《Tired of Death》


 Chapter 1：Prologue - Theodore.

    Theodore the White swung his sword mightily, cleaving the zombie in two. It disintegrated in a dry explosion of dust and bone, choking him. Another of the monsters reached for him from behind, forcing him to reverse a short way and use his elbow barbs to fend if off. He felt the spike pierce rotten flesh, and heard the sickly sound of trapped air escaping from the zombies'' gut. It fell away, dropping to the floor as its un-life drained away.


    There was a brief respite as the creatures regrouped, and the fighter took the opportunity to wipe his brow, breathing hard. His armor, shined to a silver gleam just the other day, was now dented in several places and covered with grime and goo. He had lost his helmet a short while ago, knocked off even as it had protected him from a lucky blow by a club wielding skeleton, and his blond hair was tousled, sticking out randomly.


    He glanced about. He was still in the same corridor he had wandered into earlier, though further along. The walls were made from smooth dark gray stone, bereft of any significant marks. The floor was also made of stone, though a little darker. The passage was narrow, leaving little room to maneuver, and this was limiting his ability to swing his sword effectively. However, it also hindered the zombies that were once more moving forward, reaching for him with yellowing claws outstretched. He shouted a short battle cry and thrust at a gap-toothed, grinning face in front of him, splintering the skull and tearing the head away from the neck.


    A hand grasped his leg and he stamped on it hard, snapping the bone with a gruesome crack as he drove his weapon into another body, tearing a gaping hole in the side. He panted, his breath emerging in loud gasps that echoed through the passage as he pounded at the zombies. His attackers made no noise other than a windy wheezing.


    He blocking another lunge, lamenting once again the impulse to do a little exploring on his own, away from the safety of his fellow adventurers. Too late for regrets now of course, though how could he have known that slab would drop and block his exit? Redthorne has insisted this area was safe. He wouldn''t trust wizards any more, that was for sure.


    He grabbed a cold arm that tried to wrap itself around his neck and twisted, wrenching it clean off at the shoulder. He swung the dismembered limb like another weapon, becoming desperate now. It smashed against the side of an undead thing with a half staved-in head, doing nothing much in the way of damage.


    There was a hissing from behind, indicating more zombies were approaching. With strength borne from desperation he hacked at the two still in front of him. Gray skin split and yellow ribs splintered as they fell aside under his onslaught. He pushed past, careening blindly down the tunnel, outrunning his pursuers, who moaned with rage at his escape.


    Two ancient doors, dark with age, lay ahead. One blocked the corridor; the other was set into the wall on the left. He slammed into the first one, hoping to break through. Instead he bounced off with a dull thud, dropping his sword on the floor with a metallic clang.


    Regaining his balance, he looked around. Without the wizard to replenish his magical illumination it was becoming difficult to see.


    He could hear the zombies closing on his position, and frantically pushed on the second door. To his immense relief it swung open with a loud creak. Slipping inside, he slammed it shut behind him. Off to the side he could just make out a broken crossbeam leaning haphazardly against the wall. He reached for it, and used it to brace the door, before slumping against it himself.


    There was a loud thump as the zombies slammed against the other side, trying to gain entry. Their dead hands scratching the wood in a futile attempt to reach their prey.


    "Ssssecure issss it?" a dry voice whispered next to his ear.


    He jerked and reached for his sword, only then remembering it was still on the floor where he had dropped it, on the other side of the door.


    "That wassss carelessss of you," came the voice. "I bet you won''t do that twicccce."


    A cold hand caressed his hair. "Welcome to my lair mortal."


    Theodore the White turned and looked into a face, a wrinkled and ancient face, skin pulled tight over the skull. A hint of red twinkled within the depths of otherwise dead black eyes.


    Thin lips pulled back to reveal long yellowing teeth. A breath of cold, as if from a tomb, washed over him. He screamed as chill fingers wrapped around his neck, and tried pulling at a wrist that should have snapped off in his grasp, yet the hand remained firmly where it was, and squeezed.


    Theodore''s vision began to dim as his air supply was cut off. He tried to shout as he felt two sharp fingers pierce his eyeballs, but his body refused to co-operate. Pain ran through his head as his ocular orbs burst like ripe grapes, spilling blood down his cheeks. His body spasmed as he was lifted off the floor and pinned against the wall.


    As he breathed a strangled death rattle, Theodore the White felt those ancient digits pierce his skull and rip into his very brain¡­


    >


    "It''s not fair, you always get them. All we get is cut to pieces."


    Dreth looked up at the zombie, who was holding his detached arm in his left hand. He chewed on a piece of fresh brain, taken from the newly killed fighter, as he spoke. "That''s what zombies do. They''re just the warm up. Anyway, you had that wizard a little while back didn''t you?"


    "That was two centuries ago!" the zombie retorted. "And he was a scrawny one too."


    "Well, that''s life," said Dreth, shrugging.


    "Ha! If only. Well, I better scrape up the remains of Arnold I suppose. Cut his skull clean in half your dinner did, and I''m all out of bone glue too." The zombie shuffled out.


    Dreth shook his head as the undead closed the door to his crypt. He looked down at the latest catch and then dragged him over to the side of the room. Another death. How many was that over the years? A hundred? A thousand? He had stopped counting.


    He did a fair imitation of a sigh, and gazed around his chamber. The room was a reasonable size, due deference to his status, with another small chamber off to one side. Standard dungeon design, the walls were made of dark stone blocks, as was the floor, which was cluttered with loot. Most of the gear was armor and weapons taken from his many victims, but a couple of chests near the back were stuffed with gold. The coins and jewels were a kind of torture in themselves. It wasn''t as if there was anything he could buy around here. The other room held piles of bones, the remains of adventurers foolish or unlucky enough to cross his path.


    It was his own fault, he admitted to himself. He''d made his own tomb, now he had to lie in it. When the mysterious wizard had offered a na?ve young adventurer immortality, in return for acting as a guard for a while, he should really have read the small print for the definition of ''a while''.


    Still, what were his choices, really? He could search for the wizard, but he knew the odds were slim that he was still alive after all this time. Then again, he could remain as he was. Sure, one day someone powerful enough to beat him for good may come through his door, but that could be a thousand years hence.


    He sat down on his chair made of bones and thought about that. A thousand years. Ten centuries stuck in this place. No, it was no good. He couldn''t take it, there had to be a way out.


    Maybe the treasure the dungeon guarded was the answer. It was supposed to include some sort of super magical artifact, and that might have the power to free him. Reaching it wouldn''t be easy though. He was a pretty ferocious guardian, but there were supposed to be worse elsewhere in the dungeon.


    He sat back, picked a gobbet of flesh off the corpse of the unfortunate Theodore the White, and considered his options¡­

 Chapter 1 - Halfling Snack

    Crug the Barbarian growled, his muscled body gleaming in the dull light. "Sure trap?" He gestured forward with his overlarge sword.


    "Of course I''m sure. Some sort of trip mechanism I think," Littlehorn replied, annoyed at having his expertise challenged.


    The Halfling thief was clad in black leather, with a short bow and quiver slung over his shoulder. Several daggers were strapped to his chest, and he carried a small pack on his back. It was all standard dungeon exploring issue. Sighing, he turned and examined the ground just ahead of them once more. The corridor looked the same as the others they had been wandering around in for the past several hours. This area of the dungeon was obviously designed to confuse, and it did a good job of it. The section here was straight, sloping down slightly. He''d stopped because one of the cobbles ahead looked a lighter gray than the others, and seemed to be slightly higher.


    He glanced over his shoulder at his three colleagues, who were standing a little way behind him. A faint breeze came out of the gloom to the rear, as if trying to push them onwards


    The barbarian looked bored. He swung his huge sword idly in one hand, and ran his fingers through long dark hair with the other. He wore only a loin cloth and a pair of sandals. Standing next to the large man was the wizard, Redthorne. Dressed in long red robes, he was scowling and leaning on his staff. His beard tumbled halfway down his chest, and the traditional pointy hat sat jammed down over his ears. It had fallen off in a scuffle with some Orcs earlier, and was now slightly bent near the tip.


    "You''d better move forward and see to it," the wizard ordered. "One of us would just blunder into it if we went together."


    "Why do you not cast a detection spell?" the final member of the group asked. The cleric, Nom the Noble, was standing and trying to peer into the darkness through the eye slits of his helmet, which covered the upper half of his face. His armor was colored white, and he held a matching shield with a circular emblem painted on it, the symbol of his god. By his side, a wicked looking mace was attached to a wide leather belt.


    "We''re not far in," replied the wizard. "I don''t want to waste magic now. The thief is up to this, aren''t you?"


    Littlehorn nodded. "Wait here," he said, and moved off carefully, scanning the ground intently.


    Behind him he heard Nom speak again. "I feel death nearby."


    Littlehorn rolled his eyes as he inched forward, and replied without looking back. "We''re in the most dangerous and ancient tomb this side of the Very Black Mountains. Of course there''s death nearby. It''s all around us."


    "Probably Theodore," grunted Crug, as the thief dropped down to slide forward on his belly.


    "Yes, I told him not to wander off on his own," Redthorne said.


    "Shhh!" hissed Littlehorn, as he detected a small wire ahead. "There''s something¡­ Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!!"


    With a crash that echoed off the walls, a stone slab slammed down behind him, cutting him off from the rest of the group. Simultaneously a spike shot up out of the ground, piercing his leather armor and stabbing into his leg. His magic light went out, leaving him in total darkness.


    He rolled over, pulling his leg off the barb with a wet squelching sound. Clutching at his thigh he tried to staunch the bleeding. He could dimly hear the pounding and shouts of the rest of the group from the other side of the new wall.


    "Damn!" he moaned. "Damn damn damn!" Reaching around, he groped about in his pack for a bandage.


    There was a noise nearby. A grinding, as if part of the wall was moving.


    "Is that you Crug?" he whispered.


    There was no reply. Littlehorn squinted into the dark, but even with his night vision he could see nothing. His hand located the bandage and he drew it out of the bag, trying to move without making a sound.


    There was an echo of a whisper. He froze, even as a cold sweat broke out on his forehead. His heart thumped in his chest and his breathing sped up.


    Silence.


    He started, very slowly, to move again when the bandage was torn from his hand. A cold breeze sprang up, chilling him to the bone. Littlehorn dragged himself to one side and pulled out his dagger. A sound in front of him! He swung the blade blindly.


    Something, his bandage he quickly realized, was thrown around his neck, and he was yanked back. Cold fingers pulled the knife from his hand whilst something held his legs. The Halfling groped desperately at the cloth, trying to free himself.


    There was the chill kiss of metal along his midsection, cutting through the leather armor, slicing neatly up from pelvis to chest.


    "Aaahhhhhh!" His breath felt icy in his throat.


    A hand, cold as death, reached into the slit in his stomach, pulling at his insides even as he thrashed about futilely, sobbing and gagging on bile.


    A low hiss in his ear. "Trouble breathing? Let me help." The hand pushed up under his ribcage, an alien intrusion in his guts, and squeezed.


    "AAAaaaaaargggggmmmmmfffff!" Littlehorn gagged as his insides were brutally thrust upwards, forcing themselves up his throat, distending it obscenely, and vomiting them out of his mouth in a mash of tissue and blood.


    ~ * ~


    "Hmmm. I love Halfling!" The zombie threw away a femur and sat back with a smile on his face.


    "Yars, thmmfks frrr hemmfing us," said his friend, mouth full of liver.


    "Think nothing of it," replied Dreth, sitting in his chair and watching the two undead gorge. He waited. The zombies were typical of their kind. Both were clad in dirty rags, with rents in the cloth revealing yellow rotting skin underneath, pot-marked with boils, lesions and sores. Their teeth were brown and yellow, and both had wispy gray hair that barely covered the flaking skin on their skulls.


    "Wait a minute!" the first one frowned. His name was Cuthbert, and he was unusually bright for a zombie.


    Here it comes, thought Dreth.


    "Why are you being so nice all of a sudden?" he asked. "I mean, I''ve been down here hundreds of years, and you''ve never helped us before. Why now?"


    "Ythhs, why now?" echoed his friend, who was called Percy.


    Dreth tapped the arm of his chair, which was made of arm. "I have come to a recent decision. I''ve decided that I''ve had enough of this ''life''."


    "Oh, I see." Percy lost interest, and bit back into the still steaming organs of the Halfling.


    Cuthbert though, who was brighter, or at least fresher, looked at Dreth. "Call me old fashioned, which I am, but I get the feeling that you aren''t doing this as a goodbye present. Anyway, isn''t it against the rules to abandon your post? I mean, you''re a Guardian! There are probably things they can do to stop you wandering off you know."


    "Like what?" Dreth said. "Give me a letter of bad conduct? Dishonorable discharge? I don''t think so. Hand me that hand will you?"


    Cuthbert picked up the pale appendage and passed it to Dreth. "No, I mean, you know¡­ Guardians." He tried to wink knowingly, but only succeeded in looking like a bewildered, and very unhealthy, owl.


    "Guardians to Guard the Guardians? Who Guards them? Who Guards the Guardian Guardians?" Dreth picked a ring off a finger and stuffed the hand into a pack.


    "Stop saying Guardians. You know what I mean." Cuthbert picked up a foot from the pile and nibbled on a toe. "Look, as a favor the lads and me would be willing to come in and cut you up real good. Eat you if we have to. That would kill you wouldn''t it? Release you from damnation and all that. I could look after your maggot collection, if that''s what''s worrying you."


    Dreth sighed, which was particularly impressive in a wheezy sort of way. He put his pack down and turned to face the undead. "Look, I don''t want to die okay? At least not without seeing some of the world anyway. You know how old I was when I¡­ I became like this?"


    "No," said the zombie, spitting out a toenail.


    "Well," Dreth looked around the room. "Truth is I can''t remember, but probably not very old. The point is, even if you cut me up into little cubes, I wouldn''t die! I would just be little-cube shaped, and very uncomfortable."


    "Oh. I see."


    "Cuthbert, how long have you been down here?"


    Cuthbert shrugged, a rather one sided gesture as his left arm was over on the table. "A couple of hundred years maybe."


    "Why don''t you leave?" Dreth picked up his sack again and peered inside.


    "Well, it''s a job you know? I was never very good at being alive, truth be told." Cuthbert looked uncomfortable for a moment. He took another bite of foot and masticated noisily. "Anyway, ten minutes out there and I''d be hacked apart by some over-zealous Cleric or something."


    Dreth tied his pack off and looked at the undead munching on the remains of the thief. "Why don''t you come with me? It''ll be an adventure."


    "No, thanks, I was never the adventurous type. Anyway, I''m okay here. It''s not that bad really."


    "When I said, ''why don''t you come along?'' I wasn''t really asking." Dreth examined a variety of swords and other weapons he had saved from his many victims.


    "Bastard. Everyone always picks on us Zombies, we''re the scum of the undead world, isn''t that right Percy?" He nudged the other zombie, who was sucking an eyeball out of the skull with a slurping sound.


    "Eh? You what now?"


    Cuthbert made a tutting noise and attempted to take a deep breath, though this was not altogether successful as his lungs were quite rotten.


    One sword that seemed to throb with black energy caught Dreth''s eye. The hilt was silver and gold, inlaid with various red gems. White runes were engraved up the length of the blade. He picked it up and swung it about, testing the balance.


    "Hey! Watch where you''re waving that thing! Nearly had my arm off! My other one I mean."


    "Sorry," Dreth said, not very sincerely. He found a suitable scabbard and strapped the sword on around his robes. "How do I look?"


    "Like a dead man walking."


    "Haha. Very funny. Now, finish your adventurer. There''s one more thing I need your help with."


    Cuthbert tucked the foot into his belt and stood up. "Now what?"


    "There''s a group coming through the tunnels. This one," he pointed to the now mostly eaten thief, "and that stupid fighter who pulled your arm off were members of their party."


    "So?"


    "I want to take one with us."


    "You what?" Cuthbert gawked at him, spitting out several teeth. "Are you mad? Oh wait, you mean as a snack."


    "Nope, I mean whole and upright. Sometimes the fully alive can get past things that we¡­ not quite living can''t."


    "Why just one then? Why not take the group? There are still three left."


    Dreth rubbed at his forehead. The trouble with zombies was that their brains were mostly rotten, they weren''t too great on thinking. "There''s a wizard, a Cleric and a barbarian. All of them together may be a bit hard to control out of our little area. One though, one would be manageable."


    "Well, I''m not taking the Cleric, that''s for sure." Percy folded his arms. "They give me the creeps. Have you ever been turned? Not nice I can tell you. A friend of mine was turned a while ago, he''s been off his game ever since. Hardly even bothers to shuffle along properly any more." He shook his head sadly.


    "The Barbarian would be the easiest," said Cuthbert, getting back on topic.


    "Dangerous those mages," Percy countered. "The current record holder for the Pit of Doom was a mage. The Giant Spiders were cleaning up for months."


    "Still, something to be said for a good spellcaster." Dreth kicked the Halflings'' mutilated head across the room, bouncing it off the wall so it came to rest against a pile of skulls.


    "Good shot," said Cuthbert.

 Chapter 3：Part 2 - Spiders!

    "Crug no like," Crug said in his most eloquent tones. "Crug think trap."


    "I concur with our brawny friend," the Cleric interjected. "My instincts say we should pay heed."


    The three surviving adventurers were huddled in another passageway. Having failed to open the slab that had trapped Littlehorn, they had backtracked and taken another route in the hopes of finding their friend. They hadn''t found the thief, but they had narrowly avoided two spiked pits, one swinging axe, a fireball activated by a pressure pad, and three tripwires. They were still no nearer to finding their companion, and tempers were beginning to fray.


    "Look, of course it''s a trap. The whole place is one giant trap." Redthorne rubbed at his forehead in annoyance. "I admit I made a mistake hiring that worthless thief, or I should have at least hired two. Still, he''s gone now, and I say we push ahead with our mission. Unless you are going to renege on your agreements?" The mage raised his staff in a threatening gesture.


    "Nom does not break his sworn oath!" declared the Cleric.


    "Renege is what?" said the Barbarian.


    "Just move forward," sighed Redthorne. "Slowly!"


    The three set off down the corridor, which had a number of shadowy alcoves along the walls, containing nothing they could detect. They traversed the tunnel with no mishaps, much to their relief, and emerged into a large dark cavern, the use of which was not apparent.


    There was a slight noise, though it wasn''t possible to identify where it originated from, as the whole place seemed to echo. The three stepped into defensive formation, with Crug in front, his enormous sword raised high. Nom clutched the Orb of his god, Grom, and muttered a blessing, whilst Redthorne held his staff and readied magic.


    A skittering noise came from the left. Crug swung round as a large black spider appeared out of the dark and lunged towards him. Two more of the creatures materialized from the right and Redthorne turned to face those, staff blazing white in his hands. More movement could be made out in the shadows.


    Behind them, from the tunnel they had just emerged from, came another sound. Nom turned to see a zombie, arms outstretched, lurching towards them.


    "Undead to the rear!" he cried, raising his orb.


    "Deal with them then! We''ll take the arachnids," the wizard commanded, throwing white fire at a giant Black Widow.


    "I kill spider!" Crug said, covered in green gunk. The remains of a greater tarantula lay on the floor next to his feet.


    Nom faced the zombie and raised his Orb. He cast his mind out to the Might of his god, and reached for the Power. The mighty deity Grom responded, sending the force of Good through his vassal and towards the undead in an invisible wave of energy. The creature made a hissing sound and staggered backwards as the magic impacted.


    "My thanks to my Lord," muttered Nom and, taking his mace in hand, strode forward to finish the foul beast, which was now fleeing up the passage.


    The wizard shouted something behind him, but Nom was intent on his prey, and ignored the warning. The zombie lurched around a corner into an alcove and cowered against the wall as the Cleric approached.


    "Die creature of evil!" Nom raised his mace of Smiting and brought it down upon the creatures'' skull.


    Or tried to. Something restrained him. He looked up and saw a thin hand, pale skin barely covering the bone, gripping the shaft of his raised weapon.


    A dry voice whispered next to his ear. "Perhapsss not." Nom straightened as sharp claws dug into his back, just below his armor. He screamed in pain as cold fingers wrapped around the base of his spine, severing all control to the lower part of his body. He pitched forward, to be caught by the zombie he''d so recently cornered.


    "Time for the zombies to fight back Cleric," it hissed in his face, blowing fetid breath over him.


    There was a wet sound, and Nom felt a cold sensation along his back as his spine was forcibly wrenched from his flesh. The restraints on his armor snapped and it fell to the floor with a dull clang. The tearing sound was loud in his ears now, and with the last moments of his life Nom saw his corpse fall forward, a long bloody hole where his backbone had been, terminating at a ragged tear where his head had been twisted away from the neck.


    Blood spread outwards in a dark pool on the stone floor, and Nom''s spirit ascended to join his god.


    ~ * ~


    "You cut it fine is all I''m saying," Cuthbert complained as they walked along. "Another second and I''d have just been a load of rotting breakfast."


    "You were never in any danger. That medallion I gave you warded off the Cleric''s power didn''t it?"


    "Maybe so," Cuthbert looked down at the dull black necklace hanging around his rotten neck. "But it still hurt."


    "Well here then, you deserve this one." Dreth handed over the Cleric''s head, now permanently etched into a look of horrified surprise. The still attached spinal column dripped blood and muscle tissue.


    "Oh nice! I do like a good lollipop." Cuthbert took the remains and licked at the still dripping backbone. "Yummy."


    They wandered back along the dark corridors to where Percy was waiting.


    ~ * ~


    "Where are they now then?" asked Percy, looking jealously at Cuthbert as he savored the tongue of the holy man.


    "The spiders pushed them back, they''re resting just outside the Troll caverns." Dreth arranged his cloak about him so that it looked the most ominous. "We still need to separate them before they leave our territory completely."


    "Why not just rush them?" Cuthbert asked, waving Nom''s jawbone about. "Oooh! A gold tooth! I always wanted a gold tooth!" He wrestled with the jaw, pulling at the item in question.


    "I suppose we could," Dreth considered it. "We should be able to take them easily enough now the Cleric''s out of the way. We need to act quickly though, if they wander into the trolls we''ll have a hard time getting the mage alive."


    "I dunno," said Percy. "That wizard seems to be pretty powerful. I think we should push them into the goblins. Then we can take the wizard whilst the Barbarian is fighting them. We know the tunnels in that area, and the goblins are scared of you."


    Dreth looked up in surprise at this unusually bright idea from Percy. "Not a bad choice, though we aren''t on the best terms with the Goblin King if you remember."


    "Pah! Goblins. I can''t be held responsible if I accidentally eat one of them can I?" Percy looked disgusted.


    "Maybe so, but you could have checked that it wasn''t their princess first," Dreth said.


    "Look at me! I have a gold tooth!" Cuthbert danced around grinning, his new denture forced into a gap in his gums.


    "Just concentrate on the problem at hand please, or I''ll give your lollipop to Percy."


    "Bah, you were never fun," the zombie cradled the Clerics'' head and sat down. "Why don''t we get the spiders to attack them, and take the wizard in the confusion? Worked for this one," he patted his toy.


    "How would we get them back into the spider''s lair?" said Dreth. "They know it''s there now. Besides, the spiders lost quite a few of their kind in the fight, I doubt they would go for it."


    "We could offer the Barbarian to them," suggested Cuthbert, trying to see his reflection in an old helmet.


    "No fair! You got the Cleric!" protested Percy. "The Barbarian is mine!"


    Cuthbert grinned a gold tinted grin and held the noggin close. Dreth shook his head and considered the options. "We may have to go with the goblins, I''d prefer to lure them into the troll caverns, but I can''t think of any way to do that." He sat down on his chair and then jumped slightly as a piece of parchment slid under the door.


    "What''s that then?" asked Percy.


    "How should I know? I''ve never had anyone slip anything under the door before." Dreth thought a moment. "Well, except for a thief one time. Anyway, give it too me." He waggled his fingers.


    "Yes your highness," Cuthbert said sarcastically, picking up the paper and handing it to Dreth, who was silent for a minute as he read the spidery script.


    "So?" Asked the zombies in unison, when he finally put the parchment down. Dreth passed it back to Cuthbert, who squinted at it in the gloom.


    "What''s it say?" said Percy, who had forgotten how to read. He peered over Cuthbert''s shoulder as his friend read the notice out loud, tracing the text with a finger.


    **Deceased and Desist Order.**


    It is come to our notice that ''Dreth'', subsection 3b, area 4 (undead), designation: Undead Way Guardian (advanced level); henceforth referred to as ''The Resident'', has been engaged in un-authorized activities. To wit: Venturing outside allotted dungeon domain (undead).


    Furthermore: It has come to our attention that the Resident''s lair has been left unattended for unacceptable periods of time, and that the Resident has engaged and distracted several zombies, designation: Guardians (Fodder level), from their assigned patrol areas.


    Such activity is in direct breach of agreed protocols and directly contravenes the contractual duties of the Resident.


    This order is the first and only warning, as specified in sub-section 4,509, paragraph 52, lines 309-466, for the Resident to return to Dungeon Guardian (advanced level) duties. Failure to abide by the terms of the contract will result in disciplinary agents being dispatched.


    Thank-you for your attention. Have a nice day.


    DM.


    "Who''s DM?" asked Cuthbert, passing the note back to Dreth.


    Dreth shrugged. "No idea, don''t care." He scrunched the notice into a ball and threw it on the floor.


    "Do you still have this contract?" Cuthbert said, as Percy wandered off grumbling to himself.


    Dreth scratched his head. "I don''t think so. I signed it before¡­ before I became like this. After the wizard changed me I didn''t really think about it."


    "So you''re going to stay here now then?" inquired Percy, who had started rummaging through a pile of old equipment in the corner. "Hey! Look! I found a wand!" He held up a long stick.


    "Let me see that," Dreth said. He examined the artifact closely for a moment. "Hmmm, a wand of illusion, still a couple of charges left." He rubbed his chin. "I think I have an idea¡­"

 Chapter 4：Part 3 - Fairy Troll

    "Are you listening to me warrior?" Redthorne poked the barbarian with his staff.


    "Crug hear. Crug no like. Cleric dead for sure. Just¡­" the fighter counted on his fingers for a moment, "two of us now. Not good. This place bad."


    The mage leaned back against the wall of the alcove they had taken refuge in after the spider fight. "Yes, I know. However we''re blocked off from the exit. Big dropping slab remember? We have no choice but to push on." He consulted a piece of parchment. "I think I know where we are anyway." He pointed at a location on the map. "According to this there are goblins that way somewhere," he waved his hand to their right, down a dark corridor.


    "Goblins easy kill. No problem."


    "Yes, for once we''re thinking along the same lines. The important thing is... We must not split up! Do you understand? Hey! Are you listening to me?"


    "Quiet. Crug hear something."


    "Don''t quiet me! This dungeon seems to work by picking people off one by one, if we stay together¡­ Hey! Where are you going? Weren''t you listening to what I just said?"


    "Crug hear woman! Maiden need help! Quick!"


    "What the¡­ Don''t be an idiot! What''s a woman doing down¡­" The wizard cursed to himself as the barbarian stood up and started jogging off to the left. "Blast the moron!" He scrambled around, stuffing papers into his pack before scrambled after his sole surviving companion. "No more barbarians! I swear! Next time it''s Rangers all the way. Crug you numbskull! Where are you? Oh there." He glanced the back of the barbarian hurrying off down a fork in the tunnel, and scrambled after him. "Wait for me!"


    The wizard panted as he raced down one tunnel and then up another after his companion. "Hold on blast you! This is not somewhere we can simply run about wildly!"


    The passage terminated abruptly, and the figure stopped at the dead end to turn and face him.


    As Redthorne drew closer some sixth sense caused him to slow and raise his staff. "Crug?"


    The fighters'' form shimmered and changed, to be replaced by a different profile altogether. The impostor was still tall, but far from the muscle bound torso of the barbarian, this one seemed to be more corpse-like. Indeed, it appeared to be skeletal thin. Pale skin was drawn tightly over bones, and dark eyes stared out at him from a deathly white face.


    The figure stood still, its black robe hanging loosely around it, revealing a sword strapped to one side. A dark Aura swam about the weapon, visible only to the wizards'' extended senses.


    "Beast! What have you done with Crug?"


    "The barbarian is being dealt with by some friends of mine. He shall be worm fodder before you can do anything about it wizard." The voice was barely more than a hiss.


    "Then you shall die!" Redthorne raised his staff.


    "Wait!" A claw-like hand raised in a gesture. "Look behind you."


    Redthorne looked at the creature through narrowed eyes. What was going on here? He glanced behind him. Two more figures, mere zombies, were at his back, one wielding a rusty sword and the other apparently straining to hold a spear.


    "You may get a spell off, who knows? It may even hurt me, but even if you manage to harm me, my friends will run you through."


    "What''s your game creature? Why do you toy with me thus? Do you have my comrades?"


    "Your comrades are no longer a consideration," it said ominously. "However, I need your help."


    "My help? My help?" Redthorne kept his staff leveled at the figure. "You are but a foul servant of evil! Why should I help you?"


    "Aside from the obvious answer that you will end up dead if you don''t? It could work to your advantage."


    Redthorne cocked his head to one side. This didn''t seem like your usual dungeon ploy. Something strange was going on here. He lowered his staff slightly, whilst still remaining alert. "Go on, I''m listening."


    ~ * ~


    "Save me! Help!"


    Crug could hear the damsel clearly now, her high pitched voice ringing with desperation. He held his sword in front of him and moved, panther like, towards the sound. Of course it could be a trap, but Barbarians didn''t heed that sort of thing. They went in sword swinging. It was a tactic that had always worked for him before.


    Turning into a large cave he squinted in the gloom. The voice was coming from¡­ over there! He slid quietly forward, towards a dark shape lying on the floor.


    Crug crept up and knelt down next to the figure. "Never fear pretty maid¡­ Arg!" The barbarian leapt backwards and swung his sword.


    "Troll! Me kill now!" Crug jumped forward with surprising agility for someone with such bulk, catching the trollop by surprise with an attack that cut her arm neatly off at the shoulder.


    "You Human! Do you know how long arms take to grow back?!" The creature, no longer amused, snarled, showing long yellow fangs.


    "Hah! Crug no scared one little troll!" The barbarian advanced, weapon ready to strike again.


    "Perhaps a big one then?" A shadow detached itself from the cavern wall and advanced to reveal the largest, meanest looking troll Crug had ever seen.


    "Crug know no fear!" said Crug, not quite truthfully.


    The large newcomer stepped forward, hefting a huge club. "Come then."


    Crug spat and advanced, thrusting his sword as he did so. It pierced the trolls'' side, causing green blood to spurt messily.


    "Get him!" shouted the trollop.


    Suddenly the barbarian was surrounded by large green creatures. He dodged to avoid a swing from a club, only to have claws rake his back, scoring lines of fire across his body.


    He twisted, slicing and cutting green flesh as he did so.


    There was a sick crunching noise, and a something slammed into his ribs. He heard his bones break under the impact and the air seemed to be sucked from his body. Crug staggered, looking up just in time to see the large troll swing his giant weapon round in a long arc. Time seemed to slow. He tried to jump back, but his legs were no longer responding. The barbarian could only watch as the club drew level and then smashed into the side of his head. He heard a short tearing sound and, for a brief second he seemed to be flying through the air. Then his detached brain ball hit a wall, and it all went dark¡­


    *Female troll that is.


    ~ * ~


    "I still don''t believe the Barbarian would be defeated that easily," the wizard said again as they walked down the service tunnel towards the troll quarters. Lurching along with them were Cuthbert and Percy, muttering amongst themselves as they went.


    Dreth shook his head. Why were mages always so stubborn? "You haven''t met Kevin. He''s the largest troll this side of the Luminous Lands. Even if he is a big, er¡­" He trailed off.


    "A big what?" asked Redthorne. "Hey! Is that zombie eating a foot?"


    "Sorry!" said Cuthbert, holding out the remains of the Halfling''s appendage. "You want a bite? I haven''t eaten much of it."


    The wizard recoiled in horror. "That''s Littlehorn!" he said accusingly.


    "Part of him anyway," grinned Cuthbert, nibbling on heel.


    "You are monsters! What am I doing with you?"


    "Not becoming dessert if you remember?" said Dreth, trying to nudge the conversation back on topic, whatever that was.


    "Did you also take my Cleric?"


    Cuthbert grinned widely for an answer. In his mouth a lone gold tooth sparkled.


    Redthorne shook his head. "I should have listened to Barth. He told me hiring adventurers from a tavern was a mistake. It seems he was correct."


    "Don''t be too hard on yourself," said Percy kindly. "This is one tough place."


    "Okay, somewhere around here," said Dreth.


    "Are there these tunnels all through the dungeon?" asked Redthorne.


    Dreth nodded. "I assume so, though we only know the ones in our area. This is as nearest exit I know of to the troll territory." He felt around the wall, looking for the hidden door switch. "It''s been a while. Ah, here we go." He pressed several bricks in succession and part of the wall swung aside with a grinding noise, to reveal a damp passage beyond.


    They stepped through and moved off as the door swung shut behind them.


    After a little way down Dreth turned to the wizard. "Best keep quiet. Don''t say anything provocative. We agreed to give your barbarian to them as a good will gesture, and the leader is a friend of mine, but we don''t want to push them even so. Trolls are not renowned for their honor and even temperament."


    The wizard nodded as they walked into a dimly lit cavern. To one side large green forms sat, lay, or stood about, several apparently fighting with each other. To the other side smaller figures, young trolls, were playing some sort of kickabout game. Dreth saw what they were using for a ball and hoped the mage wouldn''t notice, though it seemed the wizard was too busy trying not to gag at the smell.


    They walked through the cave towards a crude dais, upon which a huge troll lounged. He had a wilted flower in his greasy hair. On one side of him a trollop was sprawled on the floor, chewing on something.


    The seated troll saw them and stood up, one hand on his hip. The enormous creature loomed above Dreth as he approached.


    "Dreth my good fellow! So wonderful to see you again my dear!" His voice was surprisingly camp, which seemed strange coming from such a big creature. "We received your present!" He gestured at a pile next to his seat, which turned out to be Crug, neatly dissected.


    Dreth felt the wizard stiffen next to him, and laid a hand on his shoulder for a moment before turning to the troll and speaking. "Glad you didn''t have any trouble with him. Let me introduce you to my team. This is Redthorne, mage. Standing drooling here are my old colleagues Cuthbert and Percy, zombies first class. Guys, this is Kevin. He''s the leader of the trolls."


    "Charmed to meet you two. Please my lovies, help yourself." The troll king gestured towards the barbarian pieces, upon which the two zombies hissed their thanks and lurched forward to pick at the remains.


    "So, my dear, a mage eh? Are you sure you know what you''re doing? They can be such beasts!" Kevin draped a friendly arm around Dreth, who took it stoically.


    Dreth shrugged. "If I intend to seek out the treasure of this place, I''m going to need all the help I can get."


    Kevin sighed. "Well, your funeral I suppose, but you know humans can''t be trusted. Living ones anyway," he amended hastily. "Such a waste of a handsome body too." He pawed at Dreth and shook his head sadly. "So, what can Uncle Kevin do to help?" The troll put a finger into his lanky hair and twisted it around whilst pouting at the wizard, who stood quietly to one side.


    "I need information about how to get to the inner sanctum. Any help you can give us would be appreciated."


    Kevin frowned for a moment. "Well, as it''s you asking darling, I have someone who may be able to help." He looked around for a moment. "MUUUUDD!" He shouted in a deafening roar, which echoed off the walls.


    Dreth looked around. No one seemed to be paying any attention. Kevin scowled. "That bitch. Wait here a moment." He minced off, somehow managing to make the ''raving fairy'' walk look dangerous.


    The zombies wandered back over, mouths full of fresh Crug.


    "That troll is eating her own arm!" said Cuthbert in a stage whisper to Dreth, pointing to the trollop.


    "So?" asked Dreth.


    "It''s disgusting is all," replied Cuthbert, waving the remains of the barbarian''s hand and spitting out several finger bones.


    "Well, you are what you eat I suppose." Dreth shrugged and turned to the mage, who was looking on in revulsion. "See? Your great fighter is nothing more than lunch. Do you need any more convincing?"


    "You''ve made your point. But tell me again. What do I get out of this deal?"


    "You get to live for one thing, and the treasure is supposed to be fabulous, if we can reach it. You will get your share."


    Redthorne nodded, but he didn''t look too happy. He opened his mouth to speak again, but was interrupted by the arrival of Kevin, who had a small figure in tow.


    "This is Mud," said Kevin, gesturing at his stunted companion. "He''s my¡­ ah, advisor." He gave a lewd wink.


    Dreth looked Mud over. He didn''t seem to be much of a troll in the traditional sense. Barely as tall as Dreth, the creature had a hunchback and wore round battered spectacles. His skin was a sickly white color, instead of healthy green. Under one arm he held an enormous book.


    "We need to get to the treasure. What can you tell me?" asked Dreth.


    Mud coughed and pushed his glasses further up his warty nose. "The treasure is it? Well, what I can tell you is mainly hearsay, gathered from other denizens and adventurers."


    "Before they were eaten," added Kevin. "He knows that. Get on with it." Kevin examined his nails, which were painted a variety of colors.


    "Well, it''s not much. There''s really only one way to go from here that I know of."


    "And that is?" asked Dreth.


    "The Dark," replied Mud. "I don''t know what''s in there though." He shrugged.


    "Great," said Dreth.


    "Would you stop for lunch sweetie? I think there''s enough to go around. If not, perhaps the wizard?" Kevin looked at Redthorne and licked his lips.


    "Ah, no. I think we''d better get off, thanks anyway," said Dreth hurriedly. He gestured at the zombies. "Come on you two, stop stuffing your faces and let''s go. We have a dungeon to delve!"


    "Well, if you need anything, you know where to find me." Kevin gave a little wave and turned back to his throne with his arm around Mud.


    They were on the way out when Percy noticed the young trolls playing football with the barbarians'' head. "Hey!" he complained. "No fair! They''re playing with their food!"

 Chapter 5：Part 4 - Setting Out

    "Here we are then. Home sweet home." Dreth pushed on the door to his crypt, which swung open with a creak.


    Redthorne entered cautiously and looked about, taking special note of the pile of body parts and stacks of discarded armor and weapons.


    "I helped him with his chair," said Percy.


    The wizard examined the bones that were assembled into a throne-like seat. "Very atmospheric," he said, and leaned against the wall with his arms crossed.


    "I have to get something, back in a minute," said Cuthbert, shuffling out.


    Dreth took a final look around his room. How long had he been here? Three Hundred years? More? Time was not easy to track when one was underground day and night. He''d almost forgotten what outside looked like. He pottered around, putting a few items in his sack with the snacks.


    "So, this is the undead area is it?" said Redthorne, evidently trying to make conversation.


    "Yesss."


    "Seems to be a lot of zombies around."


    "Indeed."


    "Why is that?"


    Dreth looked up from a pile of skulls. "Why is what?"


    "Why the undead?" Redthorne gestured to himself. "I''m a wizard of the 11th order of White Light. I have quested far and wide in my search for knowledge and power. Yet wherever I go it seems I encounter undead. Zombies, skeletal warriors, mummies, ghouls, wraiths, ghasts, vampires, and the occasional lich," he ticked them off on his fingers. "That''s why I hired the Cleric. I dislike those of the holy orders to tell you the truth, too full of themselves in my opinion, but they are useful." He paused a moment to stare at the head and spine Cuthbert had left on the table. "Well, usually."


    "You wonder why tombs have so many undead wandering about in them?" Dreth said. "Perhaps because they are tombs?"


    "A point I admit," said Redthorne, nodding thoughtfully. "Though not only tombs, dungeons of all kinds, and ancient buildings as well."


    "Well, that''s easy." Dreth tried on a helmet with a skull emblem on and discarded it after a few moments consideration. "Low maintenance. Other creatures need air, they get old and die and, of course, they need food. Undead don''t."


    "So what are all those half eaten body parts in your bag for?"


    "I said don''t need food, a snack here and there helps while away the time. Good for the complexion too."


    Redthorne was about to say something further when Cuthbert returned, sidling into the room.


    Dreth threw one last item into his bag and passed it to Percy. "Carry," he ordered.


    "Ready to go then," said Cuthbert.


    "Wait a moment! Hold on a minute! Stop!" Dreth said, halting Cuthbert''s progress towards the exit. "What, by all that is damned, is that?" He pointed a long bony finger.


    "I would ask you to watch your language from now on," sniffed Cuthbert. "And it''s not an ''it'', it''s a...er, he. Yes, a he I''m fairly sure." Cuthbert pushed forward the small figure that had been hiding behind his leg. "Go on, say hello to Uncle Dreth."


    One brown and one blue eye peered up at Dreth from knee level, as the miniature zombie shuffled forward uncertainly.


    Dreth stared, unable to formulate a response. Centuries of half-life had thrown adventurers, monsters, animations, spells and a wide assortment of strange devices at him, but he''d never seen a tiny zombie before.


    "He''s my son. Put him together myself," Cuthbert beamed proudly, moving the small undead back behind him as Dreth''s face went a paler white than usual.


    Dreth opened his mouth. No sound came out. He tried again. "What... how, I mean what do you mean he''s your son? You''re dead for Dreg''s* sake! You can''t have a son!"


    "Undead," corrected Cuthbert. "And that''s racist, or something, that is. The re-animated have every right to have offspring."


    Dreth brought a hand up to his head. He suspected he was having a headache, which he had always thought impossible in this incarnation. "I don''t actually think that is the case. Living reproduce. The dead don''t. They are practically well known for going around not having children."


    Cuthbert sniffed. "I don''t care."


    "Anyway, he can''t..." Dreth paused for a moment as he was about to ban the little one from coming along. ''Why not?'' he thought. A small body could reach places the others might not, and anyway, it would be one more obstacle to throw to the wolves, or dragons or whatever they were bound to meet. Anything that could add to his chances of success should be welcomed.


    Dreth smiled a horrifying smile. "Well, of course the little one can come along! I expect he''s excited to be out and about, aren''t you son?" He ruffled the ''kids'' hair, nearly dislodging the scalp in the process.


    Cuthbert looked at Dreth suspiciously for a moment. "Well, okay then." He straightened Sprat''s hairline and smiled down at his child. "See? Mr. Dreth is a good monster."


    "This is all very touching, but are we going to get moving or not?" Redthorne spoke from where he was waiting in the doorway.


    "Where are we going anyway?" asked Percy, struggling with the bag.


    "I believe The Dark is the only real option available," said Dreth. He closed the door to the room that had been his for the last unknown amount of centuries, and looked up. "This way," he said. "Cuthbert, in front please."


    With the zombie taking point they set off.


    *Dreg. Relatively minor deity of Not-quite-living creatures.


    ~ * ~


    The door was stone. Ancient stone, with dark markings engraved upon it that twisted in unnatural shapes the eye couldn''t quite follow. Before it Fallacy the Fair stood bound between two stakes embedded into the ground. Her arms and legs were stretched into a star shape, muscles pulled taught. Her heaving bosom glistened with sweat, despite the chill of the chamber. She couldn''t remember how she had ended up in her current position. The last thing she could recall was being in her house with her mother, and a shadow falling over them.


    She heard footsteps behind her, and a low voice spoke. "The Door must be opened. He will walk the earth once more, and feed upon the souls who dwell upon it."


    Fallacy''s eyes widened, and she struggled against the bonds as the cold bite of metal entered her back. She screamed in agony as the blade moved down, slicing open her skin. A pause, and then something entered her body through the gash and groped around inside her. The light began to fade as she felt a tearing sensation.


    The last thing she saw before succumbing to the darkness were her own lungs flung over her shoulders, still heaving as she gasped desperately for air...


    ~ * ~


    "Behold. The Dark." Mud gestured at the tunnel entrance that led down into an inky blackness. "A place of menace, gloom and Evil. No one who has ventured into it has returned to tell their tale. Some say it''s a bastion for lost souls. Others say the Darkest Lords of Hell were imprisoned here when the Light caught them, where they catch you and feast upon your spirit for eternity. I believe it''s Nothingness. A place in the universe that remained unfilled by the Creator when he was bringing All into being."


    The group looked doubtfully at the blackness.


    "A good place to throw the garbage though," said Percy brightly.


    "So, how many people have been lost down there then?" asked Redthorne.


    The White Troll looked uncomfortable for a moment. "Er. Well. I think a half-elf escaped down here once. A thief if I recall correctly."


    Dreth sighed. "So ''No One who has ventured into it'' consists of one thief, probably running away from Kevin in a feeding frenzy?"


    Mud sniffed. "We trolls aren''t renowned for keeping records you know. Anyway, you asked me to show you the way, there you are. Have a good time." He turned away and marched off back towards the Troll Caverns in a huff.


    "I can cast a light spell," said Redthorne, once he had gone.


    "No need," said Dreth. He held out a hand and looked at Percy, who dug around in the sack and pulled forth a couple of torches.


    "A light..." Percy looked around as column of fire roared up from the floor next to him. "Oh, that''s handy," he said, He plunged the torches into it, igniting them just as the flames died down to reveal a figure.


    "A demon!" said Redthorne, stepping backwards and raising his hands.


    "Oh, it''s only an imp. What do you want short stuff?" asked Cuthbert.


    "I''m here to stop you." The imp, a knee high red creature with a traditional demonic tail, stood self-importantly in their path. The circle of fire guttered out around him.


    "Ha! Even zombies can take imps out!" Percy stepped forward.


    "Wait! I command you!" The imp held out a hand.


    "What''s the holdup here?" asked Dreth. "What do you want imp?"


    "Are you Dreth?" asked the small devil.


    "What''s it to you?"


    "I''m here on behalf of the Management. You are hereby ordered to desist from your unauthorized movements and return to your posts. Failure to do so will have..." the imp paused for dramatic effect. "Consequences."


    Cuthbert looked at Percy. "Isn''t that a sort of board game?" he asked.

 Chapter 6：5 - The Dark

    Thanks for "You''ve heard my warning," the imp crossed its arms and stared at them haughtily. "I await your response minions."


    "I''ll minion you, you little..." Cuthbert stepped forward, but Dreth put a hand on his shoulder and restrained him.


    "Come now Cuthbert; let''s not get overly excited," Dreth said in a slow voice. He turned to the imp. "May we discuss this for a few moments in private please sir?"


    The little devil sniffed imperiously. "I suppose I can wait for a few minutes. Hurry up then."


    "Of course," Dreth replied. Signaling Redthorne to follow, and pulling Cuthbert along with him, he moved a little way down the corridor. Percy and Sprat stayed with the imp.


    "What are you doing?" hissed Cuthbert. "I can take that little blabbermouth!"


    "I''m aware of that", soothed Dreth. "However, here''s a chance to gain some information about our mysterious DM person, as well as get us a canary."


    Cuthbert thought about it for a moment. "Well, okay, but I get to eat the canary."


    Dreth rolled his eyes. He turned to Redthorne. Pulling the wizard and zombie close in a huddle, he spoke in a low voice. "Let''s see what you can do then wizard. Here''s the plan..."


    ~ * ~


    "All I''m saying is that we zombies have been down-trodden long enough. It''s about time we were recognized for the vital work we do..."


    The imp was tapping his foot as Percy droned on at him when the others returned. He glared at Percy until the zombie shut up, and then turned to Dreth. "Well? What''s your response? I can''t hang about here all day you know!"


    Dreth stepped forward. "Well, it''s like this you see... NOW!!"


    The imp squealed as the guardian leapt at him and pinned him to the floor as the wizard raised his hands and uttered a short spell, the words of Power booming around the corridor. A few moments later there was a brief flash of light around the imp, and the creature screamed.


    Redthorne nodded at Dreth, who stood up, dusting his hands. The imp bawled a stream of obscenities, but remained still, frozen in place by the wizard''s spell.


    "Now we''ll see who''s in charge," he said with satisfaction. "My wizard friend here has cast a spell on you. You won''t be able to move or teleport until he lifts it. So it''s in your best interests to co-operate. We''ll start with an easy one: Who do you work for?"


    "Not saying! Let me go! You''ll be sorry when He hears about this!" The imp farted. A protest that sent the wizard gagging for air, but had no effect on the others.


    Dreth delivered a vicious kick to the imps face, imploding several teeth. "Who is He? Tell us!"


    "Owowowowoowow! You''ll pay for that I swear!"


    Percy squatted down next to the figure and poked the Halfling''s foot into its eye. "Told you not to mess with us zombies didn''t I? Look where you are now." He shook his head sadly.


    "You zombies are getting above your station! When I get back I''m going to ask for a purge, get a new lot in and aaaaahhhahhahahahhh!"


    "That''s enough Percy, I want to extract the fingernails before we break his fingers." Dreth stepped up and pulled the undead away.


    "Oh, you''re in so much trouble," groaned the imp.


    "You know," Dreth looked down at the red figure, "I''ve heard that you imps are very proud of your tails. You certainly have a long and sleek one. It would be a pity if you were to have an ''accident,'' and it was somehow cut slowly away with my sword."


    "Oh no. No, you wouldn''t! Do you know how many centuries it took me to grow that?"


    Dreth reached for his blade. "Of course, all you have to do is give us a little information." He looked at the imp, who tried to return his gaze before finding that Dreth was remarkably good at it and giving up.


    "Oh very well. But you have to promise to let me go when I tell you what you want to know."


    "Of course," said Dreth smoothly.


    "Fine. The Management oversees the dungeon. Servant imps and other minions collect the treasure left behind by adventurers, the stuff that isn''t kept by the guardians of course."


    "And who is the Management?"


    "I don''t know!! They just appear as shadowy figures to me! Look, I''m just an imp okay? Not exactly high up in the hierarchy."


    Dreth regarded him for a moment and then sighed. "Okay then."


    "You don''t believe him surely?" asked Redthorne. "He is a devil, albeit a minor one, the species is not renowned for telling the truth."


    Dreth stood up. "The problem is, he''ll just lie about everything, and how are we to know what''s real and what isn''t?"


    Dreth nodded at Cuthbert, who came forward with a long coil of thin rope retrieved from Dreth''s bag. The zombie started to tie it around the imp''s neck, cutting off a piece to secure his arms and tail behind his back.


    "Hey! What''s going on? You said you would release me!" the imp complained as Cuthbert rolled him around on the floor.


    "Yes, I lied," responded Dreth. "Is he secure Cuthbert?"


    The zombie tested the bonds. "He won''t get out easily."


    Dreth spoke to the imp again. "Now, my good friend the wizard is going to remove the paralysis. You still won''t be able to teleport, so don''t try anything funny."


    "And here is me planning to nip off for a quick drink down the bar," the imp said dryly. Sprat poked him in the eye, and the little demon hissed at him.


    Redthorne moved his hands about above the creature, and the imps legs began to waggle furiously.


    "What''s your name imp?" asked Dreth.


    "Ichabod."


    "Well Ichabod," Dreth picked the imp up with one hand as he spoke. "We just need one more thing from you."


    "What''s that?"


    "We require a scout. Be a good fellow and see if anything is waiting for us down there will you?" So saying, Dreth threw the screaming imp down the tunnel and into The Dark. As soon as he entered the gloomy portal he disappeared from view, and his cries were abruptly cut off.


    "Oooh, that''s not a good sign," said Cuthbert.


    They waited. After a moment the rope moved and a minute later started to pull away. "I feel like I''m fishing. I used to like fishing when I was alive." Cuthbert frowned as he let the line slip through his hands. "At least, I think so."


    Dreth waited for another minute, watching as the rope slowly moved into the tunnel. "Well, whatever''s in there it doesn''t seem to be waiting at the entrance. Let''s go." He pushed Percy forward and they followed him down.


    "I can''t see anything!" Percy.


    "What happened to the torches? Are they still on?" Dreth squinted in the absolute blackness that had enveloped them.


    "Let''s see." A pause. "Arg! Yes, burning away." Percy again.


    "Where are you Sprat? Don''t wander off."


    "''m here pa."


    "It seems this area nullifies light," came Redthornes'' voice. "Let me try a spell." There was a moment of incantation followed by nothing. "Evidently it suppresses magical illumination as well."


    "The imp''s stopped moving." Cuthbert''s voice came from just ahead of Dreth.


    "Give the rope a tug," said Dreth.


    There was a distant yell. "Still alive then. Go on. Percy, lead the way."


    "Don''t see why it has to be me up front all the time," grumbled Percy. "Let''s send the kid first."


    "Hey! That''s my son you''re talking about!"


    "It''s not your real son. You just put him together from spare parts. He has one of my old hands even. You never did it with anyone."


    "Ha! Shows how much you know," Cuthbert''s voice oozed smugness as they felt their way along a narrow passage.


    "You never!"


    "Did so! Remember Emmy?"


    "Her??? Didn''t that ranger bash her skull in?"


    "Yes, thank you for reminding me about that. Anyway, we did ''the dance'' in the lower tomb."


    "Are they talking about what I think they''re talking about?" asked Redthorne of Dreth.


    "Who knows?" said Dreth. "However, I don''t recommend trying to find out."


    "The social life of zombies seems to be more complex than I realized," mulled the wizard. "Not that I''d thought about the subject much. At all in fact."


    Percy and Cuthbert were still talking, their voices echoing through the dark corridor.


    "That bitch! She told me she was frigid!"


    "What can I say, some zombies..." Cuthbert was cut off from a voice ahead.


    "Finally you get here."


    "Is that you Ichabod?" asked Percy, bumping into Cuthbert, who had stopped abruptly.


    "No, I''m the tooth fairy with a back-payment."


    "What are you waiting for imp?" Dreth asked.


    "Do they give back payment?"


    "I banged my head on something on the wall. I thought I would wait until you kind gentlemen came along to investigate, as my hands are currently tied behind my back for some reason."


    "There are some torches here, quite a few of them," Percy''s voice came from ahead, near the imp. "Oh, and some tinder boxes."


    "Why would there be torches here? Ours still don''t work," Redthorne''s voice came from one side.


    "Try and light one Percy," said Dreth, a suspicion growing.


    There were noises as Percy fumbled with the tinder box. A moment later a torch flared up. "Hey! I can see again!" he said.


    They looked around, to find themselves in a standard looking dungeon corridor made from dark gray stone blocks. It stretched away into the distance in front of them.


    Dreth frowned as he doused his old light. "Why do these torches work and ours don''t?" he asked.


    "Obviously some sort of special enchantment," replied the wizard.


    "Hmmm, and why are they here? Why not at the entrance?" Dreth took one and examined it as Percy lit several others and handed them round. The torch seemed normal.


    "Definitely some sort of magical emanation," said Redthorne.


    "Give one to the imp," Dreth told Percy. "Imp, get going. You''re still on scout duty."


    "And how am I supposed to hold it with my hands tied genius?"


    "Good point. Cuthbert, untie his tail, he can use that."


    They waited as the zombie released the imp''s extremity, and Percy handed him a light. The imp coiled his tail around the torch.


    "Right then, off you go," said Dreth, gesturing ahead.


    Ichabod gave him a nasty look, but staggered off down the tunnel without saying anything more.


    Dreth looked on as the imp disappeared into the dark, until only his torch could be seen bobbing along like a Will-o-wisp.


    "Right, after him then."


    They started walking towards the light.

 Chapter 7：6 - Stone Cold

    Ichabod muttered to himself under his breath as he stumbled down the corridor. "Stupid denizens, just wait until I get back, I''m going to file such a complaint." He stopped. The tunnel split into two. There was straight on, and now a new corridor off to the right. He looked down each one. Both disappeared into the gloom. Shrugging, he turned right and moved along the new way, which was remarkably similar to the old one except it wound about more.


    He turned another corner and carried on into a widening space until a hiss next to his ear brought him up short.


    "What have we here then? An imp!" The voice was hard as diamonds.


    He gulped. "I will have you know I am a representative of the Dungeon management," he said. "If you..."


    "Them!!" said the voice. There were more hisses. They sounded like snakes. Ichabod had always liked snakes, though he was willing to reverse his position. "They are the ones who imprisoned me here! Well, nice of them to send me a snack!"


    Ichabod dropped the torch and turned to run, but several sharp stabbing pains in his back caused him to stumble.


    "My pets like you it seems," the voice said, as the imp felt chunks of his flesh being torn from his body. He twisted to confront his attacker. No sooner than he did so he realized his mistake. He tried to raise his hands, but they were still bound behind his back. There was a feeling of heaviness as his eyeballs crusted over.


    He managed one brief scream before it all went black...


    ~ * ~


    "He''s stopped," said Cuthbert.


    "There is a junction ahead, goes off to the right," said Percy. "Our imp went that way. Shall we follow?"


    "Give it a moment," said Dreth.


    "Hey! Did you hear that? Sounded like a scream!"


    "Pull him back!" ordered Dreth.


    Cuthbert tugged on the rope and grunted. "Must be stuck, oh wait, here it comes." He pulled for a short while. "Seems to be resisting," he said. "Either that or he has gained..."


    The zombie stopped speaking as the object on the end of the rope slid into view. It was a perfectly formed stone statue of Ichabod.


    "Douse the lights! Quickly!" shouted Dreth.


    They did so, just as something turned the corner. Dreth thought he saw a snake emerge into the corridor just as the torches were extinguished. He pushed Redthorne behind him, not because he cared for the wizard, but he had gone to a lot of trouble to get the man alive, and he didn''t want to lose him at the first hurdle.


    There was a hissing sound from ahead and Percy shouted. "Hey! Something bit me! Get off!"


    There were sounds of a brief altercation, and another voice, a female one, screamed briefly.


    "Hold!" shouted Dreth. "Who goes there?"


    "Who dares trespass on my domain?" came the new voice.


    "I''m Dreth. Guardian of the Undead Way, and who may you be?" He had his suspicions.


    "Oh, a guardian. Well, that''s alright then. Why don''t you light the torches and we can all have a nice little chat."


    "I don''t think so," replied Dreth. "Percy! Don''t even think about it!"


    "You''re a Medusa aren''t you?" said Cuthbert, putting the clues together. "I heard there was one of your kind in the dungeon."


    There was a low laugh. "Well worked out my undead friend. Still, it won''t do you any good. You cannot escape The Dark without my help, you''re prisoners here, just as I am, and all I need to do is get a light. Someone will peek in the end, they always do."


    "I may have something to say about that," Dreth fingered his sword. "Your type can be killed too."


    The laugh again. "But then you would be trapped here for ever! I tell you what, if you give me a couple of your party, I''ll tell you how to get out. How is that for a deal? One guardian to another."


    Dreth stared into the dark. Lose two of his party already? He''d only just started. One of the zombies he could lose, maybe the kid, but the others? It was too early, there was bound to be harder challenges ahead. He felt his blade again. Medusa were killable, but how many were there here? And was she lying about the way out?


    He snarled as a snake slithered over his foot.


    ~ * ~


    Smoke curled atmospherically around the edges of the door, swirling mysteriously along the gray floor before dissipating. The stone portal opened slowly with a dull grating noise, as if reluctant to spill forth its contents. There was a short pause, and then a heavy footstep. Another and then another, until a large figure finally emerged. It looked at the remains of Fallacy for a moment, her exposed lungs steaming in the chill of the room.


    With a low rumble the gaze turned to the hooded figure standing behind the slumped body. The robed shape stood with knife in one hand, the blood dripping down the serrated edges of the blade into a dark pool on the floor.


    "Messy," it said.


    "I have summoned you!" cried the hooded man, holding his hands up in dramatic fashion.


    "I know."


    "You are mine! To use as I see fit, until I dismiss you! By the power of..."


    "I know all of this. You do it every time."


    The robed figure lowered his hands uncertainly. "I rather enjoy it, truth be told."


    "Who do you want me to kill?"


    "By what means do you know you will be required to remove life?" asked the summoner, who was finding it hard not to speak dramatically.


    "I have never been summoned for anything else. It''s always the same task."


    "Yes, well." The man grimaced in annoyance inside his hood. "I do indeed have a task for you. Heed my words now, and follow my bidding..."


    The newly summoned being leaned forward to hear its masters'' commands...


    ~ * ~


    "I don''t think we''re really ready for statue-hood yet," said Dreth.


    "So you reject my generous offer! You will regret..." the Medusa started.


    "Hold on, hold on here!" Percy''s voice interrupted her monologue. "Such a bad temper Ms. Medusa. What could be the problem I wonder? Bad breath? Unfortunate wind? No, I know! Down here alone, with no companions and unable to use a mirror? You must be feeling a mess! I bet you would kill... er, cheer loudly for a good makeover. Isn''t that right?" The zombie paused a moment, to a surprised silence. "Come now. No need to be shy. We''re all friends here, dungeon denizens together and all that. You can share. How long was it since you had a good facial?"


    "Well..." the Medusa began. "I don''t know..."


    Dreth heard Percy step forward. "Look, I used to be in the beauty business when I was alive. Good at it too I was."


    "Really?" asked the Medusa.


    "Really?" whispered Dreth to Cuthbert.


    Cuthbert nodded, which Dreth failed to see of course.


    "Best Salon this side of the Dragon''s Teeth," said Percy''s voice proudly. "Now, I can''t see you, not and remain able to shake my booty of course, but perhaps if I could just touch?"


    "I don''t know," the snake headed woman said uncertainly.


    "Look, what''s your name?" Percy was on a roll now. Dreth was quite impressed.


    "Agnes. Agnes Lookstun."


    "What a lovely name. My mother was called Agnes," said the zombie, working the charm for all it was worth. "Now, Agnes, let''s just have a feel...Ow!"


    "Sorry! My hair is very protective. Go on, try again. They won''t bite this time."


    Dreth heard Percy muttering to himself as he felt the Medusa''s features. "Huh! Dry as a bone! Flaky skin, needs moisturizer for sure, oh, for want of a good set of tweezers! Now the hands. Oh my lord, when was the last time you had a manicure? "


    "Well, you know..."


    "Don''t you worry. I''ll have you feeling like a million gold pieces in no time. Do you have somewhere to work? It''s going to be tricky with no light, but you''re in the hands of an expert..."

 Chapter 8：7 - The Light at the End of the Tunnel

    Dreth sat back, resting on a statue in lieu of a chair, some sort of Paladin by the feel of it, whilst Agnes lay back with dungeon moss draped over her face. It was still pitch black. Percy was in a nearby room mixing various muds and alga together, mumbling about ''split ends'' under his breath. Cuthbert and Sprat scuttled about finding the ingredients he specified, whilst Redthorne rested against a wall, a blanket of snakes wrapped around his body for warmth.


    "Why do you go around turning people to stone anyway? What''s the point?"


    "It''s how my species feed. We extract the life energies from the body. The turning to stone part is just a side effect really." She shrugged, though this was a fairly pointless gesture without any light.


    "You said you''re trapped here? We just walked in, can''t you walk out?"


    "Ha! If only I could! You think I would be here in this dank pit? I was caught decades ago by a team of goody goody elves. I hate elves. They trapped me with an enhanced sleep spell. Next thing I knew I was in here." The Medusa paused as Percy dipped her hands into some sort of liquid in small bowls.


    "Don''t ask what I made this out of," the zombie said before scurry off, tripping over Sprat as he did so.


    "So you''re restrained in some way?" continued Dreth.


    "The area beyond the torches is like a wall to me. I can''t go through it. You won''t be able to either for most of it. Still, I know one way out that you should be able to take. The Dark is a little weaker in one section. Still too strong for me, but I think others could push through."


    "So you won''t be able to join us then. Pity, we could use your talents."


    "Ha! I hope you get through! This damned Dungeon is nothing more than hell for me. I had hatchlings and a statue of a husband back home. I''ve lost hope in ever seeing them again. I hope they still keep Ronald polished." She sighed.


    "I''m sorry. If we can, we''ll find a way to get you out."


    "I''ve never met someone trying to escape before," said Agnes as Percy came back and rubbed some sort of oil onto her hair, which hissed in pleasure. "Well, not a prisoner like me anyway. A few adventurers of course, I don''t get many come this way. I end up feeding on bugs and rodents mostly." She paused in thought. "Good job I don''t have a big appetite."


    "There," said Percy wiping his hands on his front. "Leave that on for an hour and you will feel like a new monster."


    "Thank-you zombie," said Agnes.


    Percy blushed, or would have done if he had any blood circulation. "Oh, you know. We all have our talents."


