Adventures end like this:

There's something needs to be done. Everyone knows it needs to be done. And the tension's been slowly tightening, tightening. Everyone's on edge. Everyone's ready for something. And then it happens.

Katters awoke with a start, clutching at her covers. Or she would have done, had she had covers. As it was, she'd fallen asleep in her clothes (clothes which, she was reminded daily, she hadn't changed out of in almost a week), so instead she awoke with a start, clutching at her t-shirt. After a moment's reflection, she decided that all in all it looked pretty stupid to wake up clutching your t-shirt, so she let go and instead decided to work out what it was woke her up in the first place.

She sat up, held herself still, and listened. There was the muted breathing of Bartholomew to her left, and the rather less-muted snore of Zebra to her right. And behind them the occasional pop or splutter, the sentry's carefully-guarded fire outside of their tent, stoked to provide a minimum of light and a maximum of warmth. The sentry would have heard it, she decided, and crawled over to poke her head out and ask him.

The first thing she noticed when she stuck her head outside was that the sentry was gone. The second thing she noticed was the addition of a sentry-shaped body slumped on the ground near the fire, with his head at a very odd angle. She didn't bother hanging around, because in her experience things like this came in threes and the third item tended to be large imposing figures threatening you with weapons.

"Zebra!" she hissed, shaking him by the shoulder.

"Mrnmlgh," he replied, turning over.

"Zebra, wake up, you....you....thing!"

"G'way, mum."

"Look, I'm sorry it had to come to this." Katters grabbed his shoulder in one hand, and slapped him hard on the cheek with the other.

"Gwargh!" he said, flailing. "I'm inno-"

Katters clapped her hand over his mouth. "Shhh!"

Zebra's eyes focussed on Katters, then darted from side to side. She removed her hand. "What is it?" he whispered.

"I was going to insult you but I couldn't come up with anything."

"Um....cowardly, snivelling excuse for a human?"

"I guess that works."

"Anything else?"

"Don't think so. Oh, yeah! Right! I think we're being attacked."

"We're what?!"

"Shh! It's a surprise!"

"What're you planning on doing?"

"Well, I thought we might get the hell out of dodge while we can. I don't like hanging around fighting."

"Who's fighting?" asked Bartholomew, eyes wide and watching the two of them.

"I don't know yet, but at a guess, I'd say the folks we're following. Grab your stuff."

Their stuff consisted mainly of the clothes on their backs. Katters cautiously opened the tent flap and had a look around. No one in sight but their dead guard. She gestured the other two out into the dim firelight. "I'll check the scouts' tent," she said, "grab anything off the guard." She slunk around the fire into the shadow of the other tent, and quietly raised the flap. The red glow flickered off the inside of the tent, the ground, and the complete absence of the two Vrenians.

"They gone?" Zebra asked behind her. She nodded. "The guard had a sword of some sort and a crossbow," he continued.

"Well, at least we can frighten someone now. Let's try to get out of the camp."

Katters led the way around the tent and away from what she thought was the centre of the Orhuks' camp. The sky above them blazed in a fury of stars and constellations, but down at ground level everything was dark. Even the occasional campfire, a red speck from twenty feet away and nearly invisible from any further, wasn't enough to light the terrain. They were sheltering in the shadow of a low-slung tent when there was a shout from behind them, quickly followed by the scream of someone with terminal steel poisoning, and a cry in Ohrukish. Light blazed from somewhere behind them, a hungry yellow flicker that clashed sharply with the mellow reds of the guard fires.

"What do you reckon we do now?" Zebra asked. He held the sword at his waist, slightly away from his body as if afraid it'd turn on him. Bartholomew was holding the crossbow, a reasonably light model that would still punch a hole in you if you weren't careful. He seemed pretty nonplussed by the thing.

Katters slipped a hand into her pocket and fingered the scalpel. "I reckon now we run."

And run they did, for about ten feet. Then there was a shout ahead and Katters, aware that as cool as it is to have a flight scene where the main characters duck from one shadow to the next, narrowly avoiding attackers and escaping with seconds to spare from burning tents, the scene infinitely cooler is the one where they stay in the shadows, avoiding all the near-death stunts, and wait for the insanity to die down, pulled Zebra and Bartholomew in behind another tent.

"What's the plan now?" Zebra whispered.

"Don't get killed."

"I like this plan. Details?"

"Wait until the rush of people armed with sharp objects is gone, and leg it."

"Cool."

They sat in silence, as armed men rushed down the pathways to either side. Bartholomew swung the tip of his crossbow back and forth nervously.

"You OK with that?" Zebra asked.

"Yeah. I just squeeze this here, right?"

"Yeah, err, just not while you've got it pointed at me, OK?"

"OK."

The rush of people slowed, then stopped. The clash of metal on metal and cries of wounded sounded from further into the camp.

"Right," said Katters, standing. "Let's go." She stepped out of the shadow of the tent, into one of the soldiers, and immediately fell over. The man cried out and looked down the alleyway. Bartholomew raised his crossbow, and fired. There was a thunk, and the soldier's hand flew to his stomach. A red stain completely failed to appear on his uniform. He glanced down and, seeing he wasn't hurt, grabbed Katters by the shirt. He drew a knife from his belt and held it to her neck. The meaning was clear.

