Terry didn’t sleep, but merely lied down in her bed, watching for the first pale grey light of dawn. When it arrived, a fresh wave of sorrow struck her, but it did not bring tears. Instead, a bleakness overtook her, and she dressed mechanically. A knock at her door revealed a cleric holding her new armor. She put it on with no joy, in spite of the glorious jeweled hilt and helmet. The she slipped a brown robe over her armor and went to join Maurice in the foyer. He and Elwood were already waiting. Maurice had every map and potion he could carry, and Elwood’s robe bulged suspiciously over his heavy iron armor.

“Hemdale bade us farewell,” Maurice said. “He and the other old clerics were up all night casting spells—they’re exhausted, and they know they must prepare for what comes next.” He looked grim. “I’ve never seen him so worried,” he said.

The three stole out the door and walked along the wide cobblestone street, its silence in the cold dawn a pronounced contrast to its noise in the busy afternoon before. Elwood’s armor clanked and squeaked as they proceeded, until they approached the courtyard that held the gallows. Here, there was a small crowd, for word had gotten around that the notorious highwayman would finally face the gallows, and he had apparently been quite a scourge to the cities and towns of the surrounding countryside.

“Getting what’s coming to him, he is,” someone muttered on Terry’s right, and his companion agreed.

“Now perhaps we can travel the road safely at night,” another said. “Good riddance.”

Though the executioner was prepared, there was no sign of a tumbril yet, and the crowd began to grow a bit restless. As they whispered and grumbled, impatient at the wait, Terry spied a somewhat familiar face in the crowd. It was the innkeeper with the soft feather beds—the one that Gregor figured was in cahoots with the real highwayman!

Terry began to elbow her way through the crowd towards him.

“Where are you going?” Maurice said.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, and pushed and jostled her way to the side of the innkeeper. He was a little man with a cherubic face and big brown eyes.

“Do you remember me?” Terry said abruptly. The little man looked at her with a puzzled face, then his eyes lit up.

“Of course!” he said. “You stayed at my inn a few nights ago! Here to see the highwayman hang, eh? Did he get you, too?”

“It’s not him,” she said. “They have the wrong man.”

“Oh, really?” the little innkeeper said casually. “How odd! Well, the duke is one for his accusations, although he doesn’t usually carry it this far.”

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“They’re hanging my friend Gregor by mistake,” Terry said. “He stayed the same night I did.”

“Oh, yes, the big man,” the innkeeper said. “With the bag of gold. So that’s who the duke thinks is the highwayman.”

“Yes!” Terry almost shouted. “You must tell the duke that he was staying at the inn!”

The innkeeper chuckled. “My dear, even if I wanted to, how could I? The duke watches the executions from his vantage point in the castle. He never comes down here, amongst the people.”

Just then, a fanfare of trumpets were heard, and a burly group of four soldiers strode towards the crowd, each of them shouldering one corner of an elevated chair, its inhabitant concealed behind a curtain that encircled him.

“That must be the duke,” Terry said. “Come!”

And she half dragged the little innkeeper towards the chair, as he protested.

“This man has something to tell the duke,” she said to one burly soldier.

“Well,” the soldier grunted. “What is it?”

Terry turned to the man. He looked up at the soldier and said, “I have no idea what this cleric is talking about. I think she’s mistaken me for someone else.”

“What? No!” Terry turned to the soldier. “He knows this man is not the highwayman—he knows it’s a mistake!”

The little man turned white. “I know no such thing,” he said. “Now let me go!”

And he dashed off into the crowd.

“Stop bothering the duke with your nonsense, girl,” the soldier growled. “And be grateful there’s one last highwayman to rob you of your gold.”

Terry returned to where Maurice and Elwood were waiting. Maurice patted her on the back and said nothing. And the tumbril finally arrived.

Gregor’s massive hands were bound behind him, and he bounced and bobbed in the tumbril as it neared the gallows. His head was high though, and his eyes were clear. Terry’s heart broke at the sight of him, and a small noise came out of her.

“Courage,” Maurice said softly.

They prodded him out of the tumbril at swordpoint, and he slowly climbed the steps, then stood on the gallows and scanned the crowd. The crowd, enraged at the sight of the supposed highwayman, tossed rubbish and rotten food at him, but he retained his dignified stance as he was splattered and stained.

“Gregor the highwayman,” the executioner intoned. “You are accused of robbing not only the subjects of the kingdom, but the Duke himself of his prized possessions. No longer will you terrorize the kingdom. No longer will you dare to steal from a duke. Do you have any last words?”

“I am innocent,” Gregor said simply. “I am no highwayman.”

“Gregor!” Terry shouted into the din.

Gregor looked over the crowd, and saw his friend. “Farewell,” he said, and Terry knew that he said it to her. “I regret nothing!”

Then the executioner slipped the hood over his head, and Gregor spoke no more. There was a deep pause, and the crowd went silent. For an eternity, Gregor stood, waiting for the floor to drop under him.

And Terry knew what she what she must do. In spite of the great and vicious attack that would soon decimate the kingdom, in spite of the fact that she knew down deep in a place beyond her consciousness that this was not the right time, the sense of loyalty and honor to her friend drove her to make a terrible decision. She took a deep breath.

“Old!” she cried as loud as she could. But before she could finish his name, the executioner froze in place, his hand on the trap door lever, staring straight up at the sky. Along with the rest of the crowd, Terry and her friends followed his gaze.

The morning sky was dark with flying wraiths.