"So, wait a minute. You bet leadership of an entire tribe on a magic show?"

"Well, not really a show, but yes. When the old leader of the tribe dies, we have a magical contest for leader."

They were seated in a much larger tent than they were used to. Thorog had ushered out what Katters guessed were servants or something similar, and it was just her, Zebra (nursing a nasty bump on his head), Bartholomew and the Ohruk.

"And by returning," Zebra continued, "you somehow won?"

"It's complicated, but yes. That's what it boils down to."

"So, um, why didn't you mention this before?" Katters asked.

"I didn't need to. And you might've got ideas about ransom."

"Us?" Zebra attempted to look innocent. "We'd never do such a thing!"

"And I never had to find out if you're as good a liar as you seem to be."

"Were you always going to come back and rescue us?" Bartholomew asked.

"Well, I didn't know you were going to get ambushed, but yes, I was going to rejoin you and hopefully stop the war before it started."

There was a bark from the guard outside, a reply, and the tent flap parted.

"And now I can hopefully stop it anyway," Thorog concluded. He stood and gestured to the trio. "Come with me."

He led them outside, where several guards formed up around them. Another passed Thorog a cloak of some thick fur that he draped over his shoulders.

"What're we going to do?" asked Zebra as they walked through the camp.

"Your friend the captain of the Vrenian regiment is going to act as our envoy."

"Darak? But I thought you killed him!"

"Just a sleep poison. Although he'll have a hell of a headache. You'd better keep quiet through this, though. It's mainly tribe stuff."

They entered a clearing in the village of tents. Around the edge of the clearing sat and stood the survivors of last night's ambush, along with quite a few of Thorog's tribe. Darak was kneeling in the centre of the circle, bound and flanked by yet more Ohruks. As they emerged from the tents, everyone stood. Thorog motioned for the trio to stay in the circle, and strode out into the centre with Darak.

"I am Thorog," he proclaimed, "son of Gornag, son of Toshag, and I call this trial to order. The human identified as Darak is charged with making war upon the clan of Thorog, a charge..."

Katters let the proclamations wash over her. She really didn't care too much what happened to the captain, and the Ohruks were more fun to watch anyway. The remainder of the tribe that had got ambushed last night (as far as she could ascertain, there was no name for any tribe except "the tribe of Bob", and when Bob got killed, you were no longer part of a tribe) were acting very subdued, while Thorog's lot seemed to strut about like they owned the place. She guessed the two tribes would merge now, which would definitely make Thorog happy.

Her gaze drifted to Zebra, who was trying not to yawn as Thorog launched into a fourth paragraph, and to Bartholomew, who'd given up trying and looked like he was going to fall asleep soon. She flicked the back of his neck, and snapped her eyes attentively onto Darak as the boy turned around. At least he was awake now.

Darak seemed the most attentive of everyone there. Which was excusable, considering his position as accused. She had no idea what the usual penalty for ambushing a tribe of Ohruks and killing most of them was, but she could guess. Idly, she wondered how far Thorog had got.

"...for attacking a tribe, four years indentured servitude to the tribe..."

Ah.

"...and for threatening to kill non-combatants wards, death."

Darak paled, but to his credit, he didn't immediately start begging. There was an expectant hush around the circle, as if an invisible "however" hung over them.

"However," Thorog continued. There was a muted sigh from the crowd. "The tribe of Thorog recognises that Darak was obeying orders given by the state of Vrene, which is in violation of the Plains Treaty. Thus if Darak is prepared to publicly admit Vrene's involvement in such deception, the tribe of Thorog is prepared to lift the sentence of death."

Darak lifted his head at this. Katters guessed he'd been given understanding of Ohurkish like they had for this. "You don't have any proof of that," he said to Thorog. "Even if you forced me to say such a thing, no one would believe you."

Thorog nodded to Katters. She blinked, then realised what he wanted. She stepped forward, lifted the translation amulet from her neck, and cast it dramatically into the dirt.

There was a swell in the noise from the crowd. She stepped back, satisfied.

"Nice dramatic throw," Zebra said.

"Thanks." She grinned.