"Well," Katters muttered to herself. "So much for that plan."

* * *

"Why didn't you run?"

"Maybe because he was gonna slit your throat."

"But you still could have run."

"But now we're all together and alive!"

"And also tied up."

"Well, yeah. But alive. Alive is good. And also sticking to your plan."

They were in the middle of the camp, along with the survivors from the tribe. Surrounding them were the attackers, speaking Vrenian and walking amongst them. A fire had been built up nearby, illuminating everyone with its yellow-white glare.

"What happened to the crossbow?"

"I don't think it had any bolt in it."

"Well, that's a bit stupid."

"I'm not used to dealing with medieval weapons! Anyway, I didn't see you doing any good."

"I was busy not getting killed, thanks. Did they take your sword?"

"Yes."

"Damn. Got anything to work with?"

"Nope."

"Bartholomew?"

"Nope. They gonna kill us?"

"Doubt it. If they were going to, they'd have got it over with."

There was a commotion over the other side of the fire, as several soldiers in more elaborate uniforms escorted a tall figure towards the prisoners. The group slowed as it reached the orcs, but continued straight for the trio.

As the figure approached, the firelight showed it to be another soldier, tall, dressed in a cloak and uniform. He was talking quietly to one of the guards with him, while three others surrounded him. They came to a halt in front of them.

"So," he said, "these are our prisoners. I'm Captain Darak, and I'll be your captor for today." He grinned. "Cut their bonds, I doubt they'll be able to do much to me here." Two of the soldiers hurried forward and sliced through the ropes binding their hands. Katters massaged her wrists as he continued.

"Now, what should we do with you?" He hunkered down in front of them, one each of his escort standing on either side of him, and the other two remaining behind the captives.

"Let us go?" Zebra asked, in his best Innocent Victim voice.

The captain put his head on his side. "Well, I guess I could. But, see, I hear you've been spreading false rumours about this little army of ours."

"Rumours?"

"Yeah. Like we were going to invade Crossroads, or we wanted bits of Hilltop for our own. We wouldn't do that. But we can't have people saying that, can we?"

Katters shrugged. "I guess not?"

"What if we promise not to tell?" asked Bartholomew.

"Well, I can't really trust you, can I? I've only just met you. Plus I've heard things about who you travelled with before you met this merry band."

"Anything else you got out of your scouts?" Katters said. "Our shoe size?"

Their captor grinned. "Now, now. They were only doing their job."

"So what're you going to do?" Bartholomew asked.

"Well...I think the only real solution is to make you all disappear. No more prisoners, no more problem, am I right?" He grinned. "Fetch me my sword," he said to one of his escort, who saluted and jogged off.

"You can't do that!" Zebra cried. "That's murder!"

"Well, that depends, doesn't it? Everyone knows greenskins are savages, and look what they've done to their poor prisoners."

Zebra lunged, and just as suddenly, one of the soldiers clubbed him in the back of the head. He collapsed to the ground.

"Now now, no need for that. Either of you two going to try anything?" He looked at Katters and Bartholomew, who did their best to look innocent. "Good. And here's my sword." He stood up and turned.

Katters drew, aimed and threw in one movement. The scalpel glittered in the firelight as it turned end-over-end through the air. It hit Darak right between the shoulder blades and, had it hit blade-first, would have buried itself in him. Instead, it bounced harmlessly off of him onto the ground. He stopped, turned slowly, and picked the knife from the ground. Katters froze, aware she had just signed her own death warrant. Granted, he was going to kill them anyway...

"I thought you said you weren't going to try anything," he said. "I'm disappointed."

On the ground beside her, Zebra groaned. "Well," Katters muttered to him, "it was worth a try, right?"

"Hold them!" the captain ordered. The soldiers hurried around behind the prisoners, one grabbing each of them and one standing behind them. "For that insult, I think I'll kill the boy first. Bring him forward."

Bartholomew started crying as he was dragged forwards. Zebra struggled weakly, but the blow to the head had clearly knocked his senses from him for the moment. Katters sat there, arms held behind her, looking for an escape route.

"Aren't you going to do anything?" Darak asked her, drawing his sword. It was long, thin and polished - more a fencing weapon than a fighting weapon, she reckoned, and she doubted he'd used it at all that evening.

"Well, there isn't much I can do, is there?"

"You could at least try to save the boy."

"And get myself killed sooner? No thanks."

He grinned. "You know, if we weren't enemies I think I could-" He stopped, and blinked. His hand came up to brush his neck, and Katters saw a small dart fall from where it had lodged itself just below his ear. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

And that was the moment the camp erupted once more into shouting. This time it was Ohrukish, and Katters heard demands to surrender. Darak slumped to his knees, and his escort rushed over to him, leaving the trio unbound. The captain was still opening and closing his mouth silently.

"I said you were supposed to keep the kid alive."

Katters turned, and found Thorog looming out of the darkness.