Terry, Gregor, and Maurice strode along a narrow but well-kept trail, with the forest bristling on either side of them. Maurice had convinced them to return to his abbey, where there was a vast library and an old and knowledgeable head cleric.

“If anyone knows any old legend about upside down grass, Hemdale does,” he said.

It seemed as good an idea as any, and to Gregor and Terry’s relief, the road to the abbey was marked and clear. They had entered the village from the forest, but they exited on a lovely little path, one that would take them to the capital of the northern province. This was the location of the abbey with the great library, along with a considerable castle, home of the Duke and Duchess of the Northern Kingdom. Terry admitted to herself that she was excited to see the city. While there were bigger cities in the kingdom, the great library there was well-known and the opportunity to poke around in there was a valuable one.

After only a few hours on the trail, they noted that it grew wider, and signs began to pop up every once in a while. There was even a crossroads, or two.

“We’re truly in civilization,” Gregor mused. “Not my favorite place, but okay.”

“You’re fine, wherever you are,” Maurice assured him.

When they came upon a little inn, Terry noted the position of the sun in the sky and proposed they stay there for the night. They ate and drank with much merriment, and promised each other that they would be on the road by dawn. Terry and Maurice were ready, but Gregor refused to rise from his comfortable bed.

“Too early,” he moaned. “Won’t the library be there tomorrow?”

With much effort, they dragged him up and shoved hot coffee down his gullet. He grumped along with them in the chilly dawn, the pale buttercup morning light illuminating his unhappy expression in a way that seemed almost teasing.

“How many days must we travel, anyway?” he said. “A woodsman chops and fights, but he does not simply walk and walk!”

“Alone, I would be there by now,” Maurice said, with a small smile. “With the three of us, we could arrive tonight if we choose to walk by moonlight. Otherwise, tomorrow.”

“Oh, let’s walk tonight,” Terry said. “The moon is still bright—and I don’t want to have to get Gregor up again, that’s for sure.”

“Ha,” Gregor said. “Yes, let’s get our travels done.”

The morning and afternoon passed uneventfully, with no change save for the continual broadening of their path. Soon, it was a road. Horse- and mule-drawn carts passed by occasionally, creating a new hazard.

“Phew,” Gregor said, wrinkling his nose at the sight of a horse expelling its bowels just a few steps ahead of them. “I can watch where I step, but how do I watch where I look?”

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“Or where you smell,” Terry added, as they passed by the fresh manure.

“Let’s walk single file, on the edge of the road,” Maurice said.

Now there were more farmsteads than forest, and the road was busier than ever. Terry felt her heart lift at being in civilization. The people seemed prosperous, and the farms were well kept, with haystacks dotting the fields.

“It seems the wraiths did not come this close to the city,” Terry observed.

“Oh, the clerics and others work hard to keep spells of protection in force,” Maurice said. “And every one of these farms probably hired a cleric to bless their fields and barns. With all of those spells clustered together, it creates quite a repellant.”

“It’s nice not to worry about being attacked,” Terry admitted.

“Is it?” Gregor said. “I’d hazard there are just different enemies here. Perhaps even more dangerous than the forest wraiths.”

“Spoken like a true man of the woods,” Maurice said, and laughed.

Comforting as the farms and inns were, when the sun finally sank behind the horizon, the shadows became far more sinister, and clouds scudded over the waning moon, keeping its light from illuminating their path. True to their initial plan, the three trudged on in the night, minding their path. Suddenly, around midnight, they heard the drumming of horse’s hooves. It was definitely more than one horse.

Maurice said not one word, but slipped into the small drainage ditch beside the road, where thankfully only a trickle of water remained. Terry and Gregor followed him. They crouched, slightly, while the horses thundered by. Then, suddenly, the horses stopped. Maurice put his finger to his lips.

“Surely we’ve gone too far!” one of them announced.

“Perhaps they’ve stopped for the night,” another one said. The coarseness of his voice made Terry realize who they were. Brigands, out to rob innocent travelers of their gold. He sounded like Gregor, if Gregor had gone bad and decided to rob people instead of chop wood.

“Ah, I wanted that bag of gold!” another one said, and it became clear to the travelers that not only were they hearing the voices of brigands, but that they were searching directly for the three of them! They’d paid with gold coins at the inn last night, and Terry remembered the avaricious glance of the innkeeper at their bag. Perhaps he was in cahoots with the gang, giving them information about travelers so they could be robbed on the road.

“Maybe they’re faster than they looked. Let’s go on for a bit,” the leader said. “In any rate, we won’t find any fat travelers to loot while staying in one place!”

And in a drumming, clattering rush, they were gone.

“Why did you have us hide?” Gregor demanded. “We could take them.”

“And then what?” Maurice said. “This isn’t the forest. We’d have to report to the constable, maybe stand for a trial … not to mention dealing with any brigand who would seek revenge.”

“Maurice is right,” Terry said. “We don’t want to fight robbers.”

“It seems we may have no choice,” Gregor said, grimly. “Unless you want to bed down in this drainage ditch.”

Maurice stood up and peered about. The clouds blew away from the moon for a brief moment, illuminating a small farmhouse and barn in the distance.

“We’ll take shelter in the barn tonight,” Maurice said, “and be at the abbey before noon.”

So they did. In the morning, it was certainly easier to raise Gregor from his bed of hay than from the comfortable feather mattress he’d had at the inn the night before. “Paid for with his share of stolen money, no doubt,” Gregor grumbled, brushing some hay out of his hair as they trudged along in the pale morning. But the idea of imminent arrival had cheered them all, and they were almost enjoying themselves when a golden carriage rumbled passed them.

“That must be the duke,” Terry said.

Then to their surprise, the carriage stopped, and the door swung open furiously.

An elderly man in a high white wig and double breasted velvet jacket with matching breeches perched on the top step of the carriage. He carried a whip in one hand, and his face was thunderous.

“You!” he said.

And he pointed straight at Gregor!