    ~ * ~


    Dreth turned to the Medusa, or at least where he thought she was standing. They were in another stone corridor, though the lights were still doused of course. Agnes has guided them along a maze of dark passages, leading them by touch and sound, until they had reached a place she said was the start of the way out. "You sure you can''t get through?" he said. "It would be great to have you along. We could manage some sort of bag or something..."


    "It''s okay. Don''t worry. I''ll be fine knowing you are doing this. And your zombie''s makeover feels wonderful too. My hair has never been so slinky!"


    "My pleasure," said Percy. "I''ve left the cream in your parlor, on top of the stone dwarf. Don''t forget to use it once a day without fail."


    "I will. Now. Here, push hard, I''m sure you''ll be able to get through."


    The Medusa guided them on. Soon Dreth felt a resistance, as if walking against a strong wind. He forced his way onwards.


    "Daddy! Help!" came the voice of Sprat. "It''s too strong."


    "Hang on to me son," replied Cuthbert from just behind Dreth, who was pushing hard against the invisible barrier.


    "I can''t go any further!" Agnes''s voice called from behind. "Good luck! I hope to see you again!"


    "Please let us know you''re approaching first!" shouted Percy.


    The group struggled onwards, driving forward through the shield and out of The Dark...


    ~ * ~


    "Are we there yet?" asked Sprat.


    "If I knew where we were going I might be able to give you an answer," said Cuthbert, looking meaningfully at Dreth.


    They were wandering around in empty gray stone passageways, as they had been doing since they had left the Dark. They had stopped once to allow Redthorne to rest, but had spent the rest of the time moving steadily along, their echoing footsteps the only sound in the silence. It felt like they were walking along the same stretch of corridor over and over again. If it wasn''t for the layer of dust on the floor, Dreth would have believed it some kind of magical trap.


    "Are you sure this isn''t that maze you mentioned?" asked Redthorne.


    Dreth sighed in annoyance. "I told you a hundred times already, how should I know?"


    "Well, it''s your dungeon."


    "It isn''t my dungeon. If it was my dungeon I would know my way around wouldn''t I? I''d be sitting in some sort of control room stroking a white cat and laughing manically whilst watching everyone kill each other."


    Before the wizard could reply Cuthbert pointed. "I can see something! Light! Light at the end of the tunnel!"


    "Probably a dragon knowing my luck," muttered Dreth, but hurried forward anyway, Redthorne close behind.


    The pale glow grew as they moved closer, to reveal a simple doorway. After shoving the zombies through first, Dreth walked after them cautiously.


    The small chamber was lit by orbs of blue fire set into the walls. Their glow cast a strange tint over the area, making it look like the whole place was underwater. At the far end of the room a figure rested upon several large cushions. It looked a little like a bronze statue, sitting cross-legged. Eight arms waved about over an enormously fat belly. The head was overly large, with lots of small horns protruding from the top like strange fat hair. The mouth was wide and filled with sharp white teeth, while slitted green eyes observed their approach.


    "What is this place?" asked Percy to the world in general.


    "Welcome to my lair," said the creature. "I am the Oracle Farnsworth the Fair."


    "Ooh! I have heard about this chap!" said Cuthbert, jumping up and down and clapping his hands. "You can ask him any question and he has to answer it. Truthfully too mind you."


    "I''m bound to answer a question, just one," said the Oracle, "Just don''t make it too long."


    "Oh, an Oracle. Seems a bit of a strange place to put one of them," Dreth mused. "Still, why not?" He shrugged and stepped forward. "Names'' Dreth. I''m a guardian in the dungeon. Nice to meet you Oracle."


    "I know who you are, may your journey take you far," replied Farnsworth.


    "This isn''t my question to you, so don''t answer it if you don''t want to, but perhaps you would like to join us on our little quest? We could always use someone good with information."


    The Oracle''s eyes seemed to gleam for a moment, but then it answered. "Your offer is kind but I fear, until my time is done, I am bound here."


    Percy was covering his ears. "Stop speaking like that! It''s very annoying! Or I will push my fingers inside your eye sockets and waggle them about!"


    "Now now," said Dreth calmingly to the zombie. He turned to the oracle. "My friend is a little excitable. Still, he does have a valid point."


    "Oh don''t be a bunch of philistines," the oracle said. "Everyone knows Oracles speak in rhymes."


    "That does it. Finger waggling time." Percy stepped forward but Dreth pulled him back.


    "We can ask one question each or just one for the group?" Dreth asked, holding onto the struggling undead. "Again, this isn''t our question for the Oracle. Just a query."


    "One question for the group, though nothing about pea-soup."


    "What?" Asked Cuthbert. "Pea soup? Is that the best you could do? Couldn''t think of anything to go with group eh?"


    "It''s not easy to rhyme," answered the oracle wiggling its eyebrows, "all the time."


    Redthorne stepped forward. "In that case," he said. "The question is..."


    "Oh no! Grab him! Stop him speaking!" Dreth shouted, and the three zombies jumped the wizard, holding him down and covering his mouth.


    ''Mmffff," said Redthorne, flailing about. The undead were too strong though, and he soon slumped back in defeat.


    "I ask the questions here," said Dreth, glaring at him.


    "Hey, why should you get to ask the question? I would rather like to know if there is any way I can return to life," Cuthbert complained, standing up as Percy straddled the mage.


    "I thought you weren''t very good at being alive?" asked Dreth.


    "Doesn''t mean I wouldn''t like another chance though."


    "Well, if I we can find the wizard to undo my curse, maybe we can ask him to help you too," said Dreth.


    "Oh, that''s going to be likely! And what if your wizard is dead? He could be. It''s been a long time."


    "There''s bound to be someone who can help you, zombies are all over the place. My situation is special."


    "Hmph, self self self." Cuthbert folded his arms and put on a sulky expression.


    Dreth, ignoring the muffled complaints of Redthorne as Sprat played with his hat, turned back to the Oracle and regarded him thoughtfully. "Now, Oracles are a perverse lot, so I''m sure you will take any chance to twist my answer, or take the meaning in the wrong way. So, let me think a moment."


    "Come on," Cuthbert pleaded. "If you think hard enough you could ask some sort of question about both of us."


    "Forget it," Dreth said, making a slicing gesture with his hand. "That may produce some ambiguity. These Oracles are tricky creatures you know. They twist your answers around and make them all riddle-like. I hate riddles."


    "Look, all I''m saying is you could as a question like, oh, I don''t know. Mmmm..." Cuthbert wrinkled his face in thought, which didn''t produce the most picturesque effect. "Okay, we could ask something like..."


    "No! Don''t!" Dreth shouted, waving his hands about as he realized what the zombie was about to do.


    "...how can we turn from undead back to living creatures?" Cuthbert looked up as Dreth slapped his hand to his head. "What? Oh."


    The Oracles eyes gleamed bright orange for a second, and then it spoke in a somber voice that echoed around the room:


    "Dreth must be strong willed,


    The first step - his betrayer,


    Must be found and killed.


    Cuthbert, for life to win,


    Must redeem himself,


    Be absolved of his sin.


    Percy is an easy case,


    Just find the one,


    Who knows his face.


    For Sprat, little hope for joy,


    He needs to find a soul,


    To become a real boy."


    The squat figure smiled evilly and closed its eyes, whereupon a shimmer ran over it, and it stilled, turning into a dull bronze statue.


    "Great, now look what you did!" Dreth said, gesturing at the inert form.


    Cuthbert looked smug. "Heh, serves you right for being selfish. Anyway, you had your answer didn''t you?"


    "Find my betrayer?! Who the hell is that? I don''t remember any betrayer!" Dreth heaved a deep breath, from habit rather than need. "Count-to-ten, count-to-ten," he muttered to himself.


    There were noises as Redthorne began thrashing around again.


    "Let him up, the damage is done now," said Dreth. Percy stood up, freeing the wizard, who climbed to his feet and gave him a dangerous glare.


    "What''s a ''soul'' daddy?" asked Sprat, looking up at Cuthbert with large, mismatched eyes.


    "Er," said Cuthbert. "It''s a kind of animal. Yes, an animal, that''s it. Very rare."


    "Oh," Sprat wandered off as Cuthbert looked at Percy and shrugged.


    "Come on. Let''s move," scowled Dreth.


    "Which way?" asked Percy, pointing to the five exits, each of which lead off into a dark tunnel.


    Dreth looked from one to the other. The all looked about the same. "We''ll let Cuthbert decide. After all, he''s taking point."


    The zombie scowled and chose an exit at random. "This one."


    "Fine. Lead on," said Dreth.


    "I will," Cuthbert replied, and stamped off down the corridor in a huff. Dreth stalked after him.


    Percy looked at the mage. "Kind of chilly all of a sudden isn''t it?"


    "If you ever sit on me again zombie, I will turn your head inside out." Redthorne stormed off after the other two.


    Percy looked down at Sprat. "How about you?"


    "I like you Uncle Percy."


    "You''re a good kid Sprat. Remind me to give you the next liver I get."


    "Ooh! Thank you Uncle!"


    Taking the smaller undead''s hand, Percy set off after the rest of the party, Sprat skipping alongside.

 Chapter 9：Orcs

    Agnes hummed to herself as she put away the cream. She had only used it once since they had left, but her skin felt so much better already. Maybe she hadn''t eaten, but meeting Dreth and his crew had lifted her spirits.


    Then she heard it. An echo. Someone was coming. This must be her lucky week! Food!


    She moved through the darkness towards the sound of approaching footsteps. Her snakes hissed in anticipation. She didn''t need to see where she was going, over the years she had become familiar with every little nook and cranny of her domain. Her prison.


    That was unusual. The intruder hadn''t stopped to light the torches. Ah well, sometimes they missed them.


    The tread grew louder, and she sent some of her pets off around the corner to greet the guest.


    The footsteps didn''t pause, and there were some distressing squishing sounds. Not promising. Agnes backed up and grabbed her torch, lighting it just as the large figure came into view.


    "Gaze upon death..." she started, before fully comprehending her visitor. "Oh shit."


    Large cold fingers grabbed her neck and lifted her like a toy into the air. Her hair bit at the intruder angrily, but were totally ignored.


    "Where are they?" Red eyes glowed.


    "Ackk," responded the Medusa, gesturing wildly at her throat.


    The hand released her and she fell to the floor coughing.


    "Where are they?" the deep voice could best be described as ''gravelly''. "Tell me and live."


    "Live? This is life is it?" Agnes spat, her anger rising, even in her terror. "Do your worst. I''m cheering for them! Finally one of us is doing something!" She waved her fist.


    The intruder looked at her for a moment and then the huge hand shot out with a speed that belied its size. Agnes was grabbed by the head, the cold hard embrace crushed several of her hair-snakes, and green blood dripped down her face.


    She felt herself being lifted off the ground and screamed, clawing futilely at the solid grip that held her in the air. The creature squeezed. She could hear a cracking sound as her skull split under the pressure, pieces of bone penetrated her brain matter. Her eyes were slowly forced out of her head, blood and brain tissue oozing from the sockets and out of her nose.


    As the Medusa breathed her last, a strange sound emanated from her mouth. In her final seconds alive, she laughed. Agnes welcomed release.


    ~ * ~


    The dark walls of the entrance dripped with slime, echoing through the passage as it hit the rough stone floor. A flickering torch dimly illuminated the scene, casting eerie shadows that seemed to almost possess a life of their own, as if some otherworld demon was trying to cross over.


    A muscular figure hunched over, his black studded leather armor creaking under the strain. He put his sword to one side as he frowned, large yellow canines dripped with saliva as he muttered under his breath. Reaching out with a large hand tipped with sharp black fingernails, he plucked a small item from the creature next to him.


    He took a deep, rasping breath and spoke.


    "Look, all I''m saying is: that if the square root was valid if x over pi equals z, when z was a factor..." Harry drew various markings on the wall with the piece of chalk, trying to illustrate his point, but Herbert interrupted him.


    "No no no! You''re forgetting to factor in Hubert''s Theorem, which postulates that the variance of z can be attributed to..."


    "Wait! Did you hear that? Someone''s coming!"


    The two guards quickly stood up, grabbing their weapons as they did so. Herbert hastily erased evidence of their mathematical discussion, just as a small group approached from down the main corridor.


    The two growled and put on unfriendly expressions as the party stopped in front of them. The lead figure seemed to be a zombie.


    "What you want?" grunted Harry.


    The undead creature looked back over his shoulder. "Boss! There are a couple of Orcs here blocking the way. Do you want to speak to them?"


    One of the figures stepped forward, pushing his way to the front. He seemed to be a tall thin human, though a very pale one, wearing a long dark robe with a sword strapped to his side.


    "Orcs. You''re a bit far in aren''t you? I thought Orcs were strictly low level stuff."


    "We Black Tribe Orcs. Greater Orcs us," Herbert said, slapping his armored chest. "What you want?"


    "I''m Dreth, Guardian of the Undead way. I wish to enter."


    "No one pass. We guards," responded Harry.


    "Yes yes, I''m sure you have your orders and all that, but we would just like to speak to your leader, we won''t be a bother," said Dreth, frowning slightly.


    "You not pass. This Black Orc territ.. terri... land," Harry said, hefting his large and wicked looking mace meaningfully.


    "Look, we are workers of the dungeon ourselves, all we wish to do is speak to your King."


    "Me don''t know..." Herbert seemed to be wavering.


    Harry had no such qualms. "You not pass. King says no one pass alive."


    "Ah, well, you should let us through then, because we aren''t alive, are we now?" Dreth raised a thin eyebrow.


    Harry paused for a moment as he evaluated this loophole.


    "What about him? He look alive," said the Herbert, pointing his sword at Redthorne.


    "Well, he does, that''s true. But er, he''s a zombie as well, just fresher than most, that''s all."


    Harry waved his mace again. "Me guard! You not pass. Go away, or me beat you urg..."


    He was cut off as the tall being plucked the helmet off Harry with one hand and grabbed his head with the other, brutally slamming it into the stone wall behind. Sparks bounced around in front of Harry''s eyes as the sharp pain seemed to reverberate inside his skull.


    He roared and raised his mace, but the creature stepped inside his swing and brought a bony knee up between his legs, crushing the genitals with a powerful blow. Agony lanced through the Orc, and he screamed as blood dripped down his thigh.


    He tried to back away, but the guardian stepped closer and head-butted his nose, causing flashes of light to streak across his vision. Before he could do anything else foul tasting fingers grasped his mouth, upper and lower, pulling his jaw open with a strength that Harry, for all of his mighty thews, could not match. He yanked at the undead''s skinny arms in a vain attempt to free himself as bones begin to splinter. There was a grinding noise as the attacker twisted and wrenched the lower portion of his face off. Blood and mucus ran down Harry''s throat, and he spluttered and gargled, speckling Dreth with red.


    The Orcs'' knees began to buckle as the beast in human form wrapped its arms around his neck.


    "I don''t deal with underlings." The dry words were whispered into his ears, just before Dreth twisted violently, and everything went black...


    ~ * ~


    "Black Orc down! Black Orc down!" shouted Percy, doing a little jig and waving his arms about.


    Dreth glared at the remaining guard, hissing in annoyance. "Now. Are you going to let us in to see your leader, or do I have to really get angry?"


    "Y...y...y... this way sir," stammered Herbert.


    "Finally, some co-operation." Dreth frowned as the guard began to turn away. "Haven''t you forgotten something?"


    Dreth pointed to his side, in which Herbert''s sword was embedded.


    "Oh, s...sorry sir! How did that get there? I will have it out in a just moment." The guard pulled at the weapon, which slid out with a dull pop. "There, right as rain."


    "What happened to ''Me Grug, you bad''?" asked Cuthbert, scooping the eyeballs out of the dead Orc and handing one to Percy, who popped it into his mouth.


    "What? Oh, yes, that. Well, we have to act the part," said Herbert.


    "I suggest it may be worth rethinking your strategy," said Dreth.


    Herbert looked at the body of his friend, whose skin was being peeled back by Sprat. "You could have a point there."


    ~ * ~


    A heavy tread engaged a hidden mechanism, which in turn activated certain waiting magics.


    For the second time in a day the Oracle found himself awakened from stasis. He hissed in annoyance. True, every question he answered brought him closer to release, but it also used up some of his life energy. The only satisfaction he had was answering the questions posed as literally as possible. Petty, he knew, but you had to take your pleasures where you could.


    Then the large figure entered the Oracles'' chamber, and his eyes opened wide. Still, he uttered his usual opening line. "Welcome to my lair, I am the Oracle Farnsworth the Fair..."


    The huge creature strode over to him and leaned down, red eyes close to his. "Where did they go?" It said.


    "Your question is obscure, I..Ark!"


    A giant hand had wrapped itself around his neck and squeezed, saving him the work of figuring out what rhymed with ''obscure''.


    "Answer me."


    The Oracle gulped, or tried to. The hand was tight. "They went that way." He croaked, pointing at an exit with all of his arms.


    "Sensible." The hand opened, and the Oracle gasped for breath as the brute strode off in the direction indicated.


    "Bully," he choked, but he waited until it was out of hearing first.

 Chapter 10：Tunnels

    Dreth and co. followed the guard through a maze of caverns, passing through several heavily barricaded areas along the way. Orc warriors peered over the stone walls, weapons by their sides.


    "Expecting trouble?" asked Dreth.


    "Always," replied Herbert.


    Past the barricades they wandered, into Orc territory proper. Large caverns, water dripping from high ceilings, were separated by skins of various creatures hanging from crude wooden frames. Living areas, where Orcs of all sizes and dispositions walked, sat or worked. Males, females and younglings alike stopped and stared as they past.


    Redthorne wrinkled his nose. "Urg. They could use some sanitation."


    "Oh hush," Dreth admonished. "Human settlements aren''t exactly sparkling clean."


    "I can''t smell anything," said Percy.


    "I told you that you needed a new nose the other week," said Cuthbert.


    Eventually they turned into a more private area, guarded by imposing looking warriors dressed in dark chain mail vests and wielding large swords. Herbert had to negotiate several times before being allowed to pass. They did so though, and not long after entered a medium sized cavern, lit with bright torches.


    In this space Orcs mingled in small groups around the walls, talking with each other in low grunts. The center of the cavern was left clear, an obvious walkway leading up to a large throne carved from dark stone.


    Sat on this throne an impressive looking Orc sprawled. Black armor was strapped about him, with various tokens obviously taken from his victims hung at strategic points on his body. An enormous two handed sword leaned unsheathed against his seat, and Dreth thought he could see blood glinting darkly on the blade.


    The Orc King was deep in discussion with another, much smaller, Orc whom Dreth thought may be a Shaman of some kind. The group stopped a respectful distance away and waited to be noticed.


    Finally the shaman-Orc bowed and backed away.


    The King looked up. "What have we here then?" he rumbled.


    Herbert stepped forward. Dreth couldn''t help noticing he was shaking slightly. "King, I am Herbert, a lowly guard from the outer tunnels. These creatures requested an audience with your loathfullness." He jerked a thumb.


    "Did they now?" The large Orc slumped back into his chair and gestured. "Who is the leader amongst you? Why do you wish to speak with King Oscar of the Orcs?"


    Dreth gave a shallow bow. "King, I''m Dreth, Guardian of the Undead way. My group is trying to find the way to the center of the dungeon. We would appreciate any assistance you could render."


    Oscar chewed on a necklace of dried ears. "Searching for the treasure are you? How interesting." He leaned forward. "Approach."


    Dreth walked slowly forward. The Orc waited until he was close, then, in a single smooth move, he grabbed his giant weapon and brought it down in a great vertical swing towards Dreth''s head, narrowly missing the horizontal arc defined by the guardian''s dark blade as Dreth responded in kind. As the swords swooped past one another Dreth stepped swiftly to one side, and the Orc''s weapon hit the floor with a shower of sparks and a resounding clang. The deafening sound gave way to the sinister hum of Dreth''s sword, the tip of which was now hovering at the king''s throat.


    "I''m going to assume that was some sort of Orcish test," said Dreth, keeping his sword a fraction away from the leader''s throat. "I''m also going to assume I have passed." He tilted his head slightly to one side. "I have passed, haven''t I?"


    The King looked at him for a moment and then burst out into raucous laughter. Dreth took that for assent, and stepped back, sheathing Darkblood smoothly.


    The Black Orc commander nodded and sat down again. "You will do, un-alive man."


    "So, formalities over, do you have any information for us?"


    Oscar made a face for a moment, and then shifted slightly as a loud rumble emanated from his rear. Several Orc spectators applauded.


    "I happen to know the direction you need to go. It isn''t far from here. However, in exchange for said information, you must do us a favor."


    "Go on," said Dreth.


    "In the next territory along are a tribe of Ogres. For reasons of them being lying scumbags, we have been at war with them for some time. Unfortunately, despite our natural superiority, they still resist."


    Dreth frowned. "As good as I am, I don''t think I can win a war for you."


    The King made a dismissive gesture. "We don''t need that. We will crush the Ogres ourselves when the time is right. Until then, they have something we want."


    "And you want us to retrieve it for you?"


    The Orc nodded, and smiled a yellow fanged smile.


    "And what is this object?" asked Redthorne.


    Oscar stuck a large finger up his nose and rooted around for a moment before answering. "That, my dear zombie, is a state secret. However, you will find it in a small metal box in the Ogre Leaders'' chamber."


    "So, easy to get to then," muttered Percy from behind Dreth.


    Dreth considered this for a moment. "Fair enough. We can have a look anyway. Where are the Ogres?"


    Oscar gestured at Herbert. "You. Show them the way, and answer their questions."


    Herbert bowed.


    "You are dismissed," said the King, waving one hand at them and scratching at his groin with the other.


    Dreth bowed and backed away, mainly to be sure he had the king in his view whilst still in sword range, before turning and following the guard back out of the throne room.


    They followed Herbert out of the hall and down through a maze of winding passageways. The Orcs in this area were all warriors, speaking in low voices, sharpening weapons or just lying on the floor. Dreth couldn''t help noticing quite a few with recent looking wounds.


    Eventually they arrived at a fortification along a major passageway and climbed several steps up to a narrow walkway shielded by a wall constructed of large stone blocks. They peered over the barricade, to look down a long wide tunnel littered with Orc and Ogre remains. In the distance, a good five minutes run by Dreth''s estimate, a similar barricade faced them. The Enemy.


    "The Ogres are down there," said Herbert unnecessarily. "We call this The Tunnel of Blood''."


    "Delightful," said Dreth, examining the war zone. "I''m not sure about the direct approach though. It doesn''t seem to have worked well for you."


    "I could use an invisibility spell," ventured Redthorne, who had also been looking over the area.


    "Do they have mages?" asked Cuthbert.


    Herbert made a neutral gesture. "They have shamans, like us. Don''t know how powerful they are though."


    Redthorne pulled at his beard. "I should be able to overcome a few witch-doctors," he said confidently.


    "There are some other ways in as well, passages generally too small for them, or us, to use. They are probably trapped though, and I heard someone say that there are... vermin that live in them. Vicious vermin," the Orc added.


    Dreth ducked down as a large crossbow bolt flew up the passageway and embedded itself in the wall behind him. Percy yelped and dropped to the floor. He scuttled on all fours to crouch behind the wall, where he sat, hands on his head. Cuthbert stepped to one side and pushed Sprat behind him.


    "Snipers too," Herbert added cheerfully.


    "Are you sure about this Dreth?" asked Cuthbert. "There must be other ways to get to the treasure."


    "Why don''t we just walk into their territory and pretend to be friends?" asked Percy, from the floor.


    Herbert shook his head. "No way to the Ogres except through us, at least without going miles around."


    "Mmm," said Dreth. He peered over the wall again, carefully, and though about it for a moment." Finally he turned to Redthorne. "Wizard," he said, "get casting, I want invisibility on us all, and a shield if you can manage it..."


    "Hold on, hold on!" interrupted Percy. "Are you suggesting we walk down there?" He gestured with a thumb over the wall, just as javelin sized missile flew up, missing Cuthbert by a fraction.


    "Percy is right," said the other zombie from the floor. "There has to be a better way than up suicide alley there."


    Dreth frowned. "What about these tunnels?" he asked of Herbert.


    "Over there, too small for you lot though," replied the Orc. "Anyway, have fun, I have to get back to my post." He marched off, leaving the group to ponder the small opening near the ground.


    Dreth looked down. "Split. How would you like to play a little game of Steal the Ogres'' Treasure?"


    "Spit, Spat, whatever. How would you like a lovely new, er..." Dreth cast about for something that would appeal to the young zombie. He reached into the bag that Cuthbert had dumped on the floor. "A nice shiny leg bone? Still has some meat on it! See? Lovely and rotten." He waved the limb about.


    "Ok," said Sprat.


    "Hey! Wait a minute there!" Cuthbert raised an arm, before realizing that could get it taken off. "That''s my son..."


    Dreth cut him short. "Let''s let young Sprot decide what he wants to do, eh youngster?" Dreth attempted to wiggle his eyebrows playfully, only succeeding in making a face that would have normal children wetting their pants. "Do you want a bone lad? A lovely bone?"


    "Oh, come on, that''s just blackmail," complained Percy, "who wouldn''t want a lovely leg bone?"


    Sprat reached up and took the leg.


    "Kid''s decided, it''s a done deal," declared Dreth.


    Cuthbert shook his head and covered his eyes. Dreth knelt down and spoke slowly to the little undead. "Now, this nice man here," he gestured at Redthorne, "will cast some spells on you, okay?"


    Sprat nodded, his head wobbling alarmingly.


    "Excellent." Dreth went on to explain what he wanted. "And I will just hold onto this leg until you come back okay?" He stood up and nodded at Redthorne, indicating he should start his magic.


    Redthorne, standing back in a protective wall niche, cast a number of quick incantations. He waved his hands in several intricate gestures and pointed at Sprat, summoning a protective shield about the small zombie. That done, he spoke several words in a strange hissing language, and cause the small zombie to fade from sight.


    "Cool," came the voice of Sprat.


    "Now Spot," said Dreth, "off you go. Remember, if you don''t come back with the box, I will personally tear your head off and feed it to the nearest Orc."


    "Name''s Sprat," mumbled the invisible zombie, but stumbled off towards the dark tunnels, his progress marked by his footsteps shuffling along, and the odd movement in the debris strewn floor...


    *One he had found on the floor.

 Chapter 11：Black Death

    Sprat crawled through the passageways, some tight even for him. Around him creatures and things scuttled about in the dark. He was glad uncle Dreth had got that warm human to do the magic thing on him.


    He paused a moment, squeezing back against the wall to allow something slimy and green with no legs to slither past. Stopping only to stick a finger in and taste the trail of slime left behind, not very nice, he carried on. The noises he had been hearing for a little while were getting louder.


    Sure enough, around another corner, light could be seen filtering in. He scrambled towards it, poking his head out cautiously. Uncle Dreth had said these Ogres didn''t like little zombies, so he had to keep very quiet.


    No one seemed to be about, so he pulled himself into the small cave, which was stacked high with boxes. Resisting the temptation to peek inside, he walked quietly along, towards the only entrance he could see. He passed through it, dodging to one side as a large ugly beast carrying a club thudded past. Waiting to ensure the ogre was gone, he carried on along the wide passage.


    Skipping around another two giants, he crawled through one cave and then another and another, looking for the sign that Uncle Dreth had told him about.


    Just as he was about to give up he saw it - a large skull on a pike, outside a doorway with a curtain across. He crept up carefully and listened. From the other side thunderous snoring could be heard. He peered under the curtain, and then squirmed through, being careful not to disturb anything.


    The room inside was dark, but he could make out enough. There wasn''t much to see actually. At the back of the wall was a large table, too high for Sprat to on to. To the side was a wooden chest with a large lock. Directly opposite was a low bed. Lying on top of that was a huge ogre, snoring loudly enough to make the floor vibrate.


    Sprat sidled around the wall, standing on tip toes to see what was on the table. Just the remains of a meal, some unfortunate Orc by the looks of it. Glancing at the form sleeping on the bed, Sprat crept over to the chest and heaved at the lid. Locked.


    He looked around. There! Around the neck of the slumbering Ogre was a chain. Attached to the end of the chain, dangling over the side of the bed, was a large metal key.


    The young zombie looked at the key and then at the chest. They seemed like they could match. Pushing his arm on more firmly, he tiptoed forward. The snoring rose to a crescendo, and the monster snorted, rolling to the side, facing the undead. Sprat stood still, not breathing, though this was normal for him.


    After a moment, the snoring started again, this time accompanied by grunts from the sleeper. He seemed to be mumbling about someone called ''Doreen'' and how he was going to ''eat her up''. Sprat smiled. He would sure like to have a whole person to eat too!


    He drew near, hand worming closer to the dangling key. A grunt, and the ogre opened his eyes, staring right at the little zombie. Sprat froze, nearly biting his tongue off.


    A long second passed, then another and another. Slowly the giant''s eyelids dipped and closed. A moment later the snores started again. Sprat stood were he was. How had he not been seen? Wait! Stupid! He was invisible!


    Another snort and a massive hand swung around, nearly removing Sprat''s head in the process. Lunging under the arm Sprat grabbed the key and twisted, disengaging it from the chain. He dropped to the floor as the ogre rolled over again, pulling the chain with him.


    Wiping his forehead dramatically, Sprat slithered over to the chest and inserted the key. He turned it slowly, wincing at the grating noise it made. Finally, it clicked open.


    He pulled on the lid again, and this time it lifted. Pushing it back he peered inside, looking for the box Uncle Dreth had described. It sure seemed a lot of work just for one leg bone...


    ~ * ~


    Herbert''s new partner was a young Orc, fresh from the nursery pits as far as he could tell. He was none too happy at being assigned to a ''dead end alley'' as he put it.


    "Look, don''t complain. This is easy duty," said Herbert.


    "Cowards work!" exclaimed the new boy, whose name was Frank.


    Herbert sighed and settled back. It was going to be a long watch.


    "Hey, someone''s coming!" said his eager partner. "All right! A bit of work already. Maybe this isn''t so bad after all."


    Herbert gripped his sword as Frank stepped forward, clutching a wicked looking flail. "Hold! You''re entering... oh."


    An enormous figure leaned down, looking the young guard in the face with glowing red eyes. "Where are they?" it demanded.


    Frank hesitated, but then seemed to gather some courage. "I don''t know who you are, but I''m a Black Tribe Orc warrior..." he began.


    Herbert, who was trying his best to become part of the corridor, closed his eyes. Wrong answer.


    There was a dull crunch, a clang of flail being dropped on the floor, followed closely by thud of dead Orc. More footsteps, stopping close in front of Herbert. He opened his eyes a fraction, to look into a face that appeared to be made of wall.


    "Where are they?" The creature repeated.


    "Ah... they went that way," he blabbed, pointing at the entrance he was supposed to be guarding.


    The head nodded. "Sensible." It stood up, towering above Herbert, and strode onwards, as if a tribe of greater Orcs posed no threat to it.


    Glancing only briefly at the body of his short lived companion, Herbert slipped into the passageway after the intruder. If he moved quickly, and used a short cut, he should be able to beat it to the throne room.


    ~ * ~


    Dreth paced up and down, to the distress of the zombies who pointed out that he was drawing fire. Indeed, several missiles had narrowly missed the half-alive figure.


    "What''s keeping him? Surely he should have found it by now?" Dreth turned again. An arrow whizzed passed his head.


    "He''s probably already ogre stew," complained Cuthbert. "When I was alive there was a saying: Never send a boy to catch a bird in the hand." He frowned. "No, wait, that wasn''t it."


    "Never bite a hand until it feeds you?" suggested Percy.


    "Good advice that," said Cuthbert. "Get the food first, then the hand. Two apples with one stone that is."


    "Will you two be quiet?" shushed Dreth. "I think I can hear something." He knelt down by the hole, just as Sprat popped his head out.


    "Hello Uncle," he said, face covered in grime.


    "Did you get it?"


    "Here," said the little zombie, handing Dreth a closed box with runes inscribed all over it.


    "Excellent," said Dreth, snatching it away.


    "I also..."


    "Yes, very good Splot, Cuthbert will give you your leg now." Dreth was concentrating on the box, trying to open it.


    "But I..."


    "Sprat! Are you all right?" said Cuthbert, crawling over. "Did you see the ogres? What happened to your invisibility?"


    "It went away," said Sprat. "And..."


    "Well, you could have been killed! What do you have to say for yourself mage?" Cuthbert turned and shook a finger at Redthorne, who merely shrugged.


    "Daddy, I found a..."


    "Curse it!" said Dreth, shaking the box. "It''s sealed magically somehow."


    "Let me have a look," said Redthorne.


    "I don''t think so wizard," Dreth held it close. "Come on, we''ll deal with the Orcs first, then worry about opening it."


    They moved off, Sprat happily gnawing on his new leg.


    ~ * ~


    King Oscar sat on his throne, enjoying the administrations of one of his wives, who was busy applying oral activity to his utensil.


    "Sire!" said one of his minions. "The zombies are back."


    Oscar raised a finger, and the guard waited for a minute, until the King let out a long and happy sigh. "Well done my dear," he said, dismissing the wife, who backed away, dabbing at her mouth.


    "King Oscar!" The voice was calm yet radiated power.


    The king looked down his nose at the skinny pale human. "Ah, it''s you again. And I see you have brought your friends too," he observed the zombies & wizard behind their leader. What do you want?"


    "We bring you your box sire," said the pale human, holding forth the object in question.


    King Oscar sat up straight. "Indeed! Bring it here quickly!"


    "First, your end of the deal, where''s the way to the dungeon''s center?"


    Oscar laughed uproariously. "That? Hahahahahaha! That''s easy! It''s through the ogres'' domain! Hahahahahaha!"


    The human''s face tightened. Oscar pointed a long dirty finger at him. "Tricked you good didn''t I? Now, hand over the box!"


    Dreth handed it over, keeping a wary eye out for tricks.


    "How did you disarm the tracking device?" asked Oscar. "Just out of curiosity."


    "Tracking device?" Dreth looked puzzled.


    Oscar opened his mouth, closed it and then opened it again. "Don''t tell me you didn''t remove the spell? The ogres put a..."


    "Sire! Sire! The ogres are attacking! Everywhere!"


    "You idiot!" snarled Oscar, picking up his blade. "Sound the alarm! All troops to defensive positions!" He turned to Dreth. "First though..."


    Herbert ran into the chamber shouting, cutting off the king mid-flow. "Sire! Sire! We''re under attack!"


    "I know that fool! The ogres want their..."


    "No, not the ogres! Something big! It''s killed a dozen warriors already, and it''s heading here! It asked about them!" He pointed at the undead.


    "Us?" asked Cuthbert, looking from side to side nervously.


    Dreth turned to the king. "What''s inside it?" He asked.


    "What?" Oscar was momentarily confused. "Ah, the box! Ha! Wouldn''t you like to know?"


    "That''s why I asked."


    King Oscar smirked, despite the chaos as Orcs ran back and forth about the cavern. "As you will. Inside here is the key to the Central chambers! Hahahahaha!" He slapped at his leg in mirth. "That''s right! You just handed over the only way in to the treasure. How smart do you look now?"


    "I see." Dreth drew his black sword slowly. "Then you should give it back."


    "Come get it!" Oscar raised his giant blade, beckoning with one hand.


    The human ran at him, and Oscar swung high, bringing his weapon around in a powerful sweep. The undead guardian brought his blade up and blocked it with a screech of metal on metal. Sparks flew as both stepped back. The king was surprised. The human was stronger than he looked. Never mind! He smiled and thrust forward suddenly, moving far faster than he had before. The sword caught Dreth in the middle of the chest, penetrating his flesh and protruding out of his back.


    Oscar grinned widely as the human looked down at the weapon embedded in his body. His grin faded as Dreth looked up again, his face set in an expression of anger.


    "You will pay for that." Slowly the human pushed forward, up the king''s sword, the blade sliding through his body, pushing further and further out of his back as he made his way closer to the hilt.


    Oscar stepped back, but this merely pulled Dreth closer to him. He looked into the guardian''s black eyes, and for the first time in his life knew fear.


    "My turn," whispered Dreth.


    The cold kiss of metal entered the kings'' abdomen, sliding through his organs with a burning, yet icy, touch. Oscar opened his mouth, but no sound emerged. The heat in his body seemed to be sucked away, drawn into the black sword.


    The last thing he knew was the sound of laughter. "Awake!" Came a voice inside his head, "awake at last!"

 Chapter 12：Golem Trouble

    Dreth pulled at the sword, trying to free it from the body of the dead King. It moved slowly, as if resisting his efforts. Keenly aware of an urgent need to not be there, he pulled harder, finally succeeding in wrenching the blade out of the corpse with a wet sucking sound.


    The weapon dripped with green Orc blood, but under that it seemed to throb with dark power. A low moan emanated from it. "Bllllooood," it said, black energy crackling up its length. "Feeeed meee."


    Dreth had no time to wonder at this sudden awakening. Quickly grabbing the box, he turned around to face the others. The king''s sword was still sticking out of his body, front and back, but he didn''t have time to remove it just now.


    "I don''t wish to rush you, but half an army of ogres are after that thing," said Cuthbert, indicating the rune-box.


    "Let''s get out of here then," said Dreth. He started heading towards the way they had come in, only to stop as a giant figure stepped into the cavern.


    Red eyes scanned the crowd, finally settling on him.


    The enormous stone Golem stepped forward, batting away an Orc who was too slow or foolish to get out of its path. "Dreth, Guardian of the Undead Way. The Management has sent me. You are charged with deserting your post."


    "Oh futtocks," said Percy. "That''s a Guardian Golem. They''re practically indestructible! We''re screwed."


    The Golem stepped forward, massive arms reaching out for them.


    Dreth stepped away and raised his sword, which seemed to be trying to pull him forward. This monster was not something to be trifled with though. He risked a quick look around. Behind him came the sound of battle, as ogres and Orcs fought for dominance. Another exit to one side was crowded with Orcs trying to get away, and the only other way out was behind the Golem.


    "This is going to be tricky," he said. "Look," he said, stepping backwards and pulling the dead king''s sword out of his body at the same time, "let''s see if we can''t come to some sort of arrangement hey? I mean, surely we''re all on the same side, right?"


    "Not really," replied the Golem, advancing. "Don''t get me wrong, it''s nothing personal, but I have my orders. You must be made an example of." It lunged forward.


    Dreth skipped back and brought his sword up to block the blow. The blade met the fist with a loud clang.


    "Aaarrrgg!" said the weapon, "that hurt!"


    The Golem smiled a stony grin. "Magic swords don''t scare me little man. Now, stand still and take your punishment like a guardian."


    "Not bloody likely!" said Dreth, and dodged to one side to avoid another swing. "Wizard, cast some sort of spell! Stop him!"


    Redthorne, who had retreated to a safer distance, scratched his head. "Tough one, these Golem types are usually fairly proof against magic. Still, give me a minute and I''ll see what I have." He made a gesture and a large book appeared in his hand, which he started leafing through.


    "I don''t have a minute you useless... urg!" Dreth tumbled across the floor as the huge fist managed to finally connect. The runebox went flying.


    "E... F... G... Gas... Giants... Gnomes... no, not that, Gold... mmm, thought I''d lost that spell." Redthorne thumbed through his book muttering to himself.


    Dreth picked himself up, then quickly dived to one side to avoid being squashed by the Golem''s foot. "Read faster blast you!" he shouted, performing a series of really quite amazing maneuvers, trying to stay out of the creatures'' reach.


    Sprat, meanwhile, had picked up the runebox. The little zombie looked at the marauding animation, and then at the seething mass of Orcs and ogres, still fighting in the main entrance. He waddled up to the mage, who was mumbling under his breath, and tapped him on the leg.


    Redthorne looked down, placing a finger on the page so he wouldn''t lose his place. "What?" he asked.


    The small zombie pointed at the box and said something to wizard.


    Dreth jumped onto the dead king''s throne, and then did a somersault over the back of it. Percy and Cuthbert applauded and shouted encouragement.


    "I hope you''re not distracting Mr. Wizard, you short assemblage of spare parts!" he shouted, ducking. The Golem''s fist smashed into the wall next to him, dislodging rock and leaving a large crater.


    Dreth just about managed to get a glimpse of Redthorne casting some sort of quick spell before he was hit again. He was sent flying through the air to land at the feet of Cuthbert and Percy, who were standing out of the way and watching the action.


    "Good one boss!" said Percy.


    "Nearly had him there!" said Cuthbert, giving a thumbs up sign.


    "Don''t put yourselves out or anything," said Dreth, staggering to his feet. "I think I''ve broken a rib." He looked around just in time to see the Golem throw the throne at him.


    "Let''s get out of here!" shouted Percy, as the chair smashed into the cavern floor beside them, exploding in a mass of stone shrapnel.


    "What''s Sprat up to?" asked Cuthbert, lurching away at speed as the giant creature approached.


    Dreth spared a quick glance at the small undead as he jogged in a wide circle around the cave. The zombie had the runebox in his hand and was walking with a determined gait up to the Golem. As he watched, the little zombie took aim and threw the box at the Stone Guardian. It hit and stuck to its leg. The Golem took no notice, intent on pursuing its prey.


    Dreth looked wildly from side to side. The ogres were pushing forward, having nearly overwhelmed the Orcs, and the other entrance was still crowded with refugees from the fight. He skipped left, but the Golem darted forward, cutting him off and trapping him in a corner.


    "Look, you don''t have to do this, really," said Dreth. "Throw off the shackles of oppression brother! Rise up and fight the overlords!" He raised his fist in a salute, in a desperate attempt at false camaraderie.


    "But I like my job," said the Golem, closing in. "It is annoying being summoned from the Sleep sometimes, but the hours are good, and you get to see places and meet interesting people. If only briefly."


    "I don''t suppose you would take a bribe?" Dreth asked, scraping the bottom of the ''options'' barrel. His back was now against the wall, in several senses.


    The guardian shook its head as he loomed closer, towering above the half-dead. He raised a fist. "Time to be very, very sorry," it said.


    Dreth closed his eyes. There was a slight pause followed by an enormous crash, then silence. His head remained unflattened. He opened his eyes again.


    Where the Golem had been standing was a large pile of ceiling.


    "Couldn''t find Golem," shouted Redthorne from the other side of the cavern, "this was the best I could come up with."


    Dreth eyed the pile of rock. It moved slightly.


    "I wouldn''t hang about it I was you," said Cuthbert. "That won''t hold it for long." Even as he spoke an arm broke through the rubble, dislodging several large boulders.


    Dreth skipped past and retrieved his black sword from the floor where he''d dropped it. Just as he did so the first of the ogres, a huge dirty white creature wielding a studded club and wearing a battered helmet, broke through the Orc lines and stepped into the cavern. Several, more normal sized creatures, followed closely behind.


    The giant ogre saw Dreth and squinted at him. "Fee fi fo fum," it said in a deep bass voice. "I smell the blood of a... zombie."


    Several of the following ogres shook their heads.


    "Nearly had it that time sir!" said one. The giant swung his club idly and knocked the speaker flying.


    "Be he ''live, or be he dead," he continued, walking slowly towards Dreth and company. "I''ll grind his bones to make my... porridge."


    The other ogres groaned.


    Dreth started to reverse, but the sound of sliding rock made him stop and turn. Behind him the Golem rose from the rubble like a vengeful mountain. Red eyes glared at him, piercing the dust like demonic searchlights.


    "Oh poop," said Percy.


    "Look!" shouted Dreth, pointing at the Golem. "It has your box! Get it quick!" He dived out of the way as the big ogre roared with anger and charged, club held high. The rest of his force raced after him.


    Dreth winced as the two sides met with a massive crash. "Let''s not wait and see how this turns out," he said.


    They ran around the edge of the cave, ducking once as an ogre flew out of the melee over their heads, to smash into the floor beyond and lay still.


    "Do you think they will stop it?" asked Redthorne.


    Percy shook his head. "They will delay him, but ogres don''t have anything strong enough to beat a Guardian Golem," he said. "You can''t kill them unless you find their heart, or break the body into little pieces, from what I hear."


    The group ran past piles of Orc and ogre bodies, back down the passage they had been before. The barricades had been smashed, and corpses of both sides littered the way.


    "Look at all this food!" wailed Cuthbert. "What a waste!"


    "You can stop and have a snack if you want," said Dreth, jumping over a headless corpse, "but I''m not waiting for you."


    The ogre caves were mostly deserted. Only the young and a couple of old creatures had been left behind. Those looked suspiciously at the group as they passed, but none made a move to intercept them.


    "What are we looking for?" said Percy as they wandered around the main cavern.


    "I don''t know. Some kind of entrance, probably one not oft used," replied Dreth.


    "How about that?" asked Redthorne, pointing to a dark corner.


    They followed his finger. Set well back into a recess was a metal door. Upon closer inspection it looked unused; rust had built up over the surface. There didn''t appear to be any lock, just one large handle. Dreth took hold of it and pulled.


    It took a bit of straining, but it eventually cracked open. "A little help here," he said.


    Percy and Cuthbert ducked around him and grabbed the edge of the door. With the three heaving together the portal finally, reluctantly, opened. A waft of cold air came from beyond.


    "Ahh, smell that dungeon breeze," said Cuthbert.


    "I will, when I get a new nose," grumbled Percy.


    "Come on, I''d rather not wait for the ogres or that blasted Golem to show up again," said Dreth. He pushed the two zombies forward, into the dark behind the door.


    "More tunnels!" shouted back Cuthbert.


    Dreth, Redthorne and Sprat entered, dragging the door shut behind them and blocking out the light.


    "Allow me," said Redthorne, and cast several magic-torch spells.


    The tunnels, once illuminated, turned out to be roughly hewn from bare dark red rock. The area just beyond the door was fairly wide, but it headed down and quickly narrowed.


    "Lead on then," said Dreth to Cuthbert.


    The zombies started down the tunnel, but Redthorne spoke to him. "I need a rest," he said. "I still have to sleep, even if you don''t, and casting spells drains you."


    Dreth nodded. "Fair enough, we''ll rest as soon as we get a little way away from here."


    They walked on, stumbling down the uneven passage. Soon it split into two. Figuring one was as good as another, Dreth let Cuthbert decide which way. This meant he had to let Percy decide the next one of course. Soon they were hopelessly lost.


    "Well, at least the Golem won''t find it easy to track us," said Percy cheerfully.


    "I need to stop," said Redthorne, after a little further. "I''m fit to drop."


    Dreth signaled a halt, and the wizard unrolled his sleeping mat and fell onto it. He was snoring in minutes.


    "Ahh, look at that. How sweet," said Percy. He moved forward slightly. "Do you think he would miss a hand?"


    "Leave him alone," said Dreth, trying to find a comfortable place to sit.


    "It''s not fair. Cuthbert has his Halfling foot," Percy complained, pointing to Cuthbert''s belt.


    "Do you still have that thing?" asked Dreth.


    "I''m aging it. Halfling meat is best aged, very tasty." Cuthbert licked where his lips would have been, had he had any.


    "Daddy," said Sprat. "Have we seen a soul yet?"


    "Not yet son," said Cuthbert, straightening out some of his sons'' limbs.


    "But I want to be warm, like the man in the funny dress," sniffled the young zombie.


    "They''re robes, not a dress," said Cuthbert. "Don''t worry lad, Uncle Dreth will find us a way to make everyone warm again, won''t you Uncle Dreth?"


    "You may get lucky whilst I''m looking for my contract," replied Dreth. He narrowed his eyes in thought. "What did that oracle say about you? You have to redeem your sin? What sin is that then?"


    Cuthbert looked up, and was quiet for a while. "It was a long time ago," he said.


    Dreth waited, but nothing more was forthcoming. He shrugged to himself, and settled down to wait.

 Chapter 13：Bobbing along

    "Did you hear that?"


    Dreth looked up, broken out if the revere that he used instead of sleep. "What?"


    "I thought I heard something," said Percy, peering into the dark, back the way they came. "Maybe it''s the Golem."


    "We had better go," said Dreth. "Wake up the wizard, he''s had long enough to rest. We should get out of here."


    Cuthbert poked the sleeper, who spluttered as he awoke. "Come on wizard, we need to move," said the zombie.


    Redthorne quickly packed his gear, and within short order the team was moving off again. They walked for another hour, choosing passages at random, until the tunnel started to open up.


    "Finally," said Dreth.


    They emerged into a vast cavern. The stalactite laden roof soared high over them, dimly lit by some sort of lichen. Straight ahead, running across from left to right, a chasm plunged into inky blackness. The path veered off, running parallel to the deep underground canyon. The other side could just be made out in the gloom, too far across to jump.


    Percy peered over the edge cautiously. "That''s a long way down," he said.


    "Come on, keep moving," said Dreth.


    They walked along the path for a while. It was twisty and uneven, and in several places narrowed alarmingly.


    "Anyone know anything of this place?" asked Dreth.


    "Not me," said Percy.


    "Nor me," said Cuthbert.


    "Me too," piped up Sprat.


    "Well, you''re only little," said Percy.


    "Maybe so," replied Cuthbert, "but he has the brain of an adult. I think it was a ranger actually."


    "What''s that?" asked Redthorne, interrupting the genealogy conversation. He pointed upwards.


    They followed his gaze, to see a round something swooping down upon them. A hissing noise accompanied the creature as it flew into range.


    "Beholder*!" shouted the wizard, and dived to one side to avoid a beam of


    energy from one of the monster''s eyes.


    "Hold hold! We''re on your side!" shouted Dreth, waving his arms about over his head.


    "We''re from the undead area!" shouted up Dreth. "I''m Dreth, from the Undead Way, these are my frie... companions." He waved at the others.


    "Oooh, nearly slipped there," said Cuthbert.


    The beholder came closer carefully, hovering a short distance from them, over the canyon. His main eye glowed a dull white. "Zombies!" he said. "Long time since I saw any of you lot here. What do you want?"


    "We''re heading towards the center of the dungeon," replied Cuthbert helpfully, earning a Look from Dreth.


    "Really? How exciting!" The beholder flew closer. "I always wanted to know what was in the middle." He waved some of his eyestalks. "Names'' Robert," he said. "Bob for short."


    Dreth introduced himself and the others. "This mage is with us," he said, pointing to the wizard, who was crouching behind a rock.


    "Well, not sure about an adventurer, but if you vouch for him¡­" Bob was cut off from above.


    "Robert! What are you doing there? Are you speaking to someone? If it''s that floozy from down the way you are going to be in trouble¡­" The voice was high pitched and grating.


    Bob sighed. "The Ball and Chain," he explained as another beholder, slightly smaller, came into view.


    "Well, the ball anyway," whispered Cuthbert to Percy, nudging the other zombie and winking. Percy sniggered.


    "Who''s this? What are you doing speaking to intruders?" The second beholder floated next to Robert, waggling her eyestalks angrily.


    "They aren''t intruders. They''re guardians, same as us!" protested Bob, rolling his major eye at Dreth.


    "Guardians they may be, but not like us, oh no! We do our job Robert Beholder! You may not care, but I don''t want one of those letters thank you very much." She floated down a little. "Remember what happened when that giant slug refused to slime? Warning letter one day, shriveled piece of skin in a pile of salt the next. Now, you use your ray on these creatures or there will be no you-know-what for you tonight."


    She bobbed next to Bob, crossed metaphysical arms and tapped a metaphysical foot.


    Her husband heaved a deep sigh. "But honey..."


    "Don''t you honey me! You do what I say! Now, is it going to be little piles of intruder dust, or are you going to be sleeping in the hatching chamber on your own again?"


    "...but I''ve been talking to them! How would it look if I suddenly used my disintegration beam now? Downright rude is what."


    "Fine, in that case you can float up to the top of the cavern and then swoop down again. Your new friends can have that long to bugger off, or something. We run a respectable chasm here, no chatting with the victims."


    Bob''s face fell, he rotated to face Dreth and, incidentally, away from the missus. "Sorry, but I better do as she says. Once she''s in this mood there''s no talking to her..."


    "I am right behind you you know!" interrupted the shrill voice.


    Bob made that ''clenched teeth'' look all males get at some point or other when dealing with unreasonable spouses. "Look," he continued, "if you turn about you should make it out of our territory before I reach the roof and back. It''s probably for the best, you wouldn''t make it through the next chamber anyway, and I really don''t want to disintegrate you. It always gives me a splitting headache when I do that, which isn''t funny when you''re basically all head."


    Dreth raised a finger. "It isn''t really very convenient you know," he started.


    "We don''t care!" Mrs. Beholder pushed her husband out of the way. "Now, are you going to get going, or do I have to do the job myself?" She glowered at them.


    Dreth scowled. He didn''t want to have to fight his way through these beasts if he could help it, they had the advantage of terrain if nothing else, but he didn''t really want to go back either. He scratched his head.


    At his side the black sword whispered to itself. "Kiillllll¡­." It said.


    *A magical creature. They are spherical (ball shaped) with no limbs and float in the air. Beholders have one large eye, and several other smaller ones on eyestalks. They can cast a variety of magics that emanate from these eyes, and are generally not monsters you would want to trifle with.

 Chapter 14：Cavern Chaos

    Mrs. Beholder glared at them, something Beholders are well equipped to do. She opened her mouth again but Dreth raised a thin finger to forestall her.


    "Excellent!" he beamed, subtly forcing Darkblood down into its sheath. "I would expect nothing less from a pair of such frightening guardians. Quite right, not to let strange creatures make their way through your cavern without any explanation. No doubt when I finally report to the management this will earn you a commendation!"


    "No doubt you''re wondering what I''m talking about." He folded his arms and nodded. "Let me tell you why we''re here, and why we''re heading to the center. A Guardian Golem has gone berserk and is rampaging through the dungeon; he''s been attacking hard working denizens, not unlike yourselves. I''ve even been forced to consort with mere adventurers to help bring him to task."


    "A guardian?" asked Bob, eye swiveling left and right.


    "Yes, he''s coming this way even now," said Cuthbert, stepping forward. "He piled through a whole tribe of Ogres just up the way," he gestured back towards the caverns, nearly knocking Sprat into the chasm as he did so.


    "He is?" squeaked Bob''s wife. "This way?"


    "Under the circumstances, I''m sure that you would want to let us pass as quickly as possible, and to take refuge yourself as well. After all, we wouldn''t expect you to try to actually stop a berserk Golem. That would be beyond even your abilities..."


    Bob swelled up at this, expanding like a balloon being pumped too energetically. "I will have you know we are Advanced Level guardians! We''re quite capable of dealing with a Golem here and there."


    "Now dear," his wife floated next to him. "You know Golems are resistant to magic, your rays would have little effect, and if it''s a Guardian Golem..." She paused a moment and looked at her husband.


    Bob coughed and deflated a little. "Well, I suppose they aren''t weak enemies, and I wouldn''t want to put you in the way of something as dangerous as that. Still..."


    "Look, let''s go back to the hole and stay out of the way until this has blown over." Mrs. Beholder rubbed up against him.


    "Before you do so, any directions would be appreciated. We''re a little off course..." Dreth smiled a skull grin.


    "You know, I wouldn''t mind seeing the center myself," said Bob.


    "Now Robert, let''s let these nice undead go. You know we don''t exactly get on well with Von and his creatures anyway." She started to drop away into the chasm.


    Bob sighed. "I suppose so." He turned to Dreth. "Follow the path until you come to the bridge, you can''t miss it. Watch for the plank in the middle though, it''s a bit loose. Once you are over, turn left and take the tunnel with the large green rock next to it."


    "Thank-you," said Dreth. "Your actions will be noted."


    "Come on Robert!" echoed a voice from below.


    Bob winked several eyes and bobbed up and down. "Have to go, good luck to you!" He turned about and dropped out of sight into the crevasse before any of them could say anything more.


    "Damn, I wanted to ask him about what''s ahead," said Dreth, standing on the edge and peering into the depths.


    "Von and his creatures," said Percy. "Apparently."


    "Let''s get a move on," Redthorne stood up from behind his rock. "I feel too exposed here, and I dislike depths."


    "Nice couple though," Cuthbert said conversationally as they moved off. "Must remember to ask them to our next party."


    ~ * ~


    Two spots of red appeared in the dark, swiveling back and forth as they drew closer. The ragged kobold scout cowered against the wall. He knew it had been a risk, sneaking into these tunnels, but curiosity had finally overcome good sense. Now it pushed itself against the dead end and prayed to Kolog, the god of small beings trapped by bigger ones*.


    The Golem stamped up the passage, crushing a loose rock underfoot as it did so, and then stopped as the tunnel ended in a blank wall. It had lost track of the prey, and the good mood it had built up ripping apart ogres was beginning to dissipate.


    "You!" it shouted, spotting the kobold trying to meld into the rock face. The little monster fell to its knees and started wailing. The Golem picked it up between two fingers and drew it close to its mouth. "Have you seen a bunch of undead and a wizard pass by here?"


    "N...n...n....n....n...no s...ssss..sir."


    The Golem growled and studied the hanging form for a moment. It was insignificant, not worth wasting any time over. "Bah." Dropping the creature it turned about and stamped back up the tunnel.


    Behind it there came a noise of a minor monster wetting himself.


    *A minor god, and one that''s not seen often. It hides most of the time.


    ~ * ~


    Fyy Fleetfoot trod carefully as he stole up the passage. The hunting group had learned the hard way that this particular dungeon had more than it''s fair share of traps and dangerous creatures. Already Hammath Highhand was holding five arrows he would have to take back to the Forest. Five arrows he would have to present to families who would see their sons and daughters no more.


    Fyy shook his head, his long hair whipping to the side. Concentrate! He admonished himself. Grasping his rapier for comfort he peered up the dark tunnel with keen amber eyes. Was that movement ahead, in the infravision range? He stopped advancing and stood silent and unmoving as only a seasoned hunter could, becoming part of the environment, at one with the surrounding stone.


    Stone! If only he was back home, surrounded by the mighty trees of Jollygreenwood. Already there had been talk in the party about turning back. Only honor kept them searching.


    Fyy was the very image of a woodland elf. Tall, thin, garbed in green with a feather in his cap. He had a long bow slung over his shoulder and a quiver of arrows on his back. At one hip swung a thin sword, its silver pommel elegantly designed with runes etched into the metal. Long blond hair hung down to his shoulders, covering his pointed ears, which were currently straining to catch the slightest whisper.


    There! Again, a flicker of something ahead. He should report to Hammath. Stepping backwards he started a noiseless retreat. It came as a shock then, when there was a low whisper in his ear.


    "Going somewhere?"


    Fyy turned, pulling on his sword. Something smashed the side of his face, taking skin off, crushing his cheekbone and sending him flying into the wall, which he bounced off.


    The elf spat out a tooth and scrabbled backwards, trying to focus with one eye filling with blood. He saw nothing, yet the front of his tunic was pulled forward. He kicked out and his foot connected. There was a grunt and Fyy''s arm was twisted backwards at the elbow, breaking the joint with a splintering sound. He screamed in agony and tried to escape the grip, but whatever it was lashed out again, smashing him in the ribs and knocking him to the ground.


    Fyy''s thoughts turned to flight, and he grasped at the floor, attempting to pull himself along with one good arm. There was a sharp pain in his leg, and he cried out as a chunk of flesh was torn from his thigh.


    He felt strong fingers grab his neck, and his head was lifted up and then smashed into the hard stone cobbles. Lights flashed before his eyes, and agony echoed around his being as he was brutally abused by the unseen attackers.


    The last thing he was aware of was the sound of hard breathing, and cold jaws wrapping around his jugular, biting deeply, and feeding on his white Elven meat...

 Chapter 15：Fearey

    "You are a cowardly beast, unworthy to wield one such as I." Darkblood hissed as Dreth wiped some remaining Orc king gunk off the blade. "A fiend like you should revel in blood and slaughter. With your half-life and my powers we would be an unstoppable force for evil!" The sword pulsed a dark, throbbing light as it spoke.


    "Hah. Didn''t do much against Mr. Golem did you?" Cuthbert piped up from his perch on top of a boulder. "What was it again? Oh yes..." His tone took what he intended to be a high pitched girly voice. "Oooh, that so hurt me! Boo hoo!"


    "You are a worthless piece of mangy flesh!" roared the sword, red flashes of energy crackling down its length. A wave of hatred emanated from the weapon, which left the zombie totally unconcerned.


    "Better than an old bent piece of metal! Didn''t do your previous owner much good when he came up against Dreth now, did you? All talk and no gore, that''s your problem." Cuthbert stuck the remains of a rotten tongue out and attempted to blow a raspberry, but only succeeded in spitting it out. "Ahhhh mmu uuunng!" He mumbled, scrabbling after the mouth part.


    Darkblood laughed in malicious glee as the zombie scuffled around, trying to locate the errant item amongst the pebbles and rocks. "I would have sliced this pathetic excuse for a guardian in two, had my owner had the wits to use me instead of grabbing for his mace," he said.


    "Enough you two!" snapped Dreth, sheathing the sword and standing up. "Where is that wizard? How long does it take to relieve yourself?"


    He looked around. They had passed over the canyon of the Beholder without incident, and were now in yet another cavern, the walls the same dull red color, slick with condensation. They had paused briefly to allow Redthorne to perform his toilet, and act which he wasn''t keen to perform in front of them.


    "I''ll go and look for him," said Percy.


    "No need." A figure loomed up out of the gloom. "I''m here. Let us proceed."


    "Mmmm unngg!" protested Cuthbert, still on all fours. He lifted a rock and paused for a moment as some small insect attempted to squirm away. He picked it up and crunched down, chewing awkwardly.


    "We can get you another tongue later," said Dreth. "Let''s move, we''ve wasted enough time already." He turned and walked off.


    Cuthbert took one desperate last look around, and then stood up and hurried after them.


    They traveled on, rocks and pebbles clattering underfoot, the sounds echoing around the large cavern.


    "How big is this dungeon anyway?" asked Redthorne.


    Dreth shrugged. "I don''t know really. Pretty big though. It''s been around for a thousand years or more, so they say."


    The wizards stroked his beard in thought. "And in all that time, no one has ever claimed the treasure?"


    "Not that I know of," said Dreth. "But then no one tells me anything."


    Redthorne opened his mouth to speak again, but whatever he was about to say was cut off by shouts and screams from Percy.


    Dreth hurried forward to see the zombie rolling on the floor. Attached to his neck was a small fairy-like being, wings flapping as it bit into the undead''s throat.


    "Get it off! Get if off!" screamed Percy, pulling at his attacker. "OOooowoOOwww!"


    Dreth stepped up, but before he could take any action the creature let go and shot backwards into the air.


    "Urg! Disgusting! Rotten meat! Yargg!" The small figure recoiled, spitting and wiping at her mouth.


    "What do you expect?" yelled Percy back, clutching at his torn neck. "Serves you right! Hope you get food poisoning! OOow!! Little bitch!"


    The flying attacker looked around as the others approached. She was small, about twice the size of a man''s hand maybe. Dark hair floated about her head, and tiny wings buzzed behind her as she flitted to and fro so fast it was hard to make out her features.


    "Fresh meat!" she cried, spying Redthorne and darting forward, a blur in the air.


    Fast as she was, Dreth was faster, intercepting her and batting the diminutive aggressor away with his hand, causing her to tumble backwards and land roughly on the ground.


    "Ow! Watch it ugly, or I''ll bite your ears off!" She sat up holding her head.


    "You can try," said Dreth standing over her. "Now, tell me who you are before I step on you and squash you like a bug."


    The small figure spat and stood up uncertainly. Dreth squatted down and examined her more closely. Now she was still enough to make out her features, he could see a pretty face surrounded by long dark hair. She looked like a tiny human female, maybe early twenties, clothed in a simple black dress which looked like it had seen better days.


    "Draw a picture, it will last longer," she said nastily. "Who the hell are you anyway?"


    "Name''s Dreth, Guardian of the Undead way. What''s your moniker shrimp?"


    The small woman sighed and sat down on a pebble. "I''m Smudge, Fearie from the Black Garden."


    "The Black Garden? Never heard of it," Dreth said.


    "It is some way from here, presumably anyway, near a hidden entrance to the dungeon. I was with a group when a large party of elves came through. They captured me but I managed to escape, and now I''m lost. Hungry too." She eyed Redthorne meaningfully.


    "Since when do Faerie go around eating meat and attacking innocent zombies?" complained Percy.


    "I said a Fearie, not a Faerie you blundering fool!" the small creature sneered at him. "There is a noticeable difference. Fearie are superior in almost every way." She sniffed a superior sniff to emphasize her point.


