Suddenly, there was a loud clanging of the village bell. The music trailed off and the dancer’s stared at each other at first uncomprehendingly, then with a dawning horror as they began to hear the wretched wailing along with the chorus of the bell. It was a hellish din, made worse by the screams and the cries of the villagers, so recently rejoicing, as they gathered their loved runs and rushed into their little homes.

Terry placed her hand protectively on the pouch that held her only powerful weapon—the golden ball.

“Will they be safe in their houses?” Terry asked Gregor.

He shook his head doubtfully. “Maybe against one, or two,” he said. “But this is a horde, bent on destruction. Come we must take down as many as we can—it’s too late to run. We’ll make our stand in the village green.”

“How much time do we have?” Terry asked.

“Moments,” Gregor said. “Let’s go!”

They ran from the tavern down the narrow path to the green, still strewn with festive paper and ribbon from the day’s games. A thin, shadowy figure was already in the center of the green.

“Maurice!” Gregor said. “What are you doing here? You should be inside, with the rest!”

“I can help you,” Maurice said, grimly. “I’m a cleric, aren’t I? Give me your axe.”

Gregor handed over his axe, and Maurice muttered over it, then took a small vial of holy water from his pouch and sprinkled the axe head with a few drops.

“This is more than a blessed instrument, now,” he said. “Your axe has the power of a relic.”

“Wow,” Gregor said, “I should have come to you to bless my weapons a long time ago!”

Maurice smiled, tightly. “It usually takes a pretty huge donation to the abbey to get this kind of charge.” He turned to Terry. “Hurry, and let’s bless your weapon.”

“Mine was blessed by Old Tom,” Terry said, and brought out her golden ball.

Maurice saw it, and his eyes opened wide. He looked at Terry closely, and in a characteristically quick movement, snatched off her cap. Her curls tumbled out.

“Your highness,” he breathed. “The prophecy.”

“What?” Gregor said.

But there was no time for Maurice to respond, for at that moment, the horde of wraiths was rushing out of the forest, down the hill and into the village. Seeing one of them was enough to make a brave man or woman feel rubbery in the knees and loose in the bowels, but the sight of the horde made all three of the brave defenders feel a sense of fear that bordered on madness. Their unearthly faces were so similar to each other, with the hollowed eyes that were mere ragged holes in their wispy faces, like a horrid vision one might see briefly in a cloudy night sky with a full moon. Like their faces, their bodies were unsubstantial, with the exception of their long, thin arms and fingers which reached forward madly and seemed skeletal and fleshless. They floated rather than walked, and while they caused no physical damage, their presence would drain the life out of any human being in their proximity.

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To face one in the forest was frightening enough, but the people who lived there were accustomed to the danger and felt safe in the village. But this strange horde—dozens of them—floating and gibbering and reaching out for nothing--they were clearly seeking to feed on the life energy of the villagers, and if enough of them surrounded one of the thatched homes, the family inside would simply collapse and die slowly.

“We must keep them away from the houses!” Gregor shouted. “Hey, you damned miserable wraiths! Over here!”

When the horde saw what they assumed were easy prey, they ceased surrounding the homes of the villagers and began to float towards the village green.

“It’s been very nice knowing you,” Terry said, suddenly, as politely as if she were still at court.

“Courage, courage!” Gregor said. “The game is not over yet.”

As Gregor encouraged her, Maurice brought out a small book and began to recite from it in a language Terry did not understand. She recognized it suddenly, as the ancient language of her kingdom. A small bubble of light floated in front of them, growing larger and larger as the cleric recited, until it encompassed them all—barely.

“The orb of light will protect us,” Maurice said. “But we must engage with the wraiths in order to keep them from the villagers.”

“Can you fight, then?” Terry asked.

Maurice shook his head. “I can only protect you.”

Upon the village green, the tight orb of light illuminated the three figures, while surrounding them in the darkness, the forest wraiths shrieked and wailed.

“Then let us fight!” Terry said, and stepped out of the light, wielding her ball. She threw it with perfect aim, and the ball ran through three wraiths on its outgoing path. Then she stepped to the side and the ball on its return ran through another two. Feeling the first sickening qualms that told her she was weakened, she stepped back into the orb of light. The shrieking was deafening, and under the noise, Maurice kept up his recitation, maintaining their protection.

“Are you okay?” Gregor asked.

“Never better,” Terry said, and grinned.

Gregor nodded, then he himself stepped forward out of the protective light, wielding his axe. Terry was amazed to see it. The power of the relic blessing made the edge spark with brilliant silver bursts, and when Gregor wielded it, it seemed to have the same power as her golden ball. One touch of the axe under this spell and the wraith collapsed into nothingness. Gregor swung mightily and eradicated four of the wretched creatures before retreating to the orb of protection. Maurice kept up his recital.

The battle continued this way in a blur, as Gregor and Terry methodically handled as many wraiths as they could, and Maurice recited his spell of protection. Though the wraiths could not hurt them much in a single round, the cumulative effects of the battle began to impact both Terry’s and Gregor’s fighting skills. Without skipping a moment of his speech, Maurice tossed a bottle of already mixed healing powder and water to Gregor, and then grabbed another for Terry. They gulped them gratefully and kept battling.

Then Terry noticed that the circle was diminishing. Maurice’s voice was growing fainter and fainter, as the energy required to keep up this spell was beginning to take its toll. There were just too many of them. The more they killed, the more wraiths appeared.

“What can we do?” Terry asked. “We’ll never be able to beat all of them.”

“We must battle the leader,” Gregor said. “Look—there he is on the top of the hill!”

Terry and Gregor looked up, and saw what looked like a forest wraith, only twice the size of the other ones, with three heads and six arms.

“If we battle him, the other wraiths will run away,” Gregor said. “Quick! We have to do it while Maurice can keep the protective orb going.”

They began to run up the hill, and the wraiths ran after them.