Terry slipped out from under the covers and opened the door a crack. It was a little barmaid—she had seen her downstairs. They had spent no time at the inn’s tavern, weak and broke as they were, but Terry had caught a glimpse of the charming, black-haired girl, who smiled winningly as she delivered pint after pint of ale to the thirsty villagers.

“Yes?” she said. “Can I help you? We already paid, and we want no supper—just sleep.”

“Yes, no supper,” she said. “I know if Gregor wants no supper, then he has no coins!”

Terry sighed. “We’re just not hungry,” she lied.

The barmaid giggled. “You don’t have to put on airs with me,” she said. “I want to be your friend. I think I can help you. Here—” she said, and thrust a handbill in Terry’s hand. “I’ll not disturb you anymore,” she said. “And take this,” she said, and pressed a buttered roll into Terry’s hand. “You look like you need it. Now I must be off—I’m missed already, I’m sure!”

She rushed back down the stairs, leaving Terry with a crumpled handbill and an equally crumpled roll. Terry closed the door and sat on the edge of her bed, munching on the roll. She smoothed out the handbill and read it carefully.

Hear ye, Hear ye

The Summer Games Will be Held

The First Saturday After the Full Moon of June

Races!

Games!

Tournaments!

Prizes for the Winners!

Come one, come all!

Terry thought. The full moon had just passed—and tomorrow was Saturday! So the village had games and competitions every summer. Did the little barmaid think they could win? She seemed to know Gregor, so maybe she thought he could win, at least. Clutching the handbill, she curled up and finally fell asleep.

When she awoke, Gregor was gone. She went downstairs and found him in the tavern, indulging in a huge breakfast. He gestured for her to join him.

“Vivian’s treat,” he said. “She tells me she met you last night.”

“The barmaid? Oh, yes.”

“The barmaid, yes. Also, the innkeeper’s daughter,” Gregor said, and winked. “She’s got a soft spot for me. Probably the only one in the village who does. She says I must keep up my strength if I’m to win the axe throwing competition.”

“So that’s the plan,” Terry said. “What’s the prize if you win?”

“150 gold coins,” he said proudly.

“But that’s not enough,” Terry said, and Gregor looked troubled.

“I know,” he said.

“Maybe there’s a competition I could win,” Terry said, and Gregor stifled a smile.

“You’ve got skills, for sure, with that magic ball,” Gregor said, “but there’s no wraith-killing competition. You must run, or fight, or have the aim of a god, like I do,” he said, proudly.

“I can run,” Terry said.

“I’m afraid the women don’t run in the competition. Only the men. And you can’t beat a man running.”

“Maybe I can,” Terry said, thinking of the feeling of increased strength after the last wraith killing. And the night’s sleep combined with the last swallow of healing powder had done her a world of good. “I think I should try, anyway. I’ll disguise myself as a boy.”

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Gregor shrugged, and laughed. “Okay by me. You’re helping pay off my debt, after all. If we both win, we can pay off my debt, buy some healing powder, and maybe even have a little left over to replace your leather jacket with something more durable.”

“That would be great,” Terry said, ruefully. She didn’t love the tear in her jacket, and besides it was proof that the leather was not nearly enough protection out in the forest.

Vivian came to clear the dishes. “All fueled up for the competition today?” she asked Gregor sweetly, and kissed his cheek.

Gregor stretched, and patted his great belly. “I’m ready to throw my axe straight into the bullseye!” he said. “Vivian,” he added conspiratorially, in a hoarse whisper. “My companion here wants to compete in the games, also.”

“But she’s a—”

“Yes, I know. But it would really help old Gregor if you could help her. If you know what I mean,” he said.

Vivian looked Terry up and down. “My brother is about your size,” she said slowly. “Come with me.”

In a few moments, Terry emerged from Vivian’s rooms looking like a dewy youth. A cap held in her long, curly hair. The disguise would never have been convincing if Terry had just stepped out of the castle, but her brief time in the forest had toughened her up, and if no one looked too closely, perhaps she could just get away with it.