    Dreth stood up as Smudge launched herself into the air again, flitting about like an oversize black wasp. "Well, you''re welcome to tag along with us if you want, but no biting the wizard."


    "Hmmph." She sniffed again. "He''s probably too old and stringy anyway."


    "Here, take a snack from my supplies," said Dreth, gesturing at Cuthbert to open the bag. "They''re a bit old I''m afraid, but better than nothing."


    Cuthbert passed Smudge a hand, which she struggled to carry, finally settling down on Sprat''s head to eat it as they walked.


    "Tell me about these elves," said Redthorne. "What tribe were they from?"


    "I don''t know," shrugged the Fearie, her mouth full of finger. "They all look the same to me. Seemed pretty determined to get into the dungeon though. Very strange actually, Elves don''t usually care about treasure, at least as a community."


    "I see," said Redthorne and fell back a little, deep in thought.


    "Something wrong?" asked Dreth.


    "What? Oh, no, nothing." The wizard waved a hand in dismissal and then looked up. "I think we''re coming to the end of this cave."


    Dreth noted the change of subject but didn''t comment. The cave was indeed narrowing. Off to one side a stout wooden door was set into the wall, looking totally out of place in the rough rock.


    Cuthbert placed an ear to it and listened for a moment. "aarn eearanfuu," he mumbled.


    "What?" asked Percy.


    Uuuu aad... uuu aaaarn eeer ufffuuu", Cuthbert repeated.


    "I think he said he couldn''t hear anything," said Dreth. He pushed at Percy. "Open the door, see what''s behind."


    "Bah. Bully," the zombie muttered, but pulled on the portal anyway. It creaked open to reveal a gray stone dungeon tunnel behind, running left to right. The undead stuck his head through and looked carefully around. "Can''t see anything," he said and stepped through.


    The floor immediately gave way beneath him, dropping him into space. There was a scream, a moment of silence and then a dull thud.


    "Uuueee!" shouted Cuthbert, and ran forward to peer into the trap.


    They all looked down into the pit. Percy was lying on the floor, a large spike through one leg. "Help!! Help! Get me out of here!" he screamed.


    "Shhhh!" said Dreth, making gestures with his hands. "No telling what monsters around here." He looked up. "Smudge, Spit, go and check out the passageway a little, make sure nothing is coming. Cuthbert, get the rope out and haul him back up."


    Smudge mumbled something about being ordered about, but flew off a little way down the tunnel. Sprat did the same, sliding past the trap and grumbling about how some people couldn''t remember his name.


    "Oooooohhh, what a day!" groaned Percy from his landing place. "First bitten half to re-death by a flying black midget, now my best leg ruined! And I think I''ve broken a rib too." There was a cracking sound, then a squelch as he pulled something free from his chest. "Yep. Look at that. No good to anybody now." He threw the bone away, and then saw something lying nearby. "Hey! I''ve found some treasure!"


    "What is it?" Hissed Dreth, still worried about attracting attention. "Pass it up!"


    "Ho! Wouldn''t you just like that?"


    "Pass it up or we leave you down there to rot," said Dreth. Then, because he was a bit of a stickler for detail, added: "More."


    "Oooh, one day you are going to get what''s coming to you." Percy grunted as he threw the sack up. It fell back and hit him in the face. "Ohhh! For Fugg''s sake. Why me?"


    Eventually, with a lot of groaning and complaining both Percy and the sack were recovered. Dreth snatched the bag away from him. "Now, what have we here?" He said, and opened it...

 Chapter 16：Fun With Elves

    Silth Harshlore peered around a corner and scowled, his white teeth gleaming against black skin. Curse this area! It all looked the same. He slid around the wall and moved smoothly forward, eyes darting left, right, up and down, checking for traps as he went. He had already nearly been skewered by spikes and squashed by falling rocks. This was a perilous region.


    He found a small alcove and, after checking it carefully, squatted down to rest. How could they have lost it? It must have been stolen, despite what Scut had said before the squad leader had gutted him for dereliction of duty.


    Anyway, if they didn''t find it they would all be made an example of. He fingered his sword. Perhaps he should try and make it out on his own, he knew of a colony not too far away, in the Shadow Mountain Range.


    Silth''s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of something approaching. He stood up and moved back against the wall, further into the shadow, as a hulking figure loomed into view.


    The solid form of the Golem stopped, and Silth cursed as a piercing red glare swung around to appraise him.


    "I am Silth Harshlore, Dark Elf scout. I carry nothing of value, killing me would be pointless," he said boldly as the eyes drew close.


    The Golem bent over to address him face to face. "Where are they?" it asked.


    "Where are who? My party? I will not tell, gut me if you will, for they will do worse should I betray them."


    "I am not interested in your pathetic group. I''m searching for the one called Dreth."


    Silth shook his head. "Never heard of anyone by that name. I''m not from this area though."


    The Golem rumbled and drew closer, the eyes seemed to burn into him, and for a moment Silth thought his time had come. Then it stood up again and stepped back into the passageway again.


    Heaving a sigh of relief, Silth leaned against the wall. There was a sudden ''click'' and he just had time to look around before the trap''s darts skewered him.


    He grabbed at his side as acid sizzled and smoked, burning his flesh away. A fiery pain spread down his body as clothes and skin succumbed to the corrosive. The Golem watched, unmoving as he slumped to one side, his internal organs now exposed to the air.


    "Help... me," he gasped, holding a hand out towards the stone creature. His fingers started to dissolve where he had touched the dart, and one fell off. As he dropped to the floor in agony the watching giant lost interest, and turned away to clump off down the corridor.


    As his liver was eaten through, Silth thought he heard it humming to itself. Then everything went black.


    ~ * ~


    "What," said Dreth, pulling a bundle out of the sack, "in Dreg''s name is this?" So saying he held up, by a leg, a chubby baby wrapped in a ragged cloth.


    "It''s a baby elf! A cute, young, juicy baby!" exclaimed Percy. "Oh please, please! Give me a bit! I have never tasted baby elf before! Just and arm, or maybe a leg."


    "Uuuugg uuuuur!" agreed Cuthbert.


    Dreth held the baby upside down and looked at it. It gurgled and attempted to put a fist into its mouth. Big green eyes stared at him in a sickeningly cute way. He grimaced. "Very well, but I get the liver and the brain. Here, slice it up." He started to pass the infant to Cuthbert when he was interrupted.


    "HOLD!!" Redthorne stepped forward, his staff blazing light. "I had forgotten what foul beasts you really are! I will not allow you to devour this innocent."


    "Oh foo! What are you going to do Mr. Wizard?" asked Percy, though he eyed the pulsating staff warily.


    "I will use all my power to stop this depraved act, even if it costs me my life," replied the mage.


    Dreth paused, the baby still held in one hand, and looked at the scowling Redthorne. He glanced over at the zombies, who would have been drooling if they were capable of such. Even Smudge was licking her lips.


    "Well, I don''t know. I mean it is a baby. We don''t often get such a morsel down here you know..."


    "You may kill me," growled the wizard, "but I will take the zombies and the flying shrimp with me at least. And who knows? You may find you''re not so tough yourself."


    Dreth scratched his ear and thought about it. He was fairly sure he could take out the wizard, but the mage had the right of it. It was likely that Redthorne would do a large amount of damage before he could stop him, and Dreth couldn''t really afford such a setback.


    "Here then, you want it, you look after it." He passed the baby over to the wizard, who nearly dropped it in shock.


    "Aaaawww! What did you do that for? Do you know the last time we had a baby down here?" moaned Percy.


    "Uuuhuuu!" said Cuthbert.


    "That''s right! Never! You''re such a spoilsport." Percy folded his arms and tried to sniff.


    "Uuu uuu uuhhh ahhh uuuung?" asked Cuthbert, gesturing to the baby and his mouth.


    "No, you can''t have its tongue. It''s too small anyway," said Dreth. "Now, fix Percy up. We still have that Golem behind us, remember?"


    "Bah. This will come back and haunt you, mark my words," said Percy. Still, he held out his leg as Cuthbert reached into his bag and drew out the zombie fixing kit.


    "It can''t have been in that pit very long," said Smudge, hovering over the infant, which clapped its hands in delight.


    "You''re right." Dreth looked about. "Whoever left it may still be near. We''d better be careful."


    "At least it seems to be in good health," said Redthorne. He leaned his staff against the wall and made a complicated gesture. There was a flash of light and a bottle of milk appeared in his hand. "Dinner time."


    "Very convenient," said Dreth. "You always carry a milk conjuring spell with you?"


    "I am a wizard of the 11th order of White Light, capable of many spells beyond your ken creature," replied the mage haughtily, as the baby sucked happily at the meal.


    "Mmmm." Dreth wasn''t convinced. There was something going on here. However, centuries of half-life had taught him patience. He would find out in due course, or it would be baby brains for breakfast. He looked at the zombies. "Are we ready?"


    Percy was standing up carefully, testing his damaged leg whilst leaning on Sprat. "I think so."


    The zombie muttered something under his breath, but limped through the door, being careful to step around the pit. The others followed, with the mage, still holding the baby, bringing up the rear. Sprat trotted next to him, fascinated by the little elf.


    ~ * ~


    Furn sloped forward, bow ready and senses straining. The rest of the group was close behind, in standard dungeon formation. The sorceress was in the center, protected by the other warriors.


    He wiped his brow. Elves weren''t supposed to sweat, but the strain was beginning to take its toll on them all. They had encountered several dangerous creatures, and brave hunters had fallen in battle fighting them off. Still more had succumbed to a swathe of deadly traps, and they had just discovered the half eaten remains of Fyy Fleetfoot, their best scout.


    Still, they were the best of Jollygreenwood, so they pushed on. They had a job to do, and they would do it or die trying. Unfortunately, thought Furn, it was looking as if the latter would be the likely outcome.


    He stopped suddenly, raising his hand as they rounded a corner. A short distance away was a creature. A zombie! He drew his bow back and fired in one smooth motion, hitting the beast in the arm. It fell back with a dry hiss.


    The other elves moved forward, bows ready and blades drawn. The mage started to chant a spell.


    The zombie crawled back, to be replaced by another figure in a long robe. Another zombie, Hurn though as he threw his bow to the ground and drew his rapier. No, not a zombie, it was moving too fast, he barely had time to get his weapon up as the attacker swung his black blade around in a low sweep.


    He blocked, but the dark sword simply smashed through the metal of his rapier, leaving him staring at a stump.


    As the others rushed up to help him, the creature thrust, moving far faster than he had ever seen anything move before. The blade pierced his chest, and now he could hear the laughter, the cold evil laughter, in his head.


    As he felt his life energy sucked away into the metal of the sword, the shouts of his comrades faded, to be replaced by a dark voice that became his whole world.


    "Blooood," it hissed. "Blooood."

 Chapter 17：Caught in the Middle

    Dreth pulled Darkblood out of the body of the elf and whirled to meet another attack. He swung again, but the elf he was now facing ducked, and he clove naught but air.


    He risked a glance around as his enemy danced back to avoid his follow-up thrust. Cuthbert had dragged himself backwards and was busy pulling the arrow out of his arm, moaning all the while.


    Percy and Sprat were trying to fend off another elf, whilst Smudge was flying around yet another, nipping in and biting where she could, whilst avoiding the swings from his sword.


    Dreth parried a blow and stepped back. They needed to do something quickly, in a moment the elves would overwhelm them.


    "Down!" cried Redthorne from behind, and he obeyed as a large pulse of yellow energy passed over his head, enveloping several of the enemy and reducing them to cinders. Cries went up from several of the elves and Dreth grinned to himself.


    However, the spell faded far too quickly. As it dissipated Dreth saw a tall female elf in long robes, chanting a counterspell. "Damn," he said. "There''s a sorceress with them!"


    The surviving elves moved forward again, whilst Dreth and the others withdrew slightly.


    "You will die for eating Fyy, foul beasts," said one of the elves, who was dressed in gilded armor and wielding a glowing white sword. Evidently the leader.


    "Who the Dreg is Fyy?" asked Dreth, trying to take a position that would block the corridor.


    "Who cares?" said Darkblood, "just let me at him, I will suck his life force out to feed my own."


    The elves scowled.


    "Not helping sword," said Dreth. He braced himself as they closed in.


    Something large and indistinct leapt out of a side passage with a howl, and landed on one of the elves guarding their mage. The elf screamed in agony as his arm was torn clean off, spraying blood everywhere. Another two beasts followed, jumping into the Elven hunting party and throwing them into confusion.


    "What is it? What is it?" cried one, swinging his sword blindly in front of him as his colleague went down.


    "Ware!," shouted the sorceress. "They''re invisible!"


    Dreth stared at the Elven leader as he looked back and forth between his howling men and the undead party, his position now compromised.


    As another of his warriors screamed, he snarled at Dreth. "Damn you! This isn''t finished, I''ll kill you later."


    "Hah, join the queue," said Dreth, but he was talking to air. The leader had jumped into the fray against the new attackers, evidently able to see the creatures.


    "What''s going on?" asked Smudge.


    "Let''s get out of here whilst they''re distracted," he answered, turning and moving quickly away down a random tunnel. "Leave that thing Cuthbert!" he said, but the zombie shook his head as he heaved at the elf Dreth had killed earlier.


    "Uuuh huuu."


    The group trotted away, nearly losing Sprat to another pit trap.


    Eventually, after well and truly losing themselves in the maze of passages, Redthorne cried out for a rest.


    Dreth nodded, and they stopped in a corner. "Percy and Sprat, go back a ways, make sure no one is following us. Cuthbert, Smudge, check down there and over there." He indicated the two passageways ahead. "Be careful of traps."


    Percy looked longingly at the Elven corpse, but he and the others moved off into the gloom to make sure they were all clear.


    Dreth drew Darkblood and wiped the blade down.


    "Delicious," hummed the sword. "I always did enjoy elf. They have so much more energy in them."


    "What were those creatures back there?" said Redthorne, patting the baby, who was squirming about in his grasp.


    "Some kind of invisible wolf-man as far as I could see," replied Dreth. He looked at Darkblood. "Was that your doing, me being able to see them? The others obviously couldn''t."


    "Just one of the advantages of carrying me into battle," said the blade smugly.


    "Hmm," said Dreth, looking up as Percy and Sprat returned. "Well?"


    "I could hear something in the distance, but it didn''t seem to be getting closer," said the zombie. "I think we''re alright for a little while." He squatted down and took a large bite out of the arm of the elf Cuthbert had brought along.


    "Oh! Elf meat is so tender!" he said, chewing blissfully. "Here lad, I promised you a liver." He turned back to the body, but was interrupted by Smudge, who came zipping back at a fast pace, even for her.


    "What''s wrong?" asked Dreth.


    "You mentioned a Golem was after you yes?" Asked the Fearie.


    "Yes."


    "Big fellow, glowing red eyes is he?"


    "Where is it?" asked Redthorne.


    "Back aways. I don''t think it saw me. It was just standing there, not moving."


    "Maybe it''s run out of magic or something," said Percy.


    "We should be so lucky," said Dreth. "Ah, here''s Cuthbert. About time! Anything up there?"


    "Uuuh hhhhhuuu!!!" said Cuthbert, pointing urgently down the corridor he had just explored.


    "What''s that?" said Dreth.


    "Uuuu uuuuuhh uuuh hhhhuuuu!!" repeated the zombie, jumping up and down.


    "What did he say?" asked Redthorne.


    "I''m not sure. Something about cake may be?" Dreth frowned.


    "Eye cake?" asked Smudge.


    "Uuuhh Hhhuuuu!!!" Cuthbert grabbed at his head in frustration, then stopped suddenly as an idea came to him. He held up 4 fingers.


    "Fingers?" asked Percy, puzzled.


    "Oh wait! I used to play this when I was alive," said Dreth, then wrinkled his brow. "I think. Four words?" He turned to Cuthbert who nodded, pointed and touched his nose.


    "Is there something wrong with his nose now?" Percy said, still catching up.


    "First word," said Dreth, as Cuthbert held up a finger.


    "Small?" guessed Redthorne.


    "A small word?" asked Smudge, hovering near the wall.


    "The?" said the mage.


    "And? IF? At? A? A! The first word is ''A''." Dreth folded his arms in satisfaction.


    "Fourth word," Smudge said.


    "Dance!" Percy finally caught on as Cuthbert gesticulated wildly.


    Cuthbert frowned at him and shook his head.


    "Drink?" said Dreth, then as the zombie changed actions... "Lean against the wall? Talk?"


    "Party!" said Redthorne, as inspiration struck


    "Party. The fourth word is party. A something something party," said Smudge.


    "Second word," Dreth said, beginning to enjoy himself.


    "Thinking!"


    Cuthbert scowled and scratched his head.


    "Scratch! OW!" Percy rubbed his arm where Dreth had hit him.


    Cuthbert looked at the floor, hoping for inspiration, then clicked his fingers and cupped his hand around his ear.


    "Ear."


    "No no, sounds like," corrected Smudge.


    "Sounds like... behind?" said Percy, as Cuthert continued his gyrations.


    "No. Injury? Behind? Back? Back! Sounds like ''back'' "


    Cuthbert pulled the top of ears up.


    "Black?" said Dreth, and Cuthbert pointed at him. "Shit. A Black Elf party."


    The zombie touched at his nose and nodded madly, pointing up the passageway.


    "Oh, oh! I have one! I have one! Let me have a go!" Percy waved his hands about wildly.


    Dreth ignored him. "So we have Black elves one way, Mr. Red eyes down that way, and our good friends the Elven hunters somewhere behind us." He looked at Redthorne as Cuthbert bent over the dead elf and began fiddling about with the mouth.


    "It seems very crowded in here suddenly," he said, narrowing his eyes in thought and rubbing his chin.


    "Don''t forget the invisible wolf-men," said the wizard, in what sounded like overly casual tones.


    "Finally! Everyone look! Look at me! I have a new tongue! A shiny new elf tongue! I can talk again! I can probably speak Elvish and everything." Cuthbert danced about, sticking his new body part out so everyone could see. "Hey, where did the Fearie go?"


    Dreth looked about, down all three corridors. "I don''t know, but I''m getting a bad feeling about all of this..."

 Chapter 18：Holding the Baby

    Dreth looked at Redthorne holding the baby and frowned. "Groups of Woodland Elf Hunters don''t go dungeon delving; they are just not the type. And suddenly there''s a pack of Dark elves wandering about as well. They wouldn''t be seeking treasure here." He pointed a bony finger. "And I don''t think you were surprised to find that baby either." He tapped the pommel of Darkblood meaningfully. "Start talking."


    The wizard scowled. "Pah, very well. This elf," he jiggled the baby, "is what I actually came here looking for. I''ve been sent to retrieve it by my Order. It was a stroke of luck finding it so easily, I must admit."


    "You came to this dungeon looking for a baby elf?" asked Percy. "Not the treasure? It''s very fabled our treasure you know."


    "The treasure means nothing to me," said the mage. "The baby is what I wanted."


    "So you have it now, why not just leave?" asked Dreth.


    "Amazing! Doesn''t want the treasure," Percy muttered to himself.


    "It''s not as simple as that. I don''t know my way out of here, and I can''t teleport far accurately enough with the baby to get outside, for technical reasons. I figured the best chance I have of staying alive is to stick with you, at least until a better choice comes along, but that''s not too likely in this place."


    "Can I have your share of the gold then?" asked Percy.


    "So what''s so special about this infant?" Dreth said, ignoring the zombie.


    "This baby is destined to save the world from great evil. When he''s older of course. The elves are no doubt from his tribe, out looking for him. The loss of a young one would be very disturbing to them."


    "Or magical artifacts, I like magical artifacts."


    "Shut up Percy," said Dreth. Then to the wizard: "So why not just give them the baby back? They''re on the side of Good aren''t they? It would get them off our backs at least."


    "Pah, elves." Redthorne made a face. "They''ll just take him back to their bloody forest and hide him away. ''Non interference of destiny''," he made the ''speech marks'' sign with his hands. "You know how elves are. He needs training if he''s to survive. To survive, grow up and be able to save us that is. My order can give him that training. Such a thing must not be left to chance."


    Dreth looked at the zombies. "I don''t know," he said.


    "I say we hand them both over to the elves, they might help us if we do," said Cuthbert.


    "Just leave the wizard to it, he''s dragging us down," interjected Percy.


    "It''s no good arguing, those choices are risky to you too," said Redthorne, obviously not liking where the conversation was heading. "What are we going to do? Where can we go now?"


    "I don''t know. It''s not like a door is just going to open up conveniently to let us through, is it?" asked Dreth.


    There was a grating noise from behind him. Part of the wall slid back, to reveal an entranceway.


    "How did you do that Uncle Dreth?" asked Sprat.


    "Never mind," said Cuthbert, "never look a gift unicorn in the eye. Come on." He heaved on the dead elf and pulled it into their unexpected escape route.


    Dreth shrugged and followed him, as did the others. Once the last of them were inside, the wall slid shut again, blocking the exit.


    "So now what?" asked Redthorne, looking about. They were in another service tunnel, slightly narrower than the main passage, but made of the same gray stone.


    "I think we''re supposed to follow this character," said Dreth, pointing at the large half cat, half man creature that had suddenly appeared in front of them. Standing on two legs, the muscular beast was human shaped, yet covered with a light brown fur. Startling green eyes stared out over a snub black nose and a mouth filled with sharp teeth. It was naked except for a pair of ragged shorts, and was gesturing at him with a clawed hand.


    The others looked at each other. Percy crossed his eyes and put a finger to his head, making the ''mental'' gesture. "Er, who would that be then?"


    "This chap here, he''s standing right in front of you," replied Dreth.


    Cuthbert looked at Redthorne, who was frowning. "He''s gone. Eaten too many brains, that''s his problem. I always said the old gray matter was bad for you. Makes you unbalanced. Not enough nutritious fat content."


    "I''m not unbalanced," said Dreth, annoyed now. Then something occurred to him. "Oh."


    "That''s the spirit," said Percy, patting him gently on the shoulder. "The first step to recovery is recognizing you have a problem."


    "The only problem I have just now is you two imbeciles!" retorted Dreth, shrugging off the zombie. "There is a cat-man creature standing right here. He''s obviously invisible."


    "Of course, invisible," said Cuthbert, winking at Percy. "Humor him," he mouthed.


    "Wait a minute," replied Redthorne, "I can do one better." He put the baby in a special sling he had rigged up to enable him to keep his hands free, and cast a short spell.


    There was a general wobbling of the air, and suddenly the zombies jumped.


    "Oh, him," said Cuthbert. "Invisible was he?"


    Dreth ignored him. "Lead on," he said to the cat-man, who turned and loped off down the corridor.


    He started after him, followed by Redthorne. Cuthbert and Percy each took a leg of the dead elf and dragged the body behind them, Sprat sat on the chest, enjoying the ride.


    ~ * ~


    Harm stalked down the passageway, following his scouts.


    "It''s just down here," said Smudge in a low voice. "They''re trapped between you, those elves and the Golem."


    "You had better be right," said the leader. "I''ve lost too many of my men as it is, curse this trap riddled maze." He made a quick hand signal to his troops, and they drew their weapons.


    "Watch out for Dreth, he''s strong and fast, you''ll have to immobilize him. And the wizard is dangerous too. The zombies are nothing," said Smudge, hovering over Harm''s head. "Just around that corner." She pointed.


    Harm made a curt gesture, shutting the Fearie up. His men crept forward and one of them peered cautiously down the corridor. After a short pause he stepped forward, moving out of Harm''s sight for a moment. A second later he returned. "Nothing, there''s no one there."


    Harm looked at the Fearie.


    "I swear! They were there just a few minutes ago! They can''t have gone far! Maybe they''re using invisibility, or perhaps Redthorne''s teleported them!" Smudge flitted about nervously under Harm''s angry gaze.


    The elf looked at his mage, Kruel Darkhand, and jerked his head. She nodded and walked around the corner. He followed.


    "Nothing," she said, after casting her senses wide. "Nothing invisible in sight, if you see what I mean. And I would detect a manna residue from a powerful spell like teleport."


    Harm drew a deep breath and his sword at the same time. "Fearie," he started. "I would like to make a short sharp point¡­"


    "Sir! Something approaching," one of his scouts interrupted the pending execution. "It''s big whatever it is."


    "The Golem!" squeaked Smudge. "We''re undone! It will butcher us all."


    "Quiet you," said Harm. He looked around. "Battle formation. If this thing''s half as bad as I''ve heard, we''ll be lucky to escape with our lives should it think badly of us. I do the talking." He cast another look at the Fearie, who nodded.


    They spread out, swords drawn as heavy footsteps approached. Harm couldn''t see anything with his infravision, but the two dots of red light were hard to overlook.


    The Golem stopped in front of the elves and looked around. Its gaze came to rest on Harm, and it stepped closer. Bending down to face the Leader it spoke:


    "Where is Dreth?"


    "Honestly? I''ve no idea," replied Harm coolly. "But it may interest you to know¡­" He was cut off as the Golem rumbled threateningly.


    "He''s been here recently, I can smell him. Tell me where he went." The eyes pulsed.


    The elf put out a hand in a calming gesture. "Look, I don''t know. However, my diminutive friend here," he pointed at Smudge, "says a wizard has the item we''re searching for, and he is traveling with your friend. We''re both after the same group. You want this Dreth fellow, and we''re after the wizard. If you pat our backs, we''ll scratch yours." Harm wondered what could actually scratch the animation. He made a mental note to confer with his mage later.


    The Golem stood upright again, towering over the elf. After a moment of contemplation it looked at Harm. "What do you propose?"

 Chapter 19：Cat Master

    The cat-man turned another corner, and the group hurried to keep up.


    "Slow down there," grumbled Percy.


    "Drop the dead elf," said Dreth. "It''s just slowing us down."


    "Bah, alright for you to say, with your bag of tasty body parts," said Cuthbert.


    Dreth stopped suddenly and drew Darkblood. The zombies squealed and jumped backwards as he strode towards them. Raising the sword he hacked once, twice, four times. Sheathing the blade again he picked up the now severed legs and arms and put them in his sack before turning to the undead.


    "Now, leave the torso. You can have the limbs later, when we''ve arrived."


    Cuthbert and Percy glared, but followed as he hurried off after their guide again.


    As they traveled along something occurred to Dreth. He motioned to Sprat. "Sprout, back in the Orc caves you said you found something with the box. What was it?"


    "Oh, just a lovely black marble uncle Dreth," said the little zombie, fishing around in his rags and producing a shiny spherical object.


    Dreth plucked it out of his hands and examined it. It certainly did look like a marble. It was about the size of a large one, and made of some material which seemed to suck the light away. He showed it to Redthorne.


    "Wizard, what do you make of this?"


    The mage looked at it and squinted. "I don''t know. It has a powerful magical aura though, whatever it is." He was distracted as the baby started to squirm. "Hush little one, are you hungry?" He made a gesture and produced another bottle of milk.


    Dreth examined the ''marble'' again for a moment and then looked at Sprat. "Tell you what little Spug, Uncle Dreth will give you a lovely elf arm in return for this. What do you say?"


    "Oooh yes please uncle!" The little zombie beamed.


    "Hey! That''s our arm that is," complained Cuthbert, as Dreth fished around in his bag.


    "Excuse me, who killed him exactly?" asked Dreth, glaring at the zombie as he presented the limb to Sprat, who cuddled it excitedly.


    "We carried it along with us though," complained Cuthbert, but in a low voice.


    "I think we''ve arrived," interrupted Redthorne.


    They looked forward, to see the cat-man pressing various parts of the wall in careful order. Sure enough a section slid away.


    Dreth stepped through cautiously. He found himself in a cavernous chamber, constructed from giant granite blocks. Grand columns rose majestically to a ceiling high above, hidden in the gloom. The walls he could see were draped with majestic, yet faded, tapestries depicting knights and wizards battling various dark creatures of the underworld. Low torches flickered in sconces set in regular intervals around the walls.


    "Cooo, look at this place," said Percy.


    "Fancy!" Cuthbert remarked. "Hello!"


    "Hello, ello, lo¡­" came back the echoes.


    "Heh, let me try one," Percy cupped his hands about his mouth, ready to shout.


    "Be quiet you two," snapped Dreth. "Who knows what''s waiting for us here?"


    Percy dropped his hands quickly.


    The party moved forward cautiously, their footsteps bouncing off the walls, seeming very loud in the still air.


    "There," whispered Redthorne, pointing ahead.


    Dreth squinted. A dais had been built in the center of the chamber. On the raised platform, facing away from them, was a large dusty throne, inset with gold and precious gems.


    "Come closer. Don''t be afraid." The whispered voice cut through the air.


    "I''m Dreth, guardian of the undead way, I''m not afraid," said Dreth.


    A dry chuckling ensued. "Oh, I know who you are; I know who you all are. I''ve been watching you. Come, come. Come around to where I can see you. It''s been some time since I had visitors."


    The group looked at each other and Dreth shrugged.


    They did as they were bid, walking around to stand in front of the throne.


    "Welcome! Welcome my friends! Do you know of me?"


    Dreth pursed his lips. "Can''t say I do," he said. "Can''t say I do¡­"


    The figure slumped in the throne sighed a ragged breath and waved a hand. "Well, it''s only to be expected I suppose. You may approach me, I don''t bite you know."


    "No offence or anything, but you don''t exactly look well," said Cuthbert.


    "Look who''s talking!" replied the man in the throne, as a maggot squirmed its way through the zombie''s neck and wiggled around in puzzlement.


    It was true though, he didn''t look wonderful. Dressed in what were probably once fine clothes, the man had seen better days. His skin was hanging off, one eyeball was all white, and his scalp had only a few ragged wisps of hair protruding. Teeth were black or rotten, and his visible flesh was an unhealthy yellow color, pot marked with scabs and sores.


    "You happen to catch me at a bad time is all," he said, as the group looked at each other uncertainly. "Anyway, I didn''t bring you here to listen to you badmouth me. If you don''t want help then you''re welcome to go back to your friends in the tunnels. Things didn''t seem to be going so well out there."


    Dreth put up a hand in a calming fashion. "Ignore Cuthbert, he''s an idiot. Of course we would welcome any help you can give."


    "Mmf." The ragged man snorted for a moment and glared at the zombies before carrying on. "My name is Harvey. Harvey Von McVon."


    "Von McVon? What sort of name is that?" asked Percy.


    "My name!" roared Harvey. "Want to make something of it?"


    Percy made an ''all right then'' face, but wisely, for once, said nothing.


    Von McVon resumed his dialogue. "I''ve heard of your quest, and I would like to help you."


    Dreth nodded. "Call me cynical if you will, but what do you get out of this?"


    Harvey chuckled. "In return for my assistance, I just need a small favor."


    "Here it comes," said Redthorne. "Pop over there and dispatch that demon for us would you?"


    "Nothing so drastic wizard," said the ragged man. "I just need you to go and retrieve something for me. A simple operation."


    "If it''s so simple, why don''t you do it, or your good cat-men friends?" asked Dreth, waving off in the direction they had come.


    "They prefer the term cat-people actually. Very correct folk they are." He pulled himself sidewise, to lean on one of the arms of the throne. "No, they won''t help, at least to that extent. Ungrateful felines!" Harvey scowled. "As for me, I''m limited in where I can venture. Should I stray too far from this cursed throne," he slapped the item in question," I will perish."


    "Doesn''t look like you''re far off now," muttered Percy.


    Dreth made a face. "Mmm. So what''s this little quest of yours that''s so easy?"


    "I told you. Merely recover an item. It''s in a crypt down yonder way," he waved towards the far end of the chamber, at a large stone door. "Crypts should be right down your alley I would have thought. Almost like a holiday." He wheezed strangely, and it took Dreth a moment to realize he was laughing.


    "And what is this item? Last time we retrieved something for someone it didn''t turn out so well," Dreth said, remembering the Runebox escapade.


    "I don''t know," replied the man. He held up his hand to forestall the protest. "Look, I''ll come clean, alright?"


    "I was once a powerful wizard, and no, before you ask, I can''t help your curse Dreth. Anyway, I was greedy, and I signed a deal with the Management here for eternal life."


    "This all sounds very familiar," said Percy. "You two should have a good chat about reading contracts before you sign them." He pointed at Dreth and Harvey. Cuthbert sniggered.


    "Quiet," said Dreth, irritated because the zombie had a point.


    "As your friend mentioned," Harvey went on, "I didn''t read the small print. The spell bound me to this throne. It regenerates me, keeps me alive, although not in pristine condition admittedly. I''ve festered here for generations, trying to escape. In fact I was the one that created the cat-people. They were supposed to work for me, to be my army, but they refused. Now they live in the caverns nearby and ignore me for the most part. Though they do sometimes help me out when I request it."


    "And this object, which you still haven''t told me about, will help you escape?" Dreth pondered the implications of such an item.


    Harvey shook his head. "I don''t know. This item is something that''s being kept there by the Management. I really don''t know what it is. All I know is that they think it''s important, so I want it to piss them off. That is why the cat-people won''t go there; they don''t want to rile the rulers of this forsaken hole. I''m past caring, and you''ve already annoyed them." He slumped back in his throne. "There, the whole sordid story."


    "You really don''t know what it is?" asked Percy.


    "I told you, no idea."


    "And if we bring you this item, what do we get?" Dreth said.


    Von McVon leaned forward and poked a scabby finger at them. "I can tell you how to get to the treasure. That''s what you want isn''t it?"


    "Let me consult for a moment," Dreth replied, and went into a huddle with the others a little distance away from the throne. "What do you think?"


    Percy shrugged. "Why not? We don''t exactly know where we''re going anyway. One way is as good as another."


    "I don''t trust him," said Redthorne.


    "You''re a wizard, you don''t trust anyone," replied Cuthbert. "I don''t trust you, come to that."


    "If we do find this item, maybe we can take it with us," said Sprat, surprising everybody.


    Dreth looked down at the little zombie. "My thinking exactly Spurt. Glad one of us is on the ball. And if we can''t, then we bring it back here anyway, or discard it altogether." He turned back to Harvey, his decision made.


    "We''ll do it, but no guarantees."


    Von McVon wheezed his laugh again. "Excellent. I knew you were the ones."


    Dreth let that comment pass. "Any hints? A bit of help? Perhaps a map?"


    "I can do one better." He raised his voice and shouted. "Tom!"


    From the shadows one of the cat-men emerged, he was almost identical to the one from the tunnel, but had black fur.


    "This is Tom, my assistant. He can show you the way."


    "I though the cat-men didn''t want to help?" asked Cuthbert, eyeing the newcomer uncertainly.


    "Cat-people," corrected Tom with a low snarl, "is the correct term. We''re a society of equals unbiased as to gender."


    "Tom is my assistant," said Harvey. "He''s more curious than the others it seems. Or maybe he''s just spying on me for the rest of them. Eh Tom?" He squinted at the feline.


    The cat man ignored the comment and licked a paw.


    "Are you invisible?" asked Percy. "I mean, er¡­" He stopped, confused.


    "No. Only some of us have that trait," said Tom. "I can still rip your throat out faster than you can blink though." He flexed a hand stuffed with sharp claws.


    "Charming," said Percy with a sniff.


    "Delightful as this little chat is, shall we get going?" asked Dreth.


    "Wait a minute," said Redthorne. "I need to change the baby."


    "Into lunch would be good," said Cuthbert, but quietly so the wizard wouldn''t hear.

 Chapter 20：Gut Eat

    "I just don''t like it. Why split up when we''re already so weak?" Xyth Greenfinger peered down the corridor.


    Vish sighed. She was tired of listening to Xyth complain. His moaning was beginning to distract her, and that could be fatal in this place. "Because," she explained for the thousandth time, "Hammath has so commanded."


    "But those invisible things are still around, we could end up like poor Rendath, newly married he was too."


    "Our mage has cast spells on us. We should be able to see them now, as you well know. Anyway, if we can recover the baby we can all get out of here."


    Greenfinger made a face. "None of us are going to get out of here. Hello? What''s this?" He paused, running a finger lightly over a section of wall. "Some mechanism. No doubt a trap that will maim and poison us." He examined the stone carefully.


    Vish Woodstroker rolled her eyes, but waited patiently as the other elf brought out his tools. A moaner he was, but Xyth was bloody good at avoiding traps, as well as spotting hidden things. He had already disarmed several snares that she would have walked straight into. He''d also found the area they were now in, which seemed to be cut from a different rock than the maze that had been slowly killing them before. She hefted the tube Marrim Runecaster had given her. To be used against the wizard if they encountered him, she had said. Vish didn''t want to encounter anything.


    There was a click and Xyth stood up. A portion of the wall fell away to reveal a large and gloomy room beyond. "After you," he said.


    Scowling, Vish drew her rapier and stepped carefully through the doorway. Mist crept atmospherically over the floor, and the temperature dropped rapidly.


    "Come on in," she hissed moving forward slowly.


    Xyth crept in behind her and made a noise. "It''s cold!"


    "Shhh!" said Vish, looking around. "I think there''s something over that way." She stalked through the mist towards several large caskets lined against the wall. "Oh crap. We''re in some sort of tomb, let''s get out of here."


    She turned to go, but as she did so the fog erupted next to them, to reveal an enormous shape. "Hur hur! Gut gonna have me some elf!" it said in a loud voice, lunging at her with huge hands.


    Xyth screamed and danced backwards as Woodstroker ducked and stabbed at the monster with her blade. It struck home, but was merely a pin prick to the creature.


    "Aaahhh! Bad! Gut hurt! Gut bash!"


    Vish jumped high in the air to avoid the clumsy attack, but it had been a ruse. Another hand grabbed her, pinning her arms to her side. "Xyth!" she cried, but the other elf was nowhere to be seen.


    A horrendous visage drew close, crooked yellow teeth in a massive mouth loomed. Fetid breath washed over her as her captor examined its prize.


    "Let me go!" The elf struggled to speak.


    "No chance!" The hand squeezed.


    Vish opened her mouth, gasping for air. She felt her ribs crack, and her arms break as the giant tightened his grip. "Bastard¡­" she just about managed to croak, then the world faded¡­


    ~ * ~


    "This way, keep up please." Tom scurried silently along as the others tried to match his pace.


    "Slow down, there could be traps," complained Cuthbert, "Sprat can''t keep up and neither can I."


    Dreth nodded. "The zombie makes a good point for once, about the traps I mean," he said.


    Tom folded muscular arms. "I wouldn''t fall for any traps," he said.


    "Well, I might," said Dreth, "and if I get cut in half I''ll make sure you suffer the same fate."


    The cat-man sneered, but slowed his pace.


    "How much further?" asked Percy. He peered around at the walls, which were almost black in color.


    "Not far now," hissed their guide.


    "Are you sure this is wise?" asked Redthorne.


    "No, but then nothing I''ve done recently is wise," replied Dreth. "Come to think of it, I wasn''t too wise getting into this whole mess in the first place. Percy was right about me not reading that contract."


    "Told you so," said the zombie, overhearing.


    "You can hardly talk can you?" said Cuthbert. "Bet you didn''t plan on being undead all your life did you?"


    "Oh, pot calling the cattle black!"


    "Kettle not cattle," interrupted Dreth. "And be quiet you two, I think we''re here."


    They drew up beside Tom, who was standing next to an archway. Peering through, Dreth could make out some narrow stairs heading down. "There''s no chance these stairs are trapped of course," he said dryly to the cat-man.


    Tom merely grinned smugly. "I don''t know. This is as far as I go. I''ll wait here for you, though you probably won''t come back up."


    "I had a cat once," said Dreth. "I had it neutered." Ignoring the look on Tom''s face, he turned to Percy. "Your turn. Get going."


    "One day you''re going to run out of guinea cows, and then where will you be?" the undead grumbled as he gingerly stepped onto the first stair.


    "I''ll manage somehow," said Dreth, pushing Cuthbert down next.


    Once the zombies had climbed a little way in, Dreth followed, with Redthorne and the baby behind. Sprat brought up the rear.


    The stairs wound around in a spiral, and were narrow and uneven, making the footing treacherous. The gloom deepened as they descended, and it started to get colder. Still, no traps were sprung, and they made it down to the bottom safely.


    "Well, so far so good," said Percy.


    They examined their new surroundings. There wasn''t much to see. A short, wide passage, made of the same black stone, led up to a solid looking wooden doorway.


    "Forward!" commanded Dreth. "Go around the wall though. I don''t like that patch of light stone in the middle there."


    The zombies complied, making it to the end of the short corridor unscathed. The others followed cautiously and soon all were stood contemplating the portal.


    "May as well," shrugged Dreth, and pushed.


    The door swung open with a creak, to reveal a cavernous dark chamber. Mist crawled over the floor, and the walls and high ceiling stretched out as far as they could see, disappearing into the gloom.


    "Ooh!" said Percy. "We never had mist. That is so cool!"


    "Harvey said the item was here, stored in the middle casket," said Redthorne. "It must be that one over there, on that platform." He pointed to a raised section some distance away, which stood higher than the surrounding fog. Perched on top of the dais were several large caskets.


    The group started forward, but almost immediately Cuthbert kicked something. He stooped and fumbled about, trying to locate what he''d kicked.


    "A skeleton, poor bugger. All crushed," he said eventually.


    "No doubt it wasn''t a skeleton when the crushing took place," said Dreth. "Which leads me to my next question."


    "What did the crushing?" Redthorne finished for him.


    "Er, probably he did," said Percy, pointing.


    "Oh fug!" Dreth backpedaled quickly, followed in short order by the others, as a giant form lumbered towards them, an idiot grin on his face.


    "Gut eat!" Boomed a voice, which echoed around the hall. The large shape, at least three times as tall as Dreth, was dressed in tattered brown rags. His greasy brown hair fell past broad shoulders, and he was in serious need of a bath. A long warty nose overhung a wide mouth, full of crooked yellow teeth.


    Dreth turned just in time to see the door slam shut. "Scatter!" he shouted, as the huge figure swung at them.


    They needed no telling. Redthorne was picking up speed rapidly, the baby crying as it was bounced around. Of Sprat there was no sign. Cuthbert and Percy were dodging left and right.


    Dreth sprinted into the dark as the giant''s laughter bounced off the walls. "Such fun!"


    "Let me at it! I''ll slice its fingers off! What a feast!" Darkblood complained from his sheath.


    Dreth ignored the sword and ducked behind a boulder, which turned out to also be sheltering the wizard, who was squatting down, a hand over the baby''s mouth to keep it quiet.


    "Can you cast some sort of protection spell on me?" said Dreth. "A shield of some kind?"


    Redthorne nodded. "Keep the baby quiet while I work."


    Dreth grabbed the infant and stuffed some of his robe into its mouth as the mage hastily worked his magic. In the distance he could dimly see the giant chasing Percy, who was running in circles and screaming.


    There was a sudden flash of light, and a shimmer surrounded Dreth briefly.


    "Done! You should be good for about 20 minutes," said Redthorne. "The shield will protect you from crushing but not sharp objects. I figured that thing would rely on smashing rather than swords."


    "Thanks for the tip," said Dreth and stood up. He drew Darkblood as he walked forward, looking like the angel of death as he strode through the fog.


    The beast stopped running after Percy and looked around. "Little man die now!" he said, and lumbered forward.


    Dreth held his ground, hoping the wizard''s spell would be up to it. The giant was big! Fat bounced as it jogged towards him. Ugly too. Its face made Cuthbert look pretty.


    As it closed the giant slowed, puzzled as to why its prey was not running away.


    Dreth raised Darkblood, which positively hummed with bloodlust. "Feeed meeee!" it moaned.


    "Giant! Surrender now. You cannot hurt me. I''m Dreth the Giant Slayer."


    "Gut bash! Gut no afraid!" came the response.


    "Gut! Is that your name? Listen to me. I am Dreth of the Undead Way! We''re from the dungeon too. No need to attack us!" Dreth tried reasoning.


    Gut merely snarled, and grabbed him with a giant fist, enveloping Dreth. Darkblood was held out horizontally though, and the sword pierced the giant''s hand, resulting in a howl of pain of deafening proportions.


    "Bloooood!" shrieked the blade, drinking life essence.


    Still, the cut was not fatal, and giant was big and strong. He squeezed hard.


    The spell held, and a look of puzzlement washed over the huge face as Dreth remained unharmed.


    "Have you had enough? Or do you want me to get angry?"


    Gut dropped him and, clutching his injured hand, backed away. "Gut sorry Mr. Dreth! Gut not know! Please not hurt Gut!"


    Dreth picked himself up off the floor and dusted himself down. "That''s better. A bit of respect!" He turned around. "Come on out! Our friend has learned his lesson."


    Slowly the others emerged from the haze. Sprat popped out of the fog next to Dreth, making him jump. "I found a stick!" he said happily, showing Dreth a short tube clutched in his hand.


    "Yes yes, go and play with it somewhere else, there''s a good minion," said Dreth, keeping his eyes on Gut.


    Sprat nodded and skipped off, waving his new toy around as the others approached.


    "Good job," nodded Redthorne.


    Dreth spoke to Gut, who was sitting down now, blubbering to himself. "Giant! Which casket have you been told to guard?"


    "That one sir, please not kill Gut sir! They said Gut hurt people as long as box not touched." Gut pointed at the raised platform they had spotted earlier.


    "Very good," Dreth replied. "Stay there then. If you are good I will er, let you help us some more."


    "Oh joy," muttered Cuthbert.


    They climbed onto the dais and looked at the casket, which was made of dark stone. The cover was of the same material, without adornment, and appeared to be simply rested on the top.


    "It''s a bit coffin like isn''t it?" said Percy cheerfully. He heaved on the lid, which slid open in a cloud of dust.


    They peered in. "Cooo! Look at that!" said Cuthbert.


    "A babe," Percy replied. "Cute, and tasty looking."


    Dreth slapped his hand away. "No eating the merchandise. This woman must be what old rotten wants." He brushed a few cobwebs away and looked her over.


    She was, he had to admit, fairly attractivefor a corpse. Long hair was arranged carefully about her. It was striped white and black, like some sort of desert animal Dreth only half remembered. She was garbed in a simple long black robe, and her skin was a pale and delicate cream color. Her hands, which were crossed over her in the classic pose, were adorned with four rings, each one had a different colored jewel set in the middle, which sparkled even in the limited light.


    "Well, no sense hanging around." He bent over and then stopped. She had opened her eyes and was looking at him.


    "Er, hello? Who are you?" she said. "Are you the one?"


    Dreth paused and then straightened up. "Could be," he said. "Name''s Dreth. We were, er, just passing by. So. Ah. How''s it going with you then?"


    Percy tittered and whispered something in Cuthbert''s ear.


    "I''m waiting," the woman said, sitting up in one swift motion, vampire style.


    "What a lovely name," said Cuthbert. "I''m Cuthbert, this is Percy. Zombies first class at your service."


    "Ignore these idiots. Who are you waiting for?" Dreth enquired politely.


    "I¡­" She frowned. "I don''t know."


    Redthorne tapped Dreth on the shoulder. "A word?" he said, and moved away.


    Dreth followed as the woman rose, slightly unsteadily, to her feet.


    "Let me help you there," said Percy, as she climbed out of her coffin.


    Cuthbert, determined not to be outdone, leapt forward. "You must be hungry after sleeping so long. Here, allow me to offer you a bit of Halfling foot, it''s nice and aged." Cuthbert proffered the said item.


    "Put that disgusting thing away," said Percy, knocking Cuthbert''s hand. "She''s a lady of refinement, any buffoon can see that. A Halfling''s smelly foot isn''t going to satisfy her, she needs something more along the lines of juicy eyeballs, or a tender baby parts."


    "Well, I don''t have any baby eyeballs, you''ll have to ask Redthorne for those, but I do have a foot." Cuthbert waved the thing in the air, losing the last remaining toe in the process. "Which is one foot more than you have, so why don''t you just stand aside and let me look after the lady?"


    He turned back to speak to the newly animated female, but she''d wandered off, looking around in puzzlement at the surroundings.


    Dreth huddled with Redthorne, who spoke in a low hiss. "Are you really going to take her back to that creature on the throne?"


    "That was the deal," said Dreth.


    "But who knows what he''ll do with her?"


    Dreth shrugged. "Seems a shame I admit, but what can you do?"


    "Take her with us! You can''t allow her to fall into that creatures'' grasp!"


    "I agree with the wizard," said Cuthbert, who had wandered up. "We should keep her and use her to bargain our way past the Golem."


    Dreth pursed his thin lips. "Good point. But what about old cat-face and his friends outside? We have enough people angry at us, without adding more." He looked around. The newly resurrected woman was standing a little way away, whilst Percy hovered about her, trying to make small talk. The giant was sitting in the mist, sucking a finger and humming a horribly out of tune tune.


    Dreth made a decision. "We''ll take the giant back with us. Old McVon doesn''t know what''s in the box, so he says. It could be anything. We shall say it was sparky over there we found." He jerked a thumb at Gut.


    "Do you think he''ll swallow that?" asked Redthorne. "He''s rotten, not stupid."


    Dreth scowled. "He''ll have to. Come on, let''s go."


    Percy wandered over with the woman in tow.


    "What''s your name my dear?" Dreth asked.


    The woman frowned for a moment. "I can''t remember. Something beginning with ''M'' I think."


    "Matilda?" suggested Cuthbert. "Myrtle maybe?"


    "Myrtle! What kind of name is that?" scoffed Percy. "She''s obviously a Maria, or perhaps a Millie."


    The woman shook her head. "None of those sound familiar."


    "I''ll just call you M for now then," said Dreth. He walked up to Gut and kicked him in the shin. "Hey! Big man. I''ve a task for you."


    "Gut listen."


    "You are re-assigned." Dreth paused at the giant''s puzzled look. "I mean you have a new job. Ok?"


    "Ok."


    "Good. Come with me, I''ll explain what to do on the way."


    The Giant stood up and nodded. "Gut follow."


    "I just hope he can fit up the stairs," said Cuthbert as they headed towards the exit


    "Are you sure you know where you''re going?" Sooth Slyfoot hissed at Xyth as they moved swiftly down the tunnel. He was usually good at knowing where he was, but this dungeon was not his precious forest, and it was harder to keep track of the route.


    "Of course I do," retorted Xyth, but there was a hint of doubt in his voice.


    "We''ve already been gone too long," said Hurn, who was carrying his favorite rune-sword. "Vish is long dead by now."


    "She may be alright, Vish is a fine warrior," said Sooth. He didn''t believe it himself really.


    Frell Keeneye, bringing up the rear of the impromptu rescue party, merely shook his head.


    The four elves moved swiftly down one passage and up another, following Xyth''s inner map.


    "It''s somewhere around here¡­" Xyth said, but Frell cut him off.


    "Quiet! Do you hear that?"


    Four sets of pointy ears cocked, as they concentrated on listening.


    "Someone''s coming!" whispered Sooth." He looked around for a retreat route. They didn''t want unnecessary trouble now. "Back! Down here!"


    "Careful!" shouted Xyth, leaping forward and pushing Sooth to one side.


    A set of spikes that had been carefully concealed in the walls but a moment before, shot out into the space where Sooth had been standing.


    They picked themselves up off the floor. "Thanks," said Sooth, shaken.


    "That''s torn it," said Hurn. "They''ve heard us. Weapons!"


    The four readied themselves, falling into combat formation as a group of shadowy figures rounded the corner.


    "Dark skins!" hissed the elves as one.


    "Fair skins!" the reply came back.


    Sooth''s mouth drew itself into a scowl. The dark elves were a hated enemy, an anathema to everything his kind stood for.


    "Shit," murmured Xyth as more of the Dark elves came into view, "we''re outnumbered."


    Sooth saw he was right. There must have been about a dozen of them. "Get ready to run," he hissed, his eyes never leaving the enemy, who were closing slowly with weapons drawn.


    "Run? They are Dark elves!" Hurn spat.


    "Yes, and there are at least twelve of them!" Sooth answered, "I don''t want to commit suicide right now thank you!"


    The elves ducked as one as the dark elves released a hail of crossbow bolts.


    "Arg! I''m hit!" cried Frell, pulling the bolt out of his arm.


    "Run!" shouted Sooth, and they ran, Xyth leading the way.


    There were shouts of glee from behind them, and their dark cousins took up the chase¡­

 Chapter 21：Big Trouble

    "What''s this?" Tom asked as Gut heaved himself out of the stairwell, up which he had just about managed to squeeze.


    "Nice to see you too," said Percy, who had taken a dislike to the cat man.


    "This is your masters'' prize," said Dreth.


    Tom sneered, showing long canines. "He''s not my master. We cat people acknowledge no outsider as our superior. You''re saying this giant is what the Harvey wanted?"


    "The very same," said Cuthbert cheerfully. "You get a lot of bang for your gold with us!"


    "Where''s your wizard?" the cat man asked.


    "Dead," replied Dreth. "Died fighting the guardian down there."


    "It was a doozo!" chimed in Percy. "A demon as big as a house!"


    "Doozy," corrected Dreth. He turned to Tom. "Lead on then pussycat," he said.


    Tom hissed at him, but, after one more puzzled glance at the giant, stalked off down the tunnel. Dreth grinned and followed him.


    The others trailed behind, the zombies unusually quiet. Sprat fiddled with the tube he had found as he brought up the rear.


    It wasn''t too long before the group once more entered the large throne room. All seemed to be as before, until they approached Harvey anyway.


    "Hey! You''re looking better," said Cuthbert. "Did you take something? Can I have some?"


    Indeed, Harvey was looking considerably healthier than in their last encounter. His rags were now fine wizard robes, and his skin fairly gleamed with health. Long black hair was tied back on his head. Only his eyes remained cold and dead.


    He smiled crookedly as Dreth stood in front of him. "You succeeded in your task?" he asked. Even his voice sounded healthy, vibrant even.


    "I really must have a go on that throne," Percy said in a low voice. Cuthbert nodded.


    "Harvey, may I introduce your prize." Dreth held out a hand and Gut clumped into view.


    "This? This was in the casket?" Harvey stood up, frowning.


    "Yes. Absolutely. Why? Not what you were expecting?" Dreth looked askance at the wizard.


    Smoke was now emanating from Harvey''s ears. "Where is she?" he demanded. "Where is the woman?"


    "Woman?" Dreth could have earned a standing ovation for his acting. "What woman? We found this giant in the casket. Unless your cat man took us to the wrong crypt of course." He shrugged and tried, not very successfully, to look innocent.


    "That''s Cat person to you," scowled Tom.


    "I will not be cheated!" Harvey Von McVon thundered. He raised his hands and muttered several words of Power, which bounced around the room.


    Dreth stood back and put his hand to his sword. The zombies hid behind Gut.


    "I think the cat poop is about to fly," whispered Cuthbert, peering through the giant''s legs.


    There was a shimmering in the air, back in the gloom of the chamber. Harvey smiled. "Ah, there you are my dear. Would you like to approach and say hello? Don''t be shy now. That''s right." McVon grinned and nodded insanely as M stepped forward hesitantly. Redthorne close behind.


    "What happened?" hissed Dreth at the wizard. "I thought you said you could keep her cloaked?"


    The mage shrugged. "Sorry, he took me by surprise. Whatever he is, Harvey is a powerful spell caster."


    "Great, just what I need," said Dreth. He moved to stand in front of the woman, blocking her path.


    "Stand aside!" McVon commanded. "She''s mine! With her potential I can rule this mangy dungeon, and the world beyond too! Once her power is realized, there will be nothing I cannot do!" He threw his head back and laughed heartily, a sound which echoed around his chamber.


    "Good evil laugh though," Percy said.


    "Absolutely," agreed Cuthbert. "Much better than that last one. You remember? About fifty years ago? That anti-paladin."


    "Oh yes, mind you I think¡­"


    "Quiet fools!" commanded Harvey, cutting the zombies off. "Cease your babbling. Move aside creature, and I will allow you your continued miserable existence."


    "Oh, I''m sooo scared," said Dreth, drawing Darkblood.


    "You cannot hope to stand against me. I will crush you like a bug!"


    "You and who''s army?" said Dreth.


    "How about this one?" Harvey made a gesture, and from the shadows emerged a large number of Cat people.


    "Touch¨¦!" said Cuthbert.


    Dreth looked from side to side, counting as the cat men slid forward, fangs glistening in the low light.


    "My friends!" Harvey raised a robed arm. "Kill this meddlesome meddler, bring me the woman!"


    "No."


    "I shall¡­" Harvey did a double take at the cat man who had spoken. "What?"


    "I said no." The half-feline who stepped forward was larger than most of the others, and clad in an altogether better class of loin cloth.


    "What do you mean ''no''? What''s the meaning of this disobedience?"


    "It''s no longer your time wizard. Now is the time of the Cat-People. With this woman we shall rise up and assume our rightful position in society, that is to say - the rulers."


    "Your rightful position is doing what I say!" screamed Harvey, flecks of spittle flying from his mouth.


    "No longer!"


    "You don''t know how to tap her power, or even what it is!"


    Dreth looked around and moved backwards, to stand next to M. There was a pause and then in a blur of motion he grabbed her and raised Darkblood, holding the sword against her throat. "No one move!"


    Cuthbert rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on! That has to be the corniest line anywhere!"


    "What would you suggest then?" Dreth glowered, keeping a close eye on Harvey and his cat buddies.


    "Oh, I don''t know." Cuthbert said, thinking. "How about: Move and she gets it?"


    "That''s just as bad!" interjected Percy. "I was thinking more like: Stand still! Should thou move I will slay this innocent female!"


    "Oh, not bad," Cuthbert said. "Try that one."


    Dreth heaved a sigh and tried again. "Stand still! Should thou move I will¡­" He never finished the new improved line.


    There was a crash and the door to the chamber flew open. Four elves piled through, swords drawn. They had moved a good way into the room before they realized they weren''t alone, and skidded to a halt, standing back to back with weapons wavering to and fro.


    "What the fu¡­" one started to say before he, in turn, was cut off.


    All eyes turned to the door again, as about a dozen dark elves raced in, intent on the prey in front of them. "There they are! Get themmmm¡­" The leader of the dark elves trailed off as he took in the scene.


    The cat people looked at the dark elves. They looked at Harvey. Harvey looked at Redthorne, who looked at Dreth. Dreth looked at the elves. Gut looked at everybody.


    There was silence for a moment.


    "Kill them all!!!" Harvey screamed and threw a fireball at Dreth, who ducked and parried with Darkblood at the same time.


    The Fireball bounced off the blade and careered into a cat person, who exploded in a mass of blood and singed fur.


    The room erupted as everyone attacked everyone else. Harvey threw spells about almost at random, causing several more of the felines to burst into flame before the leader leapt at him and forced him to defend himself with a staff, pulled seemingly from nowhere.


    The Elves spotted Redthorne and the baby, and tried to cut their way through to them, but were bogged down by Cat people responding to their attack.


    The dark elves split up into two groups. One group tried to reach the elves, and the other attempted to reach the wizard. A random spell from Harvey hit one of them, neatly removing his head.


    One of the cat people swiped at Dreth, and he retaliated with a howling Darkblood, slicing the attacker down the middle, spilling intestines onto the floor in a pile of steaming offal. He whirled and pushed M toward the zombies, who were still sheltering behind Gut. "Here, take her! Get over to that exit!" He pointed at a small door in the corner.


    The zombies nodded and dragged M away, just as one of the cat people sprang at them. It landed on Gut, claws digging into the giant.


    Gut howled and went berserk, batting the creature across the room. It landed in the middle of the elves, which were in the center of a three way fight between the dark elves and the Cat people.


    Elf and feline scattered as the giant flailed around madly, forcing the cat leader to jump out of the way of a frenzied swipe.


    Harvey took advantage of the distraction to run after the zombies, but he collided with Redthorne, who was throwing white light at an elven sorceress. The dark elf mage was obviously not a master, but she was just powerful enough to fend off the worst of Redthorne''s spells and force the mage back, occasionally throwing a spell in turn.


    Harvey took one of these spells in the chest as he ran into Redthorne. It bounced off his wards leaving him unharmed, but knocked him to the floor in the process. Dreth cut at him as he passed, slicing into his side.


    McVon screamed as Darkblood pierced his skin, and threw a bolt of power in a reflex action. The purple energy bounced around the room and fried two of the elves, including the sorceress, as well as several more cat-people before hitting Gut squarely in the back.


    The Giant roared, and kicked an elf across the chamber.


    Dreth reached the zombies, who were tugging frantically at the door. "Open the bloody thing!" He cried, chopping at a cat woman who was about to pounce at Redthorne. She yowled as Darkblood drank her essence greedily.


    "Allow me!" said Redthorne. He pointed his staff, and the door blew apart.


    "Good stuff," said Percy, and dove down into the darkness beyond, followed by Dreth, Cuthbert, Sprat and M. Redthorne threw one parting pulse of white light at Harvey, who deflected it, before ducking down after them.


    Harvey screamed as he saw his prize getting away. He knocked a cat man away with one hand and pointed a finger with his other. A blast of fire erupted from the tip, to explode with enormous force above the doorway. Stone shards flew, cutting down several more cats and another dark elf. The room shook with the force of the blast, and then, with a loud rumble, the ceiling collapsed.

 Chapter 22：Under Plains of Dume!

    "Wooo yeah!" Cuthbert grinned as the party hurried down the small corridor that they found themselves in. "High five!" he said to Percy.


    "I think I lost a finger!" complained the other zombie.


    "High four then!"


    "Yeah!"


    "I''m glad you two enjoyed yourselves," said Dreth dryly, wiping blood off his sword. "Is everybody all right?"


    Apart from Percy''s lost finger, it seemed the group had come through unscathed.


    "I need a rest though," said Redthorne.


    "Let''s move a little distance away from that madhouse first," said Dreth. He looked at M. "Er, sorry about that back there. I was kind of at a loss what to do."


    "So you thought you would try and cut my throat?" M replied.


    Dreth shrugged. "Seemed the way to go at the time."


    M made a face, but said nothing.


    They hurried along the narrow tunnel, which was hewn from sandy brown rock with an uneven ceiling. Dreth and Redthorne had to duck on more than one occasion as the roof dipped down. The ground below them was loosely packed earth.


    The path wound back and forth, like a meandering stream, for a good period of time. Certainly long enough for Redthorne to complain again.


    "I want to get out of this passage first," said Dreth. He looked ahead. "Is that light up there?"


    It was. The group approached cautiously as the route opened up, and they found themselves standing outside the entrance to a small cave in the side of a low hill. Dim light seemed to emanate from an unseen source all around them. The ground stretched away into the distance, covered in scraggly plants which hugged the earth, as if afraid to be seen.


    "We''re outside! Outside!" Percy bent down to touch the ground. "Out again, after all these years."


    "I don''t know," said Cuthbert. "Unless something radical has happened I don''t think this is outside."


    "Of course it is," argued the other zombie. "How could it not be? There are no walls! Look!" He pointed at the absence of such.


    "I''m with Cuthbert on this one," said Dreth. "Unless things have been rearranged, ''outside'' had a sun."


    "Could be night," said Percy stubbornly.


    "True, but even so, there are a few tell tale signs that suggest your theory is flawed."


    "Like what?" Percy folded his arms.


    "Well," Dreth pointed upwards. "Outside doesn''t have a bloody great rocky ceiling high above for a start. And this black sand doesn''t look very earthlike. We''re in some sort of massive underground cavern."


    "No cavern. The Under Plains!" A new voice piped up.


    Dreth reached for his sword. "Who said that?"


    "It was I! I spake!"


    They looked around as a small skinny figure stepped out from behind a patch of dry, yellow brush.


    "A goblin? What are you doing here?" asked Cuthbert. "Lost are you?"


    "I''m a Black Goblin! I roam these plains. I know no master! I wander where I please."


    "Ah, a local." Dreth stepped forward. "Tell me, ah¡­"


    "Gerald," the goblin said.


    "Tell me Gerald, where are we exactly?"


    "Thee truly knows not?"


    "I just said so didn''t I?"


    The Goblin puffed out his skinny chest. "Ware travelers! Thee standeth upon the Under Plain of DUME!" The small creature cackled and rubbed its hands together in maniacal fashion.


    "And what, pray tell," asked Dreth, "is the Under Plain of Doom?"


    "Not Doom, DUME. D-U-M-E," replied the goblin, spelling it out.


    "Of course, how silly of me," Dreth stated, hanging on to his patience by a thread.


