Damp leaves underfoot; black of the trees against the night; the faint rustle of boots not his own… the distant orange glow, constantly flickering, casting shadows, outlining the huts. This was the sight that greeted him. The snap of a twig; he held his arm out, stopping the figure beside him. Shaking his head slowly, he held up his other arm, halting the three behind them. There, he gestured, watching through a break in the trees; his companion followed him.

A single man, at the edge – scout? Sentry? Or just relieving himself… The three behind him raised their bows. Quickly, he shook his head, waving them down. If they missed… shooting in the dark was never easy and his cries might alert the camp. No, this would have to be silent… quietly, he loosened his scabbard and handed it over, along with his bow, still unstrung, and quiver. Drawing his dagger, he held it up, and disappeared into the night.

He returned moments later, silently accepting his bow and blade back. He could feel their eyes on him; their expressions grim. They knew it was needed; none of them liked it any more than he. Holding up his hand, he commanded them forwards. The three behind fanned out.

"The body's hidden. You can scalp him later." His hushed words were simple as he warmed and strung his bow, "Now we wait."

She nodded, her features as unreadable as his. In silence they stood, watching; no one came for the deceased bandit. They did not have to wait long; in the distance, on the other side of the camp, an explosion caught their attention. Shattering the still, the hut went up in flames, the smoke rising in a pillar. The effect was almost instant; bandits filed out of their tents, many half dressed or less, brandishing swords, daggers, bows, maces… all manner of weapons.

"What did you put in there?" Vai hissed, aghast despite herself. Her eyes were steely as she surveyed the scene, "That'll pull every bandit from here to Larswood–!"

"Nothing. That must be the supply tent – the barrels."

"You knew this might happen!"

"It was a risk." A shrug, "it's drawn them from the main tent. Let's go."

"We're walking into an ambush; if we fail to achieve our… they'll be on us. We have to fall back–"

"No. We won't get another chance at this. We need to move now. Retreat if you wish; I won't."

"Damn your stubborn elfin pride. Fine, let's move."

As their 'discussion' went on, he watched as more bandits rushed to put out the flames. A hasty supply line was being formed; there was a stream, within the forest. As he'd suspected ale was their mainstay drink, but with it was worse than useless against fire. With most of it gone, if they failed here, the bandits would increase their pillaging. His eyes narrowed; hobgoblins? More organised and militant than the rest of the rabble – maybe…

"Stay here," he hissed, waving that the three others stay in the trees. The bandit had been carrying a bow; roughshod as his arrows were…

"Where are you going?"

"Increasing our chances of survival."

Disappearing into the underbrush as she cursed under her breath, – he decided she was not a morning person –, he quickly retraced his steps and found the corpse. Lifting it over with his boot, he unhooked the quiver from its belt. Staring down at it, he felt nothing. The sight of the man's slashed throat meant nothing.

His mind's eye recalled how he had struggled; less than a moment, startled as a gloved hand covered his mouth, as the sudden kiss of cold steel bit into him; the spasms, then the stilling as the man had slumped. His blue eyes were still open; the expression of shock still etched. He could have been late twenties, early thirties; fair, dirty-straw cropped hair. It didn't matter.

Holding the quiver – the prize which could save his life and the lives of Vai's men – he made his way to the edge of the clearing and looked up. There, a tree broad enough to serve his purposes; slinging the bandit's quiver over his shoulder, he began to climb, heedless of his scabbard and bow jolting against him.

It did not take him long; soon, as he perched on a broad bough, he had his target in sight. Carefully drawing an arrow, he notched his bow: a hobgoblin lieutenant; it was giving orders amidst the chaos. Seizing others not of its kind, it bullied them into work, threatening to eviscerate them as it waved its broadsword. Menacing. Surrounded by six other hobgoblins, no one was prepared to cross it. The one that did wound up with a broken nose – now.

The man had been thrown to the ground, blood gushing from his ruined face; even from here, he could make out the hate in his eyes. Perfect. Tracking the hobgoblin, he pulled back, half way, breathed in, drew the bow back as far as he could and released, breathing out as he did. The arrow flew straight to its mark. Collapsing in crumpled heap, his eye a bloody ruin, the hobgoblin lieutenant had breathed his last even before his body had fallen.