They wandered over to the village green, where people were already gathering for the competition in the late morning sunlight. Gregor’s presence was grudgingly accepted, as it was understood that if he won, all prizemoney was returning straight to the village. He signed up for the axe throwing contest, then ushered Terry over to the edge of the green, where the race would begin.

“This is my friend Terry,” Gregor said. “He’s shy, but he wants to run in the contest. If he wins, he’s pledged to help me pay my debt to the village!”

After that, there was much backslapping and handshaking, and Terry’s name was added to the roster of competitors. The race would be held at sunset, as the last game of the day. Meantime, there would be plenty of other games to keep them occupied, with individual competitions such as axe throwing in the morning and tournaments on horseback in the afternoon.

“I’ll be glad to get mine out of the way,” Gregor said.

“Are you so sure you can win?” Terry asked.

Gregor guffawed.

Sure enough, when it came time to throw axes, no one in the village could come close. Or almost no one. All of them could throw a bullseye at 10 feet, but half were gone by 15 feet, and by the time the competition increased to 20 feet, there was only one man left—an older, skinny man with a squint and arms of steel. He took a deep, slow breath, paused, and hurled his axe through the air with incredible strength and precision. It landed directly in the bullseye, and all eyes in the village turned to Gregor. Terry held her breath.

Gregor, however, seemed completely unconcerned. He spat into his meaty palms and rubbed them together as if he were enjoying himself immensely. Then, with a great affectation of carelessness, he hurled his axe like a toy at the target.

It split the man’s axe clean in two.

The village erupted in cheers, all vestiges of their frustration at Greg disappeared in the joy of the competition.

“Gregor! Gregor! Gregor!” they cheered, and would have put them on his shoulders, but for his immense girth. The old man bowed with grace at his defeat, and the cheers grew even louder when Gregor immediately handed his bag of 100 gold coins to Cyril the shopkeeper.

“Now you owe me 128 gold coins,” he said, but in an almost friendly manner. He, too, was caught up in the good-humored energy of the day.

Gregor, Vivian, and Terry spent the afternoon watching the rest of the games. Terry liked the tournaments most. While the little village was too small to receive much attention from the nobility, a couple of local squires had still shown up in their finery, keeping to themselves in their canopied pavilions and watching the action from a distance. The eldest sons of both squires jousted in the square, much to the delight of the villagers.

“Have you ever seen anything so royal?” Vivian breathed, and Teresa held back a smile. These squires with their noses in the air would bow to the ground if they knew who she was. To be honest, she preferred it this way. She remembered them from her 18th birthday. They’d been rather uncouth. Her father had refused to invite the elder sons to court her older sister, in spite of their interest. The queen mother had wanted to give the young men a chance, but the king had refused. “We have dragon blood, after all,” he said.

But here they were in their glory, and to be honest it was glorious to watch them spar in the hot summer afternoon, the horses chuffing and panting as they charged each other. The game ended in a tie between the two, and the villagers cheered lustily.

It was drawing close to the time for the race—the final event of the day.

Suddenly, the cheering grew even louder. “What are they going on about?” Terry asked. She saw a tall, thin, balding man laughing and shaking hands with one and all. Gregor glanced over to the crowd and bit his lip.

“That’s Maurice, the cleric,” he said.

“Who’s Maurice?”

“The fastest man in the northern kingdom,” Vivian said. “I’m sorry, Terry. But with him running, you don’t stand a chance.”

“Hey,” Terry said, with a bravado she didn’t feel. “Don’t count me out yet.”

“We won’t,” Vivian reassured her, but there was something in Gregor’s eyes that was not encouraging.

So her steps were heavy as she joined the jostling men at the starting line. Terry guessed there were between ten and 15 runners, total, including Maurice. A man with a large green flag waited for them to get in place.

“On your mark,” he said.

“Get set.”

“Go!”