    "The Under Plain is a dark, dark place. Dark and black and dark." The goblin hunched over, warming to his tale. "A vast plain of darkness, black darkness, ruled over by the Castle of Oversight, which towers above the dark black dark¡­"


    "Yes, yes. It''s very dark and black, we get the idea. Get on with it." Dreth glared.


    Gerald scowled at being interrupted, but hurried on as Dreth tapped Darkblood meaningfully. "They say," and here the creature paused and looked left and right, as if someone could be listening. "They say they reside there."


    "They being¡­?" asked Cuthbert.


    "The rulers of course," the goblin whispered it. "The Lords of the dungeon."


    "Interesting." Dreth scratched his chin. "And the Under Plain? No doubt it crawls with creatures both foul and depraved?"


    "Oooh, foul and depraved indeed. Good one." The goblin stepped closer and pointed with a finger. "All around horrid creatures stalk the land, preying upon each other. Killing in ways too horrible to mention." It shuddered. "Many dangerous things lurk here, oh yes they do."


    "Well, now there''s one more," said Dreth, standing a little straighter.


    "Is there anywhere safe to take a rest?" asked Redthorne, sitting down on a small hummock.


    "Safe? There be no safety in the black, dark and black Under Plains of Dume," stated the goblin with some relish.


    Dreth reached down and picked the small creature up by its head. "Gerald, tell the man what he wants to hear."


    "Okay, not a big fan of that direction," said Cuthbert. "What else do you have?"


    Gerald flailed about. "Very well. Put me down and I will tell you all."


    Dreth dropped him with a thud. "Start talking," he said, "or you''re going to see some doom alright. Black or otherwise."


    The goblin scowled. "Bully," he said.

 Chapter 23：Slice

    A large figure stepped through a door that was hanging from its hinges, and stopped to survey the room beyond. Bodies lay strewn about the chamber. Several had been fried, though many bore sword wounds. Most were cat-people, though an Elven corpse was upside down against the far wall with an apparently broken neck. At least four dark elves were interspersed amongst fallen stone pillars and chunks of granite ceiling.


    The Golem picked its way through the carnage, towards the center of the room. It stopped in front of the golden throne, looming over Harvey, who was slumped in the chair with his eyes closed. There was a large gash down his side, congealed blood around the wound appeared as a black stain against the colorful material of his robes.


    "Where did they go?" the Golem asked.


    "Eh? What? Oh it''s you. Bugger off, can''t you see I''m healing?"


    The large outline leaned forward, red eyes boring into the recumbent figure. "Tell me where they went."


    "Or what? Are you threatening me? Hahahaha!" Harvey laughed. "Come on stony, just try it."


    The Golem made a noise. If it had had emotions it would have been feeling angry. It raised a fist. "Tell me now, or I smash your moldy head into paste."


    McVon sat up and sneered. "I don''t think so."


    The fist moved, a blur as it plummeted down. Harvey reacted with equal speed, throwing his hand up, palm out. The fist met a blue wall of energy which stopped its flight cold. The two remained motionless for a long moment, each straining to best the other. The red eyes of the animation boring into the lifeless ones of the immortal wizard, as each put their strength into the contest.


    Finally the Golem stepped back. Harvey heaved a sigh and settled into his chair again. He looked at his dungeon counterpart for a moment, and then waved at a pile of rocks near the wall. "They went that way, through the rubble. Into the Under Plains."


    The Golem looked at him for a second and nodded before turning away. "Next time," it said.


    "Yeah, right," replied Harvey. He watched the Golem start to dig through the collapsed ceiling, a calculating expression on his face. "Oh, you may want to tell your masters he had The Girl with him."


    The animation stopped digging a moment and looked at him. "The girl?"


    The wizard nodded.


    The Golem thought about it for a moment, and then shrugged. "Not my problem, she doesn''t fall within my mission parameters." It started digging again.


    Harvey smiled to himself and closed his eyes, letting the power of the throne pulse through him as he listened to the sound of burrowing. It had been a good day.


    ~ * ~


    Gerald swiveled about. "Over that way, just beyond the bottomless pit, is the Dark Lake. The fetid waters of which lap up against the Goblin Forest where the reserves stay."


    "Reserves?" Cuthbert cocked his head to one side.


    "Aye. Under the black¡­" Gerald glanced at Dreth and revised his words. "Under the trees of the Goblin forest is where the dungeon creatures wait until they are assigned for duty."


    "Why not? You don''t think the denizens just appear out of thin air do you?"


    "I never went there," said Cuthbert, a tad bitterly.


    "You didn''t?" The goblin scratched his head, dislodging several small insects. "Come to think of it, there aren''t usually many undead there."


    "Blatant discrimination," huffed Percy.


    "Wait. You live in this place?" said Dreth. "I thought you roamed this land, acknowledging no master and all that."


    "Yes, well in the night maybe, but I have to sleep somewhere don''t I? And I don''t acknowledge any master. The missus now, well she''s another matter."


    "I see." Dreth looked at Redthorne, who was sagging badly. "How far away is this forest of yours?"


    "You have to venture through the bla¡­ er, none light sands, avoid the giant scorpions, then it''s just five minutes down the road, first on the left. Can''t miss it, bloody great big forest. Trees everywhere."


    "How about you act as a guide?"


    "Sorry, I''m a bit busy¡­" Gerald looked up into the pointy end of Dreth''s sword. "Love to, love to. Let''s be off shall we? Mind that rock now, wouldn''t want you tripping up and skewering me would we?"


    Percy and Sprat helped Redthorne to his feet, and they all set off after the goblin, into the Under Plains of Dume.


    ~ * ~


    "Down here, it''s just ahead," said Garret.


    Slice Gutgood peered along the passageway at the dim light coming from the entrance. "Good," he said. "Go back to Harm, tell him we''ve found it. We''ll investigate."


    "B¡­but Harm said to wait for him," stammered Garret, who was rather cowardly for an elf warrior.


    Slice knocked him to the ground with a backhanded swipe. In contrast to his two companions, he was large and muscular. Far more so than usual for one of his kind, and he had used the extra weight to help him bully and kill his way up to squad leader rank. He didn''t intend to stop there either. "Do as I say, or I''ll throw you in first," he snarled.


    Garret whimpered, but picked himself up and scampered back down the tunnel.


    "Are we certain this is wise?"


    Slice looked at his remaining companion. Primrose Slyeye looked back steadily. If Slice was honest with himself, Primrose unnerved him. The other dark elf was small and slim, slightly smaller than normal if anything. And Primrose! What sort of name was that? Yet there was something about him that halted Slice''s usual response, which would have been to knock him around the head and yell at him. Instead he just growled. "I am in charge here. Do as I say."


    Primrose merely shrugged and gestured for Slice to continue.


    Glaring at the scout, Gutgood pulled his sword out of its sheath and stepped forward carefully. Primrose sauntered along behind, seemingly at ease with the world.


    The door was hanging off the hinges. Inside the room was a mess. Half of the ceiling had fallen in somehow, semi-burying a variety of victims. Slice saw some of the cat-men they had run into briefly once, as well as four members of the previous raiding party. One elf was lying against the far wall.


    "Looks like we missed the fun," said Slice, nudging a cat man with his foot.


    "What''s that over there?" said Primrose, gesturing with his sword.


    "Looks like some kind of throne. Maybe there''s someone on it."


    "After you then, oh glorious squad leader."


    Resisting the urge to break the others'' arms, Slice closed in on the sitting figure. It seemed to be a human in long colorful robes. He was apparently asleep.


    Grinning, Slice slid up to the man and placed his sword against the throat. "Wake up!" He said.


    "Ah. Slice¡­" Primrose started.


    "Quiet you!" Slice jiggled his blade. "I said wake up."


    The man opened his eyes. Dull, gray eyes. "I''m in a good mood today," he said. "So if you remove your sword and your person from my presence, I will allow you to carry on living."


    Slice laughed the low throaty and confident laugh of thugs everywhere who think they have the upper hand, and yet are about to find out they have just picked on some kind of super being from another dimension.


    "Well, so be it."


    Slice screamed as he was picked up by an invisible force and thrown upwards, to smash against the ceiling. "Wha¡­!!"


    "I did warn you." The voice floated up from below.


    Slice screamed again as his armor burst into flame, charring his flesh. The smell of burning meat reached his nostrils. He thought he could vaguely hear Primrose shouting. The tatters of his clothing fell away, dropping to the floor far below and lessening the pain slightly.


    The reprieve didn''t last. There was a giggle, from some unseen creature, and his burnt skin was picked at and stripped away. Agony shot through Slice, searing his being as his flesh was slowly peeled back, to reveal muscle and bone below.


    Blood dripped down like rain as the invisible hands pulled at his now exposed ribs. A crack echoed around the chamber as one was snapped off.


    Darkness began to close around Slice as something dug into the hole in his front and, with a wet sucking noise, ripped his heart from his body. The last thing he heard was a quiet voice.


    "Delicious."

 Chapter 24：Leg

    Harm looked at the mangled and broken carcass of his squad leader, and turned to Primrose. "Looks like you are promoted," he said. Then he faced the mage sitting in the throne. "Sir Wizard, I am Harm Undertow, leader of this search party." He bowed slightly.


    "Welcome to my lair," replied the man. "I''m Harvey Von McVon. Please excuse the mess, it''s the maids'' day off."


    "We''re looking for a wizard carrying a baby. Have you seen such?"


    "Ah, it''s been so busy here recently." Harvey tapped fingers on the arm of the chair. "Still, I think I can safely say that I have. He was with a couple of zombies and some¡­ others. If you wish to find them, I suggest you look over there. They went in to the Under plains."


    "The Under plains!" Harm exclaimed. He nodded at the mage. "Thank-you." Harm gestured at the rest of his squad, and they trooped over to the entrance indicated by the wizard. A tunnel had been dug through the rubble, leading down to a small passageway.


    The dark elves entered. After a moment, a small flying figure flitted in after them.


    ~ * ~


    "What''s that?" M pointed off to the right.


    Dreth looked. "It seems to be a large hole."


    "Oh that! That''s the bottomless pit that is," said Gerald, acting the tour guide. "They say it was made by The Master when he was looking for Nothing."


    "How can you look for nothing?" Scoffed Cuthbert.


    "It''s very difficult," said the goblin. "Have you ever seen Nothing?"


    "Er, I think so," argued Cuthbert, holding a finger up. "When I look for something, and I can''t find it, I get nothing."


    "No no no, that''s not nothing. That''s merely the absence of the thing you were looking for. True Nothing though, well, that''s hard to get."


    "So, how do you find nothing then?" asked Dreth, intrigued despite himself.


    Gerald merely shrugged. "How should I know? Do I look like a wizard to you? Steeped in the arcane arts? I think not. A basic minion is me."


    "Bah," said Cuthbert. "And how can it be bottomless? I''m going to look." He stepped off the path and lurched over to the hole.


    Dreth did a good imitation of a deep breath and followed him. "Stay with the wizard Sprug," he ordered Sprat, as Redthorne stopped and sank down on the black sand, the baby still cradled in his arms.


    The group caught up with Cuthbert, who was looking around on the floor.


    "All the stones have been taken," said Gerald.


    "Fine." Cuthbert dug into a pocket and pulled forth a small copper coin. He flicked it in and peered over, watching it fall into the blackness.


    "It''s not going to hit anything," sighed the goblin, crossing his arms.


    "Shhh!" The zombie leant over, trying to listen.


    "Did he find it?" Asked M.


    "Find what?" replied Gerald.


    "Nothing."


    "Oh. I don''t know."


    After several minutes of waiting Dreth lost his patience. "Come on, I''m not hanging about all day waiting for something to hit a bottom that may not be there." He turned about and stalked back to the path.


    "It can''t be bottomless!" said Cuthbert, hanging on for another few moments. "Hey! Wait for me!"


    ~ * ~


    It was dark. Something heavy was on his body, making it difficult to breath. Another hard thing was resting on his head, and it hurt.


    Moaning, Gut tried to move. At first he couldn''t, making him panic, which in turn lent him strength. He heaved and, after a moment of straining, something gave. Hope blossomed, and he pushed again and again. Eventually a ray of dim light penetrated his dark world, and his hand broke through into open air.


    Wiggling and scrabbling, Gut pushed his way to the surface of the rubble, eventually sitting up like some kind of deformed land whale.


    He looked around and saw a shiny chair. A figure was sat on it, looking at him with interest. Gut snarled as he recognized the magic man from before.


    "Before you think about trying to bash me," the wizard said, interrupting the giant''s thought process, "you should know I didn''t do anything to hurt you."


    "Gut nearly squashed under stone," Gut responded, logic going into overdrive and making his head hurt even more.


    "Ah, but that was an accident. The spell was aimed at your friend Dreth. He tricked you."


    Gut scratched his head. "Dreth giant killer. Gut afraid him."


    The man laughed, causing the big man to growl.


    "Oh no, I''m not laughing at you, it''s not your fault. Dreth is a bad man, he lied to us all."


    Gut wrinkled his brow. "Dreth not giant killer?"


    "Far from it my large friend. He pulled you away from your duty didn''t he?" At the answering nod Harvey carried on. "And do you know what happens to monsters that leave their post?" A shake of the head this time. "The Management."


    Gut went pale, though it was hard to see under the dust. "Management?"


    McVon nodded. "I tell you what Mr. Gut. If you do me a favor, I''ll put in a good word for you. I''m a friend of Them."


    "Please help Gut! Gut not know!"


    "That''s alright. I can see you are an honorable monster who was tricked away from his assigned tasks."


    "What Gut do?"


    "Well, it''s really something you need to do for yourself. If you get the woman back that you were guarding, and kill Dreth, then I''m sure they would forgive you. Maybe even give you a reward. How does that sound?"


    "Gut like! Gut squeeze Dreth until he very sorry!"


    "Good, good. I would just ask that you let me speak to the woman a moment before you return her to her box. Would that be okay do you think?"


    The giant nodded. "Gut do! Gut go now. He stood up, scattering rock, but then paused, his face drooping. "But Gut not know where he go."


    "I think I may be able to help you out there." Harvey smiled.


    ~ * ~


    "Careful now," said Gerald. "Follow me and be quiet. Walk where I walk."


    "What is it?" asked Dreth.


    "Scorpions. Big ones. Giant even. If you''re quiet, and you follow me exactly, we''ll be alright."


    "I don''t see any scorpions," said Percy.


    "Go on then. You walk over there a bit. We''ll wait here."


    Percy looked at the goblin, then at the black sand. "Er. Maybe not. After you."


    "Right then. Remember, follow my path exactly. And be quiet!" Gerald walked off; following a winding path only he seemed to be able to see.


    Dreth followed, with M, Sprat, who was playing with his tube, and then the zombies escorting Redthorne and the baby bringing up the rear.


    The goblin moved steadily, and Dreth wondered if he was playing some kind of joke. Still, he had been okay so far. Better safe than sorry.


    "Half way," mouthed Gerald after a few more minutes.


    Dreth nodded, and kept walking.


    They almost made it.


    Sprat, picking at his tube, suddenly saw a dark spot. He touched it. The end of the tube exploded, throwing the small zombie onto his rump.


    The others stopped and watched as a bright light sailed slowly through the air like some sort of errant firework. It swung about. Dreth waved at it as it circled his head. The light dodged easily, and moved onto M before stopping suddenly, like a dog scenting a bone. It hung still for a second before heading straight for the Wizard, who moved too slowly. He put his hand out and started to speak, but the light exploded.


    In its place, hovering in the air next to Redthorne, was a figure about as big as Dreth''s hand, garbed all in red with a pointed beard and long forked tail, waving a tiny pitchfork.


    "Aha!" it said, and stuck the minute weapon into the baby.


    The baby did what all babies do. It howled.


    "Oh, shit! That''s torn it!" said Gerald. "Run!" He followed his own advice.


    There was a shifting in the sand around them, and large pincers began to emerge.


    "Scorpions!" shouted Cuthbert, "Giant scorpions!" He shambled forward at top speed.


    They ran, Redthorne trying to hush the baby, the small red figure hovering over him all the while, cackling.


    Gerald waved madly. "Over here! They won''t follow here!" He climbed onto an area of rocky ground.


    Everyone headed for him, but Percy was too slow. A monstrous claw reached out and grabbed him, pulling him back.


    "Help! Help! I''m caught!" He cried, as the scorpion dragged him backwards. A pincer closed, snipping his left leg off. "My leg! My good leg! EEEEeeeehh!" The zombie screamed as he was flipped onto his back, and caught sight of the beast''s giant sting flying down towards him.


    There was a blur in the air, and the tail erupted in green goo. Another movement and the claw met with a similar fate. "Come on!" said Dreth, Darkblood in hand. He grabbed the zombie by his remaining leg and pulled him after him, swinging the blade at another of the creatures.


    "My leg! You have to get my leg!" cried Percy.


    "We''ll get you another leg! I have one in my bag," said Dreth, dodging a stinger and lashing out with the sword.


    "But that was a good one! I got it from a barbarian," Percy lamented his loss loudly as Dreth darted around the giant creatures, dragging the zombie behind him.


    "Shut up!" Dreth, moving with speed, managed to dodge, evade and hack his way back to the rocky ground, where the others were waiting. The scorpions retreated reluctantly as he did so, returning to feed upon their dead and wounded. One of them took the leg, to the renewed complaints of Percy.


    "That''s alright, no need to thank me," said Dreth, wiping gunk of Darkblood. He turned from the zombie, who was lying on the ground and moaning, and faced the small flying figure that had started the whole thing off.


    "What the hell are you?" he demanded.


    "Hheeeehhhhheeee!" said the thing, and disappeared with a pop.


    "Wizard!" Dreth looked at Redthorne for an explanation.


    "It was a Spite," said the mage, still trying to calm the baby.


    "You mean a sprite," said Cuthbert.


    "No, a Spite. I''m afraid we haven''t seen the last of it either." Redthorne looked up. "It was attuned to me. Another wizard must have cast it. Maybe the elves. In any case, it will pop up and interfere with anything I do."


    "That''s the whole point, I can''t. Spites are highly magic resistant. If I start to cast a dispel charm, it will no doubt pop into my face and jab my eyes, or do something to distract me and make the spell fail."


    "There must be something we can do," said Dreth. "We have enough woes as it is, without some malevolent pixie jumping in every time we don''t need it."


    "I need rest," said the mage. "Maybe when I''m more awake I''ll be able to think of something."


    "Fine." Dreth turned to the goblin. "Where''s this waiting area of yours then?"


    "We''re nearly there."


    "Come on then. I''m getting tired of this place already."


    Gerald nodded, and they set off once more. Percy hopping along to the rear.

 Chapter 25：Fine Dining

    "There," said Sooth.


    Hammath nodded and drew his sword, which gleamed with white light. "Come on then," he said.


    The Elven hunting party, much depleted, walked after him in battle formation. They were badly rattled now. Over half their number had been killed, and Sooth and the others had barely managed to escape the fight with the cat things and the dark elves. Even so, they had lost Frell Keeneye.


    "Oh now what?" The mage sitting on the chair spat as the elf approached. "Can''t a fellow get two minutes of rest without someone tramping through his domain? I should put up a sign or something."


    "Hold foul wizard. I am Hammath, leader of these valiant Elves of Light, we are¡­"


    "Yes yes. They went that way okay? Go away and stop bothering me!"


    "¡­looking for a baby," Hammath plodded on, aware that this wasn''t going as expected.


    "Fine, the baby. Yes, with the wizard and the undead. Go on, you should be able to find them by following the crowd."


    Hammath looked at Marrim Runecaster, who shrugged. "I will allow your life¡­" he started.


    "Look, just bugger off will you? Before I decide to shove that glowing sword up your¡­"


    "As you say!" interrupted the elf leader, backing away and making a pacifying gesture with his hand. He turned to his party. "Let''s go."


    Leaving the muttering figure behind, they ducked down into a small tunnel¡­


    ~ * ~


    "The Black lake," said Gerald, "and the er, Black Forest." He looked at Dreth, who was scowling at him. "Hey! Don''t blame me okay! That''s just what they''re called!"


    Dreth looked ahead. The Black Lake lived up to its name. A dark mass of water receding into the distance. To the right, a forest of gloomy and twisted trees loomed overhead.


    "Home sweet home." Gerald rubbed his hands together.


    They walked on into the trees. "Cool place," said Percy, stopping to pick up a branch to use as a crutch.


    "How far goblin?" asked Redthorne, the weariness apparent in his voice.


    "My hut''s just ahead. I like to keep on the edge of things," replied Gerald.


    As predicted, the hut soon appeared. A ramshackle mound, made of a variety of different kinds of wood cemented together with mud and moss. The door was set at an angle in a shallow hole in the ground.


    "Come on in," said the goblin, pushing the entrance open. "Honey, I''m home, and I''ve brought guests!"


    There was no response. "Hmm, must be out," Gerald shrugged. "Here, wizard, you can sleep here." He showed Redthorne to a rather dirty sleeping area.


    The mage unrolled his own mat and fell into it, asleep with the baby next to him as soon as he hit the floor.


    "How sweet," said Percy. "Now, how about that leg?"


    Dreth tossed him his sack. "Actually, I think I ate the last leg a little while ago."


    "What!!??"


    "Sorry." Dreth said, in a not very sincere tone. He turned to Gerald. "So, what do you have in this resort of yours?"


    "Oh, lots of things! Where do you want to go?"


    Dreth considered. "We don''t have much time. No doubt our¡­ friends will be hot on our trail."


    "Well, there are many facilities for sure," said Gerald. "We have an alchemist, a necromancer, some shops, all sorts of things. And the port too."


    "I need to find a leg!" complained Percy, looking up from the sack.


    Dreth turned to Sprat. "Sprog, you stay and look after the wizard and the baby. The rest of you, we''re going into town."


    "Yes!" exclaimed Percy, hopping up and down excitedly.


    "But Uncle Dref, me wants to go with you," the little zombie moaned.


    "Once the wizard wakes up, you can follow us," said Dreth. "Goblin, which way are the facilities?"


    "Oh you can''t miss the main area," said Gerald leading them outside again and pointing. "Just go that way for about five minutes. You''ll find a path. Turn left and follow it."


    Dreth nodded. "Let''s go then."


    With Cuthbert helping Percy, and M walking beside him, they strode off into the woods.


    ~ * ~


    "That must be it," said M, pointing at a low wall.


    They were on the path, which wound around through the trees. Ahead was what appeared to be a settlement of sorts, surrounded by a wooden barricade. The trail led to a set of double doors.


    As the group approached a goblin stepped out in front of them. It was wearing a battered helmet and holding a short spear. "Halt! Who goes there?"


    "We do," replied Cuthbert.


    "Undead! We don''t want your type in here," snarled the guard.


    Dreth stepped up. "What are you implying?" he said.


    "We have our standards! No unauthorized zombies."


    Dreth drew Darkblood, and moved it towards the small figure. "How''s this for authorization?"


    The goblin went cross-eyed looking at the point of the blade. "If you kill me, there are many others to take my place," he said.


    "Good, they won''t miss you then, will they?"


    There was a blur, a brief slicing noise and a thud. The head of the goblin came to rest at the base of a tree trunk, some distance away from the rest of its body. Dreth sheathed his sword and pushed at the door. "I think my pass was accepted," he said, and stepped through.


    He found himself in a small and bustling village street. Shops and two storey houses built of white stone lined the cobbled road. It all looked very normal, if you overlooked the inhabitants.


    Most were goblins, but trolls, orcs, the occasional ogre and all manner of other denizens wandered around. Dreth thought he saw a demon striding along even. They wandered down the road, heads swiveling from side to side like tourists coming to a big city, until they came to a small square. In the middle was a statue of a dragon eating a fighter of some description.


    Dreth turned the others. "Right then, I suggest we split up. Cuthbert, help Percy find a new leg. M, I think you should try and locate some sort of oracle, or library, see if you can''t get some information about yourself."


    "What about you?" asked M.


    "I''m going to wander around. Do you have any gold?"


    M shook her head, so Dreth dug into his pouch and passed over some treasure. "There, that should keep you going for a while. Meet back here in one hour. And¡­ be careful!"


    "Yes dad," said Cuthbert.


    Dreth watched the others go, and then walked a little way along the street until he found what he was looking for. A restaurant. ''The Adventurers'' Gizzard'' the sign proclaimed.


    He opened the door and strode in. Inside was not overly large, with room for about a dozen tables. Several goblin waiters moved around, serving the denizens seated there.


    "Table for one," he said to an Orc standing nearby, and was led to a seat near the window.


    "Someone will be with you in a moment," the Maitre De said, handing him a menu.


    Dreth nodded and sat down, gazing out of the window which overlooked the statue in the square. He spent several minutes watching the various passers by, enjoying the peace and quiet before he was approached by a scrawny goblin.


    The waiter was dressed in a white jacket with blood stains, old and new, liberally splattered all down the front. "Hello Sir, Madam or Being. My name is Nigel, I will be your server for today. How may I serve you?" He whipped out a notepad and waited.


    Dreth glanced at the menu briefly. "What do you have?" he asked, deciding he couldn''t be bothered to read it. "Something decent though, I don''t want your goblin muck."


    "You''re in luck sir," the waiter said, ignoring the remark disparaging his species. "We have some fresh human virgin, just in, served with Belladonna salad and the dip of the day."


    "Oh yes? And where have you managed to find fresh virgin around here may I ask?"


    "Sacrifice off-cast sir, from the big nobs in the castle."


    "I see." Dreth rubbed his chin. "Very well then. I''ll have a portion of thigh."


    "And how would you like your thigh sir?"


    "You cook it? Oh. Well." Dreth considered this unexpected turn of events for a moment. "Medium rare then."


    "Very well sir. Drink?"


    Dreth expelled air noisily and glanced at the list in the menu. "A Screaming Organ sounds interesting."


    "Excellent choice." The goblin made a final note on his pad and waddled off to spit in the meal.


    A surprisingly short time later he returned with a large glass. It was filled to the brim with a red liquid. "Your Screaming Organ sir," he announced, and scampered away to deal with another customer.


    Dreth examined the beverage. There was an eyeball and a piece of pineapple stuck on to a cocktail stick. Some kind of brown substance was smeared around the rim of the glass, though it could have been they just hadn''t cleaned it in a while. A portion of finger bobbed in the middle.


    Hardly an ''organ'' he mumbled to himself, but took a sip anyway. It tasted pretty much like it looked. Dreth put it down for a moment and considered the flavor. After a minute he decided it wasn''t bad, and had another taste.


    He was just finishing it when the goblin returned, staggering under a large covered platter, which he placed in the middle of the table. Taking a moment to straighten himself out, he removed the top with a flourish.


    "Viola! Your thigh sir."


    "I believe you mean, voila!" said Dreth, examining the dish. "A viola is a type of musical instrument, or possibly a kind of flower. Still, the thought is what counts." He waved at his now empty glass. "I almost enjoyed that. Another is in order I think." He glanced at the menu again. "Let''s try a ''Slaughter on the Beach'' this time."


    "Very good sir," said the goblin. He took the glass with him and withdrew to the kitchen, leaving his customer pondering the meal.


    Dreth poked at the food. It seemed to be authentic thigh, and though he couldn''t actually tell if it was from a virgin or not, it looked female human. The meat was surrounded by some kind of plant leaves, which Dreth thought rather distasteful, though there was a side-dish of blood-sauce and sliced heart pieces.


    He tucked in, pausing only to sip at the new drink which was delivered a few minutes later by the goblin.


    "And how is your meal sir?" The waiter asked.


    "Exffllmmt!" Mumbled Dreth, his mouth full of allegedly virgin thigh.


    The server nodded, pleased, and left him to eat.

 Chapter 26：Undead Drunk

    "Here we are," Percy said. "A necromancer."


    "That''s not a necromancer!" said Cuthbert.


    "Ok Mr. I''m-so-clever-I-can-read. What''s it then?"


    "It''s a blacksmith. It says so up there. S-M-Y-T-H-E." He read the letters out one at a time.


    "Smyth!" Percy hit is forehead with the heel of his hand. "That''s the name of the fellow. Come on."


    "I don''t think it is," Cuthbert began, but the other zombie was already hopping in to the store. He followed, to find himself in a hot workshop. A stout figure of a dwarf was hammering something on an anvil. "See? Smith. Horseshoes, armor and all that. Come on."


    "Wait a minute," said his friend. "Hey, shorty! A little service here?" Percy raised an arm and jumped forwards.


    The dwarf stopped and eyed the undead warily. "What ya want zombie?"


    "What''s your name?" Asked Percy.


    "Smythe. What''s it to ya?"


    Percy shot Cuthbert a look of triumph before addressing the store owner. "Master Necromancer, I''ve a task for you¡­"


    Cuthbert rolled his eyes and leaned against the wall as Percy explained his need.


    ~ * ~


    Dreth sighed contentedly, picking at his teeth. The meal was now no more than a bone on a plate. Various empty glasses testified to several more cocktail experiments, and he was feeling good about the whole expedition for the first time. Waving over at the goblin, he scanned the drinks menu for one he hadn''t tried yet.


    "I trust sir enjoyed the meal?"


    "Very good. Besht thigh I''ve had in centuries. Now then, I don''t beleef¡­sorry, believe I haff¡­ have tried a Dragon Sour yet."


    "I will bring one immediately sir."


    "Make it a double."


    "Of course sir." The waiter scribbled the latest order on the tab.


    Dreth leaned back and rested his hands across his stomach. He felt a bump in his robe, and wondered what it was. Fishing around he drew out the black ''marble'' that the little zombie had found in the Runebox. He smiled for a moment, remembering the Orc king''s last moments, skewered on the end of his sword. Good times, good times.


    He patted the blade. "You know shword, you''re a good weapon. Did I ever tell you that?"


    "You''re drunk!" replied Darkblood, slightly muffled in his sheath.


    "Nonono! Really, the besht sword I ever, ever had."


    "Drunk!"


    "I''m sorry sir, did you say something?"


    Dreth looked up to see the goblin place a large glass in front of him. "Wha? No. Never mind." He smiled and lifted the blue colored drink to his mouth, taking a large swig. "Good shtuff. Good good. Meybe a bit shour, I mean sour."


    The waiter looked at him for a second, but then turned and wandered off to serve another client.


    Putting the glass down a moment, Dreth once more examined the black marble, rolling it between his fingers.


    "Exusssse me." A dry voice hissed at him from nearby.


    He looked around. A figure in a hooded robe was sat at the next table. The dark of the cowl hid any facial features, but two white points of light served as eyes. "Do I know you?" asked Dreth.


    "My apologiesss for interrupting your meal. I am Lord Bone, necromancer. Guardian."


    "Good ta meet you," replied Dreth jovially, raising his glass and taking another drink. "I recommend the cocktailsh here, they''re really very good."


    "Yesss, ssso I sssseeee. However, I wasss wondering if your gem issss for ssssale. Sssssuch an item would be ussseful to me."


    "Indeed."


    "You know what it ish then?"


    "But of courssse."


    Dreth leaned forward, a little unsteadily, and smiled. "How about I buy you a drink and we have a little chat?"

 Chapter 27：The Sight

    M wandered down the street, stepping to one side to avoid being run down by some sort of large four legged beast with three heads. As she did so she noticed a sign over a small store. "A seer?" She muttered to herself. "Well, why not?"


    Thus decided, she stepped forward and entered the shop.


    It was dark inside, and smelled of strange and unpleasant herbs. The room was plain, furnished only with a small table in the middle. Two chairs, one at either side, were pulled up against it. The far wall boasted a curtain, currently drawn.


    "Hello? Anyone here?" M asked.


    "Just a minute, be right there." A high pitched woman''s voice came from behind the curtain. "Take a seat."


    M briefly wondered where she would take a seat to, before realizing she was supposed to sit. She shrugged and sat down on the nearest chair just as the curtain twitched to one side.


    A figure walked in. She was seemingly human, still fairly young, dressed in a long pale dress which covered her figure. Her head was devoid of hair, and eyes were covered with a black cloth. In one hand she held a long white staff.


    "Sit child," she said.


    "I am."


    "Oh. Yes, so you are." The seer stumbled into the chair opposite, bumping her shin in the process, which produced several interesting curses. Eventually, with much groping around, she managed to sit down.


    M watched impartially.


    "Now child, what can I do for you?"


    "Firstly, stop calling me child. I doubt you''re any older than I am."


    "Oh. Well." M blinked in frustration. "Look, I''m here because I don''t know anything about myself. Can you help me?"


    The seer nodded and produced a pack of cards from somewhere. She placed them on the table face down, spreading them out. "Turn one over."


    M did so.


    "Death!" exclaimed the seer dramatically.


    "No it isn''t."


    "It isn''t? Are you sure?"


    "I''m sure. It''s some kind of¡­" M leaned over and tried to make out the picture. "Some kind of devil I think."


    "A devil? Are you certain it isn''t death?"


    "Positive."


    "But it''s always death!"


    "Nope, sorry."


    The seer scowled and bent over the cards, fiddling with her blindfold as she did so.


    "Hey!" exclaimed M. "Are you peeking? You''re not blind!"


    "What? Of course I am. Blind as a bat. Totally without vision. Sightless oh yes."


    "No you''re not! I can see you peeking!"


    "Oh fiddlesticks." The seer pulled at her covering, revealing a perfectly good pair of eyes beneath. "Sorry about that. It''s just if the seer isn''t old, then apparently they must be blind. It''s an image thing you know?"


    M pulled a face. "Are you a real seer or not? I just want a reading, or whatever you do."


    "Of course I''m real! Gifted with the Sight from birth." She looked at the card M had turned over. "Well well, it is a devil. How odd."


    "Why should that be odd?"


    The seer didn''t answer, but flipped over a card. It was death. She flipped over another. Death. Another and another. All death.


    "Oh, I see," said M.


    "Give me your hand," said the seer. "Enough of the show stuff."


    M complied, and the mystic closed her eyes as she held it in her own. For a minute there was silence.


    M was just about to say something when the woman spoke.


    "I see something. It''s shrouded in mist, as if far back in time. I see a village. A young girl running. It''s you. You''re a child, perhaps nine or ten. Your mother is calling you. M?" The seer frowned. "Em? Emerald! Your name is Emerald."


    "Oh. M. Of course."


    "Wait! There''s more!"


    The room dimmed suddenly, and a cold wind seemed to sweep through it, chilling the occupants.


    "A figure. A dark figure. Powerful. Dangerous. It¡­ It''s taking you. Your mother¡­ your mother is trying to stop it. It¡­It¡­ Oh!" The seer gasped, and her eyes flew open.


    M looked into them, and saw an image. A young woman, weeping, pleading before a shadowy outline. A child crying. Movement. A bright red splash of blood. The screams of the child, louder now, and a laugh. A laugh of pure evil.


    "It killed your mother. Took you." The image changed. Fogged. For a moment there was nothing, then the fog turned red and the seer screamed, pulling backwards, away from M, falling to the floor.


    Emerald stood in alarm, running around the table. The seer looked at her, blood running from her eyes. "Leave here! Never return! Your future is pre-ordained! Leave here now. GO!"


    Emerald stumbled back, turned, ran out of the door into the street. She moved quickly away from the seer''s shop, before leaning against a wall, panting hard. What was that about?


    She looked up just as a large figure turned a corner in front of her. "Oh shit!"


    "Gut see you!" the voice boomed. The giant started to run towards her, scattering a group of goblins in the process.


    "Bugger!" Emerald ran.

 Chapter 28：Dungeon Master

    Dreth emerged into the air and inhaled deeply. He was feeling quite content with the world. The feeling lasted for nearly thirty seconds. Looking up the street he saw a large and unmistakable figure, red eyes piercing the crowds as it scanned them.


    "Oh Dreg!" hr exclaimed, stepping back against the wall. He waited until the golem was looking the other way, and then staggered quickly down the street, wishing he hadn''t had so many drinks. He bumped into Cuthbert and Percy on the corner of the village square.


    "The other way, quick!" he hissed. Then did a double take. "What''sh that??"


    "It''sh metal!" exclaimed Dreth, trying to focus and ignoring the comment.


    "Clockwork," said the zombie. "Two days on one wind. You have to keep up with the times you know."


    "Well, better put it on ''run'' setting. Old shtone¡­ stone face is behind us."


    The zombies turned with Dreth and they started back down the other street, only to stop short.


    "Hey. Aren''t those dark elves?" asked Cuthbert.


    "Fug!" Dreth squinted at the scene, which appeared to be spinning slightly. "Back, back!"


    The three ducked back, running into the square. "There''s M!" Cuthbert pointed at the figure crouched next to the base of the statue.


    They lurched over to her. "Hey! Fancy meeting you here," said Percy.


    "Get down!" That giant is here." Emerald made shushing gestures.


    "He ish not alone," said Dreth.


    "Are you drunk?" asked Emerald, peering closely at him.


    "Disgusting isn''t it? Us in mortal peril and he hits the bottle," Percy said. He moved closer to Emerald. "Stick with me, I''ll see you alright."


    Dreth scowled and tried to speak clearly. "Over there, towards the exit." He pointed back to the first street.


    Trying to run inconspicuously, the four moved quickly along the road. Dreth weaving slightly.


    "Phew!" said Cuthbert. "Made it." He pushed at the gate and bumped into Redthorne and Sprat coming the other way.


    "Elves! The Elves are coming," panted the wizard, jiggling the baby.


    "They chased us through the woods," chimed in Sprat.


    "You have to be kidding me!" said Dreth. "Shince when did we get sho popular?"


    "Have you been drinking?" asked the mage, sniffing. "I can smell Blooded Mary."


    "He''s a lush," said Cuthbert.


    "Shut up!" Dreth said, closing one eye in an attempt to see straight. "Come on, down this shide shtreet."


    The fugitives made their way through down the alleyway, emerging near the main square again. Peering out from behind a crate, hand over one eye, Dreth assessed the situation whilst trying not to sway.


    The golem was standing near the statue, looking around. Up one street he could see the dark elves questioning several goblins, and the giant was up another road, scratching his head. No doubt the elves were heading in from the other direction.


    He looked at the two remaining roads. One was Dock street, and the other was Desert Lane. Not the most promising prospect, though it could lead out of the village.


    "What do we do?" asked Percy, polishing his new leg.


    Dreth moaned. "I need another drink," he said.


    ~ * ~


    "What do you mean he is somewhere near? I don''t want somewhere near, I want results! Find him, quickly, or it will go badly for you!"


    "As you command," the Golem replied in what could have been interpreted as a weary tone, had that been possible.


    "Very well, I expect to hear some good news soon." The Master of the Dungeon waved a hand in an intricate gesture and the picture in the mirror faded, to be replaced with his own scowling reflection.


    "Wretched automatons," he muttered to himself. "How hard can it be to track down a couple of undead in a tiny village?" The Master was about to turn away when the mirror pulsed red, an indication that there was an incoming message.


    He frowned and made the activation signal. The red glare dimmed, to be replaced with a wavy image that crackled and jumped about madly. The Master swore and adjusted the vertical hold, fiddling with it, cursing all the while, until it finally stabilized and the picture could be seen clearly. Once it did so he rather wished the thing had remained broken.


    "Overlord," he bowed low. "I''m honored to speak with you." He held the pose, trembling before the figure in the mirror.


    The Overlord waited a calculated moment before allowing him to rise. "We are displeased," he said.


    "Displeased?" The Master''s voice wavered slightly as he mentally flicked through a list of private projects and wondered which one had been discovered. "Oh mighty one, what have I done to incur your wrath? I am a loyal and obedient servant, dedicated to the Greater Bad."


    The Overlord leaned forward and glared at the Dungeon Master, who quailed under the gaze.


    Fiery red eyes set into a scaled face with a flicking forked tongue. Horns perched on top of a head that was affixed to a long serpentine figure writhing over a pit of lava. Victims below, roasting in agony within the flames, whilst blood ran from eye sockets picked bare.


    All of this was not present.


    Indeed, any onlookers would have been surprised at the evident fear the Master was showing. The image was hardly one that most would immediately run from. The Overlord stared at the Master through thick round glasses. A comb-over crawled over a shiny scalp. His scrawny frame sat at a pleasant desk with a single flower in a vase to one side. Paper was piled up in neat stacks. In the background a comfortable sofa could be seen. Fiery pits with screaming victims being horribly tortured were, if anywhere nearby, in a soundproof room out of sight.


    "I''m talking about Dreth," the non-horrific figure continued. "My reports indicate he has left his post, and is seeking escape."


    "Dreth?" The Master said, puzzled at this interest. "The Undead Way guardian? You have nothing to fear oh great one. I''ve dispatched an agent to, er¡­ dispatch him. I''ve just been in communication with it in fact, and expect positive news any moment."


    "Fool! You have no idea who he is do you?" For a moment, a flicker of a moment, a spark of red seemed to appear in the Overlord''s eyes. Perhaps it was just the reflection of the flower though.


    "He¡­ he''s just a guardian your magnificence."


    "Just a guardian he says." The Overlord rolled his eyes and made an ''I''m dealing with a moron face'' as he jabbed a finger forward. "If he succeeds in escaping, your life will be extinguished as though it never was, though not before your broken body has been put through the most deviant and painful tortures I can think of." He sat back in his chair and tapped the desk. "The situation is beyond your understanding. Needless to say, I expect you to ensure that he returns to his post, or is removed from the picture in some way." He leaned forward again. "I hope I have made my¡­ desires clear enough."


    "Y¡­ yes oh superb and ultimate Awfulness."


    "Good. Get on with it then."


    The picture winked off, leaving the Master blinking in bafflement. Eventually he pulled himself together. "As you command," he said belatedly, and turned away. This was going to take something special.

 Chapter 29：Sail Ahoy

    "Come on," slurred Dreth. "I have an idea." He squinted out from behind his cover, waiting until the various parties were looking elsewhere, then dashed out into the square, weaving erratically.


    The rest of them looked at each other and followed quickly, Percy''s new leg clanking and whirring all the while. They pursued Dreth down Dock street, keeping near the edge of the road and out of sight as much as was possible.


    Dreth lurched uncertainly over the cobbles, round a shallow bend and on past various shops and buildings of a nautical nature, until they finally arrived at the docks. They were in luck. Two vessels were moored there. From one a line of creatures were shuffling, hopping, jumping and floating forward, moving slowly on to the ship, which appeared to be some sort of double decked boat lined with windows.


    Dreth moved towards it, pushing several creatures out of the way to get to the front.


    "Hey! There is a queue here you know!" One orc complained as he was pushed backwards. He squeaked as Dreth stared at him, exhibiting an unusual sense of self preservation for one of his species. "I mean: please, after you."


    Others weren''t so easily cowed though. A high pitched voice came from further back. "Hey, you! Get to the back of the line! Robert, do something about these ruffians!"


    A large ball shape floated over the orc, swooping down towards Dreth. "You heard the lady, you can wait your turn like¡­ Oh! It''s you!"


    "Hello Bob, wha'' you doing here?" Dreth looked up at the Beholder, trying to speak clearly.


    "Ho ho! Same as you by the smell of your breath!" Bob winked several of his eyes. "Been sampling cocktails have we? Hur hur. The Missus and I are taking a break. We get one vacation every season. Pretty sweet eh?"


    "A vacation? That''s just typical that is," Percy joined the conversation. "When did we ever get a holiday? Eh Cuthbert?" He didn''t wait for his friend to answer. "Never! That''s when. Blatant discrimination against the undead. I''m going to have some words with the management I am." He crossed his arms.


    "Er, yes." Bob looked at Dreth. "In a rush are we? Only there seems to be plenty of room on the boat, and even if there wasn''t, the tours leave once every hour. You wouldn''t have to wait long for the next one."


    "Ah, it''sh a bit of an emrgcnsy¡­emersyn¡­urgent shituation you shee," said Dreth, trying to tap the side of his nose and missing. "That Golem? He ish chasing us. We need to get away quickly."


    Bob''s eyes widened, an impressive site on a Beholder. "Indeed? Chasing you is he? Are we in any danger here?" He looked around a little nervously.


    "No no no no," reassured Dreth. "Jusht after us he is. Listen, I''ve an idea. Do you think you could do ush a favor?"


    ~ * ~


    Harm stared after the vessel that was rapidly dwindling to a dot on the horizon. "You sure they''re on it?"


    Primrose, who was currently not enjoying his elevated status, nodded. "They boarded just as it was about to depart apparently. The Beholders saw them go."


    Harm looked at the two monsters that were floating nearby, and frowned. The creatures were too dangerous to take on without serious risk to his men. Not that he cared about his men as such, but their numbers were dwindling, and he would need them when he caught up with the wizard. "Is this true?"


    "Oh yes," said the nearest one. "Quite rude they were. My wife commented on it at the time, didn''t you dear?"


    "Absolutely," replied the slightly smaller of the two. "But what can you expect from zombies?"


    "Did you see a wizard and a baby with them by any chance?" Harm made an effort to be civil despite mounting anger.


    "Yes, I believe there was. How strange," the first Beholder answered. "Now then, if you would excuse us, we have theatre seats booked. Not that we use the seats of course, but you know what I mean." The two swiveled about and floated off, bobbing over the Harm''s head.


    Harm looked about. "Faerie!"


    A small figure flittered close. "It''s Fearie," Smudge said.


    "Whatever," Harm waved a hand. "Fly out to that ship, see if the wizard is on board."


    "What ship?"


    Harm looked out over the lake again. The vessel had disappeared into the gloom.


    "Elves!" Primrose interrupted Harm''s would-be response.


    "Dark scum! Prepare to die!" An elf noble, wearing jewel encrusted gilded armor, strode forward, drawing a blazing white blade. Behind him his warriors stood, weapons drawn.


    Harm''s face twisted with hatred. He drew his own Runeblade, which pulsed with a dull red light. The two magic swords crackled in the proximity of each other. His men readied their weapons in response to the threat.


    The leader faced the enemy, whose own features were lined with loathing. "It is your blood that shall be spilled here surface dweller. This is our territory."


    "You stole one of ours. We''re here to take vengeance. Where is the babe? Hand it over and you will at least die with a shred of honor."


    Harm laughed. "Even if I were in possession of the infant, the seven hells would freeze over before I handed it over to you. My masters have other plans for that one. It shall not live to thwart Evil!"


    "His destiny is already written in the future. You cannot prevent the will of the gods."


    "My Lords think otherwise."


    "Your thinking is flawed, Light will triumph! I, Hammath Highhand so declare!"


    The two stepped closer, weapons held ready. The blades hummed and glistened with magic, each straining to reach the other. Sparks flew between them, and the air shimmered with energy.


    "And I, Harm Undertow say otherwise!" Harm lunged forward suddenly, causing the elf to skip back to avoid being split open.


    "Vermin!"


    "Light dwelling slug!"


    The two leaders circled each other, looking for an opening and growling at each other.


    "HOLD!" A shadow fell over the combatants. "There shall be no fighting in the village of Dume, by order!"


    The elves looked up as one. A large flying beast, scales glinting in the dull light, hovered above, wings beating against the air with a dull noise, reminiscent of thunder. The Wyvern bared its fangs and hissed down at them from a mouth packed with sharp teeth. A small green figure could just be made out hanging on to a saddle at the base of its neck. Above it, another two of the dragon-like monsters, complete with their own riders, circled.


    Harm glared, whilst still managing to keep one eye on the elf. "By order of whom?"


    This question seemed to puzzle the Wyvern rider a moment. "Just by order," it said. "Failure to comply will result in dinner."


    "Dinner?"


    "For my flying friend here." The goblin patted the neck of his mount, which hissed again.


    "Oh." Harm thought about it a moment, remembering that Wyverns were supposed to have poison breath amongst other abilities, and decided now was not the time to test his luck. He looked back down, towards the elf. "I suppose this is your lucky day sunlight worshipping worm."


    Hammath looked as annoyed as his counterpart, but nodded reluctantly. "You shall befoul the air a while longer, dark scum." He lowered his sword.


    "We have another visitor," said Primrose, stepping closer now that the prospect of imminent death had faded slightly. He nodded his head.


    Down the street came the Golem. Harm couldn''t tell why, but for some reason the animated being looked annoyed. He watched as it strode up to him and stopped.


    The dark elf sighed, and sheathed his sword. This whole expedition had become more complicated than he''d bargained for. ''A quick snatch of the baby elf and then back,'' his superior had said. ''Easy in and out.''


    "Well?" The Golem was waiting.


    He pointed out towards the lake. "They went that way, on a boat of some kind."


    The animation looked at him a moment longer then, without a word, strode away. Harm watched as it walked into the lake and disappeared from view under the waves.


    "Sir!" Primrose, who was beginning to annoy Harm, gestured towards the elves.


    "Now what?" He looked and saw the Elven leader speaking with someone onboard the only ship in port. A ghostly galleon, with rigging hanging in tatters. Translucent, half skeletal crewmembers strode the decks, preparing to cast off.


    "Oh no they don''t!" he declared, striding over to the gangplank just as the elves began to board the ship. "Hoy there! Who is the Captain of this bucket?" he shouted up at the deck.


    The outline of a grizzled pirate, ghostly hair waving about his head, peered over the side. "That''ll be me."


    "I wish to hire your vessel, and perhaps your services," shouted Harm. "My men and I are in pursuit of the boat that recently left this berth. I can pay in gold."


    The Captain smiled a gap toothed smile. "Arr, then ye best board sharpish like. For we be casting off right quick."


    Undertow waved at his men, and they trotted up the gangplank, to stand on an apparently rotting deck near the Elven party.


    The captain stumped over, his peg leg making a clumping sound. "There be no fighting with each other on my ship. Else ye be pitched over the side. Are we being in agreement?"


    Reluctantly, Harm nodded.


    "Good. Now then, about that gold¡­"


    Harm haggled with the Ghost Captain as the crew cast off lines and made ready to sail. Just as they were about to depart a large figure bounded up the walkway, to land with a thump on the deck. The giant looked around, panting.


    "Gut go sailing!" he declared.

 Chapter 30：The Management.

    "I couldn''t see anyone," said Cuthbert. "I think we got away." He traipsed up to the waiting group and sat down.


    Dreth removed his head from where it had been resting in his hands. "Oh. Never again, I swear. I''m never going to touch another drop."


    They were some way outside the town, sitting in a slight shallow. Ahead of them the terrain grew sparse and barren, no doubt the desert that the street had been named after. Back the way they came was the Black forest, whilst over on the horizon the cavern wall could dimly be seen.


    "Ha, serves you right, having a slap-up feed and not inviting us along." Percy put his hands on his hips. "Let''s all split up," he said in a bad imitation of Dreth. "Now the truth outs. Mr.Piggy here wanted to wallow in gluttony."


    "This is all very well," said Redthorne, who was changing the baby. "But where do we go from here? We still don''t know where this great treasure is, and half the underworld seems to be after us."


    "I wish to find out who I am, and why I''m here," said Emerald.


    Dreth thought a moment, though it hurt his head. "Someone said that there was some kind of Castle in the desert," he said. "Or we could head towards the wall, try and find a way back into the dungeon proper."


    "Why not ask that goblin we met where to go? He can''t be that far away," said Percy, fiddling with his new leg.


    "I don''t want to hang about too long, who knows if our plan worked, or how long it will throw them off our trail?" Dreth rubbed his forehead and looked around. Why was this so complicated?


    The baby burbled and wiggled its legs.


    ~ * ~


    "Well what are we waiting for? Let''s go find that treasure!" Percy attempted to strike a dramatic pose.


    "And where exactly do we start looking?" Dreth asked. "We need a map or something."


    Emerald stood up. "Then we have to see the Management, they will surely know. And in the meantime perhaps we can get a few questions answered. Like who I am."


    "Are you crazy?" Percy abandoned his pose. "Stick our heads into the turtle''s mouth? Out of the frying pan and under the wire?"


    "I don''t know," Dreth mused, tapping his chin with one finger. "The idea has some merit."


    "Oh, and I suppose we simply stroll up and knock on the front door do we?" asked Cuthbert. "Hello Mr. All-powerful dungeon manager. Could you kindly direct us to the treasure? And whilst you''re at it, would it be awfully bothersome to ask you to call off your unstoppable monster that is chasing us?" He folded his arms. "I don''t think so."


    "Perhaps we could dress up?" Sprat piped up.


    "A disguise eh?" Percy smiled. "I like your thinking lad."


    "Fine. I shall don the top hat and tails, along with a rubber nose I just happen to keep in my pocket here then," said Cuthbert, who was in full sarcasm mode now.


    "Oh hush you two. I''m sure it won''t be as bad as all that," said Dreth. "I mean, how likely is it that anyone would go up to the Management castle of their own accord?"


    "You mean only the terminally stupid or suicidal would try it?" asked Redthorne, raising an eyebrow.


    "Exactly," Dreth snapped his fingers. "It''s a perfect plan."


    "My definition of perfect is obviously out of date," muttered Cuthbert.


    "So it''s agreed then," said Dreth. "Off to the castle!"


    "Great," said Cuthbert. "Its times like this I''m glad I''m already dead. I mean, what''s the worst that can happen to me now, eh?"


    "You''d be surprised," said Percy, slapping his friend on the back.


    They started walking towards the dark sand of the Black Desert.


    ~ * ~


    "Avast ye lubbers! Pull over and prepare to be boarded!" The ghostly captain shouted down at the tour boat.


    Harm leaned over the side, trying to spot his prey amongst the tourists. He turned to Primrose. "Take some men, get down there and secure the baby before those surface scum beat us to it." He turned to face the small figure flittering about near his head. "Fearie, fly over there and scout ahead."


    Primrose nodded as Smudge flew off, and turned to arrange a boarding party. Harm waited impatiently as grapples were thrown or fired at the target. The ropes tightened and the vessels began to draw together.


    Before they were even close half a dozen dark elves were crawling, or in Primrose''s case walking, along the ropes to the other ship. Unfortunately so were an equal amount of elves.


    Harm gripped his sword and leaned over the rail as the two parties reached the boat and began searching it.


    "I will dispose of you and your vermin kind you know." The leader of the Elves had moved over to stand by him. He too watched the search.


    "The forces of light shall ultimately be victorious!"


    Harm glanced at the light elf leader. His armor glistened even here, in the gloomy depths of the cavern. The others'' gaze was set firmly on the tour boat. The leader leaned close. "When this is all over," he whispered, "I am personally going to lead another raid topside to your little camp. There I''m going to tie you down so you can watch as my men enjoy themselves with your women before they dispose of them. Finally I''m going to hamstring and blind you, and leave you to live out the rest of your miserable existence as a useless cripple."


    The Elven leader went red and gripped his sword, turning towards Harm, who was grinning with glee. "I shall cut you down where¡­"


    "Landlubbers!" The tirade was interrupted by the captain. "Yer men say there be no baby on yonder vessel, arrr. What be ye wanting to do now?"


    Harm slammed the rail with his fist. They''d been tricked! He turned to the captain. "Turn your boat about. We''re heading back to the village, full speed ahead!"

 Chapter 31：Castle

    The dark structure of the castle loomed above the party, the upper towers disappearing into the gloom of the cavern.


    "Certainly looks the part anyway," said Cuthbert, leaning back and gazing upwards.


    "Where''s the entrance?" asked Dreth.


    They were in the depths of the Black Desert. The castle had been visible for many leagues, the only building in the vicinity. They had slogged towards it as fast as they''d been able, stopping only to allow Redthorne to rest occasionally.


    Now they had reached their target. An imposing citadel of solid dark stone, which gave the distinct impression that it was watching their every move.


    "This way, I think I see a drawbridge," said Emerald.


    They trudged round to the entrance. A huge portal that hung over them like some sort of cavernous maw. Two giant figures stood either side of the way in, covered from head to foot in heavy plate mail armor, and holding swords as long as Dreth was tall.


    "Guards," hissed Redthorne.


    Dreth rolled his eyes. "No! You think?"


    Redthorne''s visage darkened. "Don''t speak to me thus fiend. I am a wizard of¡­"


    "The pink light party yah yah yah. We''ve heard it before mage." Dreth looked at the Cuthbert. "The old ''prisoner'' trick here I think?"


    Cuthbert nodded.


    ~ * ~


    Gordon stood silently and watched through his visor as the party approached. Several undead surrounded what appeared to be a mage carrying a baby. One of the zombies pushed the wizard ahead of him, causing a variety of angry complaints as they clumped over the drawbridge.


    The tallest being, a thin human who looked like he had seen better days, approached the other guard, who happened to be Gordon''s sergeant, Simon.


    "Prisoner delivery."


    "Docket," said Simon.


    "Your paperwork. Hand it over."


    "Ah yes, the docket. Where did I put it?" The tall man made a show of patting his pockets.


    Gordon looked on as the man searched his robe, to no avail.


    "Ah, sorry. I seem to have misplaced it. Still, never mind eh? I''m sure¡­"


    "No docket, no entry," said Simon, who was the methodical type.


    "Look, we have an important prisoner here¡­"


    "No docket, no entry," repeated the guard.


    The man took a deep breath. "Look my friend, I am¡­"


    "Don''t care who you are. We have our orders. No docket¡­"


    "¡­no entry, yes yes yes, I understood you the first three times." The human brought his hand up to his chin thoughtfully. "Shall we start again? My name''s Dreth. I''ve an important prisoner here, a wizard of¡­"


    "No docket¡­" Simon began.


    "Ok. I tell you what," said the man holding up a hand to forestall the ritual response. "I will make you a deal yes?"


    Simon leaned forward. "No¡­"


    There was a blur of action. Gordon blinked. The man now had a long dark sword in his hands. The blade was throbbing with black light and humming. It was also dripping with blood.


    Simon stood still for a moment more, then slowly, very slowly, his right half peeled away from his left and fell to the floor with a loud metallic clang. The other half followed suite.


    The man looked at Gordon, who had not moved throughout the entire episode. "Now. Shall I try again? We have an important¡­"


    "Pass friend," said Gordon, who was only two hundred years from retirement, and had never liked Simon much anyway.


    The man nodded and sheathed his sword. "Much better. I commend your initiative." He looked around. "Bring the prisoner!"


    The troop marched on into the castle.


    Gordon didn''t move. He was on guard duty, watching the Black Desert for any possible sign of enemies. He saw none, as usual.

 Chapter 32：The Overlord, in the Library, with the Zombie.

    "Cooo, it''s alright for some isn''t it?" said Percy as they wandered through vast halls lined with plush furnishings. The zombie ran his fingers along a strangely colored couch. "Look at this. Real Gray Elf skin. Must have taken eight or nine elves to cover this. They cost a fortune you know.


    "Come on, stop admiring the fixtures and fittings," said Dreth. "We have to find this manager before someone complains about the guard back there."


    "Mmf," said the zombie, but padded after the others, his metal leg clanking on the marble floor.


    They walked up a long corridor, through a set of ornate double doors and found themselves in a large room decorated with a variety of hangings. Several comfortable chairs lined the walls. Opposite the door there was a single large wooden counter.


    Behind the desk a perfectly formed female figure was sitting, busy filing her nails*. She was dressed in a simple red gown that emphasized her dark flowing hair, which tumbled playfully over her shoulders. Two small horns protruded only slightly from the top of this black mane. The receptionist looked up as they entered and raised a shapely eyebrow. "Well well well, what do we have here?"


    "Undead mostly," replied Percy absently. Cuthbert smacked him around the head.


    The woman put down the nail file. "And what can I do for you?" The tone of voice she used suggested any number of interesting possibilities could lay in the answer.


    Dreth approached her, the rest of the party in tow, and rested casually on the desk. "Listen, we were supposed to have a meeting with the boss, don''t suppose he''s around by any chance?"


    The receptionist leaned forward, exposing a low cut top straining to withhold a more than ample cleavage.


    "Holy Dreg!" exclaimed Cuthbert, noticing the woman''s figure for the first time. "Hello good looking!" He leered at her. "How about you and me do the dance of the dead baby?"


    "Ignore my lecherous friend," said Dreth, "his brain is rotten."


    "It''s not that rotten," replied the zombie. "This dear lady is fulsome enough to stimulate parts others cannot reach."


    "I''m sorry," replied the secretary, "I don''t do zombies. They have a tendency to fall apart when the going gets rough." She noticed Redthorne for the first time and licked her lips. "Wizards though, now wizards I like!" She preened and batted her eyelashes at the mage, sending an almost visible surge of lust forward. "How about it sweety? Fancy a good time do we? Dump the kid and we can get down and dirty." She jiggled her bosom, producing an interesting effect.


    Redthorne coughed and turned red. "Ah, I don''t consort with demons," he said. Still, Dreth couldn''t help noticing he wasn''t addressing her face.


    "Back Succubus!" Emerald stepped between the two. "Desist from your temptations."


    "And who is this?" The receptionist eyed the woman up and down slowly. "Well, not bad. You can join in too if you want, make it a party why not?"


    She winked at Emerald, who opened her mouth and flushed.


    "Look, we can have an orgy later¡­" said Dreth.


    "We can?" Cuthbert smiled so wide his face split.


    "¡­but now we''d just like to visit your leader."


    The Succubus pouted, which in no way made her look any less attractive. "Sorry, you''re out of luck. He''s busy in the library, researching some summoning or other, so I gather. Could be a while."


    "Well, yes," said Dreth, improvising quickly. "We know that."


    "We do?" asked Percy, looking at Emerald, who frowned at him.


    "This is why we have the wizard," Dreth gestured at Redthorne. "He''s here to assist. The baby is for a sacrifice."


    "Ah, I did wonder." The receptionist sat down and picked up her file again. "Down the hall, second on the left."


    "Thank-you," said Dreth walking off and nodded at the others, indicating they should follow.


    "Listen," started Cuthbert to the succubus as the others shuffled away. "My parts are quite solid, if you would just¡­"


    "Cuthbert!" Dreth shouted back, interrupted the undeads'' chat-up line.


    Cuthbert rolled his eyes and moved reluctantly after them.


    They marched down a carpet lined hallway. White magical lights lit the passage, casting their glow over a variety of portraits on the walls. The pictures were mostly actions scenes, with various monsters fighting, and usually winning, against a variety of different adventurers.


    "This is it," said Emerald, pointing to a large door.


    "Right, let''s meet this Dungeon Management then," said Dreth, drawing Darkblood. He kicked the door, forcing it open with a crash, and pushed Percy in ahead of him.


    "Hey!" the zombie complained.


    Dreth paid him no heed, and looked around the room, which was large and square, lined with book-cases and comfortable reading stations. "You!" he shouted. "I want a word with you."


    The figure in the corner looked up, his face hidden in the folds of the hooded robe he was wearing. The large tome he had been holding fell to the floor as he jerked with surprise. "What''s the meaning of this? I''ll have your hides!" He raised his gloved hands and started to make a gesture in the air, but stopped as Darkblood pricked at his chest.


    "Keep very still," said Dreth.


    "Who are you? What do you want? Do you realize who I am?"


    Dreth leaned forward and smiled his skull smile. "Oh, indeed. And do you know who I am?"


    "A soon to be dead¡­" The figure cut off a moment and peered at him. "Wait a minute! Are you that meddlesome Guardian? The one who has run off?"


    "The very one. And I want some answers."


    "I don''t parley with minions," replied the hooded man haughtily, crossing his arms.


    "In that case, I''ve no reason to keep you around." Dreth pushed Darkblood forward slightly.


    "On the other hand, negotiation is often the way forward," said the Management, quickly implementing a policy U-turn.


    "I knew you would see reason," Dreth eased the sword back very slightly and looked around. "Nice place you have here."


    "Look at me! I''m the boss!" Cuthbert was sitting at a large wooden desk. "Hey! Are these cigars?!" He opened a small box. "Why they are! Dragon Finest Blend. Very nice." He bit the end off one and looked around for a light.


    "Why are you here?" asked the Master.


    "A question some of us have been asking ourselves for some time now," said Emerald, stepping forward. "Maybe you can provide the answers?"


    "You! How did¡­ What are¡­ I mean¡­?"


    "We ask the questions here," interrupted Dreth. "Now, you can start with telling us where to find the treasure."


    "The dungeon treasure?"


    "No, aunts'' secret recipe for chocolate sauce," replied Dreth, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Of course the dungeon treasure!"


    "Oh, it''s in the Pit, a few leagues north of here, but you need a key to get in."


    "That would be the one in the Runebox I take it," said Redthorne. "The one our young zombie friend stuck to the Golem."


    Dreth scowled. "I don''t suppose there''s another one by any chance?"