His cohorts stared, then started braying their fury. The bandits' reaction was mixed; some stepped back, others more concerned about putting out the fire; a few drew their swords, tired of the hobgoblins' attitude. The two groups pushed closer, beginning to shove.

Expressionlessly, he observed, and trained another arrow on the loudest hobgoblin. By the time he had shimmied down the tree, the hobgoblins had recovered their wits and a frenzied bloodbath had begun.

Tossing the quiver to Vai, his expression said what his words did not. She nodded grimly, and the two stepped forwards. The sounds of battle filled the air; the screams of the dying, the pungent screen of smoke and the bitter stench of camp refuse greeted them. Before them, filthy tents, huge fire pits and thatched huts on stilts formed the heart; surrounded by caravans, chests, furniture, broken and unbroken, barrels, carts; troughs, a stray horse, cows, hay bales, even bathtubs – anything and everything that could have been plundered, nailed and not, carpeted the grass. Most of it was ruined, rotting and adding to the decay of this open sewer. Not even a palisade ringed the outskirts; no walls, no watchtowers. How many peasants' fortunes lay wasted? As they encroached, a bandit saw them; a young man, early twenties – he fell, a black shafted arrow in his throat.

He cast a glance in Vai's direction; she lowered her bow expressionlessly. Nodding, he continued. Two more bandits; from different directions. Each died soundlessly, one gurgling blood as it bubbled over his lips. Not that it would matter; the screams drowned out any other noise. Order had not been restored.

A man in plate, backed up by four others in chain stood out. Unaffected by the anarchy, he watched, waiting. Indifference and cruelty held his hard blue eyes. The emblem they wore was a talon, black, and the way they held themselves… hardened mercenaries, trained and uniformed, no mere raw recruits.

"So yer ta ones causin' tha trouble." The man in plate drawled, idly stroking a polearm. The hammer on its end was stained black; dried crimson soaking into the very iron it was wrought from. Those behind him held longbows, flails hanging from their belt. "I'll nay be asking twice fer yer surrender."

Both sides tensed; the three belonging to Vai had already sighted their own bows on the uniformed mercenaries, and they had sighted their bows on Vai's men.

"We have you surrounded," Vai's voice snapped, unafraid as she stared the man down. He towered over her by at least two heads, if not three; dwarfing her broad shoulders with his burly frame. Even the mercenaries behind him seemed short by comparison and not a one was under six foot. "I say the same to you: lay down your arms or die where you stand."

"Bold words fer a little girl – an' an elf. Be ye tha one plaguin' Tazok?"

"Me? No."

"Well, ye'll die all ta same."

"A duel." Vai's voice was harsher than before, "You and me."

"Na terms? Ye'll not leave alive, lass."

In the midst of the battle between the hobgoblins and bandits further northwest, and the growing fires, Vai calmly handed him her bow, and with drawn sword, advanced. The man did the same. Not even pausing, the usual circling did not take place; instead, he swept in with a lunge, the massive polearm hurtling towards her. Sidestepping the blow that would have easily crushed her to a pulp, she swung herself. It resounded with a dull clang, the tempered steel edge connected with the fire hardened shaft. Shoving her back, the man's hammer cleaved against the empty air, Vai stepping back. He reversed the swing without pause, almost getting within her guard as blade locked against hammer. Thrusting, he forced her to the back foot, barely missing her face.

Mere seconds it had taken; Vai's life close to being ended a dozen times. Watching every minute movement, both of the duellists and the mercenaries, he waited for treachery; their bows had lowered only slightly, even as Vai's men had mirrored them. Neither side was trusting an inch. Then, on the wet grass, he felt himself turn cold; Vai had slipped. Losing balance, she staggered, her platemail proving to be the deciding factor. Crashing to the ground, she rolled as the shaft's ironclad butt slammed down. A second thrust; another narrow miss. His hands tightened around his bow; a single arrow is all it would take: the platemailed man wore no helm…

Raising his polearm for a third strike, Vai's boot connected between his widened stance. Grunting at the sudden pain, he slammed his weapon down – just as Vai thrust her blade into his armpit. Even before the blood sprayed, the elf raised his bow and shot. The mercenaries and Vai's men did the same. After the brief exchange of bowfire had ended, four of the mercenaries lay dying or dead, and two out of Vai's three men would soon join them. One died instantly, and the other, mortally wounded, died before Vai was on her feet. Ignoring them, he strode calmly over to her and kicked the dying bandit warrior aside.

