm of her run.

As they neared the corner on the third circuit, Terry overtook the second runner, keeping pace with him for a good ten steps until he finally fell back. The villagers cheered at the young stranger who was giving Maurice a run for his money. Maurice paid no attention. He was running to win, as always, and he was used to the competition for second place occurring behind him.

Now there was only one circuit left, and Terry saw that she was in the fight of her life. Her upper arm throbbed painfully where the boar’s tusk had wounded her, and she began to feel the effects of the damaging fights they had experienced the day before. A night’s rest had not completely healed her, after all, and she fought within herself to find one last bit of reserve energy to try and overtake Maurice. As they rounded the first corner, she noted with gratitude that he had at least not pulled away yet. Her feet felt heavy as they pounded relentlessly on the soft grass of the village green, but her will was strong.

As they neared the second corner, grinding it out, she noted in some blurred recess of her mind, the place she could still think, that she had gained maybe a half step on him. Was it possible? Could she beat him? Maurice paid her no attention—he just ran, as effortlessly as when the race had begun. She could hear half the crowd cheering her name, and the other half going for Maurice. For the villagers, this was truly the height of the competition—even better than the tournament of squires.

At the final corner, she caught up with him. Now, they were only running until the edge of the green, where the final flag awaited them. She could see the figures in the distance, jumping up and down. Straining every muscle, she directed her energy to running towards them. She glanced to the side to look at Maurice, and found that he was also looking right at her.

Then, to her surprise, he did something she never expected him to do.

He winked!

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He actually winked at her.

Before she had the chance to respond, Maurice picked up his pace and flashed to the finish line, a full three paces ahead of her.

He had only been playing with her, trying to make it a good show for the villagers. Truly, she’d never had a chance of winning.

She rushed through the finish line, and in a brief moment the rest of the villagers finished with her, and crowded around Maurice in delight.

“He’s got the devil’s speed,” one of the villager’s said, admirably. Unlike Gregor, they were able lift him onto their shoulders and burst into song. Something about the fastest man alive. It was catchy enough, with a familiar melody.

The fastest man alive

The fastest man alive

Hi-ho-the-derry-oh

The fastest man alive!

Then it was time for another round of cheers. Terry was not participating, busy as she was with catching her breath. She panted heavily with her hands on her knees. Gregor came behind her and clapped her on the back.

“Good show,” he said, beaming.

“Aren’t—” huff—“you—” huff—“disappointed?” Terry asked.

“Not at all—” Gregor said. “The odds of you placing second were five to one!”

“You bet on me—for second?” Terry asked incredulously.

Gregor smiled. “No one can beat Maurice,” he said, and shrugged. “Not even you. This might be hard for you to believe, but I had faith in you—with my eyes open.”

“How much did you bet?” she asked, standing up and breathing a bit more normally.

“25 gold coins—all we had left,” he said. “Damn it to thunder, I wish I hadn’t made such a big scene giving my prizemoney to that red-faced storekeeper! I would have bet it all. Ah, well, it gets me out of debt, with a little extra.” He grinned. “Five to one! Excuse me while I collect,” he said, bowing deeply to Terry and making his way into the crowd.

The little village didn’t usually have evening celebrations, being so close to the dangerous forest, but tonight was an exception. They little tavern in the inn kept its doors wide open as the people of the village wandered in and out, chatting and singing and quaffing great steins of ale. A small band started up, with a fiddle, a squeezebox, and an accordion, and some people began to dance. Still in her male clothes, Terry stood on the edge of the crowd, sipping an ale that had been well-fortified with healing powder (a freebie for all contestants) enjoying herself and feeling up to her top strength for the first time since she sat at Old Tom’s fire. More so, because of the number of wraiths she had killed. Some villagers looked at her out of the corner of their eye, and she could tell that they were curious and shy about her. She felt for the first time that she had changed the loneliness of a princess for the loneliness of a warrior. It was the same detachment from regular, joyous life. Yet, there was still something in it for her that fed her soul. She cheersed a random villager and drank a draught to the sound of the squeezebox.

Gregor broke off his dance with Vivian and sauntered towards her, half full of ale. “Vivian says you make a handsome boy,” he said, and laughed. “Better be careful, one of the young village girls will set her cap for you!” His eyes twinkled merrily.

Terry was about to reply when a faint sound struck her ears, under the music. Far away as it sounded, it still chilled her to the bone.

“Listen,” she said, and there was something in her tone that made Gregor do just that.

Sure enough, under the sound of the rustic orchestra was an evil chorus of wails, barely audible but growing louder.

“That’s the sound of wraiths,” Terry said, and it was not a question.

“Many wraiths,” Gregor agreed grimly. “Coming straight toward the village.”

“But isn’t it rare for them to attack in groups? Is it still because of Old Tom’s visit?”

Gregor shook his head. “Wraiths here wouldn’t have been affected by that—I’m afraid it’s something worse.”

“What?”

“They’re traveling with a leader.”