    The Master laughed. "Not a chance! We don''t make it easy for anyone to stroll in and help themselves." He smiled evilly. "So you''d better give up now. If you promise to return to your post I''ll forget this whole thing ever happened."


    "There''s no other way in?" Percy looked up from a book he was pretending to read.


    "No." The Dungeon Master leaned forward slightly, squinting at Dreth. "Who are you anyway? Why is the Overlord so insistent you don''t leave? Tell me, and maybe we can work something out. I know what his weakness is you know."


    It was Dreth''s turn to frown. "I''ve no idea what you''re talking about."


    "And who am I? Why have you held me prisoner?" Emerald pushed her way forward.


    The Manager rubbed his hands together slightly. "You are part of an agreement with have with a Lower Power my dear. I''m afraid you will have to return to your casket, or It may get annoyed."


    "It? Who is It?" Emerald asked.


    The Dungeon Master chuckled from within his hood. "Sorry. The time for answers is over. Now you will pay for your insolence!" He raised a hand even as Dreth lunged forward with Darkblood.


    The sword pierced the robe, but it was too late. The body of the Master no longer filled it, and it dropped down to hang loosely around the blade, which howled with anger.


    At the same time shouts and the sound of many footsteps could be heard from the corridor outside, approaching quickly.


    Dreth ran over to the door just as the burly figure of an orc entered the room. He pushed the guard to one side, smashing him head first into one of the bookcases, and slammed the door shut, leaning on it to prevent anyone else entering. "Percy, Cuthbert, find something to barricade us in, quickly!" he shouted. The door vibrated as someone bounced off the other side.


    The zombies and humans hurriedly dragged a desk and a heavy bookcase over, and the portal was soon wedged shut.


    "Now what?" asked Cuthbert, picking up his cigar again. "That won''t hold them forever."


    "Mage, spell us out of here!" Emerald said.


    "I can''t, unless you can think of a way to nullify the Spite," Redthorne answered.


    "Why do we still have this wizard?" asked Percy. "He''s no use to us unless he can cast some kind of spell."


    "Let''s give them the female," said Cuthbert. "Maybe they will trade our release for her."


    "Try it zombie, and you will be looking for a metal head to match your leg," said Emerald, suddenly fierce.


    "Stop your bickering," shouted Dreth. "Let me think." He turned to look at the guard he had thrown to one side before. Reaching down, he picked the Orc up by the collar with one hand and slapped it around the face until it woke up. "How do we get out of here?" he hissed.


    There was a noise of water hitting carpet. Dreth looked down and made a face. "Oh come on!"


    The Orc blubbered. "P¡­ please mister, I just started last week, I knows nothin'' I does."


    "Then you''re no use to me," said Dreth. He made a movement. There was a noise and the Orc shuddered in pain, but only briefly.


    Dreth withdrew his hand from the guard''s chest with a sucking sound. He let go of the body and took a bite out of the heart before looking at the rest of the crew.


    "I''m really pissed off now," he declared, waving the dripping organ in his fist. "We come all the way here for what? Nothing."


    "You got an Orc heart," pointed out Percy.


    "This?" Dreth tossed the thing to one side. It fell the floor with a dull splat. "Tastes horrible. Orcs always do. Now. I think it''s time to focus people. Our beloved Manager said we can find the treasure in The Pit, wherever that is. The one place it probably is not is in this castle. So, suggestions?"


    "Right," Dreth snapped his fingers. "Zombies, get on it. Try pulling the books."


    "There may be a book that can help us," said Redthorne.


    "Fine, check out the books," said Dreth.


    The zombies started searching the library noisily. Dreth went over to the desk and picked out a cigar from the box. Had he ever smoked when he was alive? He really couldn''t remember. He tucked the smoke in a pocket thoughtfully. Next to the box was a crystal ball on a stand. As he looked at it, there was a flicker of movement. He stopped and looked closer.


    The ball was full of mist, as was traditional. As he gazed into its depths, the picture cleared, to show a house surrounded by fields, viewed from above, as if from a bird. As he watched, the view moved closer, zooming down over the roof and slowing, to show a yard full of chickens. A figure was feeding them, a young elf maid, with long flowing golden hair, dressed in a simple yet fetching dress.


    The elf was muttering to herself as she threw grain to the animals. Suddenly she looked around, as if startled by something, and appeared to gaze straight at Dreth, her piercing eyes boring straight into his.


    The image disappeared with a dull flash of light as Percy shouted. Dreth looked up, annoyed for some reason at the interruption.


    "Woohoo! Just call me secret passage finder!" The zombie attempted to do a little jig, but ended up tripping over his own metal leg and landing on the floor with a crash.


    With a last puzzled glance at the crystal ball, Dreth walked over the zombie. He stepped over the recumbent undead, who was writhing about like an upturned beetle, and peered into the passageway that had been hidden behind the book-case. Steep stairs led down. "Well done," he said. "Let''s go."


    Redthorne moved over to the cloak the Dungeon Master had left behind, and picked it up, peering at it intently.


    "Are you coming or not?" Asked Dreth.


    "This robe has a powerful aura," replied the wizard. "It may be more than it looks."


    Dreth strode over and held the garment up to the light. "Looks normal to me."


    "Yes, well, you''re not a wizard are you? Trust me, this is a magical robe."


    Dreth nodded and stuffed the Master''s robe into his bag. "As you say. However, for now let''s get out of here, before they break in the door."


    As if to emphasize his point there was a loud crash as the guards finally got themselves sorted out into a battering team.


    They got out, Dreth closed the passage door once he was through, leaving the empty library behind them.


    *Into points.

 Chapter 33：Golem

    The Golem trod steadily forward, red eyes piercing the inky blackness of the water without effort. Some kind of strange underwater crab detected its approach a moment too late, and was crushed underfoot. The Golem didn''t notice. It did notice a yellow glow pop into life ahead and to one side of it though.


    The automaton stopped as the Master''s scowling face appeared in the picture. "Where are you now?" he asked, his voice distorted by the water.


    "In the Black Lake. Someone said Dreth took a boat¡­"


    "Idiot! You were tricked! Dreth and seemingly half the dungeon are in the castle! Get back here at once and deal with them!"


    If the Golem were alive it would have sighed.


    "And hurry! They''re in the library. There are books in there that I don''t want him finding."


    "Yes Master." The Golem started to turn, and then paused. A spark of curiosity passed through the silicon brain. "Why aren''t you wearing anything?"


    The Golem turned and started running back the way it had come, stirring up the bottom and leaving a cloud of mud in its wake.


    ~ * ~


    "How long do we have to wait here?" complained Percy.


    "Yes, this light is playing havoc with my skin," said Cuthbert, peeling a strip off his face to emphasize the point.


    "It won''t be too long now," said Dreth from his position on the brow of the dune.


    "I don''t understand why we''re waiting at all," said Emerald. "Surely the longer we stay in one place, the more chance we have of being found."


    "Exactly," replied Dreth, his gaze never leaving the horizon.


    Emerald gave up and went to join the wizard, who was resting on a mat and holding the sleeping baby. "Have you thought of a way to get rid of the Spite yet?" she asked.


    Redthorne shook his head. "They are hard to kill." He sighed. "Dreth could probably skewer it with his sword, he''s fast and powerful enough, if we worked together, but he insists on waiting here and staring off into the distance."


    "What''s he up to?" she asked, sitting down next to the mage. "We must have been here nearly a full day."


    The wizard shrugged. "I suspect he has a plan. Whatever else he is, Dreth isn''t stupid. At least I''m well rested now."


    Sprat played with the dark sand as he listened to the others talk. He didn''t understand what was going on, but if Uncle Dreth said they needed to wait, then they needed to wait. Daddy had always said that Dreth was some kind of very powerful zombie, and so should be respected, or at least feared, which was the same thing really.


    The little undead looked up. Dreth was motioning to him. "Come here Spit, I''ve a task for you."


    Sprat frowned at the mangling of his name, but obeyed, plodding unsteadily over to Uncle, who gripped his shoulder hard enough to crack bone.


    Kneeling down Dreth looked Sprat in the eye, and held the black marble up between two thin fingers. "I want you to do something for me. It''s very important you do exactly as I say. Do you understand?"


    Sprat didn''t, but nodded anyway.


    "Good. Now, look over there. What do you see?"


    The undead child followed the direction that Dreth was indicating, and saw a large figure, distant, but approaching fast.


    "That''s that nasty stone man!" he said.


    "Sshhh!" said Dreth, putting a finger to his dry lips. "This can be our secret, okay? If you do as I ask, I will give you all the arms in my bag."


    Sprat grinned and nodded, he loved arms!


    "Very well. All you have to do is go to the Gol¡­ er, big stone man, and touch him with this marble. Do you understand? Very well. Go on, there''s a good zombie."


    Sprat smiled, took the marble, and trotted off towards the advancing Golem.

 Chapter 34：Marble

    "Be ready to move," called Dreth over his shoulder.


    "Finally!" said Cuthbert, throwing another piece of skin to the floor. He looked around. "Hey! Where''s Sprat?"


    "I sent him on a small errand," said Dreth.


    "What? What errand? What do you mean?" Cuthbert dragged himself up beside Dreth and looked over the black sands, his eyes widening as he took in the scene. "Hey! Where''s he going? You''ve sent him to his doom! Do you know how long he took to build? How many precious hours and adventurer parts went into him? You monster!"


    Dreth bowed slightly. "Why, thank you."


    "I will not stand by and let my son be squashed by a walking brick! I''ll save you Sprat!" Cuthbert lurched after the little zombie.


    Cuthbert didn''t look back, but hobbled over the dry earth as quickly as he could. Ahead of him Sprat closed with the Golem, who headed directly for the little zombie.


    "Sprat!" Cuthbert slid down a dune, nearly losing a hand in the process. "Come back!"


    It was too late. Even as he closed, the small and large shapes met. He closed his eyes, waiting for the screams and noise of re-death.


    Nothing happened.


    He opened his eyes again. The two figures were standing face to face, or face to kneecap anyway. A strange black glow surrounded them.


    "Excellent," said Dreth, passing him.


    "What? What''s excellent?" He chased after Dreth and the two drew near to the Golem and zombie. Up close Cuthbert could see that Sprat was holding the black marble up, touching the automation. The stone was the source of the strange glow.


    Even as they stared the light dimmed and died, and the two figures moved once more, looking about curiously.


    The Golem''s gaze fell upon Cuthbert. "Daddy?" it said. "Why are you so small?" It looked down at Sprat. "Hey! That''s me!"


    "What''s the meaning of this?" demanded the body of Sprat.


    Dreth leaned over and plucked the black gem from the zombie''s grasp. It was no longer black, but clear, as if made from ordinary glass. He bent down to address Sprat, or at least Sprat''s body.


    "Now then Golem. Not so high and mighty now are you?" He laughed a low chuckle. Then he stepped forward and tapped the RuneBox that was still attached to the stone monster''s side. "And I believe this is mine too."


    "What have you done?" asked Cuthbert, totally bewildered. He looked around as the others caught up.


    Dreth stood up. "This," he held up the marble, "is a device to transfer the consciousness of two bodies. I met a helpful necromancer back in the village who told me all about it. Your son and the Golem are now firmly housed in each other. A far more satisfactory arrangement, I''m sure you will agree."


    "Daddy, I''m scared!" said the Golem, using Sprat''s voice.


    "You will not get away with this!" said the Golem from inside Sprat.


    "But I have," said Dreth. He raised Darkblood. "And now, I''ll finish you off for good!"


    "Wait!!" Cuthbert leapt forward and held on to Dreth''s arm, stopping the swing. "You can''t kill my boy!"


    "He''s not your boy," Dreth gestured at the large stone shape. "He is!"


    "Even so, I demand you let the body live. Or un-live even."


    Dreth looked at him a moment, and then lowered his sword. "Very well, but the Golem cannot be allowed to roam free. Tie him up and guard him. You lose the kid, and trouble will follow." He sheathed Darkblood and walked away. "Come on. We have a treasure to find."


    ~ * ~


    Garret Murkhard crouched down next to a stunted tree and tried to catch his breath, whilst simultaneously not breathing. Those cursed elves! They were damned good, he had to admit.


    He peered around the trunk nervously. They had managed to keep away from each other on the ship and through the village, but once they left that haven the age old hatred between dark and light elves surfaced, and the following few hours had been full of a fierce skirmishes between the two groups. The natural advantage of the dark elves being on ''home'' turf had been neutralized somewhat by the hunting skills of the surface scum, who were at their best in the forest terrain.


    Garret had been separated from the rest of his party in the last encounter, and was now desperately attempting to locate his comrades.


    Moving slowly he crawled out of his hiding place. Keeping behind brush wherever possible.


    There was a sound and a sharp pain in his middle. He looked down to see a white arrow protruding from his waist. Shit! He dived to one side just as another barb whispered past.


    Pushing his way into a nearby bush he pulled at the protruding shaft. The pain nearly made him pass out, and he staggered backwards.


    "Does that hurt?" A silken voice came from behind.


    He whirled round, trying to bring his sword up at the same time, but he was too slow. The grinning elf moved his rapier in a blur.


    Garret felt the cold kiss of metal as the blade sliced open his stomach. He looked down breathlessly, trying in vain to hold his intestines in as they looped out through his fingers.


    His breathing ragged, he looked up into the hard eyes of the enemy. "Please¡­" he gasped.


    "I will be merciful where you would not be," the hunter said, raising his sword.


    Garret''s eyes widened as the weapon flew through the air. For a moment he felt a burning pain, and then the lights went out.

 Chapter 35：The Pit.

    The rock wall of the cavern loomed above them.


    "Now what?" asked Emerald.


    "I don''t know," said Dreth. "I just get the feeling here is where we can get out. There must be a secret door. Percy, try pushing that light colored patch over there."


    Percy moved to comply, grumbling under his breath. He was rewarded by a hiss and an expulsion of green vapor which issued forth from a hidden aperture.


    "Poison gas!" exclaimed Redthorne, moving hastily away. Emerald quickly followed him.


    Percy waved a hand in front of his face, unaffected by the trap. "Great, now I''ll smell of poison all day."


    "Should be an improvement then," said Cuthbert. He pointed to a sharp bulge of rock further up the wall. "This looks a likely handle. Do you think it''s trapped in some horrible fashion as well?"


    "Only one way to find out," replied Percy cheerfully. He pushed at the stone.


    A panel hidden in the wall slid to one side with a dull grinding sound.


    "Easy!" said Percy, stepping through and looking left and right. "We''re back in the tunnels."


    Emerald looked at Dreth curiously. "How did you know that was there?" she asked.


    Dreth shrugged. "I don''t know. I just did somehow."


    The others entered the passage, Redthorne and Emerald waiting until the gas had cleared first.


    Dreth looked down. "Light!" he commanded.


    "Allow me," said Redthorne. He raised his hands and began an incantation, only to stop abruptly as a small red figure popped into view in front of his face and bit his nose.


    "Ooowoowoowowoow!" shouted the mage, grasping at the Spite, which disappeared with a giggle and a pop. The wizard''s spell dissipated, incomplete.


    "So much for that," said Dreth. He turned to Percy. "Do we have any left in the bag?"


    Percy rummaged through the depleted sack and pulled a torch out. "Just one," he said. He lit it and held it up so the party could see.


    Dreth looked about. The passageway was hewn through dark rock and sloped down, but was otherwise unremarkable.


    "So we go further down?" said Emerald.


    "The Manager said the treasure was in The Pit," answered Dreth. "That would imply a section lower than normal."


    "Down it is then," said Cuthbert.


    They moved off, following the narrow and winding tunnel in silence.


    As they picked their way forward, Redthorne drew level with Dreth. "How about helping me get rid of this curse then? You can surely skewer the Spite if I lure it forth. Your sword would kill it, I''m sure."


    "Later wizard. Once we''re out of these tunnels."


    The mage scowled, but dropped back again.


    "Is it me, or is it getting hotter?" asked Emerald a little while later, wiping her brow.


    "Is it?" Asked Percy. "Heat doesn''t affect me anymore." He stumbled slightly.


    "Careful there," said Dreth who was walking behind him.


    "What''s that?" asked Sprat, pointing ahead and knocking Cuthbert over. "Oops, sorry Daddy. I''m not used to this body."


    "Just take care will you? You could have knocked my head off."


    "What did you see?" asked Percy.


    They all looked forward. Dreth could make out some kind of orange light filtering through the darkness. "Put out that torch."


    "Looks like fire," said Dreth. He turned to the body of Sprat, which was tightly bound with rope and tied to Percy. "What''s ahead Golem?"


    The zombie smiled. "Well done Guardian. You''ve found the Pit. Your just desserts are very close now."


    "Mmm," said Dreth. "Carry on, slowly."


    They shuffled on, the light and heat increasing until they emerged into another huge cavern. This one shimmered with fumes rising from slow moving lava rivers, the cause of the orange glow they had seen. Uneven paths of black rock were lined with stunted trees. The trails meandered about past craggy rocks and deep crevasses, leading towards a large mound in the distance.


    "I don''t like the look of this," said Redthorne, patting the baby''s back.


    "No turning back now," replied Dreth. "Onwards!"


    They walked along the path, taking care when it paralleled the pits, which were often filled with pools of bubbling molten rock.


    "If this is where the treasure is," said Emerald, dodging to one side as a bubble splattered red hot lava near her, "surely there would be a guardian?"


    "Um," said Cuthbert, stopping suddenly. "I think I know what it may be."


    They all looked to the large pit which had opened up in front of them. Sat there, red wings folded back on a glistening scaly hide, was a dragon. Its body was the size of several elephants, and a wicked looking tail, at least as long as the body, waved back and forth behind it, culminating in a spiked ball that resembled a giant mace. The creature looked up, yellow eyes the size of plates widening as it saw the group. As they stood rooted to position, it slowly walked over to them, huge feet crunching over red hot rocks.


    "And what do we have here?" it rumbled in a deep voice, sending a wave of heat over them.


    Dreth pushed Cuthbert to one side. Best not chance the zombie saying something stupid with this beast. "Hello there!" He waved in what he hoped was a friendly fashion. "The name''s Dreth. I''m the guardian of the undead way."


    "Are you here for the treasure?" the giant creature asked, steam blowing from its nostrils.


    "I refuse to answer that question," said Dreth, "on the grounds you may incinerate me."


    "Because Dungeon guardian or no, I would be obliged to roast, and then eat you." It narrowed its eyes. "Actually, I think I would just roast you. Dead meat gives me indigestion."


    "Oh, absolutely," said Dreth hastily. "No need to be hasty now!"


    "Well then, why are you here?"


    Dreth thought quickly. "The, ah, Dungeon Master himself told us to pop along and check up on the treasure. Kind of an audit," he said. "It''s a nuisance I know, but, well, procedure." He made a ''what can you do?'' face, and shrugged.


    "Really?" The dragon lowered its head. "Jonathon said it was time for an audit? He told you to come here and check the treasure?"


    "Indeed, he was most insistent," Dreth replied, nodding. "Go and make sure it''s all there, he said to me. I said, ''Jonnie,'' we''re kind of close you see, ''Jonnie'' I says, ''no problem. Consider the job done.'' So here we are. Now, if you would kindly step aside¡­"


    "Oh. I don''t think so."


    "No?"


    "No."


    "I will have to report this to Jonathon you know," said Dreth, who was getting nervous.


    "Knock yourself out," said the large lizard. "Though I would point out one thing."


    "What''s that?"


    The dragon leaned close, wafting Dreth with superheated breath. "The Dungeon Master''s name isn''t Jonathon."

 Chapter 36：Dragon!

    "I see," Dreth replied, leaning backwards slightly. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the others starting to slowly sidle away.


    "Still, I''m a reasonable dragon. Perhaps the Master was having a joke with you eh?"


    "Ahhh, yes, that was probably it. He is a card eh?"


    "So, if you can guess my name, I''ll let you pass."


    "I thought you were a dragon, not a sphinx."


    "I went on a cultural exchange once. It was very enlightening. Now, are you going to guess or not?"


    "Do I get any tips?"


    "Yes, get it right or I''ll eat you."


    "Seems a bit unusual to me," said Dreth.


    "I know, don''t tell the union, they''ll have me up on charges of leniency during work hours." The dragon grinned, exposing a mouth full of long, needle sharp, teeth.


    "Right. Your name. Let me see," Dreth scratched his head, whilst desperately trying to think of a way around this beast. "Could I just consult my friends?" He waved his hand behind him, at Cuthbert who was desperately shaking his head.


    "Of course."


    Dreth nodded and sauntered as casually as he could, which wasn''t very given the circumstances, back to the group.


    "Thanks! Now we''ll all be roasted!" hissed Cuthbert.


    Dreth ignored him and spoke to Sprat, in the Golem body. "Sprat," he whispered. "I want you to kick this dragon''s ass for me."


    "What? I can''t do that Uncle," said the Golem. "It''s too big, and I''m scared! ''m only little you know."


    Dreth rolled his eyes. "Look, you''re in a practically indestructible body. You can do it."


    "Sorry Uncle, me''s too scared."


    "Times up!" came a low rumble from behind them. "Take your best shot, and then I''ll take mine."


    "Shit," said Dreth with feeling. "Well, if you want something doing," he muttered. He looked at his companions. "When I give you the signal, run. I''ll distract him." Without waiting for an answer he turned back and approached the monster.


    "So?"


    "I think your name is¡­ RUN!" he shouted, and drawing Darkblood in a blur of motion stabbed the dragon square in the muzzle with all his strength.


    "Powwwweerrrr! Lifffffe!" hissed his sword, drinking the dragon''s essence greedily.


    The beast howled and pulled back instinctively, dragging Dreth off his feet. A massive gout of white hot flame swept the cavern floor, narrowly missing the others, who were moving away at best speed.


    Dreth held on tightly as the dragon roared, nearly deafening him in the process.


    "GET¡­ OFF¡­ MEEEEEE!" it bellowed, whipping its giant head around and dislodging Darkblood, sending Dreth flying through the air. He landed on an open patch of rocky ground, and quickly rolled to one side to avoid the wash of fire that followed.


    "Missed!" he shouted back, diving behind an outcropping of rock.


    "I will bite your limbs off one by one and cook them in front of you!" The dragon''s voice echoes off the walls.


    "It appears to be annoyed," said Darkblood.


    "You think?" He peered around the rock, and then broke cover in a run, heading directly for the monster, taking it by surprise as it lumbered towards Dreth. Ducking another blast of fire he ran under the belly of the beast, swinging his blade above his head and hacking the exposed belly.


    Scales and blood rained down around him as the magical sword cut through the dragon''s armor, causing another bellow of pain. Darkblood cried out in bloodlust.


    "Look out!" the sword screamed, but Dreth was already jumping to one side as the giant creature flopped down, trying to crush him.


    He dived clear as it crashed to the floor, hacking at the rear leg in passing and cutting a large gash in the foot.


    "The tail!" Darkblood shouted a warning, but it was too late. The dragon''s scaly appendage swung round and smashed into Dreth, catapulting him into the air over the dragon.


    He twisted in flight, grabbing an ear as he somersaulted over the head, and landed on the beast''s neck.


    "You have got to be kidding me!" bawled the dragon, jumping backwards and shaking its body from side to side like the worlds biggest dog.


    Dreth held on with one hand, like some bizarre version of a rodeo rider, sword held high in the other as he swayed with the bucks and sudden turns of his enormous mount. As he swung around he briefly saw Cuthbert and Percy waving and cheering from near the cavern wall.


    "That''s Cowboy moron," muttered Dreth to himself, just as the dragon leapt into the air. "Oh shit."


    "That''s right," snarled the monster, wings pumping like mad, "let''s see how you like being crushed against the ceiling!"


    "I think we should get off!" said Darkblood.


    Dreth jumped.


    ~ * ~


    "Uncle Dref!" shouted Sprat as the thin figure fell from the back of the monster. He watched as his favorite guardian tumbled slowly though the air, to land with a splash in a pool of lava. There was a dull explosion of black flame, and then nothing.


    There was stunned silence from the onlookers.


    "He''s gone," said Percy, who was standing next to Sprat. "He''s really gone."


    "But¡­ but you tol'' me he was inde¡­ indist¡­ can''t be killed," said Sprat, tears welling up from the cold stone he inhabited.


    Cuthbert shook his head. "That''s what he always told us," he said. "I guess he was wrong."


    Sprat didn''t hear him. A red hot rage was burning up his new body. What had Uncle asked him to do before? He raised his large stone hand. Ah yes, that was it.


    "It''s ass kicking time," he said.


    Ignoring his daddies'' cries, he headed for the dragon, which had landed and was scratching its nose on the floor.


    "You! Dragon!" he shouted. "I want speaks to you!"


    "Go to hell!" the monster roared back, and blew a ball of flame at the Golem.


    The fire hit head on, washing Sprat with a mild tingling sensation. Then it was gone. He continued to advance, splashing through a shallow pool of lava as he approached the killer.


    The dragon did a double take and opened its mouth wide. A gout of white hot fire hit Sprat in the chest. He walked into it, feeling the heat building, even in his magically animated stone body. Rivulets of molten rock began to dribble down his front, as the fabric of his being began to melt in the intense heat. Still he pushed on.


    The dragon kept up the flame as the distance closed between them, but even such a mighty guardian had to breathe, and eventually the fire petered out.


    Sprat stood there, glowing a dull red. "This for Uncle!" he said, and swung at the dragon as hard as he could, punching it on the side of the head.


    The lizard howled as the blow knocked it off its feet. Blood and broken scales erupted from the side of his face.


    Sprat followed up the attack with another, but this time the dragon dodged, and he only got a glancing hit in before something slammed into his back, cracking his torso and sending him staggering to the side. Twisting about he grabbed the tail as it came around again. Wrapping his arms around it, he squeezed.


    This time several boulders were shaken loose at the screech. The Golem Sprat held on as he was lifted him into the air and slammed against the ground, forcing him to let go.


    The two monsters stood up and faced each other. The dragon was battered and bleeding from various wounds, and Sprat was cracked in several places. The two creatures snarled and charged at the same time.


    There was a loud crash as they collided.


    Both screamed, and blood and chips flew as they rolled on the floor, biting, punching and scraping. Through boiling pools of liquid stone they tumbled, sending volcanic rock and lava flying as they pounded at each other.


    Sprat hit and hit in blind fury, but the combination of heat and beatings from the dragon''s claws and tail was beginning to tell. As they dropped off a chasm one leg suddenly shattered, causing pain to fire along silicon nerves.


    He tried to pull away, but the tail once more came around and slammed him into the side of a small cliff. Another huge blast of flame blinded him for a moment. When it cleared, the dragon was holding a colossal boulder in its two front claws.


    "Meet a distant cousin," the dragon gasped. It raised the stone and brought it down. Hard.


    Sprat felt the impact as rock hit rock. Slowly he fell back, his body breaking up under the abuse. Then there was light as the boulder was lifted again. The shape of the giant lizard loomed over him, blurred this time.


    Sprat tried to reach up, but his arms were not responding.


    "Good fight," snarled the beast. "Now, though, now it''s time to say goodnight."


    It brought the rock down again.


    Everything went black.

 Chapter 37：Onwards

    "My son!" cried Cuthbert as he watched helplessly from the side of the cavern. "My little Sprat!"


    "There there," Percy said, patting him on the shoulder. "You can make another one."


    "It''s not the point!" wailed the other zombie. "He was so young, so innocent! He hadn''t even butchered anyone yet! Now he''ll never taste the succulent flesh of a screaming adventurer. Oh, the injustice of it all!" He waved his fist at the shape of the dragon.


    "Daddy!"


    "Never pluck out a still beating heart¡­"


    "Daddy! ''m here."


    "Never gorge on an exposed brain¡­"


    "DADDY!!"


    "Huh?" Cuthbert looked around at the still tied body of the little zombie. "Sprat? Is that you?"


    "It''s me daddy."


    "But you were¡­"


    "When the bad dragon dropped the stone I came back here."


    Cuthbert bent down and hugged Sprat. "Oh son! You''re back! Oh joy! Oh wonder!"


    "How can you say that?" Said Cuthbert, "it''s a miracle."


    "And that is a very pissed off guardian." Percy pointed. "I told you we should have gone with the wizard and the woman back up into the tunnels."


    The three zombies looked up as the dragon limped over to them. It spat out a tooth as it approached, and snarled. "Usually I don''t eat dead meat, but for you lot I''m going to make an exception," it said.


    Cuthbert stood in front of Sprat. "Take me! Just leave my son!"


    "No deal. You''re all going down." The dragon opened a giant maw.


    Cuthbert put a hand in front of his eyes and waited for the end.


    There was a pause and a familiar voice came from nearby.


    "Now you have made me really mad!"


    The zombie peered through his fingers. Climbing slowly over a ridge of stone, holding a black sword, was what appeared to be a burning skeleton.


    "Dreth? Is that you?"


    "In the flesh," came the reply. Then the form looked down. "Well, in the bone maybe."


    The dragon turned to face the burning Dreth. "You! How are you still alive?"


    "I''m very hard to kill," said Dreth. "Now then, I believe I owe you a guess." He pointed his sword at the dragon. The blade seemed to steam with black mist. "Care to give us a clue?"


    The guardian paused, looking at the burning undead standing in front of it. Then it seemed to sag. "Er, Drago is probably a good guess."


    "Drago the Dragon? Not very original is it?" said Cuthbert.


    "Want to make something of it zombie?" the monster growled.


    "Drago then. That''s my guess. Unless you want to go for round 3 with me?" Dreth waved Darkblood.


    The giant beast hesitated, considering. Finally it let out a massive sigh. "You''re too much trouble. Another time," he replied. The dragon sat down heavily, causing a small tremor. "I''m hurt, and it''s not worth the effort, damned Golem."


    "So we can go on?" asked Percy, helping Cuthbert untie Sprat.


    "Go on, help yourself. It''s over there, in the mound." The dragon pointed with a long claw. "You need a key though."


    "I think I know just where to find one," said Dreth, looking out at a broken stone body.

 Chapter 38：Treasure!

    "So how did you know Sprat''s consciousness would come back into his body if he died?" asked Cuthbert.


    Dreth shook his head. "I didn''t. The plan was to sneak past while they were fighting."


    Cuthbert looked shocked. "You mean¡­?"


    "Here we are," said Dreth, interrupting.


    The undead looked at the black door in the side of the mound.


    "Let''s see if this fits then shall we?" Dreth waved the key they had extracted from the runebox that had been stuck to the Golem''s body. He pushed it into the keyhole and turned. There was a click.


    "Give it a push Percy," Dreth nodded his head.


    They entered and looked about. It was a small round room, decorated with exotic tapestries and lit by magical lights. At the far end was another door, made of fine wood inlaid with gold and silver.


    "Finally, we made it." Dreth stepped forward and then stopped abruptly as a small pink imp popped into being.


    "Congratulations! You have reached the treasure! The Dungeon management salutes you brave adventurers¡­ Wait a minute, you''re not adventurers!"


    "Does it matter?" Dreth asked.


    "Well, no not really," said the imp. He shrugged. "I''m just a messenger. Help yourself." He gestured at the door.


    Dreth and the others stepped into the furthest room and looked about. There was a small pile of gold coins and a chest.


    "Where''s the loot?" asked Percy.


    "You''re looking at it," replied the imp.


    "This?" Dreth. He stepped forward, knelt down and opened the chest. It was empty except for a short black stick in the bottom. He looked up. "Where is it imp? Where''s your wondrous treasure?"


    "It''s not my treasure, I already told you," the creature replied. "And this is it, really."


    "But the fabled treasure!"


    "It''s not that simple," explained the messenger. "You see, contrary to popular belief, adventurers find the treasure all the time, and what with the current budget cutbacks it just hasn''t been restocked in a while." The imp expanded his arms in a kindly fashion. "Look, if you just wait until the new fiscal century, we''ll have a big pile of gold, jewels and all manner of exciting magical¡­"


    "I''m not waiting for the next bloody hundred years!" shouted Dreth, standing up and stepping forward in a definitely menacing fashion.


    The imp skipped backwards, hands held out in front of him. "Nono no! Wouldn''t be a hundred years! Fifty maybe sixty, tops."


    "One lousy wand and a few coins! I had more than that back in my chambers." Dreth wasn''t listening.


    "Ah! But this isn''t any old wand!" The imp was pressed against the wall now.


    "What does it do then?" asked Percy.


    Seeing Dreth halt his advance for a moment, the imp talked fast. "It''s a wand of All Things, one of the premium magical artifacts of our time. One of a kind practically! You won''t find another like that in a hurry oh no."


    "A Wand of All Things eh?" Dreth said. "So what''s it doing left behind then? What''s wrong with it?"


    "Nothing, honest, practically brand new it is."


    "Tell the truth midget, or I''ll put my sword to work on you. It doesn''t have any charges left, does it?" Dreth patted Darkblood as he waited for an answer. The sword hummed.


    The imp''s eyes flicked to the blade and back again. "No, I mean yes! Yes it does. Well, er ok. It has one charge left and er..."


    "And what?"


    "Well, truth be told, it''s a bit¡­ picky."


    "A bit picky!?! A bit picky!! I slog through crazed Golems, invisible cat men, mad wizards, medusas, giants, wild elves and angry dragons for a magic wand that''s a ''bit picky''!!" He waved Darkblood. "Here, let me show you picky!"


    "Oh, leave the imp alone." A voice came from the door.


    The undead swiveled around, to see Redthorne standing there. Behind him was a small group of dark elves. One was holding the baby, another was holding a black dagger to Emerald''s neck.


    "You!" Percy said.


    "Me," said the wizard. "I''m glad to see you again Dreth, even though you seem to have lost some weight." He gestured at an elf in finer armor than the rest. "Allow me to introduce Harm Undertow, Dark elf commander."


    The elf bowed slightly. "At last we meet," he said. "You have led us quite a merry chase."


    "You''re working with them?" asked Dreth.


    "We came to an¡­ agreement," replied the mage. "Now, the only thing is, I want the wand."


    "I see. And what if I say no?"


    "Oh, there''s no need for unpleasantness," said Redthorne. "I can supply you with information in return for it."


    "What kind of information?" Dreth asked, still holding Darkblood.


    "I know the location of someone who can release you from your contract."


    "But the wand could do that."


    "Maybe, maybe not. In any case, we need the wand."


    "You can''t hurt me wizard, the Spite stops you casting any spells."


    A female in long robes stepped forward. "I''ve released the wizard from that curse."


    Dreth looked at the assembled elves and then back at the wand. Why couldn''t things go his way, just once?

 Chapter 39：From Below

    "I''m not so sure," said Dreth. "How do I know your information is worth the wand anyway? I mean, if the thing''s so powerful, I may not need your help. I can just release myself with it."


    Dreth bent over and picked up the wand. Holding it in one hand he looked at the dark elves, weighing up the artifact against the assembled foe. Eventually he tried to breathe in, realized he had no lungs and raised Darkblood instead. "I think you''re bluffing," he said. "You saw me fight the dragon and know what you''re up against. I think you''d have come in casting fireballs if you thought you could harm me."


    Harm scowled. "You''re being unreasonable. We mean business. Here, I''ll give you a little example of what my mage can do, just to prove how serious we''re about all this." He turned to the elven sorceress. "Kill the female. Slowly. Very slowly."


    "Ooh, a show!" said Percy, clapping his hands.


    The mage smiled and approached Emerald, who struggled futilely in the grip of two guards. Taking her victim''s chin in black fingers she smiled. "This is going to be fun."


    As Emerald screamed, the elf began to intone in a slow and ancient language, the words of the spell hanging briefly above her as black mist before dissipating.


    Smiling in ecstasy the sorceress raised her arms high above her head, speaking in louder tones as the climax of the spell approached. The power of the magic was almost visible, distorting the air in the small chamber like heat rising from the desert floor. Dreth took a step back.


    The dark elf shouted the final words and held her hands out wide.


    Emerald screamed in pain and fear as blood started to drip from her ears and eyes. "Noooo!"


    "Oh, but yessss," replied the mage.


    The elves looked on, white teeth showing smiles of great enjoyment as their sacrifice rose slowly into the air, flailing about wildly.


    "Wooo!" said Cuthbert.


    Dreth sidled slowly sideways.


    "Wait." The sorceress stepped back. "That shouldn''t happen."


    A red glow was emanating from Emerald as she twisted about in agony.


    "Uh oh," said the pink treasure imp, and disappeared with a pop.


    "What''s wrong?" asked Harm.


    "Something''s interfering with my spell." The sorceress frowned and rolled up her sleeves. Taking a deep breath she opened her mouth to cast more magic.


    "Don''t Bother!" Emerald''s voice, amplified many times over the norm, echoed around the chamber. The female magic user flew backwards, her body slamming against the far wall with a sickening crack of broken bones.


    Dreth gave the wand to Cuthbert and put a finger to where his lips should have been. The zombie looked puzzled, but nodded and secured the magical device in his pouch.


    The elves were backing away from Emerald, who was now hanging still in the air, her hair floating about her head like some kind of unholy halo. The red glow was stronger now, and an aura of immense Evil was pervading the room. Dreth noted, with some satisfaction, that it was obviously causing Redthorne intense pain. The baby was howling his lungs out too.


    "Leave My Vessel Be!" came the voice again.


    Redthorne slumped to the floor, unconscious, and several of the elves fell too, clutching their heads. Dreth moved quickly, grabbing the baby from the one holding it as he dropped.


    "This One Is Mine! You Will Do Her No Harm," said the Evil through Emerald. Each word came out at an almost physical intensity.


    Most of the dark elves were down now, unconscious or dead. Harm desperately dragged himself out of the doorway, staggering away with one other elf following closely behind.


    The body of Emerald watched them go, and then swiveled round to face Dreth and the zombies.


    "Er, hi," said Dreth. "Names Dreth, Guardian of the¡­"


    "Be Silent!"


    "No problem. Silent it is."


    Emerald''s drifted closer, bathing Dreth in red glow, which he now saw emanated from one of the rings on her finger.


    "You Are Responsible For Waking This Body. Therefore I Charge You With Keeping It Safe Until I Wish To Inhabit It."


    "Keep in safe, gotcha," said Dreth.


    "It Will Not Go Well For You If It Comes to Harm, Do You Understand?"


    "Well, no offence or anything your immense awfulness, but you seem to be pretty good at defending it¡­ her¡­ whatever, by yourself."


    "I Am Only Able To Visit This Plane To A Finite Number Of Times. You Will Look After This Vessel." Emerald raised a hand and pointed at Dreth.


    "She does go on a bit doesn''t she?" Dreth heard Percy whisper to Cuthbert behind him.


    "Duly noted," said Dreth, who privately agreed with Percy''s opinion.


    "I Weaken. Something Is Resisting Me. Remember¡­ Look After¡­ This¡­ Vessel." The red light faded and Emerald floated slowly to the floor, coming to rest gently against the wall.

 Chapter 40：Mirror Mirror...

    Dreth looked down at the baby in his arms. It was sucking its thumb. He tried to frown, remembered he had no flesh, and made a tutting noise instead.


    "Well, that was pretty cool," said Cuthbert, leaning down and jabbing one of the bodies.


    "Are they dead?" asked Percy.


    "Not yet," said Cuthbert, pulling out a rusty dagger.


    "Leave them, dark elves will give you stomach ache." Dreth, walked over to Redthorne and nudged him with his foot. The wizard groaned.


    "I don''t think I can get stomach ache, can I?" Cuthbert looked at Percy, who shrugged.


    "Never been a problem for me," said the other zombie.


    "Wizard. Wake up!" Dreth poked Redthorne again.


    The mage stirred and clutched at his head. "Ow. What was that?" he moaned.


    Dreth ignored the question. "Get up. We need to get out of here, and I want to know what you know about my curse."


    Redthorne staggered upright. "And then I suppose you will kill me."


    "Don''t be stupid," said Dreth. "I don''t care what you do, just tell me what you know and I will let you go."


    "Give me the baby first," said the wizard.


    Dreth handed the baby to Cuthbert. "Hold this, and don''t eat any bits." He turned back to Redthorne. "If you tell me the information, I''ll give you the baby, unharmed."


    The wizard stroked his beard. "Deal, but we have to get out of here first," he replied.


    "Fair enough," said Dreth. "Assuming we can find the exit."


    "Hey boss, look who I''ve found!" Percy said from near the doorway. He held up the small ragged and unconscious figure of Smudge. "Can I eat her? Please?"


    "Maybe later," said Dreth bending over one of the fallen elves and taking the scabbard and robes.


    The zombies watched as he sheathed Darkblood and donned the garments. Smudge came to just as he was clipping the cloak on.


    "Welcome back Fearie," said Dreth. "How are you feeling?"


    "Not as terrible as you will if you don''t tell us how to get out of this dungeon," he replied. "You said your home was the Black Garden, and it was near an entrance. How do we get there?"


    "I don''t know."


    "Fine," Dreth looked at Percy. "You can eat her."


    "Wait! Wait!" The Fearie waved her hands as the zombie grinned and lifted the small form to his mouth. "I remember now!"


    "Ohh," Percy moaned in disappointment as Dreth motioned for him to stop.


    "So, how do we get out of here?" asked Dreth. "Start talking!"


    ~ * ~


    The mirror cleared to reveal the image of the Overlord, sitting at his desk, hands resting with fingers interlocked in front of him. His face was one of utmost calm.


    The Dungeon Master fell to his knees in terror.


    "I hear," the steady voice came through the portal, "that Dreth is still at large." The bespectacled figure leaned forward, pushed his glasses further up his nose and picked up a piece of paper.


    He read the document for a moment more and then looked back at the Master. "Furthermore, he has in his possession the woman, and¡­" there was a hint of a twitch in the lips here, " and he has reached the center of the dungeon and found the treasure!!" The Overlords'' skin began to smolder, and there was a definite reddish tinge to the otherwise unassuming visage. The table began to smoke where his hands were touching it and the paper he was holding bust into flame and was quickly reduced to ash.


    "G¡­great and merciful Overlord, I can fix this. It''s not too late," quailed the Dungeon Master from his groveling position on the floor.


    "Issue a general alert, NOW!" shouted the Overlord. "I want Dreth cut into little pieces and locked in a magically sealed rune box, do you understand me? I don''t care what it takes." The wooden surface of the desk smoldered and then ignited.


    "At once your magnificence! It shall be done!"


    "If it isn''t, your still living hide will be used to refurnish my chair." With the final threat the image winked out, leaving the Dungeon Master shaking in dread.

 Chapter 41：Door

    "Why don''t you just use the wand to find out what you need to know?" Cuthbert asked, trying to jiggle the baby, and nearly dropping it.


    Dreth patted his side. He had retrieved the magical device from the undead and secured it in a pouch. "I want to find out what the wizard knows first," said Dreth. "If he can direct me to my destination then we can save the wand for a real emergency. Anyway, the imp said the thing was ''picky'', so there''s always the chance it will go wrong. I need time to think how to use it best."


    They were back in the lava tunnels again, following Smudge''s directions. The Fearie was sitting on Percy''s shoulder, tightly bound with some strips torn from his rags.


    Dreth left the zombie behind and moved up to walk next to Redthorne, who was supporting Emerald. The woman had come round with no recollection of what had happened to her. Apart from some unsteadiness, she was unhurt.


    "How did you get past the dragon anyway?" he asked the wizard.


    Redthorne looked up and smiled a small smile. "Oh that was easy. We just said we were with you."


    "Hmm. That was after you met up with your dark elf masters of course."


    "Don''t be foolish," retorted the wizard. "We bumped into them whilst, ah, securing a defensive position against the dragon. I had to pretend to make a deal, or they would have killed us both at once. I knew if I led them to you we could overcome them together. We make quite a team eh?"


    "Don''t bullshit me wizard, I know you''d destroy me in an instant if you could. You were looking out for number one."


    "Oh, it''s nothing to be ashamed of, I would dispatch you without a thought if it became necessary too," said Dreth casually.


    "How reassuring," replied the mage dryly. "I will bear that in mind."


    "Are you sure you aren''t a Dark Wizard? I mean, you seem pretty intent on getting this baby at whatever cost. That''s not very usual for someone on the side of Good, as far as I know."


    "Sometimes there needs to be sacrifices for the greater good," said Redthorne solidly. "I do what''s needed, that''s all."


    Dreth nodded. "Well, just remember, so do I. Don''t get any funny ideas. We currently travel the same path, so there''s no need for you to die needlessly."


    Redthorne raised an eyebrow. "Now who''s talking out of character? I think you''re getting soft Dreth. All this talk of ''no needless killing.'' What would your masters think?"


    "I have no masters," said Dreth with feeling, but then, because he was honest at least to himself, added: "Well, none I acknowledge anyway."


    "How far is this exit?" interrupted Emerald in a weak voice. "I could use a rest. My body feels like it''s been through a wringer."


    Dreth looked back at Smudge. "How far Fearie?" he asked.


    "There should be a door any minute now," she replied in a sullen voice. "It leads to a little used portion of the dungeon. Through that and I know the way into the service tunnels. If we use them I can get us to the Black Garden with no interruption."


    "There''s the door now," said Percy, pointing ahead at a stout wooden portal blocking their way.


    "Go and check it out," ordered Dreth.


    Grumbling the zombie complied, shuffling forward and pulling back rusting bolts until it swung open with a creak. He peered through and then slammed it shut quickly, throwing the locks back into place hurriedly.


    He turned around and leaned against it. "Er, I don''t think we should go this way. There must be another route we can take."


    "What? Why not?" Dreth demanded.


    "Er¡­ Dragons! Yes, dragons. Hundreds of them," said Percy, waved his arms about. "Big ones."


    "Dragons?" said Smudge. "Are you sure?"


    "Oh yes. For sure. You can''t miss thousands of hungry dragons staring you in the face."


    "I don''t know," said Cuthbert, tapping his chin with one finger. "Wouldn''t all those dragons be making some noise?"


    "They were, er, sleeping. Yes, sleeping," replied Percy.


    "I thought they were all looking at you?" asked Redthorne.


    "Some of them."


    "There are no dragons, are there?" Dreth queried.


    Percy looked from left to right for a moment, before giving up and doing a good impression of a sigh. "No."


    "So, what''s behind the door then?" Cuthbert asked, striding forward.


    "No! Don''t go in there!" Percy cried. "It''s bad, really bad!"


    "Worse than dragons?" Cuthbert pushed him to one side and fiddled with the bolts.


    "Pretty much," said his friend miserably.


    The others watched as the Cuthbert shoved open the door a crack and peered around.


    "Well?" said Dreth. "What do you see?"


    The zombie pulled his head back and looked at him. "It¡­"


    "Yes?"


    "There''s¡­"

 Chapter 42：Rest

    "What??!! Spit it out will you?" Dreth cried.


    "There''s nothing. Darkness there, and nothing more." Cuthbert pushed open the door, making Percy wince. Behind it was a standard dungeon corridor, remarkably empty of dragons, or anything else for that matter.


    Dreth looked at Percy. "Dragons eh?"


    "What? Look, I swear I saw him¡­"


    "Him?" Redthorne moved forward and squinted down the passage. "Who''s him''?"


    The zombie looked uncomfortable, which wasn''t easy for a rotten walking corpse. "Someone."


    Dreth scratched his skull, which was itching. "Come on," he said. "We''re wasting time."


    "I told you, it''s closed for remodeling," said Smudge when they asked her about it. "The last occupant, a kind of giant snake I think it was, was hacked apart by a group of adventurers some time ago. They simply haven''t got around to assigning someone new yet, that''s all."


    Dreth shrugged. "Fair enough," he said. "I suppose we shouldn''t complain."


    "Hey," said Percy from ahead. "There''s a room here."


    The others examined the chamber, which was bare except for a few old bones in the corner. "Perfect," said Dreth. "We''ll rest up here a while. Or at least the still living will."


    Redthorne staggered over to a corner with Emerald. The two spread out their sleeping mats and collapsed into them. Percy put the Fearie down next to the wizard, making sure she was securely bound.


    Sprat wandered into the room and poked at the bones.


    "Any meat left?" asked Percy, shambling over and nudging a yellowing skull with his foot.


    The little zombie shook his head. "Nufink," he replied.


    "Leave the remains alone," said Dreth, squatting down in a corner. "No telling where they''ve been." He scratched at his arm.


    "What''s with you?" Cuthbert said.


    "What do you mean?"


    "I mean with the scratching?"


    "I''m itching, that''s all."


    "Oh, I see, and that''s usual for a skeleton is it?"


    "I¡­" Dreth paused. "Good point."


    "Maybe you have fleas," the zombie said brightly, jiggling the baby.


    "Don''t be foolish."


    Cuthbert leaned closer to Dreth for a moment. "Hey," he said. "I think you have some sort of growth!"


    "What? Where?" Dreth patted the top of his skull.


    "Where your hair used to be, and look, on your hands too!"


    Dreth examined his corpse for a moment. "So there is. It looks like¡­tissue? It is! I think my skin''s growing back!"


    "Look," interrupted Percy from the back of the room. "There''s another door back here. Maybe there''ll be some treasure!" It swung open with a creak as he pushed at it. "Come on Sprat, let''s go explore eh?"


    "Be careful back there, don''t fall into any pits," warned Dreth.


    "See Sprat," said Percy, "Uncle does care."


    "It''s just last time we ended up lugging a baby about with us," muttered Dreth.


    "Ha, who''s lugging the baby?" said Cuthbert. He stuck his tongue out at the infant, who made a grab for it. "Oh no you don''t," the zombie said. "That''s genuine elf tongue, hard to come by."


    The baby gurgled.


    "Oh yes it is," said the undead, wobbling his head about, and speaking in the high pitched tones people often use when talking to the very young. "Elf tongue it is it is. Oh yes indeed. Elfy welfy to¡­"


    "Please stop," said Dreth. "There''s something very wrong about this scene."


    Cuthbert was about to reply when there was a shout from the second door.


    "Now what?" said Dreth, standing up and reaching for his sword.


    He trotted towards the source of the noise, Cuthbert in tow, just in time to meet Percy hobbling quickly towards him, his clockwork leg hissing and whirring.


    "It''s him! I saw him for sure this time!" the zombie said.


    "Who?" asked Cuthbert. "Who did you see?" He looked at Sprat, who merely shrugged.


    "Him! Him! He''s come back! I''ve been a naughty boy!" Percy rambled on madly.


    "Shhh, you''ll wake the living," said Dreth. "What are you babbling about? Pull yourself together!" He slapped the walking dead about the head, dislodging Percy''s jawbone.


    "Im! Ees ome ack!" Percy carried on, the lower half of his face hanging loose.


    "For the love of Dreg." Dreth would have rolled his eyes if he had had any. He turned to Sprat instead. "What did you see in there?"


    "Nufink Uncle Dref," replied the young zombie. "There was nufink at all."


    "I think your friend has finally passed his ''best use'' date," said Dreth to Cuthbert. "Time for a new brain or something." He turned around and went to sit back down again, scratching himself all the while.


    Cuthbert helped the other zombie put his face back together. "Calm down," he said. "What did you see?"


    "Him. My father! He wanted to spank me!" said Percy. "He always spanked me when I was naughty."


    "Your father?" exclaimed Cuthbert. "Isn''t that a little unlikely?"


    "I saw him. Twice now," Percy reiterated, pointing behind him.


    "Come on," said Cuthbert, leading the other zombie gently away. "Let''s go and sit down, I''ll get a rib for you to nibble on. It''s been a hard day for us all."

 Chapter 43：Whispers

    Cuthbert led his friend to another corner of the room, where they rummaged about in Dreth''s rather depleted traveling sack for a snack.


    Dreth shook his head as he watched them. ''Zombies,'' he thought.


    "You betrayed me."


    "What?" Dreth looked up. There was no one there. He shook his head. "I''m spending too much time with those zombies," he muttered, and slowly fell back into his reverie.


    "Betrayed me and left me to die."


    This time Dreth jumped to his feet. "Who said that?" he demanded.


    Percy looked across the room at him. "Did you see my father?"


    "No, but I think I''m getting as crazy as you. I''m going for a walk. Stay here." Dreth picked up a torch and stalked off towards the doorway Percy had gone through earlier.


    The room beyond was almost identical to the one he had just vacated. A chamber made of dull gray stone blocks, empty except for old cobwebs in the dark corners.


    Dreth stood in the middle and waited.


    Sure enough, after a few minutes, there was movement in the shadows. He peered into the gloom, to see a tall thin female figure walk towards him. She was slim and certainly attractive, if you overlooked the blank holes where her eyes should have been. Wavy hair hung loose over her ghostly white dress. Pale thin legs terminated in bare feet that slid across the floor like cold gusts of wind.


    "Who are you?" asked Dreth.


    The woman stopped and smiled. "Don''t you recognize me?"


    Dreth tapped his jawbone with a skeletal finger. "You do seem somehow familiar. Was that you speaking before?"


    She moved closer, her translucent robe billowing about her as if an unfelt breeze was tugging at it. "Oh Dreth, I''ve waited so long for my revenge. We could have shared the power, but you were greedy, wanting it all."


    Dreth nodded. "I don''t recall the situation, but it certainly sounds like me."


    "You betrayed me. Me, your lover! You left me to die. And yet what good did it do you? Look at what you are now." The figure laughed; a chill sound. "A remnant of your past self. You can''t even remember what you lost, can you? Can''t even remember how you, in turn, were betrayed? Oh, the irony of it is almost overwhelming."


    The woman was quite close now, and Dreth could see her form was translucent, the dull stone of the room behind slightly visible through the ghostly body.


    "It would almost be worth letting you carry on like this, but I want vengeance!" She opened her mouth with a predatory hiss and lunged forward, her features suddenly becoming far more skeletal and corpse-like than a moment ago.


    Dreth jerked back as she swiped at him with her hand, leaving three burning scratches on his forearm.


    "Hey! Stop that!" He drew his sword and retreated several steps.


    "Your blade won''t help you now! It''s time for my revenge! Time to join me in this hellish limbo, to walk the earth, never knowing rest. You will wander through the ages with me. Doomed! Doomed with the knowledge there is no end. No end¡­"


    "Hey, Dreth! You in there?" The spirit''s monologue was interrupted by Cuthbert, poking his head around the door.


    Dreth glanced back at the zombie, then forward again. The ghost had vanished.


    "Cuthbert," he said, sheathing Darkblood, "I never thought I''d be glad to see your decomposing face."


    "Well, that''s not a very nice thing to say," the undead replied, walking into the room and gazing about. "Were you talking to someone in here? I thought I heard voices."


    Dreth looked at his arm, where three dull red scratches marred his regenerating flesh. "No," he said. "You must have been mistaken. There was just me."


    "Mmm. Well, I think we should get out of here. Percy won''t shut up about being a ''bad boy'', and it''s beginning to get on my nerves, rotten and decomposing as they are."


    Dreth glanced back around the room. Was that a slight movement of white back there? He nodded. "I think, for once, you have the right of it. This area is a little too dead, even for me. Let''s go."


    They moved back to the other room, and woke the wizard and Emerald. Dreth tied Smudge to Sprat as Percy was being a little erratic, jumping at shadows and mumbling about ''how he didn''t want a spanking''.


    "I''m still tired," complained Emerald, rubbing her eyes.


    "Yes, well you can sleep when you''re dead, which might not be such a long wait if we hang about here," Dreth replied. "Smudge, which way?"


    The Fearie pointed down the corridor, and they moved swiftly off.


    Behind them the shadows twisted and writhed in fury.

 Chapter 44：Harms Up

    Harm took a deep breath and composed himself. Standing to one side, and slightly behind him, Primrose fidgeted.


    The double doors opened and the priestess that had escorted them this far waved her hand. "You may enter," she said.


    He nodded and strode forward, Primrose following several footsteps behind. The cavern was as he remembered it. Dark and warm. Webs hung from the ceiling, and there was a feeling of being¡­ watched.


    He followed the black path through the chamber up to the dais steps, where he stopped and knelt.


    A shadowy form moved slightly within a giant cocoon on the platform. "SSsso, you return." The voice was a soft whisper.


    "I have."


    "Where issss the child?"


    "And what became of the onesss you were assssigned?" Harm thought he could see long thin legs waving about in the mass of white.


    "They were, er, lost to various enemy forces. There was more resistance than anticipated."


    "I sssssee. Lossst." The voice paused for a moment. "That is mosssst careless of you commander."


    "If you could provide us with further support¡­" Harm broke off.


    A large shape had scuttled forward with blinding speed. There was a sudden cold stabbing pain in his stomach. He looked down to see a thin black tube piercing his abdomen.


    "No¡­" he gasped.


    Silken cords dropped around him, binding his arms to his side and rendering him immobile. His insides bubbled as a cold shape was ejected from the tube and forced inside his body. Another soon followed, and then another.


    The webs tightened further, and he was lifted off the floor to be skillfully and smoothly manhandled up to the cavern roof, where unseen legs fastened him to the ceiling. Another sharp pain, and the tube pulled itself free from his body, leaving a dozen hard objects resting uncomfortably within his abdomen.


    "You appear to be no usssse asss a ssssquad leader. I''ve therefore assssigned you a new tassssk. You will keep my eggssss warm, until they hatch. Then you will provide them their firssst meal."


    Harm tried to open his mouth to scream, but his body wouldn''t respond, paralyzed by the Black Queen''s poison.


    As the light faded he dimly heard it speaking again.


    "Now, Primrosssse isss it? What an interesssting name. I''ve a misssssion for you. I hope you have more successss than your predecesssssor¡­"

 Chapter 45：Light at the End of the Tunnel...

    Dreth pushed a black leaf out of the way and peered through the undergrowth. "Where?" he whispered to Smudge, who was now perched on his shoulder.


    "Over there," the Fearie replied, nodding her head as her arms were still bound to her sides.


    Dreth leaned forward. "Ah yes, I see it now. It appears to be somewhat busy."


    "Busy? That can''t be. We usually leave it open, to let victim¡­ I mean visitors wander in."


    "Well, there seems to be a gathering there now." He tried to get a better view of the entrance to the Black Garden, a large archway carved into the dark rock of the cavern.


    They were crouched behind a bush with large dark leaves. Suspicious blood-red colored berries hung from the thin branches. Around them the underground garden stretched out into the gloom. Plants and trees, all of which were twisted and unhealthy looking in some way, covered the floor. Overhead a canopy of rotting foliage blocked the view of the roof. Various insects crawled around in the vegetation, attempting to eat each other.


    "You''re right," Smudge said after a few moments of study.


    "What''s going on?" Percy appeared next to them.


    "I thought I told you to stay back with the others?" hissed Dreth.


    "I wanted to see," complained the zombie, trying to get a better view.


    "Be quiet!" Dreth smacked his hand. "There''s a load of monsters guarding the gate, the Management must be looking for us."


    "Do we know any of them?"


    Dreth looked again. "There are a load of goblins¡­"


    "Oh, better not let them see us, they aren''t going to let us pass," said Percy.


    "Oh really? Would that be because of a certain consumed member of their royal family?" Dreth said sarcastically.


    Percy rolled his eyes. "You eat one small goblin princess and you never hear the last of it," he complained. "She didn''t even taste that nice."


    "There are some trolls too, though I don''t recognize any of them, and at least one beholder, but it isn''t Bob. Some kind of shadowy hooded figure as well. Probably a mage, to make sure we don''t get by with magic." Dreth moved back into the cover of the stunted bush they were hiding behind. "I don''t suppose there''s another way out nearby? Some handy secret exit?" he asked Smudge.


    The small figure shook her head. "Nope, what you see is what you get," she said.


    "Maybe we can go somewhere else," Percy said.


    "Like where? Anyway, if this entrance is guarded, the others will be too. No, we''re just going to have to find a way through." Dreth started moving carefully back through the dark plants, pushing aside small shrubs that snapped at him with flowers lined with teeth.


    "Well, I may have a suggestion," Percy said.


    Dreth looked at him. "This should be good, go on."


    Cuthbert clapped his hands. "Great idea! We lure them in and Dreth hacks them apart. It''ll be fun, and we get to eat the losers."


    Dreth scratched his re-growing skin and tried to scowl. "I''m not getting into a massive brawl again, at least until my parts have grown back properly. If you want to fight, go ahead." He gestured towards the entrance.


    "Oh no. We''re only here for the ideas," said Cuthbert, shaking his head.


    "And the body parts," piped up Sprat.


    "How about you use the wand?" Emerald suggested. "Everyone seems to think it has enough power."


    Dreth considered this. "Possibly," he replied, "but I''d rather leave it for an emergency."


    "Look, it''s easy," Redthorne said, impatient now the goal was so close. "We set up a distraction and slip past whilst they are, er, distracted. They''re dungeon monsters right, how bright can they be?"


    "You''re treading on thin mice there wizard," said Percy, trying to look menacing. "We''re dungeon monsters too you know."


    "Exactly," said the mage, crossing his arms.


    "Are you going to stand by and let him insult us like that?" the zombie complained to Dreth.


    "I think I''m with the wizard on this one," Dreth replied. "And it''s ice, not mice."


    "Bah, some dungeon guardian you are, siding with the enemy." Percy kicked at the ground with his clockwork leg and looked sulky.


    "Hey! What about me?" asked Smudge. "I demand to be released. I don''t want to go outside, there are things out there that will eat me."


    "I''m not sure we can trust you," said Dreth thoughtfully.


    "Come on Dreth, old buddy," the Fearie said. "I had to do what those dark elves said, they threatened my hive. You can understand that, can''t you?" Smudge batted tiny eyelashes at him. "Come on, be a sport, untie me. I won''t tell, honest."


    "Weeell¡­" Dreth looked at her thoughtfully.

 Chapter 46：Clearing the Way

    Gurg picked his nose and examined the recovered contents. Deciding it wasn''t worth eating he wiped it on the back of Buggle.


    "Hey! Stop that!" his fellow goblin complained.


    "I''m bored!" Gurg answered by way of response. "Why do we have to be guarding this stupid place anyway?" He indicated the entrance. "It''s too close to outside, something might come along."


    "Well, we won''t have to worry too much about that," Buggle spat back. "Not with all these other guardians hanging about. Someone said that robe fellow was a lich, and that Beholder isn''t something I would want to mess with."


    "Is not a lich. We don''t have any liches," argued Gurg.


    "Do so."


    "Don''t so."


    "Do so."


    "Don''t¡­"


    The philosophical debate was interrupted by a shout from a troll, who pointed at a small figure zipping through the air towards them.


    "Help me!" the flying form cried.


    "Help?" asked the troll.


    "They''re over there." The Fearie pointed back towards a clump of rotting bushes some distance away.


    "Who are?" The troll was still catching up.


    "The ones you are after!" shouted Smudge, rolling her eyes. "I convinced them to let me loose. Hurry up! They''re getting away!"


    "Let''s us put an end to these traitorous vermin," the cloaked figure, who might or might not have been a lich, hissed. It glided forward over the damp ground, heading towards the area indicated.


    "Finally," Gurg said, picking up his spear, "some action!"


    The monsters charged forward, the Fearie directing the way. "Over there! Come on! Move faster!"


    The beholder swooped ahead, dodging branches. The trolls simply crashed through the undergrowth, and the maybe-lich seemed to fade in and out. The goblins had to jump over debris and around bushes much larger than they were, and hence started to fall behind.


    "Hey! Wait up!" Gurg cried, tripping over a rock.


    Buggle fell on top of him, squashing him into a patch of dubious looking soil.


    "Get off me! We''re losing them," Gurg complained.


    "Ah, forget it," his fellow goblin said, sitting on a nearby stump. "They''re too far ahead. We''ll never catch up."


    They looked forlornly on as the posse disappeared from view, charging after the outlaws with wild glee.


    "Come on," said Buggle. "Let''s go back to the entrance and wait for them. Maybe the trolls left something we can steal."


    Gurg brightened at this suggestion. "Good idea!"


    "You couldn''t keep up too?" asked Gurg, as they drew close.


    "Actually, we''re just passing through," said the nearest one cheerfully.


    "Wait a minute!" Gurg put a finger to his lips. "I know you! You''re the zombie that ate our princess a while back. Hey! You''re the group we''re watching for!!"


    He started to shout, but a dull pain stopped him. Looking down he saw the tip of a black sword protruding from his stomach, intestines oozed from the wound it had caused, and dark blood dripped down his front. The sword hummed.


    A voice from behind him spoke. "Sorry about this, nothing personal you understand, but we can''t afford to have any witnesses."


