The forest was alive with the sounds of shouting and screaming and the clanging of metal against metal.

“This seems like a battle of all against all,” Terry said.

“Yes,” Gregor said. “Every step is dangerous.”

“Why do you think they revolted against you?” Arabelle said.

Gregor shrugged. “They’re criminals,” he said. “And I promised them a big battle for the king—then it seemed that we were fighting against him! Then I abandoned my headquarters—they may think I’m never coming back.”

“There’s another possibility,” Terry said thoughtfully.

“What’s that?”

“They found a new leader.”

The four of them were silent for a moment as they quickly moved through the woods, actively trying to avoid any hot spots while making their way towards Gregor’s makeshift command center.

“We should do some reconnaissance before we rush up,” Maurice said. “I’ll approach with the sandals. You three can keep going at a regular pace.”

“Yes, do it,” Terry said, and Maurice slipped on his sandals and disappeared in a blur.

They continued silently in single file through the raging forest, then suddenly a familiar screeching filled the air.

“Forest wraith,” Gregor mumbled.

“I never thought that would be the easiest thing I ever faced,” Terry replied, unconcerned about Maurice’s absence and reaching into her bag for her golden ball. Her hand shot to the bottom of the bag.

“My ball is gone,” she said—“it didn’t return to me after—”

“I got this,” Gregor said, not letting her finish. He attacked the forest wraith with his iron sword—blessed by the clerics—and the wraith disappeared, leaving a couple of coins. Gregor scooped them up by habit. “I never thought I’d be so casual about a couple of coins,” he added.

“My ball,” Terry said, aghast. “I need to go back and get it!”

“We can’t go back,” Arabelle replied. “We’re in the middle of a rebellion!”

“You have your saber,” Gregor observed.

“Maybe you’re not meant to keep it anymore,” Arabelle added.

“But—it’s my weapon! My first--”

Terry took a deep, shaky breath, and saw the level of concern on the faces of her friends. She tried to calm down. “It’s okay—you’re right—we can’t go back now anyway.”

A blurred figure came through the trees and appeared in front of them. It was Maurice! He was dirty, and he gripped his right arm tightly. Blood seeped through the fingers of his hand.

“Get him a potion,” Terry said, and Arabelle thrust a small bottle towards him. He drank it gratefully with his good hand, and the blood congealed.

“Thanks,” he said. “It’s bad out there. They didn’t just run off without you. They have a new leader. They’ve decided since they’re already fighting against the king, they’re going to keep it up. They’re afraid they’ll be executed as traitors if they stop.”

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

“Who’s leading them?” Gregor asked.

Maurice looked at him. “Remember the highwayman?”

“No,” Arabelle said.

“It was before you joined us,” Terry said.

“The one I was almost executed in place of,” Gregor said, and his hand went to his throat involuntarily.

“That’s the one.”

“Did you see him?” Terry said.

“No—” Maurice said. “I went up to where you had set up your headquarters. Your tent was guarded, so I moved around to the back of the compound. I could hear the two sentries talking about your army’s revolt. They said they didn’t trust you anymore, Gregor, because you abandoned them. Then they started talking about how happy they were that the quote-unquote real highwayman had showed up to lead them. Then they wished death to the king.”

“Oh my God,” Terry said. “But how did you get wounded?”

“The patrols are heavy,” Maurice said. “And I was listening to the conversation instead of being aware of my surroundings. I heard someone shout something about a loyalist and someone threw a knife directly at my heart—I turned sideways just in time, so it landed in my bicep. I pulled the knife out of my arm, and ran.”

In spite of the healing potion, Maurice still seemed a little pale from the shock. He sat down heavily.

“That goddamn highwayman,” Gregor raged. “How do I keep crossing paths with someone I’ve never met?”

“Did you hear anything about him while you were recruiting?” Terry asked.

“Rumors. Nothing more. None of his gang joined my army, but of course people knew about him. He’s famous across the countryside for his crimes. He’s bold. People admire him.”

“Did you hear anything about strategy?” Terry asked.

“Besides death to the king? Not really. They mentioned something about having to be on guard against the ogres and the trolls in the forest. The creatures are not on the rebels’ side—they’re just wreaking havoc without their wizard leader.”

“What about the witches?” Arabelle said.

“No idea,” Maurice said. “The sentries didn’t mention them.”

Darkness was descending on the already dim and cool forest, and with darkness, some of the chaos seemed to be subsiding, at least a little. The human army was holed up with their new rebel leader, and with the humans in a defensive mode, the trolls and ogres roamed the forest in a fruitless rage. Sometimes it sounded like they were fighting each other. As the forest descended into full darkness, the four of them considered their options.

“Arabelle, do you have any magic you can use against the trolls and ogres?” Teresa asked.

“Not without my wand,” Arabelle said.

“Do you think it disappeared with Zyzzyva?” Maurice said.

“Maybe,” Arabelle said.

“We just rushed off!” Terry said. “We should have regrouped, found our weapons—and now we’re out here hiding from the trolls and the rebels.”

“Maybe we should go back to the castle grounds,” Maurice said.

“No!” Gregor said. “We must attack the highwayman! He grows stronger by the minute!”

“What, right now?” Terry said, “In the dark? We’d have to use torches to find our way—and we can’t—we’ll attract the ogres and trolls. Oh, my golden ball!”

“My wand,” said Arabelle.

“My army!” added Gregor.

“Stop it,” Maurice said. “I’m the only one who got wounded today, and I am weirdly the only one not complaining! We can do this. Terry, you have your saber. I have all of my defensive powers as a cleric, plus healing potions. Gregor, you are up to full strength and full armor. And Arabelle—you have your—uh—persuasive skills. Considering what we’re going into, it’s a strength.”

“You’re right, of course,” said Terry. “We should attack at the earliest dawn.”

“But how will we be able to tell when it’s earliest dawn here in the forest?” Arabelle said. “No light reaches here until mid-morning, at least.”

“I will know,” Gregor said. “I’m a woodsman.”

They agreed to take turns keeping watch, although in truth they may as well have all decided to stay awake. No one could sleep. Terry couldn’t stop thinking about her golden ball, and the battle with the monster that had become her sister. Arabelle saw her platinum wand disappear into the folds of Zyzzyva’s robe again and again. Gregor brooded on his rebellious army and the highwayman who now led it. Maurice’s arm still pained him, and he was unwilling to waste another healing potion on it.

So lost were all of them in their own thoughts that they did not notice the faint rumbilng and crashing sounds. They were quite loud by the time the four of them leapt to their feet, and Maurice began the spell to create their golden orb.

Three ogres surrounded them, taking them by surprise. Before the golden orb could protect her, one of them snatched up Arabelle in his warty, calloused hand.

“Delicous!” the ogre yelled, and immediately brought Arabelle to his liverish lips, as her three companions watched in horror.