Luthiriensis had, effectively, given the zombie Great Giant hand a rather nasty splinter and, as anyone who had ever had one that had gone just that little bit too deep knows, it hurts like little else. The effects were almost immediate. The enormous fingers flexed, then the entire hand waggled, flexed again and then the fingers furiously attempted to reach the embedded arrow with little success.

The Beldame witches that had reached the hand were all immediately thrown in several directions, to a one more surprised that they suddenly had the ability to fly more than the fact that a giant hand had started moving. The hand crashed down, flat, squishing in the miasma of the marsh, sending spurts of viscous, foul liquid shooting away from it, and began to push. This was it. This was the moment Luthiriensis would see a real, almost close to live, Great Giant.

She, and the others, should have started running, but they all gaped in fascination as the wrist of the hand began to emerge from the mire and, with a pop, and a squelch, it did. Not any more of the arm, or, indeed, the rest of the body. Only the severed wrist and the hand lifted itself upon the tips of its fingers, scuttling around as though looking for whoever had given it an undead splinter. It was at this point that panic became the better part of monstrous anthropology and Luthiriensis kicked her horse to a gallop, her last sight, as she hugged the neck of her horse, that of that old woman, calmly stood, watching Luthiriensis with cold, slitted eyes.

If nothing else, the dismembered Great Giant hand should keep the witches occupied as its thick fingers began swatting at anything that moved within reach. Luthiriensis couldn't see any of that, of course, because, along with the still posterior discomfited Mott and the laughing dragon, she had bolted out past the marsh illusion into the late daylight of the, what she could only assume, and hope, was the real world.

"They won't stop, you know." Pinto had moved her backpack to cradle in one arm, making raspberry noises to the child inside, and ran on her three remaining free legs. "They hold grudges like you wouldn't believe. Especially Gammer Goodhiding. This one time, I, completely accidentally, ate the entire harvest festival buffet and she waited five years to punish me for it. Five years!"

"And you mention this only now, after they've seen our faces?" Luthiriensis screamed into the wind caused by the racing horse, giving every ounce of sarcasm she could muster for the next part of her incredulous retort. "Thank you so very much!"

"You are quite welcome!" Pinto, of course, completely missed the intent of Luthiriensis' words. "I thought it best to let you know in good time."

"I think I need to poop." Mott, looking altogether unwell, hugged the neck of his pony, then covered his mouth as he retched once again. "And vomit a worm. Again."

They couldn't force their mounts to run forever. They soon began to tire, white sweat lathering their coats, and they had to stop and rest. In fact, Luthiriensis considered that running as fast as possible wasn't going to help them. They needed to think harder, rather than run faster. Except she had no clue what such a task would require, so she came to the conclusion that hiding and sneaking as much as possible was the best option.

And so, for the next few days, the three unlikely companions took the longest, most circuitous and twisting route they could imagine. They still had to pass through the Ravishing Rut once again, which felt even more vulgar, and gynaecological, as they emerged from the cavern entrance. They had few places to hide between the towering limbs of the canyon, but, also, they could see a great distance in both directions and Luthiriensis saw no signs of pursuit. For the moment.

Reaching the Withering Weald proved problematic. Ugnth was not in a good mood after finding out a part of her brood had decided to splinter away from their mother and start a distinct giant spider colony in a little copse on the outskirts of the Weald. Ugnth had found herself forced to devour those children, including the female they had decided to make their ersatz queen. She, as she told of it, didn't like devouring her children because, apparently, it made Sunday lunch a little awkward.

Nevertheless, with a promise of, not only a replacement for the lost leg, but also the special recipe for a relaxing bath salt that Pinto's mother guarded with her life, Ugnth allowed them passage back through the Weald. She even sent a few of her children to guide them along the least-used path so that they didn't bump into any of the unwary travellers that had no idea that the terrors they suffered nightly were mostly done to tenderise their flesh and give it that little kick for consumption later.

"We're nearly there. Told you my plan would work." She gave Mott a smug nod of the head. "If you ever need critical thinking and logical strategies, ask an elf."

"It's not exactly clever, is it. Hiding. The wee child could have come up with that!" Mott, choosing to walk and lead his pony, prodded a thick, dwarven, dirty finger at the child's nose, his voice rising in tone. "Yes you could! Yes you could!"

The child laughed and giggled, arms flailing in delight at Mott's words. They had managed, eventually, to dislodge the stick of charcoal from his fingers, and, after a thorough wash in a stream, had tried to get the boy to relinquish his hold on the disgusting mass of fur that he held on to with such vigour. They had failed. No matter what they did, the boy would not let it go and, eventually, even Luthiriensis had stopped trying.

Now, on the outskirts of the city, they had neared the end of their task. Fame awaited. Fortune, too, but Luthiriensis wanted the fame more than anything. She wanted these people to look upon her, an elf, and see her immense beauty and grace. Not these people, in particular. She had no interest in peasants, but the nobility? Oh, they would find it difficult to ignore her now. In more ways than one. Thanks to a few upturned noses, and the sounds of the occasional vomiting, she realised she did not look, or smell, her best.