    The blade was removed, leaving a cold feeling in his insides. As the light started to fade, Gurg thought he heard the zombie speaking.


    "How was I supposed to know she was a princess?"

 Chapter 47：Out

    "What''s that?" Sprat asked, squinting ahead.


    "Oh my! I never thought I would see that again," said Cuthbert, awe in his voice.


    "What''s it daddy?" Sprat repeated. "It''s too bright. ''M scared!"


    "It''s daylight son, real daylight."


    The group marched steadily up the ever widening passage, until they stood, shielding their eyes, next to a small hummock in an area surrounded by trees.


    As Dreth entered the clearing his stolen robes began to smolder and smoke. When the sun hit them they disintegrated entirely, leaving him standing in a pile of ash. Darkblood''s new sheath remained strapped about him, obviously it was not of dark elf origin.


    "Great," he said.


    "Why is Uncle Dref not wearing anythink?" asked Sprat.


    "It''s a wardrobe malfunction," replied Cuthbert, not hiding a smirk very well.


    "I can''t go about like this," said Dreth. "I''m all exposed."


    "I can see your liver," taunted Percy, pointing at the organ, which was regenerating amidst all the other usual internals.


    "You can have a spare robe of mine," said Redthorne, hunting about in his pack and drawing out a red and blue garment. He passed it over to Dreth, who put it on.


    "Mmm. Not really my color," he said critically.


    "Look, we can''t stand about here all day," the wizard said. "We had a deal. Hand over the baby and I''ll tell you what I know. Unless you plan on reneging on our agreement?" He stepped back slightly and raised his staff.


    "No no. I can''t be bothered to take you on right now, and we need to be moving away from here. Tell me your information."


    "Cuthbert, take the baby over there," Dreth nodded.


    Cuthbert muttered under his breath, but complied, moving to stand near the mage.


    "Now wizard, speak!" demanded Dreth. "What do you know of my contract?"


    "The Overlord has it," said Redthorne.


    "The Management? In the Black Desert?" Percy asked.


    "No, that''s the Master of the Dungeon," said the wizard. "The Overlord is his master, and no doubt the ruler of other dungeons as well. I believe it works on some kind of franchise deal, from what I''ve heard from various sources."


    "Interesting," said Dreth scratching his chin. "And where can we find this Overlord?"


    "Ah. Well, I don''t have a precise location for you. Most say that he lives in a large castle, somewhere over by the Dragon Forest. Others believe that he resides in the Ugly Swamp, to the north. However, these only rumors. I hear tell that the famed prophet, the Hermit of Farsii, knows the exact location."


    "And where may we find this prophet?" asked Dreth.


    "He''s on the far side of the City of Real. In the hills somewhere."


    "That''s it? That''s this ''valuable'' information you''ve been boasting about?" said Dreth.


    "It''s more than you had before," he said. "I believe there''s a village somewhere nearby here too." He shrugged. "Now, about the baby¡­"


    Dreth looked at him for a moment, and Redthorne shifted his staff meaningfully. Finally though, Dreth nodded. "Give him the baby Cuthbert. We have no further use for either of them."


    "Are you sure?" asked the zombie, hesitating.


    "As much as it goes against the grain, yes. He''s too powerful to deal with easily. I''ve enough on my plate as it is."


    Reluctantly, Percy handed over the baby to Redthorne, who took it carefully with one hand, eyes never leaving Dreth.


    Once the transfer was complete the wizard stepped back. "I would like to say it''s been a pleasure knowing you Dreth, but that would be stretching the truth. However, for an evil murderer with no morals or conscience, you aren''t a bad sort. I''m sure you''ll understand if I say that I hope our paths never cross again. Farewell." With that, the mage raised his staff and uttered a powerful incantation. There was a flash of light, and the wizard and baby vanished.


    "So much for that then," said Percy. "Hey! Who''s he?" He pointed off into the trees.


    There was a sudden movement. A young human boy popped up from behind a bush and ran into the undergrowth screaming.


    "Wonderful, a witness," said Dreth.


    "He looked tasty, shall we go after him?" Cuthbert asked.


    The zombies looked at Dreth expectantly, who in turn looked at the evening sky.


    "Come on! Fresh boy!" Said Percy. "Still kicking and everything."


    Dreth practiced sighing, trying out his lungs, which were still not full regrown. "No. We need to get out of here. Besides, he probably belongs to someone, and if he goes missing we''d likely have a mob tracking us down."


    He put his hand on Percy''s shoulder. "Don''t worry, I''m sure we''ll run into plenty of victims. We''re on the surface now after all."


    The zombie''s expression brightened, though this didn''t make it any less horrific. "Well okay," he said.


    "So, do we go straight to this Dragon forest then?" asked Emerald.


    Dreth shook his head. "No, I think a trip to the prophet is a better bet. Even if this Overlord is in the forest, traveling elsewhere first may throw him off the scent, so to speak." He paused and looked around. "Of course, it would help if we knew where this city is. Ah well, one direction is as good as another for now I suppose. Which way do you think Percy?" he asked.


    Percy considered for a moment, and then pointed off to their left. "I''ve a good feeling about that bearing," he said.


    "Excellent," said Dreth. "After me then." So saying he set off in the opposite direction.


    "Hey!" said Percy, who had started off in the way he''d indicated. "You''re as bad as the living you are!" The zombie about faced and stumbled after his comrades, complaining all the while.

 Chapter 48：And...

    The forest wheeled below the small bird, a lush verdant canopy of living green. Not that the bird, which didn''t have a name because it was just a bird, thought of it like that. It didn''t really think at all for that matter, merely being a small creature driven by the primordial instincts to survive, eat and procreate, not necessarily in that order.


    The primordial instinct it currently felt was to have a bit of a rest, as it had had a busy day hunting for worms and insects and what not. Hence it swooped down and alighted on a branch of a small tree. Opposite this particular tree was a small mound, and in the side of this mound someone had built a stone wall, presumably to block off a tunnel behind. This must have happened some time ago, as the wall was mostly covered over by soil and various climbing plants.


    As the bird watched there was a muffled noise, and the bricks quivered, as if something had hit them from the other side. A moment later the action was duplicated, sending bits of loose earth tumbling to the ground in a miniature avalanche. The wall shook again as it was repeatedly attacked until, in a dull explosion, the bricks erupted outwards.


    A hand appeared in the resulting hole, tearing more of it away and enlarging the gap, until it was finally big enough allowing an oversized shape to squeeze through. It was followed by a smaller figure, which clambered out after the first and stood next to it.


    "We out!" exclaimed the big one.


    "I told you we would find a way Gut. Hammath Highhand always keeps his word," the second one said.


    Both forms had obviously been through a lot. The giant''s clothes were torn and ragged, and several large and recent scars marked various points on his torso. The elf by his side wore armor that was dented and grimy. Bloodstains and other unidentifiable marks tarnished the metal, and his long hair was raggedy and ruffled.


    "Where we go now?" asked the one called Gut.


    "Now we''ll go to my home. Many good hunters have lost their lives recently. Indeed, I may have joined them if you hadn''t come to my aid against those damned dark elves. I shall return to Jollygreenwood and gather more fighters. Together we shall track down Dreth, who has taken your lady of course, to recover our lost child."


    "Let us be off," said Hammath. "We have some distance to travel."


    The two turned and set off through the trees, quickly disappearing from view.


    The bird, who hadn''t understood any of this, decided it was rested enough and left too soaring back into the blue sky, only to be tragically* eaten by a hungry eagle a bit later on.


    *For the small bird that is. The eagle was quite happy with the situation.


    End of Book 1 - Tomorrow, part one of Book 2: Tired of Death: Overlord.

 Chapter 49 - Darker Still...

    The screams died down, and a shadowy shape stepped back, the pincers he was holding in one hand dripped with blood.


    "Please, I can give you wealth, fame! Anything!" pleaded his victim.


    "I already have those things," replied the large man. "Besides, an example must be made. You were given a solemn duty to oversee this dungeon. You failed. A Dungeon Master cannot be seen to fail." He tested the bonds that tied the former ruler down to his own table.


    "Well, I''ve never heard of you," said the blood splattered form, somewhat blurrily. "What''s your name?"


    The dark figure drew himself up to his full, impressive, height and spoke in deep tones. "I am known by many names across the land. If evil lurks, I am there. Whenever Dark acts are performed, my presence is felt. If cruel and unnecessary violence is required, I''m the one to summon. Should Dirty Deeds need to be done, sometimes dirt cheap, look no further. Commoners cower in my presence. Heroes quail before me. I am the bringer of the Dark. The harbinger of Horror! Blood, death and fear follow in my wake. I am¡­ Veronica the Violator!"


    "Veronica? Veronica??" sneered the DM, spitting out a tooth. "What kind of name is that for an Anti-Paladin?" he asked. "It''s¡­ it''s a girls'' name!"


    The Violator growled. "That kind of remark is exactly why I became the evil that I am today. My school chums also made fun of me." He crossed his arms. "They do so no more."


    "Because you killed them all horribly? Hunting them down one by one, killing each in ways too horrible to mention? Each death feeding your lust for blood and revenge until your very soul was steeped in it?" The Master would have rubbed his hands together if they weren''t tied, or in one case nailed, down.


    "Oh, good one, but no. Actually I just lost touch." The Violator waved the pincers about casually. "You know how it goes, you move on, drift away." He leaned forward and smiled. "But just wait until next year''s reunion." He threw his head back and laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls.


    The Dungeon Master groaned. "Is this part of the torture?" he asked.


    "Oh no, I''m just keeping in practice. You need a good evil laugh to be an anti-paladin you know." He stepped back and looked at his reflection in a nearby full length mirror. "Do you think this cloak makes me look fat?" He swirled said garment around.


    "Maybe a little," answered the Master. "It''s a little hard to see with one of my eyes hanging out."


    "Ah yes. Sorry, I get distracted sometimes," said Veronica, still looking in the mirror.


    "No problem at all," replied the Master. "Torture is hard work. You should get up and stretch every twenty minutes you know. RTS* is a real problem."


    "It''s so true. Not many people appreciate the art nowadays. It''s all¡­ break this bone here, flail the skin off there. No skill anymore."


    The Master rolled his eye. "Tell me about it. You just can''t get the staff. Do you know I have to give my advanced level guardians a pension plan? I mean come on! What''s evil coming to?"


    "I agree." Veronica sighed and shook his head. "Still, enough of this banter. Where was I?"


    "Working on the fingernails," said the Master helpfully. "Good job by the way, I appreciate professionalism." He paused a moment, then added: "Though in this case, not as much as usual."


    "Right, let''s get back to work then." The Violator stepped forward and raised his pliers.


    Screams once more echoed through the castle.


    *Repetitive Torturing Syndrome

 Chapter 49 - The Violator

    The screams died down as the shadowy figure stepped back, the pincers he was holding in one hand dripped with blood.


    "Please, I can give you wealth, fame! Anything!" his victim pleaded.


    "I already have those things," replied the large man. "In any case, an example must be made. You were given a solemn duty to oversee this dungeon. You failed. A Dungeon Master cannot be seen to fail." He tested the bonds that tied the former ruler down to his own table.


    "Well, I''ve never heard of you," said the blood splattered form, somewhat blurrily. "What''s your name?"


    The dark figure drew himself up to his full, impressive, height and spoke in deep tones. "I am known by many names across the land. If evil lurks, I am there. Whenever Dark acts are performed, my presence is felt. If cruel and unnecessary violence is required, I''m the one to summon. Should Dirty Deeds need to be done, sometimes dirt cheap, look no further. Commoners cower in my presence. Heroes quail before me. I am the bringer of the Dark. The harbinger of Horror! Blood, death and fear follow in my wake. I am¡­ "


    He paused for dramatic effect... "Veronica the Violator!"


    "Veronica??" sneered the DM, spitting out a tooth. "What kind of name is that for an Anti-Paladin?" he asked. "It''s¡­ it''s a girls'' name!"


    The Violator growled. "That kind of remark is exactly why I became the evil that I am today. My school chums also made fun of me." He crossed his arms. "They do so no more."


    "Because you killed them all horribly? Hunting them down one by one, killing each in ways too horrible to mention? Each death feeding your ?ust for blood and revenge until your very soul was steeped in it?" The Master would have rubbed his hands together if they weren''t tied, or in one case nailed, down.


    "Oh, good one, but no. Actually I just lost touch." The Violator waved the pincers about casually. "You know how it goes, you move on, drift away." He leaned forward and smiled. "But just wait until next year''s reunion." He threw his head back and laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls.


    The Dungeon Master ?r??n?d. "Is this part of the torture?"


    "Oh no, I''m just keeping in practice. You need a good evil laugh to be an anti-paladin you know." He stepped back and looked at his reflection in a nearby full length mirror. "Do you think this cloak makes me look fat?" He swirled said garment around.


    "Maybe a little," answered the Master. "It''s a little hard to see with one of my eyes hanging out."


    "Ah yes. Sorry, I get distracted sometimes," said Veronica, still looking in the mirror.


    "No problem at all," replied the Master. "Torture''s hard work. You should get up and stretch every twenty minutes you know. RTS* is a real problem."


    "It''s so true. Not many people appreciate the art nowadays. It''s all¡­ break this bone here, flail the skin off there. No skill anymore."


    The Master rolled his eye. "Tell me about it. You just can''t get the staff. Do you know I have to give my advanced level guardians a pension plan? I mean come on! What''s evil coming to?"


    "I agree." Veronica sighed and shook his head. "Still, enough of this banter. Where was I?"


    "Working on the fingernails," said the Master helpfully. "Good job by the way, I appreciate professionalism." He paused a moment, then added: "Though in this case, not as much as usual."


    "Right, let''s get back to it then." The Violator stepped forward and raised his pliers.


    Screams once more echoed through the castle.

 Chapter 50 - Out!

    Dreth felt like whistling a little tune as he walked through the woodland. He''d been underground for as long as he could remember, and to be outside again felt good, though it was more agreeable once night fell. He was an evil half dead being after-all. A pleasant stroll in the sunlight didn''t seem right somehow."


    You look happy," said Emerald, trying to keep up with him. "As far as that frightful grimace can portray such an emotion at least."


    "And why not?" Dreth replied. "I''m finally out of my prison, heading off to somewhere that may have my contract, and I''ve outwitted my enemies. What''s not to be happy about?"


    "Well, I''m glad someone''s okay. I still don''t know who I am and where I come from, not to mention what this demonic Being is that''s after my body."


    "Don''t worry," said Dreth. "Once we defeat this Overlord fellow I''m certain I''ll be able to help you."


    "That''s very generous of you I''m sure," scowled Emerald.


    "Don''t mention it," Dreth said, waving a hand and ignoring her sarcasm. "Hello, what do we have here?"


    The troop stopped as the woods, which had been slowly getting thinner, came to an abrupt end. They were on a slight hill. Below and ahead of them were lights. Apparently a village was nearby. The land around seemed to be flat, and was probably fields, though it was hard to make out in the dark. A short distance away a narrow dirt lane meandered across their path.


    "Look! Fresh meat!" said Cuthbert, pointing at a small group of figures moving slowly along the road a little distance away, towards the settlement.


    "Hush!" Said Dreth. "We don''t know who''s around. We''re seriously outnumbered here, even if they are only farmers and the like. I''m sure a couple of walking corpses aren''t exactly going to be welcome."


    "Typical prejudice," said Percy, crossing his arms.


    "I''m going to look closer," said Dreth.


    "No, wait!" Emerald held out a hand. "You stand out too much, especially in those wizard robes. Let me go and scout it out."


    Pausing for a moment, Dreth thought about it, and then nodded. "Very well, but don''t be long. And be careful! Just a quick look and straight back here, understand?"


    Emerald signalled she did, and slipped off into the night without any further conversation. She was soon lost to sight.


    ~ * ~


    The Overlord looked up from the latest financial reports as his magical communications mirror flashed red. He waved a hand, activating it. The mist cleared, to reveal a dark figure standing in a laboratory of some kind. Behind the man, sprawled out on a table, a thin body could just be made out. Blood dripped onto to the floor below the mangled corpse.


    "The deed is done," Veronica said. "Your minion has paid for his incompetence in pain and blood. As he screamed in agony I extracted your vengeance, sending a message to all your servants that such ineffectiveness shall not be tolerated. Your name, once more, is enhanced, and my reputation as a true Evil master is intact."


    The Overlord ?r??n?d, but inwardly, so the Anti-Paladin wouldn''t hear. "Very well, but that was the easy task," he said. "Your next mission shall not be as simple. Dreth is not stupid, and his form is nearly indestructible."


    "Never fear!" cried The Violator, raising a fist. "For I shall overcome all odds, smiting those¡­"


    "I have heard," the Overlord quickly cut short the flow, "that your prey has been spotted near the local village. You should check in with Adel, the Head woman there."


    "I know Adel," the Anti-Paladin replied. "A woman of fiery spirit. One day I shall take great p???sur? in breaking it."


    "Yes, well, just make sure it''s not today. She''s useful to me. Just get me Dreth."


    "As you command!" Veronica took a deep breath. "I shall ride like the wind, letting no¡­"


    Silence fell as the Overlord cut the connection. Wishing that his Evil Minions would, just for a change, simply get on with the job without the dramatics. He made a tutting sound and returned to his accounts.

 Chapter 51 - Infiltration

    Dreth jerked back to consciousness from the trance-like state he''d drifted in to. It was the closest he could come to sleep, and he''d slipped into it whilst waiting for Emerald. He blinked, more from habit than need, and frowned as he overheard the zombies talking.


    "Green. Has to be green," Percy was saying.


    "Oh no, blue ones are the best, for sure," Cuthbert replied.


    "What are you two talking about?" he demanded, looking towards the village. There was no sign of Emerald.


    The two turned to him. "What colour eyeballs are your favourite?" asked Cuthbert. "Percy thinks that green taste best, but I personally enjoy blue ones."


    Dreth tapped his chin and thought about it. The zombies waited expectantly. "I would have to say¡­ brown," he said eventually.


    "Brown? No way!" Both undead chimed together.


    "Come on! You can''t be serious! Green ones are so¡­ so¡­" Percy struggled to find the words.


    "Piquant!" He kissed the ends of his fingers and made the ''mwah!'' sound, in the universal gesture for ''wonderful taste''.


    "Bah, you''re both crazy. It''s blue all the way. Their flavour is so delicate, so fragrant. Any true connoisseur would agree." Cuthbert licked where his lips should have been. "Mm mm, makes me hungry just thinking about it."


    "Well, it''s brown for me," said Dreth, un-swayed. "Mind you, there was once this albino wizard with pink eyes..."


    "Really? What were they like then?" Cuthbert asked.


    "Tasted a bit like chicken."


    "Someone''s coming," said Sprat, breaking into the culinary discussion.


    "I can''t remember what chicken tastes like," muttered Percy as the group ducked down behind the hedge they were using for cover. A dark figure on a horse thundered by, cloak flying out behind him.


    Dreth looked after the horseman, frowning. "Where''s Emerald? She should be back by now." He looked at the sky, which was showing signs of impending dawn. "It''ll be light soon. I should never have let her go alone." Standing up, he contemplated the village. "If I go now, I''ll still have the cover of the dark."


    "No way! It''s too dangerous! You''ll be spotted," said Cuthbert.


    "Mmm. Very well then, we''ll just have to use cunning¡­"


    ~ * ~


    Mikal closed the door to his small shack. He staggered against the wall, just managing to steady himself before he fell over. Chuckling, he stumbled backwards as he tried to remove his shoes.


    His head swimming, he managed to remove one shoe before something percolated through his alcohol sodden brain.


    Who left the light on?


    Frowning, he stood straighter and made a serious effort to see straight. Gazing around his small home, he attempting to locate anything out of place.


    The stove was there, squatting to the side. Its black iron door slightly ajar allowing the dull red embers to heat the room. The table stood as it always did, against the wall, its surface scarred with knife marks and ?bs??n? carvings. The simple wooden bench, similarly treated, was drawn up against it to make room for his bunk, upon which the stranger was resting.


    Ah.


    The thin figure that had been sitting on his narrow bed stood up, his head nearly reached the ceiling.


    "About time you returned. Do you realize what time it isss?"


    Mikal''s mouth opened and closed like a goldfish as he backed away, hands held in front of him.


    "P¡­ p¡­ please¡­" he slurred. "Am just a simple farmer. Am not important nor nothing."


    "I know," the intruder replied, stepping closer. "That''s why I chose you. No one will misssss you, at least until it''s too late."


    "Miss me?" He was backed against the door now.


    The stranger leant down, bringing his face close to the farmer''s. Icy breath washed over Mikal.


    "Yessss. Of course, if you had more than one set of robes, I could have just taken them. However you don''t, and I''m in a hurry."


    "I¡­I could just take them off," Mikal replied. A whole night of strong liquor fleeing before his terror.


    The thin man shook his head slowly. "Sorry, too late. Now, how would you like it?"


    "Like it?"


    "Your death."


    "In fifty years?"


    "Ahh. Rare humour. How about¡­thisss?"


    Mikal''s mouth opened in silent scream as a cold intrusion entered his midriff. Pain lanced through his body, and he would have collapsed if the being hadn''t held him up by wrapping bony fingers tightly about his throat.


    There was a wet sound, like a cow giving birth, and the stranger held up a hand, something brown and dripping clenched in it.


    "W¡­what''s that?" Gasped the farmer.


    "Your liver I think. Maybe a kidney."


    "Oh."


    "Thanks for the robes."


    Mikal died before he could respond.

 Chapter 52 - Headwoman

    Adel Harbinger waited outside her office and watched the approaching figure gallop towards her. Out of all the jobs that the Head woman had, this was surely the worst. Slim hands twisted her fine silken skirt nervously, until she realised what she was doing and stopped. It wouldn''t do to show her feelings in front of this person. Taking a deep breath, she straightened her once dark hair, which was now tinged with grey. Old age catches up even to half-elves, she reflected.


    Her attention returned to the visitor, who was galloping down the centre of the street with scant regard for any others who may be there. The few villagers out in the early morning air ran for cover as the rider approached, some literally diving out of the way.


    The black horse slowed as it closed, pulling up next to her in a cloud of dust, making her cough. The red eyes of the beast seemed to glare at her, and it snorted contemptuously as she lifted her head in defiance.


    The man on the back on the animal slid off the saddle with practised ease and, leaving the horse un-tethered, approached Adel, his muscular body looming over her diminutive frame.


    "Head Woman," he said in a deep voice, removing his black, skull adorned, helmet. "We meet again."


    "Unfortunately," replied Adel.


    The man laughed, a loud, evil sound. "Ahh, I do so admire you. Perhaps we should get together in a more¡­ intimate environment sometime?" The Anti-Paladin looked down at her, and she trembled.


    Rarely intimidated, Adel found this ''so called'' Violator to be both terrifying and compelling at the same time. "I think not," she replied, managing to keep her voice steady.


    With a knowing smile, the Violator nodded, as if her thoughts were transparent to him. "Shall we enter your office, or would you like to talk in the street?" he inquired.


    Flushing, Adel motioned him inside.


    Moving silently as always, he followed. "You have redecorated I see," he said, looking around her small workspace.


    Adel followed his gaze. Her office was the usual neat and tidy place it had always been. The floor underfoot made from the finest wood, the walls carefully scrubbed clean and adorned with various paintings, mainly of forest scenes. Several chairs were drawn up against a small table near the window, the remains of her meal getting cold on it. Nearer the doorway was her desk, piled high with papers. Her comfortable chair faced another two, less elaborate ones, on the other side.


    "You didn''t come for small talk," she said, trying to gain the upper hand.


    "No, no. This is true." Veronica took his gloves off as he walked over to her desk. He put them down on the surface and leaned against it with practised nonchalance before turning back to her. "I have been sent here to find some¡­one."


    "You master has commanded you, is that it? Sent you scurrying like a dog after a bone?" Adel went on the offensive, testing her courage.


    The man looked at her for a second, then burst out into his booming laughter. "Ah! Adel, this is why I enjoy my visits here so much. So much spirit in such a small frame." He suddenly stood upright and moved close to her with frightening speed. Leaning down, he said in a much lower tone: "Perhaps I should test exactly how strong? I think I would enjoy such a task." He tilted his head slightly to one side. "Maybe even you would, for a time at least. What do you think?"


    Adel spent a second trying to recover. She''d nearly collapsed when he had moved so quickly. After a few seconds she managed to compose herself again. "I think we are here for business, not ''pleasure''," she replied, pleased to note the icy tone in her voice. "Though I doubt ''pleasure'' would be an accurate description of such an endeavour"


    Veronica narrowed his eyes for a moment, as if trying to see inside her skull, before taking a deep breath and stepping back a pace. "You are right of course Head woman. Shall we discuss business then? I have much to do. You know the saying: ''No rest for the wicked,'' and I am very, very wicked indeed. Tasks of ungodly evil await my hand. Even as we speak Good is fighting to claim dominance in the world, and I shall not tolerate such abhorrence¡­"


    "We have information," interrupted Adel, knowing once the man got started there was no stopping him, "that certain¡­ creatures have left the dungeon. As you know, in agreement with your master," she sneered slightly, emphasising the word, "if such happens, someone will be sent to track them down and dispose of them."


    "Ah, your little village is threatened and you scream for help? How sweet," said the Anti-Paladin in scornful tones of his own.


    Adel flushed. "You know the deal," she said. "We keep word of the dungeon current, play up the treasure and challenges to get heroes here¡­"


    "¡­and in return you get a share of the profits, as well as the chance to sell them equipment and lodging at inflated prices," Veronica replied. "I know the agreement."


    "Well you also know that the beasts in your foul pit should remain inside then," she countered. "Several are loose, and wandering about threatening my people. What are you going to do about it?"


    Veronica looked at her with brown eyes that made her go weak at the knees. The anti-paladin was really very handsome, but his terrifying you-never-know-when-I''ll-snap-and-gut-you-like-a-pig aspect nullified most of that. "I''ll see what I can do for my ally," he said. His tone carefully modulated to contain only the slightest hint of contempt.


    "Thank-you," she replied, trying hard to keep her breathing regular.


    "Very well! Enough of this idle banter," he said, drawing himself up and placing a hand on his sword, to stand in a dramatic pose. "For Evil waits for no creature, and dark deeds are ready to be done. I, The Violator, am the man for such. Tremble in my presence, *blanch* at my passing, and woe betide any who stand in my path, for I shall cut them down like a blade of grass before a dragon, leaving only their twisted and scattered remains as a reminder to those who would seek to emulate their actions." He bowed mockingly. "Now I have a job to do, so I must depart." Smiling wide he added: "Don''t forget to look behind you in the night, for I shall be watching."


    With that he turned and strode from the room, cloak swirling behind him in theatrically.


    The head woman let out a sign of relief as the black garbed figure left. The man scared the living crap out of her, but what she really dreaded were the speeches.


    She started to turn away, but whirled around as the door opened again, and the Violator walked back in. "Ah, forgot my gloves," he said in a slightly embarrassed tone, picking the said items of her desk.


    Then, with another flourish, that somehow lacked the flair of the first, he departed again.


    Adel rolled her eyes and returned to her now cold breakfast. Sitting down, she hoped the villagers would keep their mouths shut. It wouldn''t do for the Violator to find out about the woman.

 Chapter 53 - Civilisation.

    Dreth paused to pull the farmer''s hood down further over his face and watched the large man mount his horse and ride off. The black cloaked figure was not a local, that was for sure, and the timing couldn''t be a co-incidence.


    As the beast disappeared into the ever lightening sky, he looked back at the door the man had walked out of. If he''d spoken to the person inside, it followed information could be found there.


    Straightening his new farmer''s clothes once more, and trying to hide some of the blood stains, he walked into the main street, which was thankfully almost deserted. Keeping to the shadows as much as possible, he trudged along the dusty road. A glance down made him pause for a moment. A hoof print, recent, was burned into the ground. A Nightmare steed then. He was right; the rider had been some kind of serious evil. Dreth shrugged. Ah well, so was he.


    Climbing the steps slowly, he looked left and right. No one was near. Placing his hand on the hilt of Darkblood, he pushed at the door. It swung open slowly, to reveal a neat and tidy room beyond.


    Slightly to one side was a desk, behind which sat an ageing half elf woman, hair greying, though her sparkling blue eyes were bright and alert, matching her fine silken dress.


    "Well, come on then. You''re letting a draught in," she said, apparently not in the least surprised to see a dark minion in bloodied farmers'' clothes enter her office.


    Dreth did as he was bid, closing the door behind him.


    "You took your time," the half elf said, gesturing at one of the seats in front of her desk.


    Dreth raised a long thin finger. "I''m Dreth, guardian of the undead way. I am the doom of thousands¡­" he started.


    "Oh please, don''t go all dramatic on me, I get enough from that damned Anti-Paladin." The woman frowned and pointed at the seat again. "Sit, sit. We don''t have much time."


    Glowering slightly, Dreth sat, delayed only when Darkblood''s scabbard became tangled in the chair. "You have the advantage of me I''m afraid," he said, when finally settled. "You would be¡­?"


    "My name''s Adel, I''m the Head Woman of this village."


    "Charmed I''m sure," Dreth replied, pulling some manners out of the depths of his memory.


    "I have your friend, Emerald," said Adel.


    "Ah, then perhaps I''m not so charmed as all that. I would ask for her back if you would, or I''ll be forced to pull your intestines out through your nostrils." He paused as one of her eyebrows moved upwards slightly. "I can you know, I''ve been practising. It''s pretty messy though, and painful, judging from the screams."


    "Doing such would not help you," the Head woman said. "By now the woman is well hidden."


    Dreth scowled. This wasn''t going according to plan. "Fine," he said, crossing his arms. "What do you want?"


    The Half Elf leaned forward, resting on her desk. "We need your help," she stated.


    "My help?" Dreth would have raised his own eyebrows, except they hadn''t grown back yet. "What can I do for you?"


    "Many centuries ago my predecessor signed an agreement with the ruler of the nearby dungeon. In exchange for protection against the creatures therein, and anything else that threatened the village, we would help lure adventurers here, to the dungeon that is. The village gets a cut of the profits, as well as the revenue from selling equipment and services to those passing through."


    "Interesting business agreement," Dreth said. "So what''s changed?"


    Adel paled and glanced about, as if she feared someone was listening. Finally she opened her mouth. "Well, it''s like this¡­"


    ~ * ~


    Smudge sat on a large brown toadstool and bit into the meal she''d caught, chewing on the juicy meat with some relish. She had always liked worms.


    Swallowing, she was about to take another bite out of her squirming dinner when a shadow fell over her.


    "Smudge the Fearie?" A smooth, rich and dark voice asked.


    "Who wants to know?" she asked, looking up.


    The large man bent down, to bring his face closer to hers. "I do," he said.


    "Oh yeah? Well, I''m busy." She waved the worm about.


    "I want to ask you a few questions about Dreth, then you shall be free to consume your repast at leisure," said the man.


    "I already told the imps, I don''t know nothing!"


    "Anything," the questioner corrected absently. "And I''m not an imp."


    "Figure that out yourself did you?"


    "Where did Dreth go? Tell me his plans!" The man''s voice was tinged with annoyance now.


    Smudge sighed and stood up, putting the worm down as she did so. "Not saying!" she shouted, and launched herself into the air.


    A black gloved hand whipped out, faster than the eye could follow, and caught her in a firm grip. Bringing the small form close, the Violator spoke again. "Oh, but I''m afraid I''m going to have to insist."


    "Let me go!" Retorted the Fearie. "Not telling you anything!"


    The Anti-Paladin smiled, and brought forth a pair of sturdy looking tweezers. "Oh you''ll talk. They always do, in the end. Let''s see. I think the wings first, yes?"


    A small shrill scream echoed about the Black Garden, to be drowned out a moment later by loud, evil, laughter.

 Chapter 54 - Travel Plans

    "Actually, nothing''s changed," Adel said.


    Dreth looked puzzled. "I see. Nothing has changed. Well, that''s cleared that up then."


    A brief look of annoyance passed over the Head woman''s face. "I mean, nothing about our deal with the Overlord has changed, but I am tired of it. I''m getting on in years, in case you hadn''t noticed, and I want to retire. Head out to some balmy Elven retreat where I can spend my few remaining decades meditating and contemplating higher things."


    "You mean smoking weed and getting wasted," said Dreth.


    "Exactly."


    "So what''s the problem?"


    "Well, let me put it like this. Did the dungeon let you go? Allowed you to tender your resignation? Did the Dungeon Master give you a golden watch, a pat on the back and throw a ''Good Luck'' party to wish you happy travels?"


    "I see your point," said Dreth. "They won''t like you leaving to spread word about your little arrangement here."


    "You have it." She stood up and paced up and down the room, arms behind her back. "So when I heard there was a major alert on for an escaped Guardian I figured you must be pretty good. Then they send that cursed Anti-Paladin to hunt you down, which just confirmed it."


    "Anti-Paladin?" asked Dreth. "Large man on a Nightmare steed? The one that just visited you?"


    Adel nodded. "He''s terribly vain and a real poser. Talks too much too, but you shouldn''t underestimate him. He''s really dangerous. You should feel flattered actually, he''s the Overlord''s number one hunter out here; they don''t send him after just anyone." She paused a second. "Why are you so important?"


    Dreth scratched his chin and thought about it for a minute. "I don''t know," he said eventually. The Master of the Dungeon said something similar.


    "Anyway," Adel shrugged, dismissing the mystery. "Despite The Violator''s presence, I figured someone like you would be the best bet to help me get away from here whilst still breathing."


    Dreth scowled. "I have no interest in escorting a half-breed Elf halfway around the world," he said, fingering his sword meaningfully. Darkblood hissed in agreement, and a wave of bloodlust emanated from the blade, nearly overwhelming him.


    Shaking his head, he forcing the magical weapons'' influence back, though it took some effort. The sword had become stronger lately and threatened to take control when it surged up unexpectedly.


    "I only need escorting to somewhere the Dungeon has no influence," said Adel, unaware of Dreth''s mental battle.


    "What do you know of the Overlord?"


    "The Overlord?" The Head woman narrowed her eyes in thought for a moment, and then crossed her arms. "Why would you want to know about him?"


    "I have my reasons," said Dreth.


    Adel took a deep breath. "I know some things," she admitted cautiously. "If you help me, I''ll reveal them to you."


    "If it''s just rumours, then I''m not going to be very pleased," Dreth answered. "I''ve been fooled once before on this score."


    "Oh, I can tell you facts. Our agreement is very old; you pick up bits and bobs of information over the years."


    Dreth nodded. "Very well, I''ll help you, but you must return the woman to me, and you must vow to tell me all you know of the Overlord and the dungeon organization."


    "Agreed," said Adel.


    "In that case," said Dreth, looking around. "When can you be ready to leave?"


    The tavern of the Twisted Stoat was quiet. A solitary drunk was sitting in one corner, nursing a tankard of ale. Apart from him and the bartender, who was standing behind the counter idly moving a filthy rag around the surface, there was no one else. The only noise came from several flies buzzing half heartedly near the windows.


    Outside was slightly livelier. Two old men sat on the side of the street, squatting on low chairs and concentrating on some kind of board game, whilst drinking the local moonshine and swapping tall tales. Several of their friends stood around making comments on their tactics, and intermittently spitting tobacco onto the dusty road.


    One of the players looked up from making his move. "Ooh ay," he said. "That Veronica feller is back agin."


    "Trouble," said his friend.


    "Ay." The others nodded in slow agreement, watching as the Anti-Paladin slide off his horse and kick open Adel''s door. There was a short pause and he exited again to stand on the street, where he looked left and right, finally spotting the onlookers.


    "Seen us," said the spitter.


    "Best keep quiet," replied the game player.


    The group shifted uncomfortably as the large figure approached.


    "You." The Anti-Paladin pointed a leather gloved finger at the spitting man.


    "Me?"


    "Yes, you, masticating on that foul brown goo. Where is the Head woman?"


    The man chewed absently for a few moments, and then deliberately leaned forward and spat on the figures shiny boot. "Don''t reckon I know that," he replied.


    Veronica looked down at his despoiled footwear, and then back up at the man. He smiled unpleasantly.


    The spitter grinned too, but there was a definite nervous quality to his countenance now. Several of his friends edged away slightly.


    "I''m in a good mood just now," said The Violator. "So if you tell me what you know, and clean my shoe, then I''ll let you live with only minor injuries."


    Spitter straightened up. "I ain''t scared of¡­"


    There was a short silence, and then a thump of body hitting ground.


    "Now," said the Anti-Paladin, wiping his boot on the corpse and sheathing the dagger that had suddenly appeared in his hand. "Who else feels that they are Tired of Life?"


    The men looked at each other.


    "I am in a bit of a hurry," the Violator reminded them.


    "She went off with a tall thin fellow this morning," said the games player suddenly.


    "Do you know where?"


    Another moment of guilty silence followed before the same man spoke again. "They went off to the cabin, in the hills over yonder," he gestured up the road. "Up by old Smeegle peak."


    "Thank-you," said the Anti-Paladin, turning about and giving a short sharp whistle.


    "But you''re too late, you''ll never catch them!"


    The anti-paladin looked at his steed, which was trotting towards them with eyes of fire. "Oh, I think I know a shortcut," he said.


    "Go to hell!" shouted another of the onlookers, suddenly showing some backbone, albeit rather stupid backbone.


    However, the Violator merely nodded. "Yes, that one," he said rather cryptically. He climbed on to his black horse and was about to leave when he suddenly remembered something. Climbing off again, he walked over and backhanded the man who had badmouthed him, sending the old fellow flying, to land on the ground some distance away.


    His victim m??n?d in terror as the Anti-Paladin took another step forward, then picked himself up and ran off down the road screaming.

 Chapter 55 - Mountain Encounter

    Dreth moved steadily on up the mountain trail. Walking beside him was Adel, who was now dressed in a travelling robes and sporting a large backpack. Behind them the zombies lurched tirelessly along, muttering to each other randomly as long forgotten sights percolated through their rotten brains. Sprat scampered about, examining every new little thing excitedly.


    "How much further?" asked Dreth.


    "The cabin is near now," Adel replied. "It was the most out of the way place I could think of that wasn''t too far away."


    "Emerald better be all right," said Dreth. "I don''t think Something will be pleased if I let her die."


    The Head woman sighed. "I told you before, Tybalt knocked her out. The worse she''ll have is a headache, he''s good at what he does."


    Dreth scowled. "He''d better be. If she''s dead and her body wakes up to kill me, I''m not going to be happy."


    Adel''s obvious puzzlement at this statement was cut short as they rounded a sharp bend.


    "Hold!" The figure blocking their way stood in the centre of the path, sword hilt in both hands, tip resting on the ground. The man had positioned himself so the wind whipping down the mountain blew his cape out behind him, achieving maximum visual impact. His elaborate black helmet absorbed the light, emphasizing the silver skull emblazoned on the front. The rest of his garb was also black, from his richly cut tunic down to the leather pants that were tucked inside knee high boots, complete with wicked looking spurs protruding from the heels.


    "Wooo!" Percy exclaimed. "Cool threads man!"


    "Oh no!" Adel put her hand to her mouth. "It''s him." She took a step backwards.


    "Indeed, it is I! The Violator! Terror of a hundred kingdoms! Dispatcher of a thousand souls! I bring thine doom to you, for none escape my wrath! I''ve been dispatched to hunt you down and make you pay for your traitorous acts. Prepare to meet thine end, for whilst¡­ whilst¡­ Yes? What is it?" He stopped, looking at Cuthbert who had put his hand up.


    "It''s thy end, not thine," the zombie corrected.


    "Is not so!" answered the anti-paladin.


    "Sorry, but it is, isn''t that right Percy?" Cuthbert looked to his friend.


    "I don''t know, I thought thine was pretty hardcore myself."


    Cuthbert shook his head at his companion''s obvious linguistic ignorance. "No, you''ll have to trust me on this one, it''s ''thy''." He looked at the man standing in their way. "Sorry, didn''t mean to interrupt, please carry on."


    "Wha¡­Oh. Ahem. Yes right. Where was I?"


    "Thy end," Cuthbert reminded him.


    "Thanks." Veronica paused for a moment, then took a deep breath and continued. "Prepare to meet thy end, for whilst I am pure evil I¡­ I¡­ I say! Are you paying attention?" He gestured to the zombies again, who had been muttering amongst themselves.


    "Sorry, sorry," said Cuthbert, "but we were just thinking: why use ''thy'' at all? Couldn''t you just say ''your'' end?"


    "It''s dramatic," retorted the anti-paladin, rather cross now.


    "Oh I see. It''s just¡­ Oh never mind. Carry on." Cuthbert shrugged.


    "What? Come on, you''ve interrupted me already, spit it out."


    "Weeeell, if you are going to use ''thy'' then you should keep using it, not mix it with ''you'' and so forth. It''s just untidy, grammatically I mean."


    "Look, I''ve been using this speech for years, it''s been perfectly good up to now!"


    Cuthbert made a face. "Well, I suppose. Just trying to be a better class of victim. No need to be nasty about it."


    "No need to be nasty? Of course there''s need to be nasty! I''m a bloody Anti-Paladin! The antithesis of all that is good! It''s my job to be nasty!"


    "Alright then, keep your skin on," said Cuthbert, holding his hands out in front of him. "Just trying to give some feedback. I mean Dreth here," he gestured at Dreth, who was standing with a bewildered look upon his face, "has been at this Evil Guardian game for centuries. He''s pretty much mastered it."


    "Is that so?" asked Veronica, removing his helmet and shaking his long black hair free like an advert for shampoo.


    "I don''t like to boast," said Dreth, looking at his half regrown fingernails modestly, "but I think I know a few things about evil posturing."


    "Go on then," said The Violator.


    "Well," Dreth looked the man up and down. "I mean your stance is good, and I like the way the wind catches the cloak and all that¡­"


    The Anti-Paladin looked smug.


    "¡­but I think for really good visual impact you need a better position."


    "Yes?"


    Dreth glanced about. "Okay how about¡­" He stepped forward. "May I?"


    The Anti-Paladin nodded.


    "You see those rocks on the edge? See how the sun is slightly to the side? If you stand up there¡­"


    "Like this?" The Violator clambered up onto a large boulder.


    "Yeeees, but¡­ look, I''ll show you." Dreth scrambled up after him, adjusting the man''s pose as he spoke. "You see, the arm should be like this, and I would hold your sword, nice blade by the way, to the side with one hand, there. Now you need to stand at a slight angle to us, yes yes, that''s the ticket. Now turn your head a bit. Oh bravo! How does that look from there Cuthbert?"


    "Excellent, the light really catches his good, sorry¡­ evil side."


    "Well, thank-you, I appreciate your help," said the Anti-Paladin.


    "Think nothing of it," said Dreth. "Oh, just one more thing."


    "What? The hairstyle? Should I tie it back? How about my expression? Stern enough?"


    "I''ve never seen sterner," replied Dreth. "But I would just give a slight word of caution."


    "Tell me!"


    "Never let someone with super strength stand near when you are next to a cliff." So saying, Dreth gave the man a mighty shove, pushing him over the edge.


    "Aaaaaaaahhh!"


    Dreth peered over the side, wincing occasionally as the ever more distant form bounced off protrusions, eventually disappearing into some trees at the bottom with a faint crash.


    "Nice one," said Percy, who had moved up to stand beside him. "Do you think he''s dead?"


    Dreth shrugged. "Possible, but I wouldn''t bet on it. These anti-hero types aren''t easy to kill." He turned around and climbed down off the rock.


    "You should know," the zombie commented. With a final glance over the edge, he followed Dreth.

 Chapter 56 - Trees and Toes

    Afternoon drew on, slowly fading into evening. Below a large oak tree a rabbit hopped through the first fallen leaves of autumn. It stopped at a shape half buried in the ground, sniffing the air cautiously, its little bunny nose wobbling cutely.


    There was a movement in the air, and with a dull explosion a shape appeared nearby. The animal, panicked, scampered off through the woods and straight into the waiting jaws of a hungry fox.


    Totally uninterested in the wonders of nature, Ichabod stood over the shape lying on the forest floor. Eventually he poked it with his tail. The shape ?r??n?d.


    "Still alive then," said the imp.


    Another m??n.


    "The Overlord sent me to ask how your hunt is going. From your position I''m going to ?ssume my report isn''t going to involve words like: ''Target achieved'' or, ''Subject terminated with extreme prejudice''. Shame, I always wanted to say that."


    "Bugger off," came the reply, in a voice full of pain.


    The imp scratched itself. "Now now, that''s no way to speak to an ally."


    A hand, covered in dried blood, moved slightly.


    "That''s the spirit!" Said Ichabod encouragingly. "Never say die! If at first you don''t succeed and all that¡­"


    "Shut¡­ up."


    The imp crossed his arms. "Touchy." He looked around, sneering at the beauty of the woodlands around him. "Listen, I can''t stand about all day while you have your nap. I need to take a report back to his Evilness. What do you want me to say, apart from that you''ve tried flying and found you weren''t very good at it."


    "I¡­ I shall resume¡­ my hunt. Dreth¡­ will not¡­ escape. This¡­ this I vow," he gasped.


    "Riiight," replied the little demon, nodding slowly. "Very well, I can see you''re busy, I''ll leave you to it. Enjoy!"


    There was a short clap of imploding air, and the imp was gone.


    Veronica managed a scowl at the empty space, and then, with some effort, whistled. That task achieved, he lay still, breath coming in ragged gasps.


    Eventually, through the ever darkening evening air, two red eyes could be seen. They moved closer as the Nightmare steed walked up to the prone form and stood still over it.


    The Violator reached up, m??ning in pain, and grasped at the reigns, pulling himself upright with no small effort. Leaning against his horse he rummaged around in the saddle pack, eventually bringing out a small vial of yellow liquid.


    Removing the cork with his teeth, he took a deep swig, drinking the contents in one gulp.


    The potion drained, he dropped the container and fell back to the floor as the healing magic did its work. As it did so he scowled. ''Dreth had tricked him! Next time the outcome would be different. Next time it would be Dreth that was left broken and dying on the ground.


    "I, The Violator swear this!" he announced to the forest at large.


    ~ * ~


    The cabin stood hidden in the shadows of the night, a squat square form, crouched under a group of large and ancient trees.


    "Better let me lead," said Adel. "Tybalt is liable to stab first and ask questions later."


    Dreth nodded. "Very well, but I''m going to be close behind you elf. Any tricks¡­" He left the threat hanging.


    Adel walked forward, knocked three times and then pushed the door a fraction. "Tybalt? It''s me, Adel. It''s okay. Tybalt?" She pushed the door open and stepped inside.


    "Look what they''re doing!" exclaimed Percy, peering in too.


    The zombie''s shout finally alerted Emerald and another man, presumably Tybalt, who were busy being busy in a small bunk, which was creaking under the strain of their activities. With a shriek Emerald grabbed at the blankets.


    "Nice t¡­" Percy started to say.


    "Get out!" screamed Emerald.


    "No need to be so abrupt," muttered Percy, as Adel closed the door to allow the two to dress. "Only it''s not every day you see such a perfect set of t¡­"


    "I can''t believe Tybalt," said Adel. "I trusted him."


    "Was she nice and sweet?" Cuthbert asked Percy.


    "At least he hasn''t harmed her," said Dreth. "I would have had to kill you both if that had happened, in a probably vain hope that your steaming remains would have pacified the entity that''s interested in her."


    "Sweet, succulent and so tender," Percy was saying. "With the most wonderful t¡­"


    The door opened, to reveal the man, Tybalt, now dressed in leather armour covered with a dashing black and yellow silk tunic. A set of slim swords were slung over his back. He was tall and well built, with a lean frame. Obviously a fighter who could look after himself, both on the battlefield and off. Shoulder length black hair waved in the wind, and he pushed it out of his eyes as he bowed slightly to the half elf.


    "Adel, you''re back early," he said.


    "Obviously," Adel replied. "I see you''re keeping the hostage secure." She raised an eyebrow.


    Tybalt flushed. "You may enter now," he said.


    The group trudged in. Emerald was standing up b?r?foot, adjusting her robes.


    "Having fun?" asked Dreth dryly.


    Emerald smiled at him sweetly in way of reply. "I''ve been asleep for a long time," she said. "A girl has needs you know."


    "Come on," said Dreth. "We have to move, the forces of evil are on our trail."


    "I thought we were the forces of evil?" asked Cuthbert.


    Dreth made a face. "The bad forces of evil. We''re the good forces of evil." He paused to think about this for a moment. "Well, you know what I mean." He turned to Emerald again. "Are you ready?"


    "Just have to get my shoes," she replied, hunting about under the bed.


    Percy nudged Cuthbert. "See," he said. "Wouldn''t you just love to nibble on those?"


    "Ooh yes," said his friend. "Perfect toes!"

 Chapter 57 - Frozen

    The Overlord held up a finger and a flame sprouted from the end of it, which he used to light the cigar he was holding. He inhaled deeply, savouring the flavour A moment later he frowned, as if hearing something annoying.


    "Go ahead then," he said to the air.


    There was a pop, and a small demonic form appeared before him. The Overlord blew smoke at it.


    "I found¡­" Ichabod suddenly cut off, coughing in the middle of the cloud. "Hey! Cut that out!"


    The Overlord chuckled to himself, taking p???sur? in the others distress, and took another puff. "You have a report for me imp?"


    Ichabod scowled, but spoke again. "I found your wonderful evil agent half buried in the ground. Seems Dreth pushed him off a cliff."


    Now it was the Overlords turn to scowl. "What''s wrong with my minions these days? There was a day when Evil was a force to be feared, now I have difficulty finding creatures who can gut a small innocent child properly."


    The imp nodded his head sympathetically.


    "Was he alive?" The Overlord flicked ash on Ichabods'' head.


    "Just about, gave me some spiel about carrying on the hunt, but he couldn''t even stand up."


    The Overlord sighed. "Very well, I think we should put some pressure on our quarry." He snapped his fingers and a bundle of papers appeared next to his servant. "Take those and distribute them around the area. Perhaps a little competition will spur our Anti-Paladin on."


    The imp bowed, took the papers and vanished again.


    Taking another pull on his cigar, the Overlord sat and thought for a while, the smoke curled around him, twisting into strange and disturbing shapes. His break didn''t last long, as a cold wind suddenly swept through the room.


    He frowned. Now what? Some days it seemed like every entity and demon in the Dark planes wanted to pop in and have a chat.


    "Who''s there?" he asked out loud.


    "You Haven''t Recovered Her Yet." The voice echoed around the chamber, resonating Evil and, incidentally, putting his cigar out.


    "Hey! I was enjoying that!"


    "When Can I Expect Her To Be Returned?" The voice ignored his protest. Frost began to form on the walls.


    "I am working on it, she''s still alive and healthy isn''t she?"


    "No Thanks To You And Your So Called Protection." The voice grew colder, if that was possible.


    The Overlord pulled his robes about him and glanced significantly at the fireplace, which obeyed his will and burned higher. "She will be recovered, don''t worry."


    "She Had Better Be. We Had A Deal. The Apocalypse Depends Upon The Four. If One Falls, All Fall. Should You Fail You Will Feel The Wrath Of True Evil." With a final gust of absolute cold, the presence withdrew.


    "Some devils are too full of themselves," muttered the Overlord. He looked around and grimaced. The fire was still and unmoving, glittering a strange blue-orange colour


    It had frozen solid.

 Chapter 58 - Ambush!

    "Are you sure they''ll come this way?" asked Marlin.


    Frumble nodded. "Positive. My scrying spell was very strong." The Halfling pounded his short staff on the ground to emphasize his conviction, incidentally splashing mud on his blue and yellow robes. "Damn! I just had these cleaned!" He leaned down to rub at the markings and his pointy hat fell off.


    Flame laughed at the short wizard. "It''s a good job this party has some good steel, it wouldn''t do to rely on your spells mage!" The Ranger was sitting on a fallen tree trunk polishing his sword, which was resting on his knees. His receding hairline was covered by a new helmet, recently bought at the small village in the valley. Horns protruded menacingly from it. Occasionally he would stop and admire the reflection in his shield.


    Frumble muttered about ignorant rangers under his breath and stood up again, placing his hat firmly on his head. That done he looked at his party. Bug, their fighter, lay sprawled out on the grass, the Orc snored loudly and occasionally scratched himself in his sleep. His armour was dirty, as was he himself, but Frumble had to admit he knew how to use his large two handed sword.


    He glanced over at Riot, who was sitting in the shadows examining her arrows. As usual the wizard couldn''t help admiring the Elven thief''s slender figure, made all the more attractive in the tight black leather she wore.


    "Are you ogling at me again wizard?" she asked, without looking up from her task.


    "No, no," Frumble replied, blushing. He quickly shifted his gaze to the cleric, Marlin, who had once more subsided into meditation. His plate mail armour was the best of the party, and it had caused some argument back in the village, but the group had only enough gold to buy one set, and Marlin had eventually convinced the rest of them he had more need of it. His mace was hanging at his side, and he''d rested his shield against a tree. The man''s yellow hair was tied back in a long ponytail.


    The wizard took a deep breath. They were bad ?ss for sure! It had been a stroke of good fortune indeed that they''d chanced across the notice before anyone else. This Dreth character wouldn''t stand a chance against them. He had prepared his best spells for the occasion, two of them newly purchased, and the party was as ready as they could be. Admittedly, they had spent all the gold their last adventure had gained them, but it was worth it! This was the one that would put them in the big time! Up there with adventurers like Granite the Great and Seraphim the Mighty. He gripped his staff tightly in excitement. His brothers in the academy said he was foolish to leave so soon, but he would show them. He would show them all!


    His musings were cut short by a chime from the air. The wards had been activated!


    "They''re coming! Hurry, get ready," he urged. "Riot, wake the Orc."


    They scrambled into their prepared positions, just past a slight bend in the trail. Riot hid in some bushes a little way off the track, her bow ready. Frumble stood nearby, shielded by a tree, and rolled his sleeves up.


    The cleric stood opposite them, concealed in the undergrowth, mouthing silent prayers to his god whilst the two fighters crouched behind a boulder, weapons at the ready.


    A small figure popped around the bend, and Frumble''s eyes widened. A Halfling? No, no it was¡­ he squinted. Some kind of miniature zombie!


    As he watched the thing bent over and examined some tiny insect crawling on the ground. Frumble was just about to make a comment when others appeared.


    "Hey! Wizard, I thought you said there were only four of them!" Hissed Riot, her bow wavering between the unexpected targets. "There''s six, plus the midget undead."


    Before Frumble could reply, Bug and Flame ran at the group screaming their war cries.


    Too soon! The wizard hesitated only a moment, they were committed now. "Attack!" he shouted, and spoke the activation word for his Magic Missiles. He raised his hand and pointed a finger, but then hesitated. Which target? As he watched Flame was being set upon by the two and a half zombies. They had overwhelmed him and were clawing and biting the ranger, who had lost his sword and was now trying to stab his attackers with his dagger.


    Frumble''s finger veered towards them, but the sudden chant of a magical incantation drew his attention. An old half elf was casting magic, she had to be taken out! He fired all four of his bolts and was gratified to see the woman go down with a squawk.


    Beside him Riot loosed her bow. Frumble saw the arrow fly true and hit the tall thin figure standing in the middle of the road. The man, who had to be Dreth, was simply standing and watching the action. He looked down at the shaft that was embedded in his ?h?st and then casually plucked it out and threw it to one side.


    "That''s not good," said Riot, eyes going wide.


    Frumble desperately started casting his most powerful spell. It wasn''t going at all according to plan! As he watched the cleric stepped forward and thrust his holy symbol at the zombies, who shrieked and stumbled away.


    Dreth moved. The tall form drew a long black sword with frightening speed and with one bound was upon Marlin. Using his weapon like a giant dagger, he thrust it down into the top of the cleric''s head, driving the blade through the skull, down the neck and into the torso.


    Marlin went rigid. Dreth waited a moment, and then smoothly pulled his bloodied weapon from the body, allowing it to slump to the ground.


    "Oh shit! Did you see that?" asked Riot, firing another arrow and missing.


    Unable to stop casting his spell without severe blowback, Frumble could only watch as Dreth moved smoothly around to Bug, who was busy fighting a human skilfully wielding two swords. With one clean slice of his weapon, he decapitated the Orc, spraying blood and gore over a wide area. The sword seemed to shriek with delight at the act.


    "Screw this!" exclaimed Riot, as they watched the final member of their fighting force slump to the ground. "We''re way out of our league here, I''m gone!" The thief picked up her quiver and ran.


    Frumble, shaking and quivering, finally cast his spell.

 Chapter 59 - Wanted

    "Well?" Dreth asked.


    Tybalt looked up from where he was kneeling, next to the prone body of Adel, and shook his head. "Dead," he said. "A lucky shot by some sort of magic bolt. She must have been caught by surprise, otherwise her wards would have blocked the attack. They didn''t appear to be very good."


    "Damn. There goes my information." Dreth frowned.


    Tybalt sighed and stood up. "And there goes a good friend of mine." He looked wistful for a moment. "Ah well, she had a good run."


    "Look what we found!"


    They looked over to where the zombies were emerging from the undergrowth. They were carrying a struggling shape between them, Sprat being half dragged behind. "It''s so fresh it''s still wriggling!" exclaimed Percy happily.


    The undead staggered over to them and dumped the form on the floor, where it protested loudly.


    "A Halfling," said Dreth, poking the complaining shape with his foot. "And a wizard at that. What have you to say for yourself mage? Speak up now, before I let my friends have an early supper."


    "Don''t eat me! Please don''t eat me!" The small wizard cowered on the floor, hands over his face. "I''m too bony! I''ll make you sick!"


    "Pah. No wonder we took them out so easily," said Tybalt. "They''re amateurs. Still wet behind the pears."


    "Ears," Dreth correctly absently. "What were you doing here?" he asked the small form again.


    "We¡­we were after the reward," said the Halfling.


    "What reward?"


    The wizard reached slowly into his robes and pulled out a sheet of parchment. Percy snatched it off him and looked at it. "It''s some kind of riddle," he said.


    "You''re holding it upside down dummy," said Cuthbert. "Here, give me that." He took the paper and read out loud, tracing the text with his finger.


    "Dead or Alive or Neither!" he said. "2000 Golden Florins for the person/being who kills/captures or otherwise disposes of: ''Dreth.'' Last seen in this area!" Cuthbert looked up. "Then there''s a general description."


    "Is there a reward for us too?" asked Percy.


    Cuthbert scanned the fine print and shook his head. "Only mentions us in passing," he said.


    "Bah. I''m so sick of this zombie prejudice." His friend crossed his arms and scowled.


    "Come on," Dreth said. "We''re wasting time. Kill this Halfling and then let''s move on."


    "Wait! You can''t kill me!" the wizard shouted as Cuthbert grinned and reached for him.


    "Don''t worry, you''re in good hands," replied the zombie. "I have done this before you know. It will only hurt for three or four minutes."


    "No! I mean, the curse!"


    Cuthbert hesitated. "What curse?"


    "My last spell. I cast it at Dreth, if you kill me you''ll never be able to reverse it!"


    Everyone looked at Dreth, who stepped back a pace. He was suddenly aware of a strange feeling. "What?" he asked. "What is it? What can you see?"


    "Erm," said Percy. "I don''t quite know how to put this¡­"


    "There''s a monkey on your back!" Cuthbert interrupted, pointing.


    "What! Where?" Dreth turned in circles, like a dog chasing his own tail. "I can''t see it!"


    "I''m on your back, of course you can''t see me," a new voice said next to his ear. "Actually, your shoulder to be precise. And I''m not a monkey you piece of rotting meat, I''m a devil!"


    Dreth flailed his arms about, trying to hit the source of the voice, but failed to connect.


    "Your hand went right through it," said Percy.


    "That''s right zombie," the voice said again, "he can''t touch me. It''s part of the curse you see?"


    Dreth gave up trying to hit the thing, and turned to the Halfling. "You!" He pointed a finger at the little wizard. "Undo your magic! Get this off me."


    "I¡­I don''t know how," came the reply.


    "Well then, you''re no use to us are you?"


    "But I can find out! I''ll have to do research, but I???m sure I can!" the mage blurted out quickly.


    "He''ll fail. He only managed to cast me because he was so scared he put all his power into it. Desperation you see?" The devil hopped onto the ground next to the wizard, allowing Dreth to see him for the first time.


    It appeared to be a proper devil alright, albeit in miniature. Standing about knee high, it had the traditional red skin, horns, tail, even a small pitchfork. It was n?k?d too, with an overly large phallus hanging down ?bs??n?ly between its legs. It saw Dreth looking and winked at him.


    "The lady devil''s like me a lot," he said. "Let''s face it, size does matter eh? Only those with small ones say otherwise."


    Dreth didn''t answer, but removed Darkblood from its sheath and sliced at the thing. The devil simply stood there and laughed as the sword passed harmlessly through it. "Oh, this is going to be fun!" It leaped back up to its spot on Dreth''s shoulders. "You can''t harm me! I''m your curse, well, your new curse. Building up quite a collection aren''t we?" It sniggered.


    With some effort Dreth managed to resist swiping at his own head with Darkblood. He had enough problems without lopping off parts of his own anatomy.


    "Get off me!" he shouted.


    "Ha! You have to be kidding! Do you know how long it''s been since I was up on the mortal plain? Oh no, I think I''ll hang around a while, this looks like a fun group you have here. Let''s see, two walking corpses, three if you include the small one with harvested parts. One Halfling who pretends to be a wizard, a rogue who''s on the run and¡­" The devil stopped suddenly, and Dreth thought he heard it gasp. "And her. Oh boy, this is going to be more interesting than I thought!"


    "Okay, look, what do you want?" asked Dreth. "I''m sure we can reach a deal. What''s your name anyway?"


    The devil scuttled down his arm and waved a finger at him. "Oh no! I''m not falling for that one! I give you my name, you can control me. It''s not going to happen." It crossed its arms.


    "As for what I want, well¡­" It scampered up and gave Dreth an insubstantial kiss on the nose. "I want to be your friend. I''m lonely. You''ll be my friend won''t you?" It batted its eyes, which suddenly sprouted long eyelashes.


    "Oh for Dreg''s sake," said Dreth, shaking his head.


    "That''s the spirit! Resign yourself to me. I mean, you''re immortal right?" The devil disappeared round Dreth''s back again. "Looks like we''re going to be chums for a looooong time. You''ll grow to like me in time. Or should that be ''hate'' me? I always get those two confused."


    "Wizard! If you don''t get this thing off me, I''m going to pull your legs off and feed them to you!" Dreth glowered at the Halfling. "What do they call you anyway?"


    "I¡­I''m Frumble".


    Dreth glared at him a moment longer, and then up at the rest of the group. "Come on," he snapped. "We need to get moving. No doubt others are looking for us. Cuthbert, tie the wizard up and watch him closely. If he tries anything you can eat a foot."


    "Yummy." Cuthbert rubbed his hands together and cast about for some rope.


    "Oh, travel, what excitement," his new curse said. "Where are we going?"


    Dreth gritted his teeth. "We have an oracle to find."


    Exploding into the open from the trees, Veronica yanked on his mounts'' reigns, eliciting a loud whinny from the devil horse as it drew to a halt in a cloud of dust.


    He dismounted with a slight groan. The healing potion had done its job, but he''d been near death and he was still stiff and sore. His clothes hung about him, torn and tattered.


    "Curse Dreth," he muttered to himself as he staggered over to the door.


    It had been a long ride, and with his sword bent out of shape and useless from his ''accident'', as he had decided to call it, he''d had to kill a group of bandits who had waylaid him with his b?r? hands. Even that piece of brutality hadn''t cheered him up though, and he was in a foul mood as he entered the shop.


    "Good day sir!" A small form, short and fat, peered over some half moon spectacles from behind a counter nearly as tall as he was.


    "Says who?" scowled The Violator.


    "Oh dear, looks like someone climbed off his horse the wrong side this morning," the gnome carried on brightly, apparently oblivious to the sensitivities of the large man in front of him.


    "Listen short arse, you can dispense with the happy talk right now." Veronica leaned over the desk and jabbed at finger down at the shopkeeper.


