The three travelers jumped to their feet and Terry and Gregor drew their weapons, but there was no time—or space—for Maurice to put up a golden orb, and to their back was only the bridge and the gorge. And what could a rapier and an iron sword do against this creature, even if the weapons had magic properties? He was not necessarily evil—he just seemed to be in charge of the bridge. There was nothing to do but negotiate.

“Apologies, rock guardian,” Maurice said. “We—uh—didn’t know we had to get your permission.”

“Yeah, we didn’t know,” Terry said, giving Maurice the side-eye. “Why didn’t we know?”

“I don’t know!” Maurice said. “It wasn’t in the maps! The clerics don’t know everything about these mountains!”

“Clearly,” Gregor said.

“Silence!” the rock guardian replied.

“Can we get your permission—retroactively?” Maurice suggested.

“No!” the rock guardian thundered. “The damage has been done.”

“So what are you going to do with us?” Terry said.

“Throw you into the gorge, of course,” the rock guardian said casually. “Now, who wants to go first?”

“You don’t want to throw us into the gorge,” Maurice said persuasively.

“Yes, I do,” the rock guardian replied. “More and more, in fact. You first. You talk too much.”

And he lifted Maurice in his great stony arms and prepared to hurl him over into the gorge.

“Wait!” Terry said.

“What now?” the rock guardian said, pausing, with Maurice above his head.

“We—uh—did get your permission. Don’t you remember?”

This was enough to give the rock guardian pause. “You did? When?”

“Didn’t you get our note?”

“Note! Ha! Rock guardians can’t read! You’re trying to trick me!”

“Argh!” Terry said, then tried one last ditch effort.

“I am her royal highness Princess Teresa, daughter of the King, whose territory includes these northern mountains! I have permission to cross this bridge as my birthright!” Teresa stood tall and proud. Her pearl helmet glittered in the sunlight, as did her golden curls below it. In that moment, she looked like a queen, dressed as a knight for a portrait.

If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

The rock guardian then did something astonishing. He put Maurice down, and genuflected in front of the warrior princess.

“Your highness!” he said.

“Oh my god, it worked,” Maurice said.

“I apologize,” the rock guardian grumbled. “This is your father’s territory, up to this very point. That is why I guard the far side of the bridge. My job is mostly to keep the northern creatures from crossing down. But—no one crosses the bridge—either way—without my permission!”

Maurice became uncharacteristically angry. “This! This is what happens when the king keeps royal magicians! Going about, conjuring random rock guardians, with no communication with the clerics! How many cleric bones can be found down this gorge?”

Terry shrugged. “Don’t make this about politics,” she said. “Go ahead and rise, rock guardian,” she said. “How can others receive your permission to advance in the future?”

The rock guardian looked suspicious. “I will tell you, your highness, but you must be sure that you are careful with the knowledge.”

“I will be,” Terry assured him. And he bent his great rocky head to hers and whispered in her ear.

“Thank you,” Terry said. “I won’t go around telling everyone.”

“You’re welcome,” the rock guardian said, and they continued their journey. Terry waved a cheerful farewell while the other two were a little less enthusiastic.

“Well, what did he say?” Maurice asked.

“Not much. I’ll tell you later,” Terry said.

“Royal magicians,” Maurice muttered. “Making a mess of things, as usual. Magic is for clerics.”

“Is this professional jealousy?” Terry asked, thinking of the royal magicians of her own court. She’d always thought they were pretty cool, with their long blue robes emblazoned with constellations in gold thread.

“There is no need for magic powers to be allocated to two entirely separate government departments!”

“Maybe you’re right,” Gregor said, just to make him stop.

They continued their climb along the dusty trail, and the sun set in a flash, as it does in the mountains. The moon was past its half full mark now, waning.

“Will your golden ball work now?” Gregor asked.

Terry took it out. Its light was useful enough to use, and so they walked as they were guided by it. Terry knew that the northern mountains were supposed to be frightening, but she couldn’t help but be struck by their beauty. The air was crisp and the pines were fragrant. She could hear the soft wings of an owl as it dived for its small prey. She noted again how sharp her hearing had become, then on impulse put her ball away in the pouch for a second.

“Hey! What did you do that for?” Gregor said, stumbling on a rock.

“I just wanted to see something real quick,” Terry said. “And I can. A lot of somethings.”

“What do you mean?” Maurice said.

“I can see in the dark pretty well, now,” Terry said.

“Well, we can’t,” Maurice said.

“Yeah, golden ball please,” Gregor added.

Terry brought it back out and they continued up the trail. As she could not test her new visual acuity, Terry contented herself with hearing the sounds of the forest. She felt peaceful and happy. Maybe it was the distance that they had from the terrible war that was raging below them. Up here, none of that seemed even possible.

Then, to her ears, came a wailing that seemed horribly familiar.

“Do you hear that?” Terry said.

“No,” Maurice said, then paused. “Yes,” he said. “I do now.”

“What is it?” Gregor said. “It sounds like forest wraiths.”

“Mountain wraiths,” Maurice corrected him. “Up here, connected with the power of the ancient wizards, they’re so much stronger. How many do you think there are, Terry?”

“I don’t know,” Terry said. “But it’s definitely more than one.”

“Let’s hope it’s not a swarm,” Maurice said, and the three of them prepared themselves for battle. They stood back-to-back-to-back on the forest trail, and waited, as the shrieks grew louder and louder.