Instead of moving towards the front door, Maurice went around the back, and tapped gently on two wide doors that seemed to lead to a root cellar.

“Hardale? Anyone?” he said. “It’s Maurice. I’m here with friends. We need shelter.”

For a brief moment, there was no response, but then suddenly the wide door creaked open, and Maurice saw wan faces staring up at him from out of the cellar, lit by flickering lamps.

“Come in,” they said.

“Let me get me friends,” Maurice replied.

Terry and Gregor saw his gaunt figure return to them from out of the darkness. “I found them,” he said. “They’re hiding in the root cellar.”

The three of them descended the stairs, where about 10 clerics were gathered, sitting at a wooden table in the middle of the room, on the floor, or in chairs that had been quickly dragged downstairs. The head cleric gestured them to the table and they sat down.

“The sky grew dark with flying wraiths,” head cleric Hardale said, as he poured them cups of wine and gave them a loaf of bread to pass around. “We’ve been hiding ever since.”

“The wizard of the legend has returned,” Maurice said grimly, breaking off a piece of bread, and Hardale nodded.

“Yes,” he said. “We’ve had so many generations of peace.” He shook his head. “We’re so unprepared. How fares the city?”

“The duke is dead, and many with him,” Maurice said. “I have some hope for the abbey, for Hemdale.”

“And where are you traveling?”

“We’re headed north. This one, she speaks to Old Tom. He’s told her we must be four to fight the wizard. We’re on a quest to find the final member of our team.”

“And he is north?” the cleric said. “But—it’s an evil place.”

“No place is truly good or evil,” Terry said quietly, and Hardale looked at her with sharp eyes.

“A warrior princess,” he said, and directed his next question to Maurice. “Does she know the prophecy?”

“No, she does not,” Terry said. “And maybe she does not want to, not right now.”

Maurice and Hardale looked at each other. “That’s reasonable,” Maurice said. “Perhaps it’s just a distraction.”

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

They were interrupted at that moment by a heavy thud. Gregor had been trying to keep his eyes open, his head propped on his hand. But sleep had overcome him, and his head dropped to the table with a thump! He sat up suddenly, rubbing his eyes.

“If you choose to accept the danger, you can go upstairs and sleep in one of our beds,” Hardale said.

“Damn straight I’ll accept the danger. Nothing’s keeping me out of a bed tonight,” grumped Gregor. “I almost got hanged this morning, you know.”

Hardale looked at Maurice and Terry. “It’s a long story,” Maurice said.

“I’ll sleep upstairs, too,” Terry said. “I have my weapon.”

All three climbed the stairs to the main abbey, while the clerics cowered below. One dorm-like room contained many beds, and Gregor collapsed into one, stomach first, then jumped up like he’d been bit. “This cursed brand!” he said, flipped over onto his back, and started snoring.

Terry sat on the edge of a bed, while Maurice stared out the window into the soft, dark night.

“They’re so afraid,” he said. “I think it might be the shock of it. But how will we ever fight off this evil when our magic defenders are cowering in a basement?”

“We’re leading by example,” Terry said quietly. “I hope.”

Maurice was about to answer when a faint rumbling filled the air. He pulled back from the window. “Get down!” he hissed.

Terry hit the floor, while Maurice rushed over the Gregor’s sleeping body and pushed with all his might. Gregor flopped to the ground, and Maurice flopped down next to him.

“Hey!” he said.

“Sh!” Maurice said. “Listen!”

The drumming grew louder, and louder, and unearthly shrieks filled the air. Crawling on his elbows, Maurice edged over to the windowsill and peeked over, then slid back down, his back to the wall.

“It’s an undead army, raised by the wizard no doubt” he said. “Riding their horses from hell. They must be headed to the northern capital, to finish off what the flying wraiths started this morning.”

Terry crawled over and peered out the window. It was a ghastly sight. An unearthly greenish light came off of the hell horses, pale with red eyes, shooting fire out of their nostrils. Upon each horse was a black-robed figure, featureless and horrible but for its skeletal hands. The hoods of some horse riders had blown back in the wind, and Terry could see their skulls grinning in the greenish gloom. Each one had a sword by its side, and some brandished them as they rode.

“There’s so many of them,” Terry murmured.

“Yes,” Maurice said. “They will sweep through the kingdom, no doubt.”

Gregor groaned, lying face up on the floor next to his bed. He seemed to have no desire to witness the ghastly troops. “Can you tell me how a day like today can possibly get worse for me?” he said.

The troops continued, wave after wave of skeletal, spectral warriors, and it was hard not to feel discouraged at the mere numbers. Maurice and Terry watched helplessly, peering from the window.

“After all,” Terry said. “What could we do? Chase after them?”

“And endanger the clerics below?” Maurice added. “No, if they’re not interested in taking down the abbey, it’s better to lay low.”

As he said it, something heavy and flaming shot through the window, breaking the glass. It landed on one of the soft beds and the entire bed burst into flame.

Gregor stood up, grabbing a quilt and beating at the bed with all his might. As he did, another firebrand entered. Maurice began to mutter, and a golden orb grew, but not before yet another firebrand hit the room.

Terry rushed down to the basement, to rouse the clerics. She threw open the door in the kitchen and yelled down.

“The abbey is on fire!” she shouted. “You must save the abbey!”