    Who smiled up at him regardless. Putting down a wicked looking dagger he was polishing, he gazed back at his customer without fear. Half the height of a grown man*, the short fellow was dressed in cheery green dungarees and bright red shoes. As with most gnomes it was hard to tell his age, but somewhere in his late hundreds would have been Veronica''s guess. The man was completely bald except for two grey tufts of hair over his rather large ears. He wasn''t as fat as usual for a gnome, but that didn''t mean he was slim.


    "So what can I do for your evilness today?" he said, waggling hairy eyebrows.


    "I need a new outfit and weapon," snarled the Anti-Paladin.

 Chapter 60 - Shopping

    Exploding into the open from the trees, Veronica yanked on his mounts'' reigns, eliciting a loud whinny from the devil horse as it drew to a halt in a cloud of dust.


    He dismounted with a slight groan. The healing potion had done its job, but he''d been near death and he was still stiff and sore. His clothes hung about him, torn and tattered.


    "Curse Dreth," he muttered to himself as he staggered over to the door.


    It had been a long ride, and with his sword bent out of shape and useless from his ''accident'', as he had decided to call it, he''d had to kill a group of bandits who had waylaid him with his b?r? hands. Even that piece of brutality hadn''t cheered him up though, and he was in a foul mood as he entered the shop.


    "Good day sir!" A small form, short and fat, peered over some half moon spectacles from behind a counter nearly as tall as he was.


    "Says who?" scowled The Violator.


    "Oh dear, looks like someone climbed off his horse the wrong side this morning," the gnome carried on brightly, apparently oblivious to the sensitivities of the large man in front of him.


    "Listen short arse, you can dispense with the happy talk right now." Veronica leaned over the desk and jabbed at finger down at the shopkeeper.


    Who smiled up at him regardless. Putting down a wicked looking dagger he was polishing, he gazed back at his customer without fear. Half the height of a grown man*, the short fellow was dressed in cheery green dungarees and bright red shoes. As with most gnomes it was hard to tell his age, but somewhere in his late hundreds would have been Veronica''s guess. The man was completely bald except for two grey tufts of hair over his rather large ears. He wasn''t as fat as usual for a gnome, but that didn''t mean he was slim.


    "So what can I do for your evilness today?" he said, waggling hairy eyebrows.


    "I need a new outfit and weapon," snarled the Anti-Paladin.


    "Met with a bit of misfortune have you?" The gnome scuttled off to a large pile of garments that were stacked up on one side.


    "Just show me what you have!" Veronica followed him.


    The shop was surprisingly big, considering the outside was merely a door set into the side of a hummock with a sign over it. There was probably magic involved somehow, but The Violator didn''t care. This was a speciality shop, catering to ''distinctive'' clients. Magic was the probably the least surprising thing about the place.


    He moved to look at a selection of cloaks that were nearby. The rack took up a tiny fraction of the interior, which stretched away on both sides as far as the eye could see. The ceiling was pale stone, as were the walls. Underfoot were wooden boards, seemingly freshly varnished. Around him were goods of all kinds, from the cloaks through potions to Demon summoning orbs. Occasional signs proclaimed unlikely discounts and special offers.


    "Buy one Portal to Hell, get two free souls!" Read one.


    "Shrunken Heads! Final Reductions!" Another screamed.


    "Child Sacrifices! Going Once Only!" One further away proclaimed.


    "Here''s our ''Dark Minion'' pack," the gnome announced, scurrying up with a pile of black garments decorated with silver trim. "If you buy this we throw in a spare sacrificial dagger free of charge."


    The Violator picked through the clothes. "Mmm, not bad, but I prefer something of a higher quality. I have the gold, show me your good stuff."


    The shopkeeper beamed. "At once sir!" He toddled off through a curtain in a side room that Veronica was certain hadn''t been there a moment before.


    He carried on browsing through the cloaks whilst he waited, trying one or two on for size, swirling them about experimentally.


    "Here we go sir." The gnome was suddenly back, placing more robes on the counter and sorting them out. "Our ''Dark Lord'' premium selection. Made from the finest materials, stain resistant too! Just imagine, no more hours of scrubbing to get those blood splatters off!" He picked up one item and held it out for the Anti-Paladin to examine. "The robe is especially nice. It has a trim of skin cut from still living innocents, with the silk interior stained by blood from the same. Look at the vibrant colour sir! You just don''t find that quality any more, real workmanship."


    "Hmmm, it certainly looks up to snuff," said Veronica, examining the merchandise.


    "Oh very good sir. May I suggest you try it on? The changing rooms are over there." He pointed to one side.


    Veronica nodded. "Very well." He picked up the pile, carrying the boot awkwardly with two fingers, and pushed his way through the door. Dropping the goods on a small stool, he proceeded to attempt to change into the clothes in a cubicle that was just too small for the deed**, and had no hooks to hang up his old clothes.


    Eventually he finished. Straightening everything up he stepped outside to where the shopkeeper was waiting, holding a helmet.


    "Oh, suits you sir!" he said admiringly. "Your victims will be so impressed they''ll forget to scream as you butcher them. I found this as well, a Helmet of Defence, Hades brand, the very best."


    Veronica took the helmet and admired it. Coloured in basic black, it was etched with hellish runes in dull red, and tastefully decorated with jewel encrusted silver and gold skulls. "Very nice," he admitted eventually, putting it on.


    The gnome wheeled a mirror over, and The Violator scrutinized his reflection, twisting and turning to check out the different angles.


    "Very nice," he said again, "but I need weapon to finish it off. What do you have in stock? I''m going to need something magical to deal with my quarry."


    The gnome put on a show of thinking hard for a moment, and then snapped his fingers. "I have the very thing sir. Wait here if you would, this one is special."


    He scampered off through the back again, leaving the Anti-Paladin arranging his new attire to best effect.


    Some time later, just as Veronica was considering going to look for him, the shopkeeper re-appeared holding a long wooden case banded with shiny metal.


    "Sorry to keep you, this one was in the lower vaults, locked securely away." He staggered over to the counter and placed the box carefully on it. Looking up at the Anti-Paladin, he paused before opening it.


    "This is one of the legendary ''Devil'' blades. Rumour has it four were made in total, though only three have ever been seen." He opened the case slowly, pulling back the lid to reveal a dark silk cloth covering the weapon. "This one last belonged to Alan the Agitated, the legendary warlock warrior who supposedly r?p?d, pillaged and then killed an entire country because someone knocked over his beer."


    The gnome leaned forward and carefully pulled the cloth away to reveal the sword. "Allow me to present: ''Soul Taker''. A blade of pure and unadulterated Hate. It comes with our ''Good free'' guarantee, money back if your victims don''t die writhing in horrible agony."


    "Magnificent," he breathed. Reaching up he paused, looking at the gnome. "May I?"


    The shopkeeper looked at him. "Well, in all honesty sir, I''d rather you didn''t whilst I am the only target nearby. You see, it''s been mostly dormant ever since it was found on the battlefield where Alan was finally vanquished. Since then those who have tried wielding it have gone into an insane berserk fury, and killed all around them before dropping dead themselves. It will take a true follower of Evil with a strong character to resist the swords'' will. Are you that man sir? Can you handle it?"


    "Yes, oh yes. This is the one for me," said Veronica. "I can feel it. With this by my side, Evil will reach new heights!"


    "Good show sir!" said the gnome. "Very well, it''s yours. Just don''t open it until you are outside please. Now then." He closed the box with a snap and beamed up at the Anti-Paladin. "Shall we discuss payment?"


    *Human


    **Some things are the same wherever you go in the multiverse. The door didn''t close properly either.


    ~ * ~


    "Hey! Stick man! You sleeping?"


    Dreth jerked upright with a start, prodded out of his revere by a small red finger jabbing him in the neck. Shaking his head for a moment he looked around, scowling. "I don''t sleep," he said to the devil, who was sitting on his shoulder.


    "Could have fooled me," the devil said. "Muttering to yourself and everything. I was afraid you were going to mess yourself. You should be thanking me for waking you before you did."


    "I was not going to mess myself!" Dreth snapped, jiggled his shoulder in a vain attempt to shake the pest off.

 Chapter 61 - Its a Riot.

    "I was not going to mess myself!" Dreth snapped, jiggled his shoulder in a vain attempt to shake the pest off.


    The devil shrugged, unperturbed. "Well, it''s time to wake up, or whatever you want to call it. Your undead friends have been busy for a while now, cooking breakfast would you believe?" It shook its head in wonder. "Times have surely changed since I was last up here."


    Dreth looked over, to see that it was telling the truth. Cuthbert was busy roasting some kind of meat over a campfire. The zombie saw him looking and waved.


    "Been a long time since I cooked something," he said cheerfully. "I thought the living might like breakfast." He gestured at the Halfling, still asleep with a rope tied around his ankle, then the entwined forms of Tybalt and Emerald, huddled together in their sleeping mats. As if that was a signal, Tybalt woke up with a jerk. "Breakfast is nearly done," Cuthbert called over to him.


    Dreth stood up and scanned the terrain. They had made good progress the previous day, escaping from the hills and entering another region of woodland, encountering no one on the way. Eventually the living had complained they needed a rest, so the group had stopped for the night.


    Tybalt staggered into the bushes to perform his morning toiletries, waking Emerald in the process, who stretched, catlike.


    "Had a good night did you?" Percy asked from where he was sitting near the campfire, polishing his leg. "It''s been a long time, so I might have forgotten, but it certainly sounded good." He grinned, which wasn''t a sight you really wanted to see first thing in the morning.


    "Abracadabra!" With a jolt Frumble awoke, sitting bolt upright, arms outstretched.


    "Ah, the magic user''s awake," said Percy.


    Dreth strode over to the Halfling, who was rubbing his eyes and yawning. The mage looked up at him and flinched.


    "What?" he asked. "Can''t a person have five minutes to wake up without the undead pestering him?"


    "I''m being extremely kind here wizard," said Dreth, ignoring his protest, "and that goes against my nature. I want a way of getting this thing," he pointed at his shoulder, "off me as soon as possible, or it''s going to go badly for you."


    "Ooh, that''s not very nice," said the devil. "Thing indeed. How would you like it if I called you stick man? Oh wait, I already did."


    Dreth clenched his fists. "Wizard!"


    "Okay okay, it''s top of my list." The Halfling looked uncomfortable. "Well, once I''ve relieved myself that is."


    "You''re not going anywhere on your own," said Dreth. He looked around and gestured at Sprat, who was running around a large tree. "Sput! Get over here and look after the mage. You two should get on well, you''re about the same size."


    After giving Sprat instructions, Dreth walked over to the campfire, where Tybalt and Emerald were sitting down eating the breakfast Cuthbert had cooked.


    "Fancy a bite?" asked the zombie as he approached.


    Dreth ignored the offer and spoke to Tybalt. "You''re a local," he said. "Do you know the way to this Hermit of Farsii? He lives on the far side of Real City."


    Tybalt chewed his meat and frowned. As he thought Frumble staggered over and joined them. Cuthbert handed him some food.


    "I haven''t heard of the Hermit," said Tybalt, "but I know of Real city. It''s not the nicest of places. The ruler there is Harold the Hedonistic, a twisted despot with strange personal habits. I would steer clear of the place given a choice in the matter. If the hills are on the far side of it, the only ways around are by crossing the Sparklyblue sea or through the Steaming swamps, a dark place indeed, where people disappear mysteriously all the time."


    "Sound like a cool place," said Percy. "Let''s go there!"


    "I could pick up some supplies in Real though," said Frumble. "I may need some items if I''m to undo the spell."


    "A city! A real city! We should go there," said the devil. "Think of all the victims!"


    "We''re not here to enjoy ourselves," admonished Dreth.


    "Tell me about it," muttered Percy.


    "Hey! What is this meat anyway?" asked Emerald, picking her teeth. "Did you go hunting in the night?"


    "What? Oh no," said Cuthbert. "I just cut a couple of choice parts from your friend before we left yesterday."


    "What!!!??" Tybalt gagged. "This is Adel?"


    "Parts of her, yes. No sense letting good meat go to waste now is there? Do you want another portion?"


    There was no response other than the sound of three people vomiting.


    "There''s gratitude for you," complained the zombie. "I slave over a hot fire to make a nutritious breakfast and this is the response." He crossed his arms. "Last time I do anything nice I''ll tell you."


    "You foul monster!" Tybalt wiped his mouth and reached for his sword, stopping abruptly as Dreth placed a hand on his shoulder.


    "I would be annoyed if you hurt my friend," he said.


    The devil jumped to the ground and dipped a finger in a pool of vomit. He licked it. "Mmm, fragrant."


    Dreth ignored the renewed bout of retching and heaved a sigh. "This city is looking more attractive all the time. Anything to get rid of you devil."


    The small red figure laughed and watched Tybalt gagging. "Such fun," it said. "Such fun."


    ~ * ~


    Riot watched from the bushes, bow in hand, as the giant horse moved slowly along the path. The rider, a man large enough to warrant such a steed, appeared to be looking for something. Tracks maybe.


    He reached the scene of the battle, if such a slaughter could be credited with the name, and stopped. After a short moment examining the remains from horseback, he lifted one leg over the saddle and smoothly slid off his mount, landing with the grace of a mountain lion.


    Riot clenched her teeth as he moved over to the remains of first Bug, and then Flame. The body of the ranger seemed to interest him, and he knelt down to examine it. Was he going to rob the corpse? A warrior with such fine robes would surely hardly stoop to such an act. Riot scowled. She wasn''t going to stand by whilst the body of her dead comrade was desecrated! Holding her breath, she raised her bow, drew, aimed, and then loosed the shaft in one fluid action.


    As she watched the figure stood up and looked in her direction. Eyes hidden behind an ornate helm seemed to burn through the undergrowth, and she could see him slowly smile, revealing perfect white teeth.


    "You can make this easy or hard," she heard him call out. His voice was deep, rich and smooth, like the very darkest of chocolate. Arrogant too. He didn''t even draw his blade.


    "Come come now. I can see you. Stand up and things will go more pleasantly, or at least faster, which in your case will be the same thing."


    Trembling, Riot stood up.


    The man''s smile grew even wider as he saw her. "Well well well. What do we have here? A young want to be ?ssassin." He strode confidently over towards the thief. She wanted to flee, but her legs seemed to be rooted to the spot.


    He stood over her, his muscular form dwarfing her petite one. "Such a pretty ?ssassin too," he said. Reaching up, he removed the helmet, to reveal a rugged, handsome face. Intelligent brown eyes examined her, scanning her from head to foot. "And why would you want to attack me my dear? Mmm? I have no interest in any loot from the dead here. Such trifles are below me. Help yourself if that''s what you''re here for."


    "Th¡­they''re my friends. Were I mean. My friends." Riot mentally cursed herself. What was she doing? Behaving like a foolish teenage girl on her first date!


    "Indeed? In that case maybe you can help me. I''m looking for the ones who did this. A tall thin man with a couple of zombies, and a woman with black and white hair, yes?"


    Riot nodded. "And the other woman too. An elf, or half elf. Older. The body was there before, it must have been moved."


    "An older half elf you say? Adel." The man frowned. "She''s dead? Damn."


    "You knew her?" Riot decided not to let him know she was the only one they''d managed to kill.


    "Only in passing. Still, if she was helping Dreth¡­"


    "Dreth! That''s him! He was the one with the black sword."


    "Yes. Wait. How do you know?" The man''s eyes narrowed.


    "He was on the poster."


    "What? What poster?" He seemed angry now.


    "You aren''t after the reward too?" Riot took a step backwards.


    "What reward? Show me this poster!" He thrust a gauntleted hand out, palm up.


    "I¡­I don''t have it. Please!" She cowered as his expression darkened and he reached out for her.


    "No." He paused and took a deep breath, drawing back suddenly. "I shall spare you, for I find you pleasing to the eye, and who knows? You may be of use, one way or the other."


    "Who¡­who are you?"


    The man smiled. Not a pretty sight, despite his good looks. "Me? I am someone from your deepest nightmares. Someone who holds true power over life and death, and dispenses such as I see fit. I am the scourge of all that is Good. The slayer of heroes. My name is¡­ Veronica the Violator. Anti-Paladin of the Darkest Degree." He bowed mockingly. "At your service."


    Riot put her hand to her mouth. Despite a vague suicidal urge to laugh at his dramatics, she had heard of his reputation. It was all he had said, and more. She didn''t laugh.


    The Violator raised an eyebrow. "I see you have heard of me. Good. And what do they call you, my pretty little thief?"


    "I am Riot. Daughter of Havoc the Unholy, of Real." She held her head up as she said her father''s name.


    "Havoc? You are his daughter?" He was surprised. "I know of him." Then he paused. "It seems my quarry, the killer of your friends, is heading towards that city. Despite my reputation, and the one of Real, I''ve only visited the place in passing. I could use a guide. Maybe you could fulfil this function?" He looked her over again. "Maybe we''ll think of some ways to amuse ourselves on the journey too." He leaned forward and traced a line down her chin with the arrow he''d caught. "What do you say my little friend?"


    Riot whimpered.

 Chapter 62 - Swamptown.

    "I''m not going any further! Kill me if you want, but I''m tired, and there''s cold dirty water in my boots. In fact there''s cold dirty water everywhere." Frumble pulled himself onto a small rise in the sea of mud and sat down with a squelching sound.


    "What are you talking about? How can you not like this?" Cuthbert attempted to breathe deeply, with lungs not used in centuries. "Smell that air!"


    "You mean the methane," grumbled the wizard, wringing out his beard. "We should have brought a canary." He coughed once, for effect.


    "What''s the hold up back here?" The figure of Dreth appeared out of the fog. "Come on, we can''t get separated in this place, we''ll never find each other again."


    "Shorty''s gone on strike," said Cuthbert, gesturing. "Something about the water."


    "What''s wrong with the water?" Percy splashed up to stand next to Dreth, Sprat sitting on his shoulders. "It''s so refreshing."


    "Exactly! Thank-you," said Cuthbert, folding his arms.


    "Maybe for rotting undead zombies this place is a holiday haven, but I''m an alive Halfling wizard. Slogging through pits of muddy pools full of leeches¡­" he paused for a second and pointed at his arm. A small zap of electricity leapt from his finger to fry one of the parasites that had been busy su?k?n? his blood. "¡­is not my idea of a good time," he finished.


    "Look, Tybalt says the land is rising, I''m sure we''ll find somewhere to camp soon," Dreth said in what he probably thought was a reassuring voice.


    "Oh yes, like the last one. I nearly floated away it was so dry." Frumble heaved a great sigh and fell backwards, impacting the sodden earth with a splat.


    "Okay, I know it''s not ideal," said Dreth, "but the alternatives are worse. How can I go into the city with your curse on my shoulder?"


    "Are you talking about me behind my back again?" The devil popped into being on Dreth''s head. "I hope you aren''t saying anything nice about me, I don''t think I could bear that." It pretended to sniffle.


    Dreth made a noise. "Wizard! Get off your fat ?ss and move it! If I didn''t need you to get rid of this thing, I''d be more than happy to put you out of both our miseries. I''m not waiting any longer!" With that he turned around and stalked off into the gloom again.


    "You better do as he says," said Cuthbert, "I''ve seen him gouge out people''s marsupials for less."


    "Marsupials?" asked Frumble, puzzled. He ?r??n?d and sat up. "Okay then, I get it. I''m moving, I''m moving."


    He staggered upright and, with the zombie splashing along behind him, started off again in the direction Dreth had disappeared. He could vaguely hear the half dead man arguing with the devil curse, and aligned himself with the sounds. Walking through the swamp was dangerous work for someone half average height, and Cuthbert had already had to pull him out of several deep holes he''d floundered into.


    As he zapped another leech he reflected upon his whole sorry situation. How did he come to be dragging himself through the infamous Steaming Swamps with a bunch of dead, or half dead desperadoes, running from the greatest evil in the land? What about his friend? Had Riot survived? He had seen the others killed when they had attacked Dreth''s group of course. Maybe his fellow students back at the Mage Academy were right. He wasn''t ready.


    Voices from ahead jerked him out of his self pitying daydream. He waded on up a slightly incline and onto semi-dry land, where he joined the others.


    "A village? Who would want to live out here?" Dreth was asking Tybalt.


    Frumble had to agree with that sentiment. The Steaming Swamps had so far lived up to their reputation, though personally he believed that Stinking Steaming Swamps would have been a better name. The ground they had been covering for the last two days had been universally wet. The few trees that were dotted around were sad, ragged affairs, b?r?ly worth the name. Then there was the constant fog, which surrounded them like thick soup, with the constant ''pop'' of methane bubbles. Oh, and the leeches of course, though what they fed on in this desolate place was beyond Frumble''s understanding.


    Now the group stood in front of a low wooden wall, b?r?ly higher than he was. From what he could see of it, the barricade looked to be in desperate need of repair, with ragged holes prominent in several places. Beyond he could just about make out the faint outlines of squat houses.


    "What is this place?" he asked.


    "It''s a village," said Percy, stating the obvious.


    "Who would build a village here?" said the wizard. "It''s not exactly a lovely neighbourhood, or close to the shops."


    "I think I know what it is," Tybalt mused. "Many years ago, a wizard decided to clean out these swamps. He set up his base here and, with his servants, started to scour the creatures of evil from surrounding area. For a time he was successful, but then evil decided to fight back. There was a brief war, and the wizard disappeared. This must be the settlement that grew up around his tower, or the remains of it anyway. Light Haven it was called."


    "Doesn''t look very light now," said Emerald.


    "Let''s go and see shall we?" said Dreth.


    "What if people are inside?" said Frumble. "We''ve several zombies with us you know."


    "I doubt there''s anyone living here any more," Tybalt said.


    "What''s so strange about zombies?" sniffed Percy. "We''re people too you know."


    "Yes, but not living ones," said Tybalt.


    They wandered off to one side, following the wall around until they found a gap large enough to climb through.


    Frumble followed Percy through, thankful for the respite from the water.


    The group found themselves in a small alleyway, between two houses that looked like they''d seen better days.


    "Come on," said Dreth, "the main street''s up there." He started out, and the others followed him, walking on cobbles that had been nearly completely overwhelmed by plants.


    The main street, once they emerged onto it, was not in much better condition. The desolate road disappeared into the fog both left and right. Frumble examined the nearby house, which stood with dark windows open, seemingly staring in resentment at their intrusion.


    "I don''t think I like this place," he said.


    "What''s not to like?" asked Cuthbert. "It''s quaint. Cobbled streets¡­"


    "Overgrown with weeds," pointed out the wizard.


    "A fountain in the middle¡­"


    "Broken down and probably filled with noxious fluid."


    "Houses for shelter¡­"


    "No doubt full of biting insects."


    "And all ours for the taking!"


    "Except for the vengeful cursed residents!" Frumble shouted as a howling skeletal figure dived down at him, yellowing claw-like hands outstretched, grasping for his neck. The wizard barked out a word of Power and pointed a finger.


    The attacker uttered a sharp shriek, and blew up in a shower of bone fragments. "Ha! Got it!" Frumble said with satisfaction.


    "Great," Dreth commented. "Now, what about the rest of them?"


    ~ * ~


    "Are you sorry yet?" he asked the prisoner, twiddling with his knife.


    "Bluh," replied the man.


    "Oh, I''m sorry, I didn''t quite catch that." Harold the Hedonistic smiled to himself as the wretch jerked about in his manacles. He took as much fun from the little tortures as the big ones.


    "Bluh!" the man spat out again.


    "Maybe the cat has your tongue?" the ruler of Real city said, then he snapped his fingers. "No! No, that''s not it. Because I have your tongue! Where did I put it now?" He patted his pockets in a show of looking for the body part. "Here it is," he said, holding a bloodied piece of meat up. "Oh, it doesn''t look much good now does it? All mangled and everything." He made a rueful face. "That''s your fault you know. If you hadn''t struggled so much¡­ Ah well. Maybe it still has a use. Are you hungry? Here, it''s dinner time. Don''t say I never give you anything."


    So saying, he stepped forward again and jammed it back into the victim''s mouth. "Chew it up now! It''s full of goodness!" He worked the man''s'' jaw, forcing movement, then stood back as the unfortunate gulped, swallowing his own meat.


    "Mwahahahaha!" The laughter echoed around the dungeon, causing those incarcerated nearby to flinch. "Mwaahahah¡­ what the?" Harold''s mirth stopped mid flow as a dark glow settled over the bleeding form hanging on the wall.


    "I have a message for you," the prisoner said, suddenly able to speak perfectly, regardless of his injuries. He lifted his head and stared at the ruler with eyes of pure black.

 Chapter 63 - The Mummy.

    "Who are you? What have you done to my sport?" the ruler pouted.


    "You know who I am," the dead man replied.


    Harold thought for a second, and then his eyes widened. Hastily he lowered himself, kneeling on one knee. "Overlord! Forgive your servant. You took me by surprise. How may I be of service?"


    The torture victim nodded. "Better. I have a task of utmost importance for you."


    "I will aid you in any way, as you know well," said Harold.


    "Of course, for if you don''t it could just as easily be you hanging here. I made you and I can break you."


    "I understand my Lord." Harold attempted not to let his hatred show. "What do you wish of me?"


    "You need to alert your guards. An enemy of mine is near Real. He may even enter the city. If he does you are to capture him and inform me at once. Do you understand me?"


    "Of course my lord. Who is this enemy of yours?"


    "His name is Dreth. He''s tall and thin, carrying a black blade of great power. He may be travelling with several zombies."


    "He shall be apprehended immediately," said Harold.


    "Do not underestimate him. Dreth is extremely dangerous, and nearly impossible to kill. He may try to disguise himself."


    "I shall keep watch for any unusual newcomers. Is that all my Lord?"


    "No. Another of my servants, an Anti-Paladin by the name of¡­ The Violator is also in the area. Give him any ?ssistance he requires, should he enter the city."


    Harold''s eyes narrowed. "Veronica the Violator?" he asked.


    "That''s him. Are my wishes clear?"


    "They are my lord."


    "Very well. Do not fail me!" With that final rejoinder the dark glow faded from the prisoners'' eyes, and the head slumped forward.


    Harold examined the man and cursed. Dead! He took a deep breath and looked down, pondering his bloodied blade for a moment, brow wrinkled in thought. Why would the Overlord be so interested in this Dreth person? There was something going on here. Maybe something that Harold could use to his own advantage.


    Discarding his dagger he shouted for his servants. There was work to be done.


    ~ * ~


    "Look, I can''t help it if your chap was blown up can I?" said Dreth, impatiently. "You should know better than to jump out of side streets waving your arms at people."


    "Roger was only having a bit of fun," grumbled the skeleton, who appeared to be the spokesman for the villagers.


    "You''re all dead, or undead anyway," Dreth pointed out, "it''s bound to make people skittish, leaping out from the shadows and screaming like that."


    "Yes, well, it''s our home, we can jump about all night if we want to. Who said you could come barging in all uninvited anyway?" The skeleton fiddled with his rusting helmet.


    Dreth sheathed Darkblood and looked around at the motley group of undead that had appeared around them. Most were simply skeletons, but there were zombies in the crowd too, and he thought he saw a ghostly figure or two floating about on the fringes.


    "Who are you people?" he asked.


    "I told you," replied the skeleton. "We live here. We''re the residents of this place, or used to be at least, before the forces of Evil stormed the tower and killed us all, then raised us again."


    "So this is Light Haven?" asked Tybalt.


    "Used to be, not much light here any more" The skeleton looked at Dreth accusingly. "Why are you walking around with the living?" he asked.


    "It''s a long story," sighed Dreth. "Who''s in charge here?"


    "That''ll be Melvin," the skeleton answered. "He''s in the old temple." He gestured up the road.


    "I''ll go and have a word with him then." Dreth, pushed his way through the crowd of walking corpses and started walking in the direction indicated. The others followed a short distance behind, looking around warily.


    "Hey, where did your curse go?" asked Percy as they walked up the street.


    Dreth shrugged. "It would be too much to hope that it was back to where it came from. It disappears from time to time."


    "Did someone mention my name?" There was a pop and the familiar small figure appeared next to Dreth.


    "Speak of the devil," said Percy. "Hey! Hello there good looking!" He leered horrifically at a figure that was walking past in the other direction.


    The she-zombie he was talking too paused, peering at him with dead eyes, and then returned the smile, matching Percy rotten tooth for rotten tooth. Locks of wispy white hair dribbled over scab encrusted shoulders.


    "I think I''ll just go and chat with the locals." Percy lurched over to the female undead.


    Dreth shook his head and carried on walking.


    "You should find a girlfriend you know," the devil said conversationally. "It might cheer you up a bit. You''re too gloomy."


    "I wonder why that is," muttered Dreth as he spotted a larger than average building looming up ahead of him. "That must be the temple."


    As they approached, the large double doors set into the front of the building flew open, and several skeletons dressed in armour and wielding long swords burst forth. At the same time a dozen more undead guards appeared from the side of the road and surrounded Frumble, who squeaked in fear.


    Tybalt drew his swords and stood in front of Emerald, whilst Cuthbert put a hand on Sprat''s head.


    "What''s going on here?" demanded Dreth. "Is this how you treat guests in this place?"


    The skeleton warriors didn''t reply, but waited as another two figures approached. Dreth eyed them warily. One shuffled along m??ning a low m??n, arms outstretched in the traditional pose for a mummy. Its bandages were old and stained with blood, but otherwise it looked in good condition for one of its kind. Walking alongside it was another skeleton, this one holding a clipboard instead of a weapon, and dressed in ragged silk robes. The pair stopped a little way away from Dreth and the mummy spoke:


    "Muurrrr!" it said. "Muuuurrr."


    "I''m sorry, I didn''t catch that," said Dreth. "Are you Melvin?"


    "Indeed he is! And our glorious leader demands retribution!" the clipboard skeleton translated. "Your party has killed a citizen of Haven, and so his life is forfeit in return."


    "Muuuur, muuuurrrr, mmmuuuuur," said Melvin the Mummy.


    "He must be tortured¡­" said the interpreter.


    "Mmmmmuuuuu muuuur muuurrr muuurr¡­"


    "¡­ and his skin slowly peeled back from his still living body¡­"


    "Mmuuur!"


    "¡­before his dying corpse is fed to the beetles, and his life source slowly absorbed into the pit of tormented souls, forever to languish there in eternal agony."


    "Muuur muurrr murr, muurrrr murrr, murrr murrrrr muurrrrrr!"


    "Oh, and welcome to Haven, we hope you enjoy your stay. Please don''t forget to purchase some souvenirs from our gift shop."


    "Ah, no. Sorry. I need the Halfling alive," said Dreth. "You can''t have him."


    "Mmmuuur."


    "Then one of the others must replace him, for the balance to be maintained."


    "Are you sure you''re translating this correctly?" asked Tybalt, frowning.


    "Muur!!"


    "Choose!"


    "Ooh! It''s a stand off!" said the devil, rubbing its hands together gleefully. "What are you going to do now?"


    Dreth frowned. It was a good question¡­


    Chapter 2 - Real City.


    "There it is, there''s Real," said Riot. She pointed at the large walled city looming up ahead of them, towers spiralling up into the sky.


    "Excellent," said Veronica, pushing over a farmer who didn''t get out of his way fast enough and treading on his head as he stepped over him. "Maybe we can get away from all these bumpkins. Make way there!" He backhanded a frail old woman who was tottering along too slowly for his liking, sending her the way of the farmer. "What''s the hold up here?" he asked the thief.


    "It must be market day or something," she replied, edging her way past a snuffling pig.


    The road they were on was full indeed. An outlying suburb of Real, it attempted to emulate the big city style without any of the actual style. Various buildings on both side of the road tried to rise impressively up into the air, but didn''t quite manage to pull it off. The townsfolk meanwhile, came in a variety of shapes and sizes and meandered around apparently at random, towing or herding along various farm animals. The two travellers wound, or in Veronica''s case smashed, their way through the throng, their horses trotting behind.


    Eventually the Anti-Paladin lost his temper. Mounting his Nightmare steed, he drew his sword and shouted. "Peasants! I am The Violator, scourge of Good. Evil doer extraordinaire! Terror of the realm. And if you don''t get your fat ?sses out of my way in the next ten seconds, I vow I will slaughter every man, woman and child in this town!" He glared around at the wide eyes gaping at him. "Well?" He waved his weapon.


    There was a moment of silence, followed by many moments of screaming terror, as the frightened population clawed and scrambled over each other to get out of his way. Within a minute the road stood clear, with the exception of one bewildered sheep, which hadn''t been paying attention.

 Chapter 64 - True Love

    Veronica sheathed his blade and sniffed. "Better," he said. He nodded at Riot. "Mount up, let''s get out of this hole and to the real Real city."


    The thief nodded and climbed upon the horse they had acquired for her earlier. The two spurred their steeds on, galloping through the town and out into the fields surrounding it, passing several startled travellers on the way.


    "Tell me again about this Harry the Horrible," Veronica asked after a while, apparently unperturbed by the speed of travel.


    "Harold the Hedonistic," corrected Riot, shouting to be heard over the wind of their passage. "He came to power in a bloody coup some years ago. "He killed the old king, Vilcent the Very Nice, and has ruled with a bloodied iron fist since, encouraging the dark forces and suppressing good."


    "Went on a killing spree did he? Slaughtered all the white wizards and tortured the heroes no doubt," said Veronica, grinning to himself. "Sounds like my kind of guy."


    "Well yes, of course he did that too, but mainly he set up Enterprise zones promoting the cause of Darkness. Necromancers can get a year tax free, and the undead license is very reasonable. Very modern thinking Harold is. My father, Havoc the Unholy, said that he''s never had so few problems recruiting dark minions to his evil gang, and he gets a yearly paladin butchering allowance. It''s a thriving city now, the place to be seen in." Riot paused a moment, and then added: "As long you aren''t Good of course."


    "Where did he come from, this Harold? I haven''t heard of him in the circles of Evil." The Anti-Paladin veered his steed, adjusting his course slightly so the nightmare ran over a small boy playing on the side of the street.


    "Hey! Not children," shouted Riot, peering back to where the child''s corpse lay bleeding in the gutter.


    "He would have grown up to be a champion of Light," said The Violator, unperturbed. "Trust me, I can sense such things. Answer the question."


    Riot scowled, but did as he said. "There''s nothing to say really. He came from no-where. His background is shrouded in mystery. Some say he''s the spawn of a devil who r?p?d a witch, others say he''s a demon in human form, cast out for doing unspeakable acts."


    "Pah." The Violator sneered. "You can''t be cast out of hell for doing unspeakable acts, just promoted. He''s likely being sponsored by someone, and I''ve an idea who."


    "What about you? Where did you come from?" Riot ducked under a low tree branch hanging over the road.


    "Me? I came from a respectable family, nice parents and a sister who became a nun." He made a face and shook his head. "It''s been a constant blight on my character. Which way?" He nodded at a fork in the road, which was getting more crowded again as they closed on the city.


    Riot indicated the left one, and they steered their horses that way, slowing to a trot, and then a walk as the street became busier with traffic coming and going into Real.


    "A busy place indeed," said Veronica, pushing his steed through the mass, ignoring the occasional complaint. He straightened up and flicked his cloak back, ensuring he cut the most dashing of figures.


    The two forced their way through the ever thickening crowd up to the entrance, where several guards were questioning people trying to get into the city.


    The Anti-Paladin dismounted smoothly and approached one of the men, who was rummaging through a farmers sack, looking for hidden contraband no doubt.


    Veronica barged the farmer aside and plucked the sack out of the guards'' hands, throwing it after the owner. "You!" he said to the bewildered sentry. "Tell your captain Veronica the Violator is here to see him."


    "Who the bloody ''ell are you?" asked the guard, noting the size of the Anti-Paladin and motioning at a nearby comrade to join him.


    "I told you once, I am Veronica the Violator." The anti-paladin stood straight, his arms crossed, looking down his nose at the guard.


    The sentry''s colleague came over. "Everything alright ''ere Bert? S''going on then?"


    "This bloke says ''is name is Veronica!" exclaimed Bert, emboldened now he had backup.


    "Veronica? That''s a farking girl''s name in''it?" his friend replied, nudging the first man''s elbow and winking. "You some sorta'' poofta then?" He laughed.


    Riot covered her eyes.


    ~ * ~


    "I tell you what," said Dreth, raising a thin finger in the air. "I''m a fair sort of fellow," he ignored Cuthbert''s snort. "How about, in exchange for this rather pathetic half sized wizard¡­"


    "Hey, I can hear you you know," complained Frumble.


    "¡­we offer you a truly magical sacrifice." Dreth continued. "One with real power for you to absorb. How does that sound, hmmm?"


    "Mmmuuuur," said Melvin, predictably.


    "Who is this worthy?" asked the translator.


    Dreth beamed, making Tybalt and Emerald wince. "Why, none other than this perfectly formed red chap here!" He pointed at the devil, whose eyes went wide.


    "Hey! Don''t drag me into your earthly arguments!" it complained. "I''m not from this plain, and technically not even alive here." It crossed its arms and looked smug.


    "Muururr murrr."


    "Our glorious leader says what does not live, cannot be killed," the translator translated.


    Dreth''s eyes narrowed. "You''re not alive," he said tapping his sword meaningfully. "Yet I''m betting I can kill you."


    "Muur murrr muurr!" Melvin answered, a slightly frantic tone to his mumbles.


    "Thank you for your gift, it''s most suitable. The Halfling can go." The translator waved his hand, and the guards surrounding Frumble backed off.


    "It won''t do you any good you know," the devil sniffed, crossing his arms. "You can''t kill me. Go ahead, try it."


    The translator nodded at the guards, and as one they plunged their weapons forward¡­ through the devil, who remained untouched.


    "Told you," it said.


    "In that case, the original¡­" the translator began to say, but stopped suddenly as Darkblood was hovering under his nose. Or at least where his nose would have been, had he had one.


    "No. Now it''s my turn," hissed Dreth.


    "Wh¡­ what are you going to do?" asked the skeleton.


    "I want to negotiate with your boss here," said Dreth, pointing to Melvin.


    "Very well, that will be no problem. Speak and I will¡­"


    "No," said Dreth again. "I want to negotiate with him directly." So saying he turned, faster than the eye could follow, bringing his sword around in a neat horizontal sweep.


    The ?ssembled undead stepped forward, raising their own weapons, thinking their leader was under attack, but stopped short as another voice spoke.


    "Hold! I command you!"


    Everyone stopped and looked around in puzzlement.


    Melvin stepped forward. The bandages around his head, specifically his mouth, flapped loose from the neat cut Dreth''s sword had made. "Thank you Dreth, for freeing me from my curse. For more years than I can remember I''ve been gagged, unable to speak."


    "Sire!" His translator stepped forward. "It''s a miracle!"


    "It bloody well is," said Melvin. "Guards! Take this traitor into custody! I''m fed up with him putting words in my mouth, or more specifically taking words from me."


    The skeleton guard stalked forward, towards the now unemployed translator, who backed away.


    "I can explain!" he said. "It''s all just an unfortunate misunderstanding." He looked left and right at the approaching skeletons. "Oh bugger this!" So saying, he turned around and ran for it. Melvin''s guards rattled after him in hot pursuit.


    The Mummy turned to Dreth again. "Thank-you. For years now he has been ''translating'' what he wishes. No one understood me when I tried to tell them."


    "Why didn''t you just un-gag yourself?" asked Emerald.


    Melvin held his bandaged hands up. "Part of the mummy''s curse it that we cannot remove our own wrappings," he said.


    "Good. So I take it I''m free to go then?" Frumble said.


    Melvin nodded. "Free and more. In recognition for the service done to me today, I now proclaim you honorary undead!"


    The few zombies that were nearby cheered, or wheezed loudly depending upon their condition.


    "Wonderful," said Frumble dryly.


    "I''ve never been undead before," said Emerald, looking down at herself. "I don''t feel any different."


    "Let me try," said Tybalt, moving close and holding her. "No, feels the same to me. Perhaps we should have a more thorough examination though."


    Emerald giggled.


    Dreth rolled his eyes. "Make the most of it," he said to Tybalt. "In the morning you''re going to take the wizard into Real, to get those supplies. The rest of us will stay here."


    "I want to go too," said Emerald.


    "I know, but if you do then you may get ideas about not coming back, and I''ve been diverted from my goal enough as it is. Plus if you stay here then I know Tybalt return."


    "It''s true honey bunny," said Tybalt, kissing Emeralds cheek.


    "I think I''m going to be sick," said the devil, and it made gagging noises.


    "Throw up all you wish," said Dreth, pleased with himself for once. "Soon I''m going to be rid of you for good."


    The devil leaped up onto his shoulder and put its arms around his head. "Come now my dear Dreth, is that anyway to talk to your best buddy?" He kissed Dreth on the cheek, emulating Tybalt.


    Dreth waved his hands at the thing, ineffectually. "Get off me!"


    The devil, having had the last laugh, jumped to the ground again, chuckling to himself. "You won''t be rid of me so easily, you''ll see! You''ll see!"


    So saying he bounced off, to disappear into the gloom of the village formally known as Light Haven, leaving Dreth behind, scowling.

 Chapter 65 - Veronica

    Captain Simon Simmons was strolling along the main street, on his way back to his post, when the soldier ran up to him, panting and red in the face from exertion.


    "Captain! Sir! We''re under attack at the main gate! Come quick!"


    "What?!" Simon exclaimed, grasping his sword unconsciously. "How did this happen? What size is the army? How did it get here without us knowing?" He trotted alongside the man, heading towards the main gate.


    "It''s not an army sir," gasped the guard, trying to keep up.


    "Then who''s attacking?" demanded the Captain, working his way against the flow of people, which seemed to be moving in the opposite direction with some urgency.


    "It''s just one man sir," he reported. "But a big fella'' he is," he added in his own defence


    "One man!!" Simon gave the trooper a Look. "There''s about a hundred of you in the barracks down there! How many does it take?"


    "Not a hundred any more sir," said the guard.


    Simon scowled. "Very well, let me see to this." He lengthened his stride, rushing towards the gate, where he could hear shouts and screams, and the clash of metal on metal.


    The ?ssailant threw his head back and laughed, then looked around and shook his weapon. "Come on then! Who''s turn is it to die?"


    "What is going on here?" Simon shouted, in his best schoolteacher voice.


    The nearest sentry saw him and spoke quickly. "Please Captain, this fellow is resisting arrest, with violence," he added unnecessarily.


    The attacker saw Simon and stepped forward, causing all the nearby guards to flinch.


    "You! Are you in charge around here?" The bloodied black blade was pointed at the captain.


    Simon drew himself up, determined not to show fear in front of the enlisted men. "I," he said, "am Captain Simmons. Who are you, and why are you¡­ resisting arrest?"


    "I am Veronica the Violator, Anti-Paladin, here on official business. These worms," he sneered and gestured at the onlooking guards, thought to question me. I don''t take kindly to underlings questioning me."


    Simon''s eyes widened. "Forgive me Sir Violator. Let me, on behalf of our esteemed ruler, extend my hand in welcome, and apologize for the misunderstanding." He turned to the nearby sentry and shouted at him. "What do you think you were doing? This gentleman is a guest of the city."


    "We were told to be on the lookout for a tall man in black with a dark sword," the guard answered, shuffling his feet like a naughty boy. "He''s a tall man dressed in black with a dark sword." He indicated The Violator, being careful not to make any sudden movements.


    "A tall very thin man," corrected Simon with a snarl, "does he look thin to you?"


    "Well, two out of three isn''t bad¡­urg," the guard''s reply was cut short as Simon stabbed him in the midriff with a dagger.


    As the body slumped to the floor, the captain turned to Veronica and bowed slightly. "Let me apologize again Sir Violator, for this gross incompetence. Usually I would see to it that the persons involved were disciplined, but I can see that you''ve taken care of that yourself." He indicated the pile of dead soldiers.


    Veronica shrugged. "Never mind," he said, "it gave me chance to test out my new sword." He wiped the blade on a corpse before sheathing it, and brushed briefly at his robe. "What do you know, it really is stain resistant," he muttered.


    "Sir, how may I be of service?" Simon asked.


    The Anti-Paladin turned back to him and smiled widely. Standing with hands on h?ps, head held high, cloak fluttering around him, he spoke in a clear, strong voice.


    "Take me to your leader," he commanded.


    ~ * ~


    "Just one more thing then," said Frumble, waddling his way down the narrow cobbled street.


    "Finally," Tybalt replied, shifting the sack of goods that they had spent all day purchasing to another shoulder. "We get this last thing, then off to the inn for a flagon of grog. How''s that sound wizard?"


    "I''d rather just have a ???ktail," the mage replied, scanning the passing shops.


    "Wizards," grumbled Tybalt. "What are we looking for anyway?"


    "Specialist shop," said Frumble, "I need a couple of fish legs."


    Tybalt raised his eyebrows. "Indeed."


    "Here we go, this place may have them." The Halfling indicated a small shop on the corner of the street.


    The two wandered over to the store. The streets were getting less crowded now, as evening drew in. Not that the wizards quarter had been very crowded to start with. They were a strange lot, reflected Tybalt, as the mage pushed open a creaky door. The wizard had dragged him around a whole load of gloomy establishments, manned by weird old men with too much beard. He''d never seen so many strange powders and, well, other things floating in jars that were probably best not thought about too much. Looking around the dingy environment of the latest shop, he found it much the same. A rather sharp smell permeated the place, and he wrinkled his nose.


    "Shop!" cried Frumble.


    An old man, no surprises there, tottered from a back room into the store. He was dressed in faded red robes, and had a white beard that reached his waist. Peering over half moon glasses he looked around, finally spotting Frumble. "What do you want?" he asked, rather abruptly.


    "I require several piscipede," said the Halfling in a snobbish voice.


    "Fish legs eh?" The store owner hobbled over to a shelf stocked with jars of murky liquid. "Haven''t had much call for them recently." He took down a bottle and shook it, peering into the interior. "Here we go. Only three left I''m afraid." He put the bottle on the counter with a thump, causing a cloud of dust to puff into the air.


    Frumble picked the container up and examined it. "They look a bit old," he said.


    The storekeep shrugged. "Them''s all I have. Take ''em or leave ''em, I don''t care."


    Frumble scowled but nodded. "Very well." He turned to Tybalt. "Pay the man then." So saying he stalked out of the shop, banging the door behind him.


    Tybalt sighed and reached for his pouch. Dreth had given him the money, along with stern instructions about the return of the Halfling with the needed ingredients for the counter-spell. He counted out the gold, and added the fish legs to the sack.


    "Finally," he said to himself. Nodding to the old man behind the counter, who completely ignored him, he went to open the door. And stopped. "Oh crap."


    Peering through the glass he saw Frumble, but the wizard was not alone. He was busy talking to a woman dressed in black leather. A bow was slung over her shoulder and a short sword hung at her hip. Tybalt recognized her from somewhere, though he couldn''t put his finger on exactly where. It didn''t matter anyway; Dreth had left very clear instructions about talking to people. Or rather not.


    Turning back, he addressed the shopkeeper. "Hey, old fellow," he said, holding out his sack. "Would you hold onto this for a while?"


    The man, who was eating something out of one of his own jars in bold defiance of all laws of hygiene, glared at him. "What do I look like, a baggage service?"


    Scowling, Tybalt reached into his pouch again and withdrew a gold piece. "Here, there''s one more of these for you when we collect it." He flipped the coin over to the man, who caught it deftly enough and, after examining the payment, accepted the shopping.


    That problem dealt with, Tybalt turned to address his other one. Frumble was still outside, and from his gestures was remonstrating strongly with the woman. He opened the door and approached as subtly as he could, trying to overhear.


    "...left me. I was the one captured and forced to go along with Dreth!"


    "So why are you here, wandering around free and well in Real then? You''ve gone over to the other side haven''t you? I knew you weren''t to be trusted. Maybe you even set it all up. You let the others get killed for some stupid wizard plan."


    Tybalt smiled to himself and wandered up to Frumble, putting his arm, rather awkwardly, around his shoulders. "Hey mage, come on," he said. "We need to be getting back to Dreth and the others. They''ll be waiting for us. Who''s this? Your girlfriend?"


    Frumble looked up at Tybalt, a puzzled expression on his face. "What?" he asked.


    "I knew it! You betrayed us! I should have listened to my father. Never trust a wizard!" Riot reached for her sword, but then stopped, realizing she was outmatched here.


    "Riot¡­" Frumble started.


    "Riot?" exclaimed Tybalt, pretending to be surprised. "Didn''t you say you''d managed to lose her?"


    "What?" asked the mage. "What are you talking about?"


    "What!" said Riot at the same time. "That''s it!" She turned around and stormed off, in the manner of angry females everywhere.


    "What are you doing?" asked Frumble. "I never said that."


    "Sorry." Tybalt shrugged. "Dreth was quite clear with his instructions. You have to return with me. If you don''t I''ll never get to be with Emerald. I couldn''t risk you falling in with your old friends."

 Chapter 66 - Zombie Love

    Frumble covered his eyes with his hands. "I''m going to die, I just know it. If that half dead being doesn''t do it, Riot and her friends probably will. Do you know who her father is?"


    "Er¡­ no?"


    "He''s Havoc the Warlord, the evil and nasty warlord it goes without saying, of Real. You don''t want to be messing with him, and he thinks the world of his daughter."


    "I see," said Tybalt. "Well, in that case perhaps we should be getting back to Dreth then. As quickly as possible."


    "I don''t think that I''m going to allow that," came a new voice from behind them.


    The two whirled around, to come face to face, or face to knee in Frumble''s case, with a large human dressed in rich black robes.


    "And who might you be?" asked Tybalt, putting a hand on a sword.


    The figure smiled. "I love it when people ask me that," he said. He leaned forward. "My name is¡­"


    "Veronica," interrupted Frumble. "Veronica the Violator."


    "Oh, you know me. Damn, I always enjoy my little introduction speech." The Anti-Paladin pulled a rueful face, and then shrugged. "Anyway, the little one is right." He looked at Tybalt meaningfully. "If you''re thinking of pulling out your sword and having a go, you''re welcome to try, but only if you fancy going through the rest of your life without legs."


    Tybalt hesitated, but then lifted his hand off the pommel of his weapon. Maybe he could take the man, but fighting in the street would attract attention he didn''t want right now.


    The Violator nodded. "Good choice. Now, if you would just follow me, I would like to ask you some questions. And if you''re cooperative, they won''t be too piercing, if you see what I mean."


    "Wonderful, we''re going to be killed by shining wit," said Tybalt. He allowed himself to be led away anyway.


    It wasn''t like he had a lot of choice.


    ~ * ~


    Dreth stalked through the streets like Death looking for a client. His robe flapped behind him as he walked, leaving a trail of curling tendrils in the fog.


    The source of his annoyance, the red lump on his shoulder, chattered away inanely, in direct contrast to his moody silence.


    "¡­probably have been taken by the guard already," it was saying. "Harold the Hedonistic will no doubt be interrogating them even as we speak. He''s pretty good at torturer I hear. We should move on before he sends his troops for you. This place is boring anyway. I mean, zombies and skeletons? Not exactly riveting company now are they?" The devil paused, and then sighed dramatically when Dreth made no response. "You may be a cruel, morally devoid murderer Dreth, but you have your faults too, you know that? You''re too quiet. How will people know who''s killing them if you don''t tell them?"


    "What would be the point of telling them," asked Dreth, finally roused from his silence, "if I kill them a second later?"


    The devil raised a small finger. "You have a point. Still, maybe they''ll tell people in the afterlife, or perhaps they''ll be raised as zombies or something. People are raised sometimes you know. Badness knows, there''s proof enough of that around this place. Hello, what''s that?"


    Dreth looked up, hearing it too. Groans, gasps and noises that sounded like it could be fighting reached his ears.


    "It''s coming from over there," the devil pointed to a low fence surrounding a dilapidated garden. "Maybe we''re being attacked!" It rubbed its hands together. "Finally, some action."


    Dreth hesitated, he didn''t really wish to satisfy the devils'' curiosity, but if they were under attack he would have to do something about it. The devils'' prattling had put him in the mood to kill something anyway. Hand on sword, he crept over towards the noises and peered over the fence.


    "Unholy demons!" exclaimed the devil. "That''s the most disgusting thing I''ve ever seen!" He turned to Dreth. "And I''ve seen some pretty disgusting things, let me tell you."


    "Percy!" said Dreth. "What are you doing with that undead?!"


    The zombie, who had been otherwise occupied, looked up. "What? Oh, it''s you. What do you think we''re doing?"


    "Oh Percy, don''t stop!" gasped the rotten figure that Percy was lying on top of. Dreth recognized it as the female zombie from earlier.


    "I think your leg''s fallen off," said Percy.


    "Who cares? I''ve got another one," panted the other undead, grasping at him. "Keep it going big boy! You''re such a stud!"


    "Oh baby!" replied Percy, and fell to it again.


    Dreth made a face and turned away, as renewed screams emanated from the garden. "There are some things that even immortally cursed evil guardians shouldn''t have to see," he said.


    "For the first time since I was summoned I agree with you," the devil replied. "Not that I blame them, this place is so dull. How about you find some female flesh?" he said. "Whilst Tybalt is away that Emerald woman might be lonely¡­"


    "I don''t think so." Dreth looked about. "I''m worried about Tybalt and Frumble actually, they should be back already."


    "I told you, they''re likely just so much diced meat by now. Just accept it, we''re going to be pals for a looong time." He did a little jig on Dreth''s shoulder.


    "Arg! That does it!" Dreth stopped and turned about, trying to locate the house the others had been given to stay in. "We''re going to Real. I''m going to see what''s going on for myself. And if anyone gets in my way¡­" he rubbed Darkblood meaningfully.


    "I''d better get my boots on," said the devil. "There''s going to be blood spilled, or my name''s not Buuuuu¡­ Ahh, I mean, or I''ll eat my hat."


    "Nearly slipped up there," said Dreth. "Bu¡­? Bub? Bubba? Bumpkin?"


    The devil frowned. "No, no and no. You''ll not guess. It''s pointless trying."


    "I don''t have much else to do," replied Dreth, grinning like a skull who''s just found some bone polish. "Bunion?"


    "No," answered the devil, crossing its arms


    "Burp?"


    "No!"


    "Buns?"


    "Buns? What sort of name is that? No!"


    "Give us a clue?"


    "Get stuffed!"


    Dreth laughed to himself, pleased to have the upper hand for once. He wandered off into the mist, guessing all the while. Maybe there was hope yet.


    ~ * ~


    Frumble strode along beside the Anti-Paladin, trying to keep up. He had complained about the pace several times, but the last time Veronica had suggested an alternative to walking, and since then the wizard had decided silence was the better part of valour Or the better part of having some important parts not cut off anyway.


    The small group walked past a shop, and the Violator stopped suddenly. "Wait here," he said, and went into the store, leaving Frumble and Tybalt outside.


    "We have to get away!" hissed the wizard as soon as the door closed.


    "You think?" replied Tybalt. "What do you suggest then? He doesn''t look like the type to just let someone go for the joy of it."


    Frumble looked about nervously. "We could run, he''s inside the store now. Surely he wouldn''t be able to catch us¡­?"


    "I''m not going to lay good gold on that, let alone my precious flesh," Tybalt said. "Listen though, I have an idea. You distract him when he comes out."


    "Distract him? How?"


    "Cast a spell or something, that''s what you do isn''t it?"


    "Oh yes, that''s going to work. I can count my life expectancy on the fingers of one foot if I start casting magic near him." Frumble jerked his head to indicate the Anti-Paladin.


    "Well, get him talking then. He seems to like that."


    "What am I supposed to talk about?"


    Tybalt heaved a sigh of frustration. "How should I know? Talk about his boots or something, he seems to be pretty vain."


    "I don''t know¡­" Frumble started to say, but then shut up as Veronica joined them once again, closing the door to the shop with a thud.


    "Come on," said the Violator, and they were off again, through the streets of Real in the evening.


    "Er, Mr. Anti-Paladin," Frumble piped up, responding to a not so subtle nudge from Tybalt.


    "What?"


    "I just wanted to ask something."


    "What is it Halfling?"


    "Well, I was ah¡­ I was wondering, well¡­" Frumble said nervously.


    "Spit it out wizard," Veronica said.


    "I wanted to know¡­ how do you keep your hair so smooth? I mean, it''s so shiny and silky." Frumble cringed.


    "It''s a secret recipe, if you really want to know," replied The Violator, shaking his head unconsciously as they turned into a small cobbled side street. "A witch gave it to me. Eventually anyway. It''s a mixture of honey, milk, the blood of a v?r??n and a dash of lemon for that, you know, zesty tang." The man paused a second, and Frumble thought he saw the Anti-Paladin nod and move his lips, as if talking to someone. They stopped, and Veronica turned towards him. "Of course, now I''ve told you I''ll have to kill you."


    "Hehe," said Frumble, chuckling nervously.


    "No, really," said Veronica. He pulled free his sword, which seemed to be m??ning, and raised it, a strange gleam in his eye.


    "Put the weapon down."


    A voice interrupted Frumble''s hair-secret related death, and the three swivelled around as one.


    "Who are you to gainsay me?" hissed the Violator, his blade swinging left and right.


    A figure stepped out of the shadows. "The sword is trying to take control, don''t let it," he said.


    Frumble watched as the Anti-Paladin fought with some inner demon, finally taking a deep breath and sheathing the sword. "Thank-you," Veronica said. "Now, who are you?"


    The stranger smiled.

 Chapter 67 - Into the City

    Constructed of large black stone blocks, the outer wall of the city loomed oppressively over them. Along the top sentries could just be seen patrolling the perimeter. The entrance, which was large enough for several wagons to pass through at the same time, was guarded by several men at arms. No doubt more were behind the walls'' hidden defences The gate itself was made of solid looking wood. To top it all off there was a sturdy metal portcullis, which was raised for now, but could no doubt be dropped down at a moments notice.


    There was a steady stream of citizens leaving the city as evening drew in, but there were still others queuing to get inside. The guards were questioning these people, searching belongings and generally being more than usually intrusive.


    The group glumly took all this in from their cover in the bushes, situated a little way off the main road.


    "It looks like they''re on alert," said Percy. "Oh well, it was an interesting idea. Never mind, let''s go back. You can''t say we didn''t try." He turned about, as if to leave, but Dreth put a hand on his shoulder.


    "We''re not going to give up that easily," he said.


    "All very well saying that, but look at the place," the zombie gestured. "It''s sewn up tighter than Sprat''s spleen. No doubt they''re waiting for us."


    "The undead''s right," piped up the devil. "Give this madness up now, you can''t get into that place."


    "They do look fairly alert," agreed Cuthbert.


    "There has to be way in," Emerald persisted. "I''m not leaving without Tybalt." She crossed her arms.


    "I''ll be the judge of that," said Dreth.


    He turned back to look at the city again. It certainly didn''t look like they would be able to sneak in over the wall. Perhaps a disguise of some sort? Tricky with half the party being undead, they didn''t blend in so well. Maybe he would have to abandon the idea after all. He took a deep breath, for practice mainly, and scratched his head.


    Unless there was another way¡­


    ~ * ~


    Tiny Tom grunted as the carriage bounced and jolted over bumps in the road. His manacles jangled as he shuffled his thin legs about, trying to get comfortable in his corner.


    "Shut yer noise!" Master Pordine said, whacking the slave boy about the head with his shoe. "I''m trying to take a kip ''ere."


    "S..sorry Master," Tom whimpered.


    "Self self self, that''s yer bloody problem. ''ere I go, giving yer an ''ome, and what gratitude do I get? Nufin''! Tell yer what, get out an'' sleep on the runnin'' board." He jabbed at Tom with his stick. "Go on with yer, yer ungrateful wretch."


    Sniffling to himself, Tom crawled out of the flap at the back of the wagon and hunkered down on the running board, trying to find a comfortable position on the thin ledge. If he fell off the master would say he''d run away again and hunt him down with his big hound, and then it would be more beatings.


    The wagon rumbled slowly on towards Real. Tom snuffled again and cursed the chance that had caused them to break a wheel, and thus fall behind the others. If that hadn''t of happened the master wouldn''t be so angry.


    He rubbed his nose and frowned. There was a noise from up front, followed by a dull thump, as if something had fallen onto the ground. The wagon slowed and finally stopped, to renewed complaints from Pordine.


    Tiny Tom shifted himself out of the way, crawling under the wagon as his master, grumbling all the while, roused his fat body out of bed and stuck his head out of the back.


    "What''s goin'' on up there?" he yelled.


    There was no response. Looking forward through the dark, Tom thought he saw some movement. He slithered to one side, near the wheel, trying to keep his chains from clinking.


    Old Pordine cursed to himself, and Tom saw his legs as he climbed down onto the road and started round the transport towards the front.


    Then there was another set of legs, thin ones clad in dark material. They stopped in front of Pordine, who started to shout.


    The shout was cut off, and Tom saw his masters'' legs lift off the ground and dangle in the air. They wriggled about for a moment, and then spasmed and went rigid.


    After a moment they were released, and Tom stifled a scream as the body of Pordine slumped to the floor, his pasty fat face looking straight ahead, staring at Tom with lifeless eyes. Blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth.


    Shaking, Tom stuffed his fist into his mouth and drew his legs up tight about him, forcing himself to be quiet. If only they wouldn''t look under the¡­


    "Hello. Who are you?" A child''s voice from next to his ear nearly made him jump out of his skin.


    He turned to tell the kid to be quiet and stopped, mouth open. The child, b?r?ly as tall as the wheel he was resting against, was dressed in rags that made Tom''s clothes look fine. The boy looked at him with mis-matched eyes, rotting yellow skin hanging off his face. As he took all this in, the youngster smiled, showing a mouth full of jagged brown and black teeth.


    "I want to be your friend," it said.


    Tom nodded frantically. "Good, good!" he whispered. "Just be quiet, yes?"


    The rotten boy beamed his death grin for a moment more, but then it faded, and he looked sad. "But my daddy won''t let me have living friends," he complained. He ???ked his head to one side. "I know!" The smile was back again. "I can kill you! Then you can be my friend. I''d like that."


    "Oh god no!" Tom scrabbled backwards as the small creature advanced.


    "Don''t worry," it hissed. "It''ll only hurt for a minute."


    Tiny Tom screamed as the boy leaped at him, biting deep into his neck. Sharp pain wracked his body, and he tried to pry the thing free, but his arms didn''t want to respond properly.


    He managed to finally bring his hand up to his neck, where he felt something wet. Flailing around frantically, his body crying out for oxygen, he tried desperately to get air into his lungs.


    "A friend for me¡­ a friend for me¡­a dead friend for me," it sang.


    ~ * ~


    "What do we have then?" asked Dreth, examining the horses, who stood terrified at his presence. The little devil jumping around on their backs and giggling didn''t help their piece of mind either.


    "Just the driver and that fat fellow," said Cuthbert, chewing on a finger*.


    "They''re part of some kind of theatre group," said Emerald, walking up to join them.


    "Theatre group eh?" said Cuthbert. "I''ve always wanted to be on the stage." He struck a pose. "Is this the madness of my discontent? To see, or not see, that is the victim¡­"


    His monologue was interrupted by Sprat, who came trotting up, dragging something behind him. "Daddy, daddy!" the little zombie said excitedly. "I made a new friend!" He gestured at the body of a skinny youth lying on the ground next to him.


    "Good boy!" said Cuthbert. "Your first real kill!" He bent down and picked his son up, hugging him. "Daddy''s proud of you! Who''s a murderous little undead then? What a good zombie! Where''s Percy, we must tell him the news."


    "Here I am!" came the reply. "I found a box of stuff. Look at me! I''m a beautiful maiden." The zombie pranced around in a red ball gown and a curly blond wig.


    "You people are sick, you know that?" said the little devil, shaking his head. "And that''s coming from me."


    Dreth rolled his eyes. "It''s a day to remember, that''s for sure," he said dryly. "Now, if we can just get this show on the road, no pun intended, then maybe we can head for Real and recover our errant colleagues."


    "This scheme is never going to work," said the devil, from on top of a horses head. "You''ve forgotten me, if nothing else."


    Dreth turned to his curse. "Oh no I haven''t, but I figured a big city like Real is going to have a couple of powerful dark wizards. If they sense a devil on the loose, even a little irritating one like you, they aren''t just going to let you wander around free now, are they? If you show your head, they''ll be down on you like a ton of holy water. So go on, prance around why don''t you, you''d be doing me a favour really."


