The boar emerged from the undergrowth, its beady red eyes suddenly focused with rage. Terry had a minute to realize that it wasn’t too terribly large for a boar, but its tusks were long and sharp, and it moved quickly for its size. Gregor rushed forward and swung his axe at the back of the boar’s neck in a mighty, sweeping gesture. The animal squealed horribly, and blood burst out of the wound in a fountain, staining Gregor’s axe. He wrested the axe out of the flesh of the boar’s neck and shouted, “Now, Terry, now!”

Feeling a knot in the pit of her stomach, Terry rushed forward and stabbed with all her might into the boar’s rib cage. Again, the boar squealed like a demon and the wound erupted with blood. As she pulled at her knife to retrieve it, the boar, still strong, twisted its body and jabbed at her with its sharp, cruel tusks. One tusk ripped through her leather jacket and tore into the flesh of her upper arm. Terry cried out—in more shock than pain—but still managed to retrieve her knife. She stumbled backwards and leaned against a tree trunk while Gregor finished off the animal, chopping its head off with another powerful blow of the axe. Blood erupted from the boar, staining the hands, axe, and tunic of Gregor, who breathed heavily as he stood over the beast, placing one foot on its quivering body.

“Are you all right?” he asked Terry, glancing back.

Terry was gripping her wounded arm to stop the blood. The gash was not too deep, but now that the boar was dead, she could feel the pain begin to throb throughout her arm.

“The tusk pierced my arm. I need to bind it up,” she said, as matter-of-factly as possible.

Gregor turned from the animal. “There’s fresh water near here,” he said. “Let’s go.”

They marched through the forest towards a nearby creek, where Gregor rinsed his axe and tunic. He ripped some material from the bottom and bound up Terry’s wound.

“That’s quite a tear in your jacket,” he said. “Leather’s not much protection for you, is it?”

“It’s more than I ever needed before,” Terry said, ruefully.

“And that wound—that’s your throwing arm,” Gregor added. “It’s not going to be easy throwing your golden ball against the wraiths until you’re completely healed.”

“Maybe I can take some more of your healing powder?” Terry asked.

“You can have as much as you want, of course, only that jar is almost empty. We have to find more,” Gregor said. “It will much harder for you to fight the forest wraiths until you’re completely healed.”

“Well, where can we get more?” Terry asked.

“The village,” Gregor said, and made a face. “Only, I’m not very popular there,” he said.

“Why not?” Terry asked.

“I’m in debt to the storekeeper,” he admitted. “The woodsman’s life is not an easy one. The boars leave no coins behind. I can exchange meat for goods, but the villagers say they’re sick of boar meat. They want coins. And I have none.”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

“You have what I just gave you,” Terry said.

The woodsman shook his head. “It’s not enough. And you’re in no shape to fight more forest wraiths right now.”

Terry was amazed at their predicament. Back at the castle, there was an entire room filled with bags of coins. She and her sister had played with the coins as a child, rolling them about, using them for game pieces, collecting them, putting the old ones into albums. To not have enough was simply unbelievable. How soft her life had been, in more than one way. She thought of the queen’s unhappiness when she confessed that she’d seen Old Tom. Maybe being without gold coins was a part of it.

And she could call Old Tom, but she didn’t think it was right. They weren’t in any danger—they just didn’t have any coins!

“How can we get enough coins to pay back the villagers?” Terry asked.

Gregor sighed. “I don’t know,” he said. “We cannot sell our weapons, and we have nothing else of any value.” He sighed again, and stood up. “Let us travel to the village, in any case,” he said. “Maybe we will come up with an idea along the way.”

“How far is it?” Terry asked.

“A half day’s walk. As it’s summer, we’ll be there before nightfall. The good news is, the closer we get to the village, the less dangerous the forest will become. But if we meet any boars, both of us will be climbing a tree.”

“What if we meet a wraith?”

“Then you will throw the golden ball as hard as your arm will let you,” Gregor said, grimly.

Slowly, they began their journey towards the little village, north from the castle, surrounded on all sides by dense forest. The forest rustled and hummed about them, and Terry’s arm throbbed as they walked on. While there was no way to gauge the exact time, as the forest blocked out so much light, as the hours grew on she could tell that the dim light grew slightly dimmer. Her feet were tired and she was hungry and thirsty, having finished her flask of water long ago. Gregor had forbidden them to stop at any point, understanding the need to reach the village by sundown, and so Terry had only grabbed a mouthful of bread or cheese when she could. The woodsman kept them moving at a rapid pace, partly to make it to the village by sundown and partly to stay ahead of the creatures whose home they were disturbing.

“Not far now,” Gregor murmured, and Terry felt a sense of powerful relief. Perhaps they could throw themselves on the mercy of these villagers—surely they would understand the dangers of the forest and help them.

“Maybe the villagers will show mercy on your debts,” she said to Gregor.

But he shook his head. “I think they’ve shown mercy enough on me. They told me to never return unless I had the ability to pay, and yet here I am, and with another mouth to feed beside me. But it’s no matter now,” he added. “Here we are.”

Without warning the forest opened up and they were at the top of a low hill. Terry could see that it was maybe an hour before sunset, the tail end of a beautiful long summer afternoon that had become a bright evening. Below them stretched out a little village of maybe 25 buildings, with narrow pathways between them and one main road that was wide enough for a horse or mule and cart. Most of the buildings were one-story thatched roof huts, but there were a few two-story buildings—the inn, the little village hall where the mayor lived upstairs, and the general store. Many people were outside at this hour, presumably bustling about finishing the business of the day. The women wore simple dresses of plain material but bright color, and the men wore brown breeches and white shirts. Some men wore jackets—Terry assumed they were the important men of the village.

“Well, here goes nothing,” Gregor said grimly.

But as they prepared to set foot down the hill and leave the forest behind, Terry heard a plaintive, wretched wail that was becoming only too familiar.

“Is that--?” she whispered.

“Yes,” Gregor replied. “Fight for your life, girl.”

From behind them, just on the edge of the clearing, a forest wraith emerged, its long fingers reaching toward them.