Maurice began muttering his protective incantation until they were protected, and Gregor and Terry prepared to fight. Seven wraiths emerged from the mountains to surround them, and the battle began. These mountain wraiths were far scarier than the forest wraiths, if such a thing were possible. They were larger, and while the forest wraiths were ghoulishly pale, these wraiths glowed with a fiery red color. Their eyes were coals, and when Terry emerged from the orb to throw her golden ball, she noted immediately the sickeningly strong drain of her life forces, even with her newfound strength and magic armor.

“These things are so strong,” Terry shouted at Gregor.

“So am I!” Gregor shouted, and rushed at them with his iron sword and shield. The wraiths screamed in agony at the thrust of his sword, and Terry was surprised. It seemed they hated that iron sword. Maybe it was a special type of wraith-killer. Its advantage was a nice surprise. Terry gulped a healing potion and stepped out of the orb again, flinging her ball in an arc, as she had done against the flying wraiths in the northern capital. It was an effective move, and all but one wraith disappeared. She retreated back into the orb, and Gregor finished the last one off, the echo of its screeches finally disappearing into the air.

“Nice job, Gregor,” Maurice said.

“Thanks!” he said. “I shall call this sword the wraith-destroyer.” He placed it back in its hilt, satisfied, as the night returned to peace. Then he saw something that glittered in the light of the Terry’s ball. “Is that—mountain gold?”

“Oh, yes,” Maurice said. “That is one thing the mountain wraiths have in common with their forest cousins—a love for gold. All ground wraiths love gold. And the mountain wraiths tend to carry more.”

“I’ll say,” Gregor replied, scooping up a small fortune of coins, then producing a burlap bag from his satchel to pour them into.

“Isn’t that heavy, Gregor?” Terry asked.

“Not for me,” Gregor replied, and placed the now-full burlap bag into his satchel, delighted at his treasure.

“How long until we reach the hermit’s cave?” Terry asked.

“Maybe an hour,” Maurice replied. “We really must hurry. We can’t be out here fighting mountain wraiths all night. We’re stronger than they are, but they will wear us down eventually.”

They moved as quickly as they could up the mountain trail, as the night grew even more still and cold. Soon, Terry heard the sound of shrieking again, and the three of them had to battle yet another seven mountain wraiths. Gregor’s burlap bag was filled to bursting. He grunted.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“This is heavy,” he said.

“There’s no place to spend this gold up here,” Terry said.

“I don’t care,” he said. “If you’d been in and out of debt to your home village for the last 20 years, you wouldn’t leave gold lying around either.”

Terry let it go. If he wanted to carry it, she guessed that she understood. Then she heard the screeching again. This time it was four mountain wraiths they had to battle. They were getting tired, and Maurice began to look worried.

“I was hoping we’d be there before having to wage so many battles,” he said. “This is getting ridiculous. I think they’re smelling us on the road. Maybe I should go ahead—see how far we’ve got.”

“No way,” Terry said. “We need your protective spells.”

“Argh,” Maurice said. “What’s the point of these sandals of Mercury if they don’t benefit all three of us?”

“Hm,” Terry said. “I have an idea.”

“What’s that?”

“Let Gregor wear them. He’s the slowest. Then both of us can run as fast as we can naturally and he’ll be able to keep up.”

“AND keep my gold,” Gregor said.

“I don’t know,” Maurice said. “They might not work for him. They were a gift to me—”

“Let me try,” Gregor said.

“Anything to speed up this journey,” Maurice said, and produced the sandals from his satchel. Gregor took off his tough woodsman’s boots and stuck his hairy toes into the delicate leather of the sandals.

“Don’t break them,” Maurice said, before he could stop himself.

“I’m not going to break them,” Gregor replied crossly.

“Try to run, Gregor, see how fast you are.”

And Gregor disappeared down the trail! Surely, he didn’t go in a blur, but he was still at least as fast as Maurice and Terry at their top speed naturally.

“This just might work,” Maurice said. “Let’s run!”

And so the three travelers disappeared down the road in a flash, eager to eat up the remaining miles until they reached the hermit’s cave. Though they still heard screeching, they were determined not to stop unless the mountain wraiths completely blocked their path, and the strategy seemed to work. Soon, they were at the base of a winding path that went straight up the side of a mountain, branching off of the path that they had taken so far.

“Is this it?” Terry asked.

“According to the maps, yes,” Maurice replied.

“That was fantastic!” Gregor enthused, removing the sandals and returning them to Maurice, who took them with a wrinkled nose. He put his boots back on, and said, “One more climb!”

They began the long, slow climb to the hermit’s cave.

“How long has it been since the hermit has been to the northernmost abbey?” Terry asked.

“Not sure,” Maurice replied. “A decade, maybe.”

“That’s a long time,” Gregor observed.

“Eh, not for a hermit,” Maurice said. “It’s kind of their thing. Not being around people.”

They climbed and climbed, and the waning moon gave its best light of the night to them. “Not long now,” Maurice said.

“Wait,” Terry said, looking at her golden ball.

“What?” Maurice asked.

“I didn’t notice because the moon is stronger here,” Terry said. “But the light—the light of the ball. It’s growing faint,” she said. “That means we’re going the wrong way..”