"This was found on a scout near the Hilltop-Vrene border, just south of Maulinn's Ford. It allows the wearer to speak Hilltop. The entire scouting party wore them. Is this evidence enough for you?"

Darak slouched again, then nodded.

"Will you accept the offer?"

He nodded again.

Thorog let his gaze sweep the crowd. "Is there anyone who disputes this ruling?"

No one spoke up.

"I am Thorog, son of Gornag, son of Toshag, and I pronounce this trial closed."

There was a sudden surge in conversation. Guards escorted Darak away, and the crowd thinned as those on the outskirts left to do whatever they'd been doing before. The trio threaded their way through the crowd to where Thorog stood, surrounded by his guards again.

"What next?" Zebra asked.

"Next," Thorog said, "we get you a trip home."

* * *

Magic, Katters reflected, should be showy. When you cast a spell, there should be whirling colours and funny smells and possibly a pentagram, if it was that kind of spell. It shouldn't be a bunch of Ohruk shamen sitting in a circle staring at each other.

The portal, she had to admit, was pretty good. It hung in the air, shimmering white and blue, and thinner than an anorexic in a trash compactor. Zebra was busy exploring the here-again gone-again physics of one-way portals, moving his head from side to side and watching the thing phase into and out of existence.

"Katters," he said, "it only-"

"Yeah, exists from one direction only. Let me guess, you can see me through it from the other direction?"

"Yeah! It's weird!"

"Quiet for a bit," Thorog said. "We'll try to connect now."

Bartholomew sidled up to Katters as the Ohruks closed their eyes. He grabbed onto her hand as Zebra walked over to stand on the other side. The white-blue of the disk gradually faded through to purple, intense black, grey. And then the grey gradually resolved itself into a sight dear to her heart.

It was the pie shop, nestled in between the neighbouring buildings. The windows of the barbershop upstairs leered out at her, in stark contrast to the open, inviting shop-front windows of the ground floor. The outside staircase leaned drunkenly out from the wall at one point. The outside tables were dirty and someone had nicked one of the umbrellas, but it was still home.

"Are we there?" Thorog asked, eyes still closed.

Katters attempted to answer, but found a lump in her throat. She coughed. "Yeah, we're there."

Thorog opened his eyes and stood up. "It takes a bit to open it, but keeping it open is easy," he explained. "I'm sorry it took you so long to get home, but I kept my promise."

Katters nodded. "You did."

They stood around awkwardly. Zebra coughed, and made a detailed examination of the grass.

"Well," Katters said eventually, "I guess we'd better get going."

"It's been nice meeting you," Zebra said. "Well, apart from the sleeping out in the open. And surviving on berries. And I guess the guards, the long treks through the wilderness, getting involved in a brawl, running for our lives through back-alleys, rappelling out of windows, living off beef jerky, getting captured, riding bareback, being ambushed, getting captured again and being knocked out. But the other bits were good."

"There's a saying in Ohrukish. 'If you're not afraid for your life, you're not living'." Thorog grinned.

"Well, I think I'm up for a bit of not living for a week or two, if it's all the same to you." Zebra nodded to Katters. "Are we off?"

Katters nodded. "I guess we should be."

There was a noise from her left. She looked down, and saw Bartholomew standing there, hands behind his back, shuffling his feet.

"Um, could I go with you?" he asked nervously.

Katters looked at Zebra. "I don't know," she said. "We don't really need another hand in the bakery."

"I can survive on my own!" Bartholomew said. "But, through there," he pointed at the portal, "it looks exciting! I mean, being in the army is exciting and all too, but you keep getting captured and stuff, and, well, I don't really like the being killed bit."

"Smart kid," Katters said.

"So can I?"

Zebra shrugged. "Why not?" he said. "I could do with someone to keep the razors clean. It's a horrible job."

Bartholomew grinned, ran over to Thorog, and hugged the Ohruk around the legs. "Thank you for taking me on an adventure!" he said. Thorog looked slightly confused, but patted the boy on the head.

"You'd better get going," he said.

Katters nodded, grabbing Zebra's arm in one hand and Bartholomew's in the other. "Come on," she said. "I'm dying for a pie."