"Taugosz Khosann will see ye in ta hells–"

He never finished, as the boot of the deadpan elf crushed his throat, cutting off his last breath. Grasping Vai's gloved hand and pulling her to his feet, he said simply, "Let's go."

She nodded, pale-faced despite her hard visage.

Forcing their way through a gap in two caravans, they were greeted with several more bandits' backs, this time, without uniforms. Surprise and anger gripped them as they faced the arrows that were about to end their lives. Three fell without uttering a sound; the two survivors turned and charged, screaming war cries that died in their throats. Pushing past them, in the small clearing, he looked around. At his side, Vai muttered, "This is almost too easy."

"I agree; the main tent lies yonder. If there are answers, they may be in there."

She nodded, then hesitated, "You don't have to–"

"We've come this far. Come; your men have joined the fray. We haven't got much time. If they haven't fled already–" His words died in his throat as the flap of the main tent lifted. Without pause, he notched and released another arrow, striking a green robed man in the chest. "More are coming," He hissed, "Take position."

Ducking behind a cart, Vai signalled her remaining man to be ready; he did, notching his bow and sighting the entrance. Three more barbed arrows flew by the time the two humans were behind cover; the robed man fell without uttering a word. A feral roar echoed after him and a giant hyena-headed gnoll stormed out, the halberd in his hand thrice the length of Khosann's polearm.

Spying the elf, it roared again and staggered backwards, an arrow piercing it's chest. Breaking it with a swipe of its hand, the gnoll bellowed in fury and began to descend the platform's steps towards him. Even at this distance, he knew it would be mere seconds before the beast was upon him. Another arrow sailed over his head and struck the gnoll; Vai's archer had joined. It struck wide of its target, striking the spotted shoulder. Between them, they managed to fire off three more arrows before scrambling, Vai lying in wait. Giving chase, the gnoll charged blindly after the elf – and found itself crashing facedown in the mud as Vai hamstringed it. Her boot planted in its back followed swiftly by her blade.

Even as the gnoll died, it had served its role: two more figures had filed out from the tent and stood watching. One levelled and trained his bow upon the woman…

"Commander!" Helpless to intervene, Vai's archer cried out. The elf was faster; throwing himself into her and knocking her aside. The arrow zipped past him, searing across his side. An inch higher and it would have been embedded within his shoulder. Adrenaline negating the pain, his senses distorted as hands seized him and a plank of a wood filled his view.

A second later, he realised what had happened. About to stand up, he felt someone pull him back down sharply and Vai's voice hissed in his ear, "Are you mad, elf?! The archer's up there and–" A cry sounded, a strangled gasp and a thud. "Damnit," Vai cursed, "keep down, you fool." Hissing, she shoved him, "A moment earlier and you'd have lost your fool head instead of Smyth."

"I can't shoot from prone," his words quiet, he shifted behind the cart's wheel, "I've not a crossbow. You?"

She shook her head.

"We can't assume your men will reach us; we can't stay here."

"If we run – we're pinned down!" Her whisper sounded harsh in his ear, "You can't challenge them."

"What do you suggest? Fire the carts? Sit here and wait for them to come to us?"

"…I don't know."

"Look away."

"What?"

"Don't argue."

She did, and he was gone; his bow left beside her. Not caring if his faint, whispered words reached her, he stepped out. It did not take him long, unseen as he was, to encircle the main tent. The noise had not died down; the fires still raged out of control. The bucket line had been reformed; at a glance, the northwest strikeforce lay dead: gnolls brayed and hobgoblins stood guard, cracking their whips. Order had been restored, but the threat of fire threatened to panic them.

Pulling himself up onto the main platform was easy; avoiding the creaky planks less so. Drawing blade and dagger, he crept, picking his way along… there. The two were standing still; both wielding ash longbows. Backs towards him, he could not see their expressions; only catch the half-smirk, half-sneer of the one on the left as his blade cleaved through the right's neck; and his dagger follow through into the left's throat. Even as the left half turned – into the dagger's path, – he brought his sword to bear, decapitating the warrior as he emerged into view.

"Vai," he uttered harshly, "Come."

Checking there were no more bandits in sight, he crouched and rifled through the corpse's belt purses, eyes constantly sweeping the immediate camp. Little. Ducking into the tent, he held the flap open for Vai, and the two were met with a grisly sight.