"We need to clean up!" She picked at the tattered, ragged and ruined suede riding trousers and grimaced. "We cannot present ourselves to the king looking like this! I need to go shopping. I need to see a hairdresser. I need ... I need ... this! Civilisation! Oh, how I've missed it. You there! Boy! What day is it?"

"It's today." The boy curled his nose and stepped back as he realised, from the look Luthiriensis gave him, that he was on shaky ground and knew exactly what she meant. "It's Thursday. You know, there's this brilliant invention? Even I use it. It's called a 'bath'. You should try it."

The boy ran, knowing full well that, if Luthiriensis wasn't quite as exhausted as she was, she would have slapped him silly for his insolence. Not that he was wrong. You just didn't say that sort of thing to a lady.

"Thursday. That means we can get to see the king without having to bother going through all the usual nonsense." She could tell by Mott's blank look that he had no idea what she was talking about. "Look, it's all very complicated, getting to see a king, trust me. But, Thursdays, after his tapestry lessons, the king officiates disputes. Anyone can go and hear the king's counsel. It will be perfect! We present the king with his heir in front of, literally, some nobles and a bunch of peasants no-one cares about. We'll be the talk of the city! The country! The world!"

Which was all good and well, but they still had to wait in line, after a fast regimen of bathing and choosing of fresh clothing, with everybody else. Which was more than a little awkward, considering that they had a dragon in tow, who tended to find absolutely everything fascinating. The guards, however, were not quite so excited to see Pinto, surrounding the dragon, and Luthiriensis, Mott and the heir, with nasty looking spears held by even nastier looking guards.

"Why don't we just tell them that we have the heir?" Mott whispered. He had, eventually passed most of the suffering caused by the witches. His buttocks still itched occasionally. "We'd be escorted straight to the king and I can claim my ..."

"That's no way to make an entrance. This requires artistry. It requires subtlety. It requires lots of people seeing how amazing I ... we are." She scowled down at him. "And I do wish you'd stop ending your sentences before finishing what you are saying. Don't do that in front of the king. He'll think you a fool."

"When you say 'artistry', do you mean I can do a sketch of the ..." Pinto, carrying the child in her, now almost-empty, pack, most of her art supplies left at Luthiriensis' lodgings, ducked her huge dragon head at Luthiriensis' glance, causing the guards to shift nervously. "... I'll take that as a 'maybe'."

The waiting to reach the main hall and the audience with the king proved almost as horrible as the days they had spent in the wilderness in search of the heir. Though Luthiriensis considered that her memories of those horrors had become somewhat diluted by a fresh set of clothes and a long, hot, relaxing bath. Still, standing in line with all the peasants and their petty squabbles did nothing for her mood.

The line moved with such interminable sluggishness that she started to think that, somehow, the Beldame witches had arrived before them and were actively working to stymie any chance they had of meeting the king. If they didn't see him today, here, now, she would have to deal with lackeys, and no-one liked working with lackeys, with their bloated senses of self-importance and their condescending attitudes.

Eventually, they made it to the main hall and Luthiriensis could see the king. A little old to have a baby as his heir, but, then again, it was the duty of a king to provide a continuation for the crown, no matter how long it took. He was the king, after all, he had servants to actually do all the tiring child-rearing. Still, he remained in good health, which was more than could be said for the man slouched in the chair beside him, who looked as though he had bought a brewery only to place it into bankruptcy the next day after drinking all the profits. As the last peasants wheeled away, their argument reconciled by the king, it was Luthiriensis' turn to meet the king. Oh, and Mott's and Pinto's too, she supposed.

"Your Majesty." She gave the king her most graceful, dainty and not-a-little-bit sexy curtsey, holding his eyes with her own. "After many days of great dangers, where I ... we three faced the most terrible monsters, the filthiest of natural rock formations, the most evil of evils and a distinct lack of decent bathing facilities, we have prevailed in fulfilling your charge to your kingdom. I ... we have found your child! We have found your heir!"

She swept her hand out toward Pinto and the dragon held up her bag, revealing the hidden contents. This was the way to do it! A dramatic reveal after regaling the king with tales of derring do. She could see by the look in the king's eyes that he could barely control the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. The sheer flood of relief, of gratitude, of ... actually, no. That was more a look of confusion mixed with a smidge of annoyance. The king waggled a finger at the child.

"I don't know who that is, but that's not my heir." The king hooked a thumb at the bleary-eyed drunkard beside him, rolling his eyes in disgust. "This miserable retch is my son and heir. Found in a brothel in Smurtch. He was never kidnapped, only running away from rampant gambling debts. I think you've made a mistake, my lady elf."

"But ... but ... the dragon heard from the pixies ... and ... the heir, they said ... but ..." Luthiriensis tried, very hard, to make sense of everything. "Then who's child have we stolen?"

"I can answer that." Luthiriensis recognised that voice. Pleasant, friendly, no-nonsense, and utterly terrifying.

She hadn't seen her in the shadows, behind the king and his throne, but now she stepped forward. The Beldame witch that had, somehow, cast a spell of truth upon Luthiriensis. She had never asked her name, but knew exactly who she was. Gammer Goodhiding. And no living creature had terrified Luthiriensis more. And that sweet, toothless smile didn't help.