Samantha peered through the bushes as the formation marched up the narrow path towards her, totally unaware of her presence. Their formation hadn't changed. The eight goblins still carried the casket, grumbling as they struggled up the hill, whilst the three large orc warriors were spread out, one ahead, one to the side, and one bringing up the rear.

She nodded to herself and slotted two black arrows into her bow. Taking a moment to account for the slight breeze, she pulled the string back and released. Not waiting to see the results, she plucked another arrow from her quiver and in one smooth movement slotted it, drew and fired.

Cries reached her ears as the orcs in front and to the side fell, arrows embedded in their throats. The third attack hadn't flown so true though, and the last warrior was bawling orders as he pulled the barb out of his shoulder.

The goblins, instead of dropping the casket and running away as she'd expected, carefully put their burden down and pulled out short swords as they scanned the area, trying to locate their attacker.

Their attention was taken instead by a screaming figure clad in sparkling mail armour that was suddenly amongst them, swinging a large silver sword in lethal arcs that cut down four of the goblins before they could even react.

The fighter booted another of the small creatures in the head as he turned to deal with the surviving orc, who managed to hold off the paladin's attack for an impressive three seconds before its head was split down the middle. Green blood and grey brain matter splattered the immediate area as the silver sword was ripped from the skull, and the fighter turned to address the last of the goblins.

He needn't have worried. Samantha's bow work had taken care of two of the three still standing, whilst the last one had finally obeyed its instincts and run for it, abandoning the path and disappearing into the thick woodlands beyond.

She watched as the paladin performed a coupe-de-grace on the goblin that had been still breathing on the ground, and then turned to raise his sword in salute in her general direction.

"My good lady! The evil has been vanquished!" he called out.

Nodding, she stepped out of her hiding place, bow held casually in one hand. She used the other to wave at him, and watched as the man wiped his sword clean and sheathed it before turning to the casket. He pulled the lid off and then stepped back, touching his forehead with his middle finger, the sign of his deity.

"You shall never believe what they had," he called out, turning around. "Urg!"

"Oh, I think I would," she replied softly, watching as the paladin slowly fell backwards on to the path, his red blood mingling with that of the goblins he'd so recently dispatched. Samantha's final arrow protruded obscenely from his eye socket.

Smiling, the assassin lowered her bow, and fondled the enchantment around her neck that had masked her true calling from the paladin's powers of detection.

"Sucker," she said.

~ * ~

Urt wrapped the stolen cloak around him as he made his way as quickly as possible up the dirt street of Mudrut. Luckily there appeared to be only a few citizens out, making their own way in the morning mist. They completely ignored him as he hobbled along, cursing his lack of footwear.

"What are we going to do boss?" hissed Horace from his place hidden inside the cloak.

"I need some shoes!" complained Urt.

"That was the most dangerous pansy I've ever seen," the zombie replied, talking about the Warden.

"He would present me with little challenge," Urt growled, "assuming I was given time to cast a spell."

"I don't think he looked that stupid," Horace said. "What are we going to do now?" he repeated.

"I don't know!" Urt said. He stopped for a moment, taking refuge in a narrow alleyway between two houses.

He took stock of his situation, which wasn't good. He had no shoes, and only the cloak was protecting his modesty. There was always the old hut, back in the swamp. He may be able to find some spare clothes that had survived there. Somehow he felt that would be too much of a retreat.

He looked around at the houses of village. It wouldn't be long before the Warden discovered his ruse. He wasn't safe here.

"I think I have an idea," he said.

"Well I hope it's better than your last one," Horace said. "I don't think drinking several glasses of Scud worked out in our favour, on balance."

"I have this lovely cloak don't I?" Urt replied.

"It is a nice.."

"I was being sarcastic!"

"Okay okay. No need to get all techy. So, what are we going to do?"

"There's a hag living on the edge of the swamp, so my old master told me. He said that if I was ever in trouble, I could go to her for help. We can pick up the little zombie on the way. It's tiring carrying you without the sling."

"A hag you say? I don't know," Horace said. "I mean, why would a witch help you out? They're not exactly famous for charitable acts, as far as I know."

"I'm just going on what I was told. It's not like we have a lot of friends we can visit."

"Why don't you just kill someone and take their clothing?" Horace asked, reasonably.

"Sure, why not? All I need to do is walk up to some stranger and ask them to hold still a while whilst I wave my hands about and incant for a few minutes. Shouldn't worry anyone I'd think." Urt rolled his eyes.

"Fair enough. Well, it's times like this I'm glad I'm just a minion," Horace said. "All I have to do is march into battle and get hacked apart in the name of glory."

"I'm so glad you're taking this well," Urt scowled. "Now shut up whilst I think." Wrapping the stolen cloak about him a little tighter, he took a deep breath and tried to remember exactly what old Mangle had told him about the Hag. Somewhere to the east of Mudrut, near a giant tree was all he could remember.

A shout from the direction of the Inn spurred Urt into life once more. The Warden had probably worked things out by now, and wasn't likely to be very pleased. Glancing about to ensure the coast was clear, he set off east as fast as his lack of footwear allowed.

~ * ~

"That's a big tree!"

"No it isn't."

"How about that one then? Over to the left."

"That's a bush!" Urt did a double take. "A Greenberry bush in fact. I wish I'd have known that was there before, Greenberries are very useful in several spells."

"Don't say I'm never helpful," Horace replied. "Hey, what about that tree then? Behind my Greenberry bush?"

"It's not your bush," Urt pointed out. "Though the tree does look promising. It's certainly the biggest one so far."

"I have keen eyes," Horace said. "My original ones too," he added.

"Mmm," Urt responded. He wasn't really paying attention to the zombie, but examining the large tree that was slowly emerging out of the fog, to the left of the track.

They had been marching along the narrow road out of Mudrut for about an hour, and his feet were cold, mud covered, and sore. At least the burden of carrying Horace's head was now taken by the young girl zombie, who plodded along silently and uncomplaining beside him.

He raised his hands and rubbed at his forehead. The adrenalin rush from his successful slaughter at the inn had worn off, and the remaining hangover was reminding him about the evils of alcohol. As a dark wizard, Urt felt this was slightly unfair. Surely he didn't need to be reminded about the evils of evil, in whatever form.

"I think I can see a small trail too," Horace said. "Look. Just in front of the tree."

"May as well check it out," Urt said, altering course slightly. He made his way off the path and picked a careful route through the stones and sharp, vine-like, plants that littered the ground, finally making it to the relatively safe haven of what did, in fact, turn out to be a narrow dirt path.

"See? Told you," Horace said.

"Yes yes, let's not get too carried away," Urt replied, annoyed the zombie was right. "This could just be a place people go to make toilet."

"I think that's hardly likely, having seen the quality of folk in Mudrut," the undead replied. "I was mildly surprised some of them didn't soil themselves where they stood."

"Yet they still have this Warden fellow to protect them," Urt said. "Someone has some kind of brains. Ah, I think I see a hut ahead."

"Maybe it's your rest area."

"If so someone's cooking in there."

"Hardly sanitary behaviour," Horace commented.