But before Terry could say yes or no, Elwood came back. “Hemdale will see you now,” he said. He glanced meaningfully at Terry. “Both of you,” he added.

Maurice raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. They followed the brown-robed cleric down another long, narrow corridor. This one led to a chamber lit by an oil lamp. Wooden chairs lined the walls and a rough-hewn rug made the stone floor slightly more comfortable. Elwood walked over the rug to the other side of the room and rapped gently on a wooden door. A calm voice replied.

“Come in,” he said.

Elwood opened the door and gestured them in, then closed the door behind them.

The room was draped with tapestries, red and gold, and Terry noticed that instead of illustrations, they were decorated with a beautiful calligraphy of the old language of the kingdom. Hemdale the Head Cleric sat behind a vast mahogany desk. A small fire burned in the grate to their right, and oil lamps lit the windowless room. Like the waiting room, a rug softened the stone floors, but this one was far richer and luxurious. Two padded chairs faced the desk, and he gestured towards them. Terry and Maurice sat down.

Hemdale was of average height and looked to be about 60. He was bald, with the exception of tufts of gray about the ears. His eyes were piercing and brown—eagle eyes, his brow was heavy and his nose was sharp. There was a sense of great intelligence to the man, but also a sense of unflappability. He had seen it all. His slender fingers rolled up the scroll he had been scanning, and he directed his attention towards his two visitors.

“Maurice,” he said. “This is a surprise. You were assigned with distributing healing potions and collecting alms throughout the northern villages of the kingdom. We didn’t expect you back until the next full moon, at least.”

“Great violence has come to the northern villages,” Maurice said. “I’ve come to tell you that the wraithlords have returned.”

Hemdale made no response, but an even greater stillness seemed to emanate from him. “But that’s impossible,” he said. “Not without—”

“Yes,” Maurice said. “I believe they were conjured.”

Hemdale turned his eagle eyes toward Teresa. “And you, your highness, what has brought you here?” Terry started. “Yes, I know who you are. Your disappearance has been the talk of the kingdom. The queen maintains that you departed by choice, but the king believes you were kidnapped. Were you kidnapped?”

“No!” Teresa said. “I just—well, I met Old Tom.”

“She talks to him,” Maurice said to Hemdale. “He appears to her.”

“Really,” Hemdale said, quietly. He turned to Terry. “Is this so? You claim to see Old Tom?”

Terry bristled. “I claim nothing. If you don’t believe me, that’s not my problem.”

“Show him the golden ball,” Maurice said.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Why?” Terry asked.

“Just do it. Sir, you should take a look at this,” Maurice said.

Terry looked at the two of them. Hemdale still looked like he didn’t believe her, but Maurice stared at her with pleading eyes. Relenting, she took the ball out of her satchel and handed it to the head cleric. He turned it over and over in his hands.

“The prophecy,” he said.

“That’s what I thought, too,” Maurice said. “We fought wraiths together, she and I and a woodsman named Gregor. A wraithlord summoned a horde, and they attacked the village where the three of us were staying. We fought the horde, and I used all the healing potions I was supposed to distribute to keep the three of us alive. That golden ball you’re holding killed the wraithlord.”

“And Gregor’s axe,” Terry added loyally. “Sir, I don’t know anything about a prophecy, but our friend is in trouble. The wraithlord dropped a ring—wraiths love gold—and the Duke saw it on Gregor’s finger, riding by in his carriage. He insisted it was his and dragged our friend away.”

Hemdale looked very serious. “I’m sorry to hear that your friend has been made a victim of the Duke, but truly if what Maurice says is true, that is the least of our problems.”

“It’s not the least of my problems,” Terry said. “And I don’t care about any of the rest of this right now—not until Gregor is free! Maurice told me we should talk to you first, but I am ready to go to the Duke’s myself and demand Gregor’s release as Princess Teresa—he won’t dare to defy me.” She tossed her curls, and her blue eyes glittered.

But Hemdale was unmoved. “Oh, he won’t?” he asked her. “I already told you that the king thinks you were kidnapped. Why won’t he just believe that this Gregor was your kidnapper, and that you’ve grown strangely attached to him? It seems approaching the Duke would hasten the demise of Gregor, instead of freeing him. ”

Terry’s heart sank as she realized the wisdom of Hemdale’s words.

“Well, what are we to do then?” she said. “We must free Gregor! You can forget about me fulfilling any prophecy until we rescue our friend.”

“I will speak to the Duke,” Hemdale said. “I must, anyway, if there are wraithlords about. We have to double, triple our spell protection, while shoring up our physical defenses. From now on, no one in the kingdom walks at night, and the city gates will close at dusk. I doubt if he’ll return the ring, but he may well set Gregor free.”

“If it’s really his ring, then he should have it,” Terry said, and to her surprise Hemdale laughed.

“It’s probably not,” he said frankly. “The Duke thinks every beautiful and expensive bauble belongs to him. He’s constantly accusing people of stealing jewelry, so that he can seize it. Who can refuse a duke?”

“Oh,” Terry said, disappointed. That wasn’t very noble of him.

Maurice laughed. “It must be funny to see your distant cousins from the perspective of a commoner,” he said.

“Yeah, hilarious,” Terry said.

“Now that I’ve promised to help your friend,” Hemdale went on. “Perhaps you could tell me something of what you and Old Tom have been discussing.”

Terry shrugged. “I met him on the royal lawns, the first time. And when my mother found out I had seen him, she was sad. She said it meant I would have a hard life, something like that, I guess. Then that night I couldn’t sleep, so I wandered out into the forest. Old Tom was there. He told me I would be a warrior princess. And the idea—well—I liked it. He told me I needed to fight wraiths. Then I didn’t see him again until the morning after we fought the wraithlord. He told me—” she broke off, and glanced at Maurice.

“Go on,” Maurice said.

“Well, he told me that an evil wizard was returning, someone who had spent 500 years in the north, perfecting his spells. Someone who’d had his heart broken and turned evil, turned against humanity.”

“Ah,” Hemdale said. “That’s—a familiar story.”

“Yes,” Maurice said. “Isn’t it.”

“What else did he say?”

“He said that there needed to be four of us to fight the wizard. He said that Maurice, Gregor, and I were three, and that I would find the fourth where the grass grows upside down.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Maurice said. “We returned here so that I could ask you. Do you have any idea?”

The old cleric looked thoughtful, and the two waited impatiently for his reply.