    The devil looked at his for a moment, a scowl on his face. "You''ve a nasty turn of mind for an evil guardian, you know that?" it said eventually.


    Dreth smiled. "Thank-you," he said, and climbed up into the drivers'' seat.


    "That wasn''t a compliment!" shouted the devil. Dreth ignored him, and the hell spawn had to be content with pulling one of the horses'' ears.


    "Mount up," Dreth shouted. "We''re going on tour!"


    *One of the drivers''.

 Chapter 68 - Are we There Yet?

    Frumble watched as the newcomer stepped forward. He turned out to be a tall man dressed in a flowing purple robe. Long black hair was tied back in a ponytail which highlighted his sharply defined features and unhealthy looking full red lips. His eyes though, his eyes were dark and lifeless.


    "My name," the man said, "is Harvey. Harvey Von McVon, at your service." He bowed slightly.


    "Indeed," said Veronica, his hand still resting on his sword. "And what do you want exactly?"


    Harvey smiled. I have recently managed to extricate myself from a gloomy underground prison, at no small cost I may add, and now wish to locate a certain ''Dreth'' who, I understand, you are also seeking."


    The Anti-Paladin frowned. "Dreth is mine. Stand in my way at your peril wizard."


    "Oh, no," McVon waved a hand. "You misunderstand me. Dreth is travelling in the company of a human female. It is her I want. As your goal and mine converge though, I though we could combine our forces, to our mutual advantage. What say you?"


    "I can find Dreth on my own," said Veronica.


    "I have no doubt, but he won''t be easy to take, even with your blade. I can help, and I have recently come into possession of some information that may interest you."


    The Anti-Paladin glanced back at Frumble and Tybalt, then back again to Harvey.


    "Walk with me wizard, I''ll hear what you have to say at least."


    "Excellent," said Harvey.


    Veronica nodded his head at Frumble and Tybalt. "That way you two, and no funny stuff."


    "Wouldn''t dream of it," muttered Frumble.


    They started off down the alley again, Harvey speaking in low tones to Veronica as they went.


    ~ * ~


    "We''re a performing troupe," said Dreth to the guard, who was looking sceptical


    "Oh, for the King''s masked birthday ball you mean?" The sentry''s face lit up with understanding.


    "Er, yes, yes," said Dreth, seizing on this opportunity. "Happy birthday to his Highness. Huzzah."


    "What do you have here Bert?" another guard, an officer by the looks of him, walked up to them.


    "Another bunch of performers for the party sir," said Bert.


    The captain gave Dreth a hard look. "What''s your name fellow?" he asked.


    "Houston the Happy," said Dreth, failing to live up to the moniker.


    The captain looked him up and down doubtfully.


    "What do you think sir?" asked the guard. "Looks a bit like this Dreth person we''ve been told to look out for."


    "True, he''s tall and thin with black eyes, but the yellow and blue robes don''t match the description, and there are plenty of people who are tall and thin. Remember what happened last time? The attention''s in the detail corporal, remember that." He waved an admonishing finger at the soldier.


    "Yes sir."


    "Did you check in the back yet?"


    "No sir."


    "Go and have a look then, we don''t want to hinder them if they''re telling the truth."


    "Hello sir," Emerald smiled charmingly, preening.


    "Miss," replied the captain, straightening up and subconsciously smoothing down his hair.


    Dreth shifted his attention back to the rear of his wagon, where he could hear the guard speaking to Cuthbert and Percy.


    "Bloody hell!" he was saying.


    "Oh don''t worry sir," he heard Cuthbert reply. "We''re in costume. Our troupe is doing a play about how Harold defeats a load of zombies one handedly."


    "Even though zombies are totally hard ?ss," added Percy.


    Dreth looked up at the sky and gritted his teeth.


    "But not as hard ?ss as the king of course," Cuthbert amended hastily.


    "They''re bloody good outfits," said the guard. "Though the smell is overdoing it a bit."


    "What smell?" Percy again.


    "What a smell it is, is what my fellow Thespian means ha ha," Dreth heard Cuthbert correct. "It took some getting used to, let me tell you."


    "Okay. Just take off your masks for a moment then, and you can be on your way," the guard replied.


    "Come now officer, these masks took hours to put on, you wouldn''t ask us to remove them and undo all that work would you?" Cuthbert said.


    "Sorry, but I have my orders. Come on, let me help you¡­"


    Dreth heard some movement, and an exclamation. "Hey! These aren''t¡­"


    There was a short noise, followed by a thump of dead sentry hitting the floor. Cuthbert''s voice whispered out to Dreth. "Er, Houston, we have a problem¡­"


    "I know," hissed Dreth back, climbing back onto the wagon and taking up the reins.


    "Hey! Where are you going?" asked the captain, spotting his actions.


    "Bert said we''re all clear sir," said Dreth, saluting.


    "Where is he then?" The captain looked around.


    "Said something about going to the latrine." Dreth shrugged.


    "Well, I don''t know¡­"


    "Oh captain sir," Emerald came to the rescue, rubbing herself up against the guard. She whispered something in his ear.


    The captain looked at her, and then frowned and looked back at Dreth. Another nudge from Emerald though, and he waved them on, signalling the gate to let them through.


    Dreth nodded at Emerald, and then spurred the horses on, through the gate and into the city.


    "Yes!! We''re cool as ?umberers," said Percy, sticking his head up through a gap.


    "Cucumbers," corrected Dreth absently, trying to navigate the streets without running anyone over. "And get your head back down before someone sees you. We''re pushing our luck as it is."


    "Here, try a piece of guard," came Cuthbert''s voice.


    Percy ducked back down as Dreth drove the wagon towards the palace, which loomed up at the end of the main street he''d managed to find somehow. It wasn''t easy. It seemed the whole population was preparing for a major party. The street was crowded with drunken revellers who had started the celebrations early, and stalls selling a variety of tacky merchandise.


    "Happy Kings'' Day!" one man said, before falling over into a drunken slumber. Two street urchins ran up and started rifling through his pockets.


    Dreth shook his head. "What is the world coming to?" he asked himself. "Letting kids rob the drunk like that, totally unprofessional. They should go for the pouch first."


    "Are we there yet?" complained Percy a little later. "I think I''ve eaten too much sentry."


    Dreth narrowly missed a woman carrying a basket of apples. "You should be thankful you''ve any human at all, there are undead in the dungeon who haven''t eaten in centuries. Think of them."


    "I want to look outside," said Cuthbert


    "Don''t make me come back there," warned Dreth. "Sit still and be patient." He shook his head and tried to concentrate on where he was going, ignoring the mumbling from behind.


    He continued driving towards the palace, which seemed to be the centre of attention. As they approached he leaned back and spoke again. "We''re nearly here. Did you get Spit out of the box?"


    "m here uncle," came the reply.


    "Alright then, I''ll drive round the back and we do as planned. Remember the plan?"


    "We find the dungeons," said Cuthbert, "and see if Frumble''s there."


    "Good," said Dreth, turning into a small avenue that seemed to lead round the back of the palace, following a crowd of other service carriages that were heading that way. Eventually he pulled the wagon up near a grassy area, as the road had become jammed with stationary traffic.


    "We''ll wait for Emerald here. Stay inside, I''m going to scout around." He climbed down and looking left and right, finally deciding to walk a little further back, to see if he''d missed any other way in.


    The road they were on was fairly wide, yet with all the traffic it was full. He walked along parallel to a public park, flowers and trees in full leaf. On the other side loomed the solid wall of the palace, the many windows looking down upon him, though he saw no doors nearby.


    Strolling along he reached the end of the road, where it met the main street. Deciding he''d better get back to the wagon, he turned about and started walking back the way he''d come, only to stop abruptly as a troop of militia crossed over from the other side of the street and ?ssembled in front of him, thankfully facing the other way. He dodged behind a nearby tree and listened as a sergeant addressed the men.


    "Listen up then! We suspect the wanted undead are in a theatrical carriage, painted yellow and blue. If they''re in the city, they''ll be coming this way, so the captain says. So we search every wagon on this street, no exceptions. Understand?"


    "Yes sir!" the men said in unison.


    Dreth gritted his teeth and felt for his sword, only to stop as he remembered he''d left it with Percy and Cuthbert.

 Chapter 69 - Into the Castle.

    The soldiers, about ten in all, started off, heading in the direction of the hidden zombies. Dreth fretted. The men were between him and the wagon! He didn''t want them to find them, or worse, Darkblood. He started to walk towards the wagon again, then changed his mind and turned the other way, and then stopped again, undecided.


    *Pull yourself together*, he thought. He stood still and thought things through.


    Maybe it wouldn''t be as bad as all that. No doubt the guards would want to take the zombies to join Tybalt and the Halfling wizard. All he had to do was follow and it would be ''mission accomplished.'' Could be an option.


    Nodding to himself, he walked down the street, trying to act as casually as possible, though he abandoned an attempt to whistle nonchalantly after several people in wagons looked at him strangely. Centuries rotting in a dungeon had evidently not made him any more tuneful.


    The guards moved methodically down the road, getting closer and closer to the wagon. Dreth followed carefully, watching as the men rummaged through the traffic, causing angry complaints from the occupants.


    Finally a shout attracted their attention, and the militia abandoned their search of the other vehicles to concentrate on the carriage which Dreth had driven into the city.


    "Psssh!"


    Dreth looked about, puzzled.


    "It''s Pssst idiot," another, familiar, voice hissed. "Dreth! Over here!"


    Making sure no one was watching, Dreth sidled over to the large clump of bushes the voices were emanating from. "Is that you Cuthbert?" he asked.


    "Who do you think it is? The Bush fairy?"


    "What are you doing in there?" asked Dreth.


    "There''s no such thing as a bush fairy," came Percy''s voice.


    "We saw the guards coming and hid," replied Cuthbert. "Good job too, it doesn''t look like you were going to do anything about it."


    Dreth started to spread his hands, then stopped, remembering others could still see him. "What could I do? Start a fight in the street?" He thought of something. "Did you bring my sword with you?"


    "Here," said Percy, and the weapon appeared from within the plant.


    Dreth put it on, trying not to be too conspicuous, though his apparent conversation with the shrubbery was beginning to attract some odd looks. "You can''t stay here," he whispered. "They''ll be searching the area soon."


    As he spoke, a guard was pushed into the wagon, clearly reluctant. There was a pause, then he stuck his head out and vomited all over his captain.


    Dreth heard the zombies chuckling.


    "There''s a body in there, half eaten by the looks of it," complained the soldier loudly, wiping his mouth.


    "Hey, here''s Emerald," said Percy.


    Dreth turned around, and saw Emerald walking along the road towards them.


    "What''s going on?" she asked. "Where are the zombies?"


    "The guards have the wagon," said Dreth. "Percy, Cuthbert and Spot are hiding in the bushes."


    "We can''t stay here," she said, taking in the scene.


    "That''s just what I said," Dreth agreed, looking about. "There," he nodded at a manhole on the side of the road. "The sewers."


    "We''ll be seen," said Emerald, wrinkling her nose.


    "I''ll cause a distraction," Dreth replied. "You four go down there and try and get into the palace underground. Go to the dungeons and wait for me there. I''ll join you somehow." He tapped his sword and glanced at the militia, who were still mingling about the wagon. "Wait until everyone''s distracted, then move fast."


    "What are you going to do?" asked Emerald.


    Dreth looked at her. "What I do best," he said, and drew Darkblood. "Wait for the screams, then go." He strode into the street, an evil grin on his face.


    "Bring me back an arm!" Percy called after him.


    ~ * ~


    Captain Miles looked around the wagon''s interior, holding his hand over his nose in an attempt to block out the smell of Trooper Smith''s vomit. He grimaced at the sight of the half eaten sentry and sighed. No doubt about it, the miscreants were long gone. This wasn''t going to look good on his report. Well, at least the day couldn''t get much worse.


    There was a scream from the road, followed by a number of people shouting. He stuck his head out of the back and looked about, just in time to see the luckless Trooper Smith brutally gutted by a tall thin man in yellow and blue robes. A part of him smirked, he''d never liked Smith very much, especially after he threw up all over his best uniform. Still, as he watched the soldier slump to the floor he sighed heavily. There would be a ream of paperwork to fill in later.


    Four more of his men advanced in a line, swords drawn. "Hold!" one of them said.


    Captain Miles shook his head at this show of gross stupidity, and then winced as the tall man swung his black blade horizontally, cleanly lopping off all four of his soldiers'' heads in one mighty stroke. The bodies stood there for a moment, as if uncertain. Their necks fountained blood in a display both rather pretty and horribly gruesome, before collapsing in a pile on the ground.


    The nearby citizens who hadn''t already fled screamed at this show of power, and scrambled to get away. His remaining men looked left and right uncertainly.


    "Boo!" said their ?ssailant.


    "Bugger this!" cried one of the militia, Miles couldn''t see which one it was, and the rest of them ran for it.


    "Chickens," he muttered.


    The captain gulped as he strode over to the wagon.


    "What have we here then?"


    "Please," said Miles, trying to keep a steady voice. "Don''t hurt me. I can help you!"


    The man looked at him with cold, dead eyes. "Really? And what makes you think I need any help?"


    "W¡­what do you want?" stammered the captain.


    "The dungeons, where are they?" The thin man raised his blood drenched sword, which seemed to be humming merrily to itself.


    "I¡­I¡­I can take you there. They''re under the palace." Miles gestured at the nearby building, eyes glued to the black blade.


    "Excellent. Well, lead on then, but if you try anything¡­" The threat was left hanging.


    Miles nodded, he understood perfectly.


    "What''s going on here?" hissed Dreth as he followed the captain into the palace. He''d quickly changed out of his blue and yellow disguise and donned a militia uniform, stolen from one of the dead guards. It didn''t fit very well.


    "It''s Harold''s anniversary ball of course," said Miles. He started visibly as someone shouted at them.


    "Hey, you two troopers!"


    "Steady now," whispered Dreth, as an officer strode towards them.


    "What are you doing here? Get to the ballroom at once if you''re on guard duty."


    Miles hesitated for a moment.


    "Agree," hissed Dreth, poking him from behind.


    "At once sir!" Miles said immediately.


    ??You, trooper," the major said, pointing at Dreth. "Straighten that uniform up, you''re a disgrace."


    "Yes sir," said Dreth, attempting a salute.


    Luckily the man was distracted, and paid them no further attention as they scurried off.


    "Now what?" asked Miles, visibly quivering.


    "We go to the ballroom," said Dreth, "and wait for a chance to slip away."


    "This is going to end badly," Miles muttered. "I just know it. It won''t be long before they send re-enforcements outside you know."


    "We''ll worry about that when the time comes," Dreth replied as they wandered past lords and ladies, all clad in majestic ball gowns and sparkling uniforms. "Just don''t try anything, or you''ll not live long enough to regret it."


    They walked through the palace, which was an imposing structure. The floors were coated with deep red carpets, and the walls were lined with magnificent paintings, some reaching from floor to ceiling. Above them, twinkling prettily, small magically lit chandeliers illuminated the way.


    "This way," said Miles, taking a less gloriously decorated side corridor. "Better to go in the servants'' entrance."


    Dreth grunted, but followed.


    The passage twisted about somewhat, finally splitting in two. One way obviously led to the kitchens, which bustled with activity. The other led, though a deep purple curtain, into the ballroom. They peered through.


    Despite the early hour the party was in full swing, and the place was positively throbbing with activity. Plainly clad servants carrying drinks and snacks mingled with the gloriously attired upper crust. Guards were stationed around the walls at regular intervals.


    The women were dressed in ball gowns made from the finest materials. Bedecked as they were with jewels and hair decorations of all kinds, Dreth was reminded of a bunch of colourful peacocks. The men were not much plainer. Some were dressed in black tuxedoes, whilst others were garbed in military uniforms of various kinds, ?h?sts bedecked with medals for such feats as: ''Managing to get a thousand commoners needlessly killed in action,'' or maybe: ''Valiant retreat at the battle of Codpiece hills.''

 Chapter 70 - Showdown!

    Red and black bunting had been hung around the walls, which clashed with the purple and silver balloons hanging from the ceiling. Several large banners were interspersed amongst them, proclaiming Harold''s excellence. Long tables were laden with food of all kinds, whilst other tables gave the party goers a place to sit and rest. Sunlight streamed in through the large windows, rendering the magnificent lights above unnecessary for the moment. To one side a band of musicians blew, strummed or did whatever was required to make noise with their instruments, whilst groups of revellers in the middle of the room did their best to move with the beat, with varying degrees of success.


    Miles pointed to a door near the other side of the room. "That leads to the dungeons," he said.


    "Come on then." Dreth prodded him. "Move with confidence, make it look like you know what you''re doing."


    The two set out, keeping near the walls and trying to remain inconspicuous.


    They were nearly at their destination when a voice boomed out above all the noise.


    "You two! Stop right there!"


    "Crap," said Dreth. He looked towards the source of interruption as the music ground to a halt, and all eyes turned towards them.


    Like the magical parting of a sea, the crowd had moved aside, leaving a clear passage to the middle of the hall. There, dressed in black robes of the highest quality, and with a sparkling golden crown on his head, stood a small, slightly stooped over man. His thinning dark hair only served to emphasize his pale complexion and narrow, cruel lips. He could only be Harold the Hedonistic. He passed a long glass of red liquid to a flunky by his side and pointed at Dreth.


    "You," he commanded. "Come here."


    Dreth scowled. "So be it," he said, and stalked over to the man, hand on Darkblood''s handle. Several large men with swords, obviously bodyguards, started to impose themselves between him and the king, but Harold waved them back.


    "You. You are Dreth," the ruler stated, once he was closer. "I''ve been told about you." He walked around Dreth in a circle, looking him up and down imperiously. "You don''t appear to be anything special."


    "What''s it to you?" asked Dreth. Several members of the crowd gasped at this lack of etiquette.


    The ruler moved close and spoke in a low voice. "We have a mutual¡­ acquaintance. He''s very interested in seeing you don''t get to where you want to go. I''m interested in why. Maybe you can enlighten me?"


    "I have no idea what you''re talking about," Dreth replied. "I''m just here for the wizard and the man. Let me have them and I promise to leave you alone."


    Harold smiled. "Oh, I don''t think you are in any position to make demands."


    "I was threatening actually," said Dreth.


    "You''re in the middle of my city, surrounded by my army," replied the king. "Do you think you can fight your way through all of them?"


    Dreth shrugged. "I''m willing to give it a go," he said. He felt his temper begin to rise. "Let me have what I came for."


    "I''ll make you a deal," replied the ruler. "Tell me what I want to know, and I''ll spare the prisoners."


    Dreth snarled and stepped forward, coming face to mask with Harold. "No, let me make a deal. How about you die, and I get to walk out of here?"


    Harold frowned for a moment, and the room went still, waiting for his response. Then he chuckled, b?r?ly audible at first, but growing until it was full blown, evil dictator, head-thrown back maniacal laughter. After a moment the Ruler of Real city calmed down slightly and dabbed at his eye with a kerchief. "Oh Dreth, how predictable. How very, very predictable you are. I tell you what, why don''t you discuss it with my good friend here?"


    He stood back and gestured to one side, at a bunch of onlookers, who swiftly parted as a large teddy bear stepped forward.


    Dreth glared at the bear questioningly, but then raised a thin eyebrow as it brought its paw up, to reveal a long black blade, the twin of Dreth''s weapon.


    "Your end is¡­" the bear began in a muffled voice. It stopped, and reached up to wrestle with the headpiece, eventually removing it to reveal the visage beneath.


    "You," said Dreth. "Nice costume," he added.


    "They told me it was fancy dress," the Violator scowled. "So, we meet again mine enemy. You look surprised. Did you think my little fall would be the last you saw of me? I''m not so easy to dispose of."


    "That''s something I can still remedy," Dreth said, drawing Darkblood smoothly from its sheath.


    The sword hissed, sensing its brother blade, which growled in return. Sparks of hellfire crackled up and down both weapons, and a low breeze sprung up.


    "Any final words?" asked Dreth, moving forward slowly. A circle opened up to allow the two room. "After all, that''s what you do best. Talk."


    The Violator grinned. "I do everything well," he said as the two faced each other, weapons held in front of them. "But what I really do best is¡­ KILL!" He leapt forward, swinging his sword down in a vertical blur.


    Dreth blocked, and the weapons shrieked with pent up magic as they clashed. The air around them rippled with small bolts of lighting. Dreth countered quickly, and was blocked in turn, and the two stepped back again, watching each other warily.


    "Not bad," said Veronica, "but not good enough. You will rue the day you crossed me Dreth. I am your nemesis, you doom, your end."


    "Oh shut up," Dreth spat, and lunged.


    Metal rang upon metal, and the swords howled, clashing off each other as Dreth launched attack after attack, moving so fast the swings and cuts were b?r?ly visible. He pushed forward, grimly intent on his prey, but the Violator held him off, retreating several steps in good order as he concentrated on thwarting the vicious ?ssault.


    Dreth didn''t let up, but sped up his strikes, so the blades were little more than black blurs in the air surround by a hail of red sparks. The wind turned into a gale, and a low m??ning filled the room.


    Still the Violator held him off, and now he countered, striking back at Dreth, who was forced to duck a brutal swing that would have cut him in half had it connected.


    "Your showy moves won''t save you," Dreth said, advancing. "You''re not facing some innocent villager now you know."


    "Oh, believe me, I don''t make a mistake twice," Veronica said. He scooped a bowl of salad off the nearby table and threw it at Dreth, showering him with cucumber slices and lettuce.


    Dreth shook his head, throwing off vegetable pieces and bringing Darkblood up to block the Violators'' swing. The two traded strokes, both standing their ground as they pounded at each other with the devil blades, which wailed and cried at each contact, sending pulses of evil energy outwards into the room.


    "Die damn you!" roared Veronica, all artifice gone as he strained to kill his enemy.


    "Die yourself!" shouted back Dreth, moving as fast as he''d ever done.


    The howling of the wind grew as the two hammered at each other, neither retreating nor advancing. All pretence at showmanship gone now, they simply tried to kill each other with all their being. The rising wind blew the windows in with a crash of breaking glass. Scattering furniture across the room it whirled around the combatants in a vortex of debris. The onlookers shied away as smaller items were picked up and carried into the air, while the screams of the swords rose to an ear-splitting level.


    Veronica somehow found time to throw a dagger at Dreth, which hit him in the shoulder. Dreth ignored it and kicked out at the Anti-Paladin, who blocked with his leg.


    The swords were glowing a dull red, and the noise of the wind and their cries was deafening. The room around them had been reduced to chaos by the gale, and the few remaining onlookers watched from the doors, shielding their eyes.


    "I¡­ will¡­ kill¡­ you," raged Veronica, sweat visible on his brow.


    "You¡­ won''t¡­ be the first to¡­ fail!" shouted Dreth back, and he launched a huge overhead blow. The Violator fell to one knee and blocked it, holding his weapon with two hands.


    The black blades let out a fantastic cry at this latest contact, and there was a massive explosion of hellish energy as critical mass was reached, blowing both fighters back like leaves in a hurricane, and smashing the buffet table into splinters.


    Dreth flew through the air, landing on his back on a chair and breaking it in two.


    Then the building fell on him.

 Chapter 71 - Armless

    "What was that?" asked Emerald, as a dull roar echoed around them.


    Percy shrugged. "Sounded a bit like thunder. It''s okay, we''re safe in here. You''re not scared of a bit of rain are you?"


    "Well, under the circumstances I''d be happier if it didn''t rain," she replied. "What with us being in the sewers and everything."


    "Good point," said Percy.


    Emerald glanced down, narrowly avoiding stepping in some, thankfully, unidentified lump. The sewers were actually in very good condition, with a raised path at either side of a river of liquid that she was careful not to examine too carefully. Still, it was slow going without a light, even though her night vision was excellent. A side effect of spending so much time in the dark probably. The zombies didn''t seem to have any problem seeing, and she was reluctantly forced to rely on them for guidance. She walked quietly, and somewhat gingerly, after them. Sprat trotted along behind.


    "Hey, look! A couple of rats!" Percy pointed to one side.


    "Where?" said Cuthbert, swivelling his head. "Try and catch one, I haven''t had fresh rat in ages."


    "You two are disgusting," said Emerald.


    "All part of the job description," said Percy cheerfully.


    She shook her head. "Come on, no chasing rats. We''ve to get to the dungeons and rescue Tybalt."


    "And Frumble," Cuthbert reminded her.


    "Yes, and him." Emerald looked around, nose wrinkling in distaste. It seemed royal waste stank as much as anyone else''s. "How do you know we''re still going the right way?"


    Percy tutted. "Women," he said. "No sense of direction."


    "We''re very good with tunnels and dark places," said Cuthbert. "Trust us, we''re going the right way."


    "And there''s an exit." Percy pointed at a ladder a little way ahead, across the other side of the tunnel.


    "Oh god, it''s over the other side," m??n?d Emerald.


    "No time to be squeamish now," said Percy, with an undue amount of cheeriness. "It''s only a short wade anyway." He picked Sprat up and splashed across.


    "I think I''m going to be sick." Emerald gagged as a particularly pungent aroma drifted over her.


    "I''ll carry you if you like," said Cuthbert. He held out an arm, rotting flesh drooping off scabs and boils.


    Emerald took a shallow breath and closed her eyes. "Calm, calm," she said to herself. "It''s only Cuthbert. I can do this."


    "What do you mean, ''only Cuthbert?''" asked the zombie.


    Emerald ignored him, took a deep breath, choked as she realized her error, and then climbed onto the zombies'' back. "Go," she said. "And if you drop me, you''d better run."


    "No problem." The undead stepped into the river of foul muck and started wading across.


    "This is so gross," said Emerald, her eyes closed.


    "Some people are just ungrateful," the zombie replied. "You can get off now, we''re here."


    "Thank-you," said Emerald, climbing carefully onto the other path and brushing at her clothes. "Oh no, stop that!"


    "What?" asked Cuthbert, looking up. In one hand he held a mass of dark goo, which he''d been sniffing.


    "Put it down, whatever it is, and get up here," she demanded, turning around to examine the ladder and grate above. "It looks secure enough. I can''t see anything up there though."


    "I''ll go first," said Percy, suddenly the gentleman. He climbed stickily up the ladder, and pushed at the grate at the top. It lifted up and he peered through. "Some kind of tunnel. No one''s about," he reported back, climbing out.


    Emerald followed him up, with Sprat and Cuthbert coming behind her.


    Eventually the four were standing in the tunnel, which was plain stone with an uneven floor. Torches flickered at intervals, lighting the way with an orange glow.


    "Looks very dungeon-like to me," said Percy. "I think we''ve hit pay mud."


    "Pay dirt," corrected Emerald. "Come on, be quiet, let''s go this way."


    They started off down the passage, which continued to wind around. Soon after it branched into two. Emerald listened for a moment. "This way," she whispered. "I can hear something."


    "Doesn''t that mean we should go the other way?" asked Cuthbert, but she''d already set off.


    The torches became more frequent, and soon the corridor turned sharply. Emerald peered around the corner cautiously, then jerked back. Gesturing at the zombies, they moved back up the passage a little way.


    "What did you see?" asked Percy.


    "Well, there''s good news and bad news," she replied.


    "The good news is - I saw some cages. Tybalt and Frumble were inside."


    "And the bad news?" asked Cuthbert.


    "Our old friend is there too. Harvey Von McVon, just sitting there, waiting. Probably for me."


    Who''s Harvey?" asked Percy, scratching his head.


    "Harvey!" Cuthbert said. "You know, the human wizard, back in the dungeon?"


    "Mmmm. Can''t quite put my finger on him." Percy frowned, not improving his looks any.


    "You must," insisted Cuthbert. "He had a load of invisible cat men hanging around."


    "Nooo," said the other zombie, tapping his chin with his finger. "Doesn''t ring any bells."


    "Idiot! Remember his big throne, he said it regenerated him. He was the one that wanted Emerald. Remember now?"


    Percy''s eyes widened. "Yes!" he raised his finger, then he frowned. "No, wait¡­ yes? No. Yes! Yes, I have it now. Rotten guy on a big chair, lots of funny cat things hanging about."


    "Finally." Cuthbert rolled his eyes.


    "Well, it''s not my fault is it?" Percy complained. "My brain is mostly mush you know."


    "Is Uncle Percy crazy daddy?" asked Sprat.


    "Yes son, but then it comes with the job," Cuthbert answered.


    "This is all well and good," said Emerald, "but what do we do now?"


    "Do about what?" asked Percy. "Oh, yes, the wizard."


    "I suggest a good old fashioned prison break," said Cuthbert, rubbing his hands together. We hitch our horses to the bars and pull. It''s a tried and tested method. Classic."


    "Apart from the fact we have no horses, and even if we did they''d spot us coming a mile off," said Emerald, not impressed.


    Cuthbert scowled. "Well Miss I''m-so-clever-I-couldn''t-even-remember-my-name, what do you suggest?"


    Emerald heaved a great sigh. "We should wait for Dreth. He told us to he''d meet us here."


    "If he ever gets here, which isn''t certain," said Cuthbert. "And I don''t want to hang about here if we can help it. We could be discovered any second."


    "Fine." Emerald crossed her arms and thought for a moment more. "Well, I would say it''s me Harvey''s after. At least he was back in the dungeon. How about this¡­"


    Cuthbert and Percy leaned forward as she explained her plan.


    ~ * ~


    Dreth opened his eyes. A beam of light was shining directly into his face. He winced and moved his head, trying to take in his surroundings. Thanks to the light filtering through a gap in the rubble he was able to ?ssess his situation. He was lying at an uncomfortable angle on what appeared to be a pile of ceiling. A large beam of dark wood had fallen on his left arm, pinning it down. Apart from that, he was miraculously unhurt. A slab of wall had fallen and come to rest at an angle over him, saving him from an uncomfortable squashing under many tons of building.


    "Dreg looks after his own," he muttered.


    "That hurt!" A familiar voice came from near his right hand.


    He looked down to see Darkblood, wedged between two stones.


    "What the hell is wrong with you?" he said, trying to move his arm. "Since when do you explode?"


    "I didn''t explode," the sword hissed. "I''m one of a limited edition kind of devil blade, created in the bowels of the Underworld and imbued with dark powers. If I''m used against other of my kind the energy feeds back on itself, resulting in a slight reaction."


    "You call that a ''slight reaction''?" asked Dreth.


    "If someone is stupid enough to keep us together for long enough," the blade''s tone spoke volumes, "then the reaction becomes more volatile."


    Dreth grunted and pushed at the beam trapping him. It didn''t move. "We need to get out of here, but I can''t shift this wood," he said.


    "Don''t look at me," said Darkblood. "I''m not an axe. Chop your arm off already."


    "I can''t do that!"


    "Why not? You have another one don''t you?"


    "That''s not the point. I''ve become rather attached to my limbs over the years."


    "You''re not going anywhere if you don''t."


    Dreth glared at the sword, with no visible effect.


    "Maybe it''ll grow back. You recovered from a fall into red hot magma didn''t you?"


    "Lava. It''s only magma if it''s underground," said Dreth. "I fell into lava."


    "Magma, lava, whatever. Do you want to get out or not?"


    The sword had a point, Dreth conceded. An edge too, when you came right down to it. Still, chopping off your own arm was a rather drastic move.


    "I think I can hear people," said the weapon. "Maybe it''s your teddy bear friend come to finish the job."


    Taking a deep breath, out of habit more than need, Dreth pulled at the sword with his free hand. "I suppose you''re right," he conceded.


    "That''s the spirit," said Darkblood, as Dreth manhandled it into position. "Now, this is going to hurt you a lot more than it hurts me¡­"

 Chapter 72 - Its a Trap!

    Roger stroked his beard and sat down heavily on the good chair. "Make us a cup of tea Smith, there''s a good fella,''" he said to the newest recruit in the palace guards. "I''m knackered with all this running round." He loosened the belt around his plentiful midriff and slid his sword off.


    "Why should I always be the one to make the tea?" complained Cedric, a tall skinny youth who seemed to be all arms and legs.


    "Because you''re the newest," said Sergeant Brown from his seat near the fire. "It''s the way of the world lad. Three sugars in mine please."


    The two older troopers chuckled to themselves, as did the other members of Squad C in the rest room. Cedric scowled, but set about putting some water into the giant metal kettle. He was just about finished when a ragged figure burst into the room, throwing the door open with a crash and making Roger jump.


    The newcomer was in a guard''s uniform. Roger didn''t recognize him, but that wasn''t surprising with all the extras drafted in for the celebrations. The fellow looked in bad shape though, with pale skin and battered armour His helmet was jammed down about his ears, with the visor lowered.


    "Come quick!" gasped the man. "A wizard''s gone mad in the dungeons! Harold wants him stopped right now!"


    "Oh bloody hell!" said Roger, grabbing his sword and standing upright. "Come on lads! Move it, move it!" As the others scrambled about, he turned to the guard. "Lead on then! Hurry!" he commanded.


    The guard nodded and staggered off back the way he came. Squad C followed, with young Cedric bringing up the rear, still clutching the kettle.


    ~ * ~


    "I don''t see why we should have to clear the rubble," Jones complained. "I''m a guard dammit, not a digger." He heaved at a large piece of stone and threw it to one side, nearly hitting one of his fellow soldiers.


    "You heard the King," said his colleague, Rupert, pulling at a piece of wood. "If you want to argue with King Harold be my guest. Just leave me your gold bracelet before you go. Here, help me move this will you?"


    Jones sighed and stepped over to help his friend. Together the two guards grunted, pulling the shattered remains of one of the giant chandeliers to one side.


    They were part of a small force sifting through the wreckage of the ballroom. Jones was sweating in his leather armour, and paused to wipe his brow. He''d taken his helmet off and stacked it to one side, despite the risk of falling stone. At least the city''s tough, knee high boots protected his feet from the shards of glass that protruded at intermittent intervals, and the slight breeze coming through the gaping hole in the wall helped to cool him a little.


    "No one could have survived this," he said, looking around at the devastation that had been the king''s party.


    There was a shout from the other side of the wrecked room, and he looked up to see a pile of rock move. A small wobble at first, then a stone slid aside, followed by another and another. Finally the mound quivered and exploded like a mini-volcano, sending dust billowing forth. Slowly it settled, to reveal a thin figure standing amongst the debris. His clothes hung about him in tatters, dark red wounds visible through the rents. One of his arms was missing, the bone stump protruding grotesquely from the socket, still bloody. In the other hand was a large black sword.


    "I''m back!" said the figure, grinning madly. "Did you miss me?"


    "Oh fug, that''s him!" said Rupert, pulling at his weapon as the other guards did the same. Several of the closer ones moved forward in a rush.


    "I guess you did." Dreth smiled. He swung his black sword in a wide arc, and three of the soldiers screamed at the same time. Two fell to the floor, whilst the other one staggered backwards, sobbing as he tried to stop his intestines from falling out through the gash in his abdomen.


    Pirouetting gracefully forward, Dreth dodged several thrusts from troopers as they moved in around him. The blade moved in a blur, and there was a flash of red. Another man stopped in his tracks. Slowly his head toppled to one side, bouncing off the floor. Blood fountained from his neck for a second, before the body followed it down.


    Dreth hadn''t remained still. Another soldier screamed and looked in shock at the stump where his hand used to be. An instant later he crumpled as the dark sword pierced his ?h?st, protruding ?bs??n?ly from his back a moment before it was withdrawn.


    Laughter filled the hall as Dreth whirled amongst the hapless guards, hacking off limbs and cutting open bodies, rending and slicing as he moved through them like an unstoppable killing machine.


    "Bugger this!" Jones said, as he watched Rupert move in for the attack. "There''s no way I''m going up against him!"


    He glanced around and dived into a shallow hole in the rubble nearby. Lying low in the shelter, he peered through a space in the bricks, just in time to see Rupert pierced through the abdomen by the black blade. His friend stood paralysed as, giggling madly all the while, Dreth ripped the sword upwards in a vicious jerk, tearing the soldier in two from the waist up in a shower of bone and muscle. Rupert remained standing for a moment, the two halves of his upper body peeled apart as his innards slid out onto the floor in a cascade of blood and gore. Then he collapsed, reduced to nothing more than a pile of fresh meat.


    The thin man lowered his sword and looked at the remains of the soldier. "He just fell apart on me," he said.


    Holding his breath, Jones watched as the Dreth glanced about, and then, stalking past his hiding place, left the room.


    He breathed a sigh of relief and rested his head on the ground, trembling with terror at his near escape.


    "You thought I''d missed you, didn''t you?" came a sudden low voice next to his ear.


    "Surprise!"


    Everything went black.


    ~ * ~


    "You''re wasting your time you know," said Tybalt, shifting about on the hard cell floor. "Dreth isn''t going to come after us."


    "He''ll come," said Harvey. "I can feel the power of the black blade he wields. It''s close, very close." He closed his eyes and cast his senses forth, searching for the emanations the devil sword radiated on the ethereal plane. Almost immediately he winced, as psychic echoes reverberated around his skull. Something had recently expended a massive amount of power. The stupid anti-paladin had probably tried to use his weapon against Dreth''s. That would explain the shouting and distant rumbles earlier anyway.


    "Really, he doesn''t care about us one bit," Tybalt continued. "If you knew Dreth you''d know this. Why do you want him anyway?"


    "I don''t care about Dreth, it''s the woman I want. She holds the key to great power."


    "Emerald? You want Emerald? What power does she possess?" Frumble asked. He was laying on one of the prison cells'' hard benches.


    Harvey smiled. "She is the chosen vessel for one other. One of great energy. Usually this being would be far beyond my reach, but if I have the woman I can set a trap. It''s vulnerable for one short moment as it takes her body. In that moment I shall strike! Take the power for myself. With it, nothing will be able to stand in my path! I shall smite all who oppose my will, and soon I shall rule! I shall be master of all! Mwahahahaa!" Harvey threw his head back and laughed in evil glee.


    Tybalt sighed. "I never understood people wanting to rule the world," he said. "It seems more trouble than it''s worth."


    "Pah! You''re a small man with small dreams." Harvey sneered. "I''ve given up more than you could imagine to pursue my goal. Yes, it has cost me much to be here." He mulled over his loss. The throne had kept him alive, immortal, and had held a great deal of his magic. When he''d struck a bargain to be free of it, he''d forsaken his never ending life, and much of that stored power too. Yet he was still a master wizard. The sacrifice would ultimately be worth it.


    "Well, Dreth may be close, but Emerald would never be foolish enough to come here," said Tybalt.


    Harvey opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a figure with black and white striped hair stepping around the corner into the prison entrance.


    "Oh," Emerald said.


    "You!" said Harvey.


    "Emerald, run!" shouted Tybalt at the same time.


    Harvey snapped out a Word, and a ball of blue fire appeared in his hand. He threw it at the woman, but she dived back out of the doorway, avoiding the magical bolt.


    "I thought you wanted her alive!" screamed Tybalt.


    "It''s a stun blast," said Frumble.


    Harvey didn''t hear any more of their exchange. He conjured another stunner and ran after his target, who was fleeing down the passage.


    He had her now!

 Chapter 73 - Goodnight Zombies!

    Harold waved his guards back, and they obediently stayed at the ruined doorway. The king walked into the destroyed ballroom and looked around.


    Strewn around the rubble, carelessly draped about, were around a dozen bodies, palace guardsmen all. He walked over to one, stepping carefully over the debris, and examined the corpse. The man''s face stared up at him from death, the expression of shocked surprise the last he would ever wear. Kneeling down he examined the wound, a deep slice through the stomach. Several flies buzzed away, no doubt annoyed at having their meal interrupted.


    Nodding to himself the monarch stood up again and surveyed the room more carefully. A movement, the tiniest wobble, caught his eye and he stalked over to it. An arm was protruding from a pile of bricks, the remnants of a brown furry costume clinging to it. As he watched, it twitched, and he raised an eyebrow slightly.


    Bending over, he moved stones, digging with his own hands until the upper half of a battered and bleeding form was revealed. Just off to one side lay a black sword.


    "You don''t look so good," said Harold.


    "Muuuurh," said Veronica, blurrily. Blood leaked down from the anti-paladin''s mouth as he tried to speak.


    "I''m sorry, didn''t catch that." Harold, kneeling closer.


    "D¡­Dreth," gasped The Violator.


    "Still alive I''m afraid," said Harold. "Or at least, up and about." He leaned closer. "Tell me, why does the Overlord want him so badly? What is it about this Dreth that scares him so? What power does he posses?"


    Veronica moved his mouth several times before he could get an answer out. "D¡­Don''t know," he managed eventually.


    "Mmm, pity," said the king. He leaned over and picked up the Violator''s sword, hefting it for a few moments, considering the balance. "Nice blade," he said at last, standing up.


    "M¡­muh¡­. mine," gasped Veronica, twitching.


    The king looked down on the broken body of the anti-paladin, and pursed his lips. Slowly he smiled. "I think it likes me," he said, raising the sword.


    "N¡­n¡­" started The Violator.


    "Oh, but yes," interrupted the king. With a decisive movement, he stabbed down.


    Veronica gasped as the weapon pierced his ?h?st. He went rigid for a moment, and then slumped back.


    Harold nodded, and pulled the bloodied sword free from the body. "You''re my blade now," he said.


    Soul Taker hummed in agreement.


    ~ * ~


    Cuthbert staggered down the passageway towards the cells, the guards close behind him. "This way!" he called, sincerely hoping Emerald had managed to lure the wizard out.


    His answer came a second later as she skidded around a corner and headed directly towards him. Behind her came a flash of blue light, and then a small explosion.


    "Help me!" Emerald cried, seeing the guards. "He''s gone mad!" She dived into a small side passage as the robed form of Harvey Von McVon appeared behind her.


    The guards shouted in terror as another blue wizard ball flew into their midst, hitting one of them and knocking him to the floor, where he lay still.


    "He''s killed him!" shouted Cuthbert, taking advantage of the situation. "Get him!" He stood to one side, pointing at the mage as the troops ran past, screaming and wielding their swords.


    "Suckers," he muttered, as they crashed into the mage. Ducking back into the side passage, he found Emerald, who was gasping for breath.


    "For an ancient wizard he can sure run," she panted, b?r?ly audible over the shouts of the guards, and explosions of magical emanations.


    "Are you alright?" asked the zombie. "Because I can do mouth to mouth if you need it." He stepped forward slightly.


    "NO! I mean, no thank you," said Emerald, holding her arms out in front of her. "I''m fine."


    "I see," Cuthbert said, disappointedly.


    The sounds of battle from the nearby corridor ceased suddenly, with one last explosion. "Do you think they killed him?" whispered Cuthbert.


    "No. No they didn''t zombie." A figure strode around the corner, and stood with hands on his h?ps as robes swirled about him. "Do you think a few lowly guards would hold me?" Harvey waved a hand. "Pathetic!"


    "It was worth a go," said the zombie, shrugging. "So then. Ahhh, here''s Emerald for you," he gestured.


    "Cuthbert!" said Emerald, in shocked betrayal.


    "Sorry, it''s not like I can stop him. I''m only fodder level. Still, good luck eh? No hard feelings?" He started to sidle away.


    "Hold!" commanded Harvey.


    Cuthbert stood still, cursing under what would have been his breath, had he had any.


    The wizard stepped forward. "The female is mine, but you and your friend Dreth have made my life difficult. I feel I must send him a message." He raised his hands in a classic spell-casting pose. "Any last words zombie?"


    "Yes," said Cuthbert. "Now!"


    "Now?" repeated Harvey, puzzled.


    "Now!" said Cuthbert, a little more urgently this time.


    "I don''t¡­ arg!" Harvey''s response was interrupted by a small shape dropping down from above like some kind of deformed spider.


    Sprat landed on the wizards head. Grabbing hold of an ear and nose, he bit down upon his target.


    "My skull! My precious skull!" screamed Harvey, staggering about and trying to dislodge the zombie.


    "Bite him Sprat! Bite him hard!" shouted Cuthbert. He staggered forward and swiped at the mage himself, gouging out flesh from the man''s side.


    Harvey screamed again, and pointed a finger. A small ball of fire flew from the tip, narrowly missing the zombie and smashed into the passage wall, dislodging rock fragments.


    "Hey! Watch it!" said Cuthbert, dancing to one side. "That nearly hit me!"


    Standing panting in front of the three, blood streaming down his head and side, Von McVon snarled. "I was going to be nice," he said. "Now, it''s time to end this. Say goodnight zombies." He raised his arms again and spoke a Word.


    "Goodnight zombies," Cuthbert wailed.


    ~ * ~


    There was a clap of thunder and puff of smoke. From its midst a small figure with a long tail emerged.


    Ichabod looked down at the mangled remains of the anti-paladin. He nudged the body with his toe, just to be sure, but there was little doubt the man was quite dead. "So much for all your fancy words," said the imp to the corpse.


    Veronica, of course, didn''t reply.


    Ichabod shook his head sadly. He looked around the room, which was strewn with bodies. "Dreth has been busy," he commented to no one in particular. "This isn''t going to sit well with the boss."


    A moment later there was another small explosion and, once again, the dead were left to themselves.


    ~ * ~


    Dreth stalked through the passageways of the palace like some kind of one armed reaper. He''d already bumped into several guards, whom were now regretting the chance encounters on the floor behind him, and one serving girl, who had sensibly run away screaming. Now he was wandering around the maze of service corridors. The problem was they all looked the same, a uniform white with grey stone floor, and he was quite lost.


    There was a small ''pop'' next to his ear. Dreth glanced right and ?r??n?d. "Not you!" he said.


    "Nice to see you too," said the little devil, leaning on his head.


    "I thought we had a deal?" asked Dreth. "You were going to stay out of sight until we left the city, and in return I wouldn''t guess your name."


    "You''ll never guess my name anyway," it replied. "And you seemed to have abandoned stealth, in a rather spectacular fashion I may add."


    Dreth scowled. "I was rather enjoying the peace and quiet."


    "You call fighting with two of the most magical swords in the world, in front of half the royal court, ''peace and quiet''?" The devil shook his head. "Not to mention nearly being crushed under half a building and killing off dozens of royal guardsmen."


    "Wasn''t dozens, ten at the most." Dreth turned a corner at random, as he could hear voices coming from ahead.


    "Whatever." The devil waved a tiny hand. "Where are we going now anyway?"


    "I am looking for the dungeons. Why don''t you make yourself useful and see if you can find them for me?"


    "I don''t think so," it said. "What sort of curse would I be if I went around making myself useful?"


    Dreth gritted his teeth and opened a likely looking doorway, built of solid wood with a small iron grill set in it. Beyond was a rather gloomy tunnel with sandy stone walls, leading down. "Finally," he said. "This looks about right."


    The devil sniffed. "If you say so. Of course, Cuthbert and Percy are probably dead already."


    "Of course they''re dead moron, they''re zombies." Dreth moved cautiously down a flight of uneven stairs. Torches lit the way, though not very effectively. It almost felt like he was back in the dungeon again.


    "You know what I mean! Stop trying to annoy me, I''m supposed to be annoying you!"


    Dreth grinned to himself.


    "Did you hear that?" asked the devil.


    "All I can hear is some annoying whining in my ear," Dreth said, but he could hear it. Screaming, coming from somewhere ahead.


    "I know that scream," he said. "It''s Cuthbert, or your names'' not Bethany!"


    "Ha! Nowhere near," the devil sniffed. "Bethany''s a girls'' name anyway."


    Dreth broke into a jog, following the noises. He ran up a corridor towards a pile of corpses, more palace guards. One of them was holding a large kettle for some reason. The screams were coming from a side passage. He slowed and moved quietly, listening.


    "Goodnight zombies!"


    Dreth turned the corner. "I hope I''m not interrupting anything," he said.


    A figure in long robes, his head and side bleeding, swivelled around to meet him.


    "You!" said Dreth.


    "You!" said Harvey. "You should be dead."


    "Sorry to disappoint," Dreth replied, raising his sword. "And now¡­"


    "Curses!" cried the wizard. With a fluid gesture he brought both hands forward. A fireball erupted from his fists.


    Dreth ducked, holding Darkblood in front of him. The fireball glanced off the sword, flying past Dreth and slamming into the corridor wall behind him, exploding with enough force to knock him down.


    When he managed to regain his feet, the wizard had gone.


    "Damn," he said.


    "Took you long enough," said Cuthbert, dusting himself down.


    "No need for thanks," Dreth frowned. "Where are the others?"


    "Percy should be bringing them here about now," said the zombie. He looked down at Sprat. "You did very well son. Good boy!"


    "Thanks daddy!" beamed Sprat. "I bit that man good!"


    "What did he taste like?" asked Cuthbert.


    "Tangy."


    Dreth walked over to Emerald, who was lying on the floor and groaning. "Have a nice nap?" he asked.


    Emerald said a bad word and sat up.


    "What happened to your arm?" asked Cuthbert.


    "I''m trying to lose weight," said Dreth. "Come on, let''s go and find the others and get out of here. I''m getting tired of the big city life."


    They moved off, leaving the blood of Harvey drying on the cold stone floor.


    ~ * ~


    "Get out!"


    There was a small clap of thunder, and the messenger imp disappeared, leaving the Overlord glaring at the remaining puff of smoke.


    "Curse Dreth!" he snarled to himself, trying to control his temper. "Curse these bumbling minions!" He brought his fist down on his desk, smashing it in two with a loud crash.


    Ignoring the splintered wood, he spun about and strode to the bookshelf that lined one wall of his study. He moved along until he located a solitary black book, which was sitting alone on a space on the shelf, as if all the other books were afraid of it.


    He started to reach out, but then hesitated. Perhaps there was another way? No. There was no option. Dreth couldn''t be allowed to reach him!


    The Overlord pulled the giant tome from the shelf and carried it to his book stand. It was surprisingly light. Placing it on the stand, he looked at the ancient volume for a moment more. The black leather cover, or what one ?ssumed was leather anyway, seemed to absorb all light. It had no title, no artistic design on the front. It was simply deep, deep black.


    He closed his eyes and composed himself. Maybe a dragon? He had several on staff. No, he needed to fight fire with fire. Or in this case undeath with undeath.


    Making the decision, the Overlord opened the Necromanticon, and started to read.

 Chapter 74 - Zombies Ahoy!

    "This is just wonderful," complained Tybalt. "Come to the big city and see the sights." He waved his arm around to encompass the sewer tunnel.


    "Stop complaining," said Dreth. "You''re out of prison aren''t you?"


    "Thanks to our cool prison breaking skills," added Cuthbert.


    "I was only there because you sent me in to guard the wizard," grumbled Tybalt.


    "You''re sure you got all the ingredients for the spell?" Dreth asked Frumble.


    "I told you already. We''d just finished when we bumped into your friend." The small wizard was walking in front of Dreth, holding his robes off the ground and treading carefully.


    "So now what?" asked Emerald. "Can we finally get out of this place? I mean the city, not just the sewers. Although getting out of the sewers would suit me quite well too."


    "We need to go back and get the bag first," said Dreth.


    "I can''t believe you''re still on about that," the small devil said. He was sitting on Dreth''s shoulder as they traversed the smelly tunnels.


    "It''s the one reason we''re here," Dreth replied. "Look, a manhole. We should be far enough away from the palace to go up to the surface. Cuthbert, stick your head up there and see where we are."


    "I think I should do it," said Tybalt. "Zombies rising from the drains may cause panic."


    "Typical undead prejudice," muttered Percy.


    "He''s right though," said Dreth. "Go ahead." He nodded and watched as Tybalt climbed a short ladder and, grunting all the while, pushed the circular metal cover up a crack and peered out.


    "Well?" asked Cuthbert.


    "All clear," said Tybalt. "We''re in some sort of storage area, best I can tell." He climbed up and out. The others followed him.


    They were in a large gloomy warehouse filled with wooden crates of different sizes. Some were taller than a man; a few were small enough for Sprat to use as a chair. Windows set in the brick walls showed the night sky.


    "So, what''s the plan?" asked Percy, as they settled themselves down amongst the boxes. Cuthbert wandered over to a nearby window and peered out.


    "First, Tybalt goes and gets the bag," said Dreth. "Then we get out of here. We still have a way to go to get to the Prophet."


    "Hey! We''re next to a river," said Percy. "Some kind of loading bay."


    Dreth walked over and examined the scene. Indeed, it appeared to be a dock. Vessels of various sizes were tied up along the banks. "Makes sense," he said, glancing around at the boxes.


    "We should hide in a crate and stowaway!" said Cuthbert. "I always wanted to be a sailor."


    "You never," said Percy. "You get seasick washing your hands."


    "Oh, you liar. I never wash my hands."


    "Quiet you two," said Dreth. He pondered the situation. There was certainly an opportunity here, but how best to take advantage of it?


    He scratched at the stump of his arm and mulled life on the ocean wave. "Very well, a ship it is," he said finally. "You can finally live out your dream to sail the fifteen seas Cuthbert."


    "Oh, good." The zombie paused. "Er, I would like to point out I''ve never actually been on a ship before though, even when I was alive, as far as I can remember anyway. I don''t know how to sail anything." He shrugged.


    "You''d better be a fast learner then." Dreth poked a body finger into the zombies'' ?h?st. "Because I''m making you the first mate."


    "You''ll never pull this off you know," said the little devil, shaking his head. It was sitting on a crate, legs dangling over the edge.


    "Go to hell," snarled Dreth.


    "Original." The devil rolled its eyes and disappeared with a pop.


    Dreth turned to Tybalt. "You, can you find your way to the place you stashed those spell ingredients?"


    "Shouldn''t be a problem," Tybalt replied.


    "Go and get them now then. Fast."


    Tybalt nodded, kissed Emerald quickly, and moved stealthily off into the night.


    "How are we going to manage this?" asked Frumble. "You don''t exactly have a full crew."


    "You''re a wizard," said Dreth. "Think of something magical. And don''t think I''ve forgotten about your little curse either." He paused for a moment. "What sort of curse were you trying for anyway? It seems a bit erratic, speaking from experience of curses."


    Frumble sighed. "Actually, I''m not sure. I was trying to conjure something that would save my own skin, truth be told."


    Dreth sneered. "Next time just try running away."


    "Alright for you to say," mumbled the wizard. "You have long legs. Halflings aren''t very fast runners."


    Emerald interrupted their conversation. "I think we may have a problem," she said, pointing. "Tybalt''s back, and he''s moving at speed." She was standing on a box, peering down an aisle.


    Shouts reinforced Emerald''s comments. "Curses!" said Dreth. "Come on everyone, move it! Looks like we''re casting off ahead of schedule."


    ~ * ~


    "Your majesty! I''ve detected the being who destroyed the ball room. He''s in the sewers, heading away from the palace. Shall I alert the SES*?"


    The royal wizard, garbed in black robes with gold trim, stood to one side of the king. They were in Harold''s private study, a small but well furnished room. Along one wall ran a shelf stacked with expensive books on a range of different subjects, from torture, to magic, to hunting. On the opposite wall various weapons hung alongside mounted heads from a variety of different species. Human, demi-human and creatures both magical and non-magical stared out at them with glass eyes.


    The wizard leaned on a table, his scrying orb held in one hand as he waited for the monarchs'' reply.


    Harold sat back in his chair. Soul Taker was resting on his ??p and humming as he stroked the blade. The king shook his head. "No. Let them go."


    "But sir!"


    "Do as I say," snapped the king. "Keep tracking him though, and have the SES prepare for a journey. I suspect Dreth is hunting the Overlord, and for some reason the Overlord seems to be scared of him. This may work to my advantage. Let them leave the city unharmed. We shall follow. If the Overlord has a weakness, I want to be there to exploit it." He lifted his newly acquired dark blade and smiled. "I have a good feeling about all this." He laughed, a low, humourless laugh.


    "A very good feeling indeed."


    *SES: Special Execution Squad


    ~ * ~


    The Overlord chanted, reading from the Necromanticon carefully, his finger keeping place on the text, which was inclined to move and wriggle on the page. The incantation was long and complex, and not something you''d want to get wrong*.


    The lights dimmed and grey smoke crept over the floor, bringing with it a chill wind that originated from no mortal plane. The Overlord carried on with the summoning, the words of power echoing around the room as if it were a much larger space.


    Finally there was a sound, and the very air tore apart, bringing with it a low m??n that would have stopped most people cold. The Overlord was not most people. Still, steeped in evil as he was, he shivered slightly. One didn''t bring forth this creature lightly. If you were sensible you didn''t bring it forth at all.


    Clad in a simple dark grey robe, the thin figure looked around with startling pale blue eyes. He appeared to be an old man with straggly white hair, a long nose and thin lips, nothing special. The Overlord knew better.


    "You have summoned me," the man said in a crackling voice. "You have forced me to travel through the Neverworld to answer your call, passing through the spirit realms whence none but I dare tread. You have used the Words and brought me, The Extremely Dark Necromancer into your presence. You have risked my mighty wrath, for I was in the middle of a cup of tea."


    "I command you to do my bidding!" intoned the Overlord, his voice steady as he uttered the words of power.


    "Hadn''t even started my biscuit."


    "By the ancient pact," the Overlord continued resolutely, ignoring the muttering. "Carved in blood by forces of evil¡­"


    "Is this going to take long?" the Extremely Dark Necromancer interrupted. "It''s just I didn''t have time to change into my boots, and my feet are cold. It''s all this fog." He gestured at the mist that was still covering the floor.


    The Overlord looked down, and the haze parted briefly, to reveal the Extremely Dark Necromancers'' feet, which were clad in red and white striped socks. One had a hole in, allowing a toe with a long yellow nail to protrude. The Overlord sighed and shook his head slightly. He felt that some things should be done properly, and red and white socks didn''t fit the image at all.


    "I need your services," he said, trying to keep the initiative as the Necromancer hobbled over to his fireplace and raised first one foot, then the other, to be warmed by the flames.


    "I''m listening sonny," the Necromancer said. "Nice fireplace by the way. I value a good fireplace I do."


    The Overlord, who didn''t appreciate being called sonny, started again. "I need your services. There''s someone I need¡­ disposed of. Someone not quite alive."


    "And you thought of me?" the thin man said, raising his robe to reveal skinny pale legs. "How lovely." He turned around and bent over, warming his behind.


    "Please!" said the Overlord, distressed at this lack of decorum. "You are supposed to be the ultimate authority on undeath. I would be grateful if you behaved accordingly."


    The man looked at him for a moment, and then let his robe drop down. Standing straight, he suddenly seemed to loom over the Overlord. A dark shadow filled the chamber, and the chattering of the dead could be perceived on the edge of his hearing.


    "You mean like this?" the Necromancer boomed. His hollow voice rang around the room, and caused the Overlord to wince and clap his hands to his ears. "Is this what you wish? Speak worm, before I snuff your out soul as I would a candle."


    "On the other hand, we''re all friends here eh?" said the Overlord. "No need to stand on ceremony."


    The Necromancer seemed to swell for a moment more, turning the world black. Then the shape was gone, and it was just an old man warming himself by the fire. The Overlord took a deep breath and steadied himself for a second before continuing.


    "The one I am speaking of is called Dreth," he said. "He walks on the cusp of the living and dead realms, fully present in neither."


    "Sounds just my cup of tea," said the Necromancer. "Speaking of which, perhaps there''s time for a quick brew before I go? Mmm. What do you say lad?"


    The Overlord shook his head in a resigned fashion. "I''ll call the kitchen staff," he sighed.


    *Not that you''d regret it for very long mind.

 Chapter 75 - The Low Seas

    "Ahhhh!" There was a loud cry, followed by a thump as Percy fell from the rigging onto the deck. "Ouch!" said the zombie, picking himself up. "That hurt."


    "Hurry up and get those sails secure!" shouted Tybalt, busy pulling on a rope. "They''re going to be on us in moments!"


    "Aye aye captain!" cried Sprat, climbing up the main mast like a particularly unhealthy monkey.


    They were on a small ship that was moored in a space amongst many larger vessels. So far their activity had not attracted any unwarranted attention from the other craft. Above them the white sails flapped idly in the breeze, unfurled under Tybalt''s guidance. Tybalt, Emerald and Cuthbert were on the raised aft deck, overlooking the main body of the ship. A corpse clad in a simple white top and matching pants lay to one side, a casualty of their sudden boarding and Dreth''s sword.


    Dreth stuck his head up from a hatch in the deck. "I''ve secured the ship," he said. "I only managed to find five more sailors though. That doesn''t seem to be very many." He wiped Darkblood clean and sheathed the blade.


    "That''s why I suggested this vessel," said Tybalt, tying off a rope. "These schooners don''t need a big crew, and they''re fast. The rest of them are probably on shore getting drunk somewhere."


    "You seem to know a lot about sailing," said Emerald, moving closer to him. She looking out at the dock and frowned. "I think those guards have broken through the door, or found another way in."


    "I don''t know how they located us so fast," said Tybalt as he examined the sails. "I was b?r?ly out of the warehouse when they saw me." He leaned over a railing and shouted at the wizard, who was standing inside a pentagram on the main deck and casting a spell. "How long?"


    Frumble broke of his chant briefly. "Two minutes, maybe a few more," he shouted back.


    "Going to be close," said Dreth. "I''ll go and get ready to hold them off. Cuthbert, what are you doing?"


    "I''m looking for the reverse on this thing!" said Cuthbert. The zombie was standing before the large ship''s wheel and searching around in a puzzled fashion.


    "Idiot! There''s no reverse on a ship," said Tybalt. "Here, let the living steer."


    "Oh, just because I''m dead I can''t drive, is that it?" Cuthbert complained. Still, he moved to one side as Tybalt took the helm.


    "Ware the mainsail! Hard to for''ad! Raise the yardarm!" said Percy enthusiastically from the mid-deck, attempting to get into the swing of things.


    "Get those ropes untied," said Tybalt to Dreth, waving a hand.


    Dreth nodded and skipped down to where the mooring lines were holding the ship in place. With a few quick slices of his sword they parted, and the vessel began to slowly move away from the dock.


    Just in time too, as the main body of the city militia squad finally broke through the hasty barricade they had erected in front of the warehouse doors. Dreth leapt down off the ship and neatly beheaded the first, rather too enthusiastic, soldier. He quickly jumped back aboard and stood on the deck, whilst the rest of the group hesitated at this display of casual bloodshed.


    "Avast landlubbers!" shouted Percy, shaking a fist. "Didn''t like that so much did you? Ow!" He plucked an arrow out of his shoulder, and ducked down behind a barrel as others followed.


    Dreth stood where he was, idly picking out the shafts that hit him. He raised his black sword and smiled. "You''ll have to do better than that!" he called out grimly.


    "Ready!" said Frumble suddenly.


    Tybalt nodded, though the Halfling didn''t see the gesture. "Now then!" he shouted.


    The wizard made a complicated movement with his hands, and something only half visible roared up from the small mage into the sky above. With a sudden crack, the sails filled, and the ship jumped forward, leaving a trail of white water in its wake. Tybalt struggled to steer the vessel, narrowly missing a tug as they shot out of their berth and into the middle of the river.


    "Woooo!" shouted Percy, leaning over the rail and nearly falling in. "Go team undead!"


    "Only honorary undead," said Tybalt.


    Emerald smiled at him and put a hand on his shoulder as the ship ploughed along the waterway.


    Dreth climbed the narrow stairs of to the deck to join them. "How are we looking?" he asked.


    "Well, I doubt anyone''s going to catch up with us at this speed," replied the man, hanging onto the wheel for all he was worth. "We just have to hope we can make it to the sea before they block the river somehow."


    "The sea?" asked Cuthbert.


    "Of course. This river leads to the Sparklyblue Sea."


    "Good," said Dreth. "We can sail north then. We''ll get to that prophet if it kills us." He looked at Percy and added: "Again."


    ~ * ~


    "They''ve stolen a ship," said Wilbur. The royal wizard was staring into his orb as the action unravelled within. "They''re heading downriver towards the sea, at some speed I may add. Magic is evidently in play."


    "Very well," said Harold. "Ready my fastest warship. Let''s see where they''re going shall we?"


    Wilbur bowed. "At once sire." He backed out of the room and closed the door behind him, leaving Harold tapping his new black sword. For a moment it seemed like an aura extended from the weapon and expanded to engulf the king, but it might have just been a trick of the light.


    ~ * ~


    Dreth stood at the railing, looking out across a sparkling blue sea. Behind them the land was a hazy smudge on the horizon. Ahead the water stretched out to meet the clear sky, a clash of blue against blue, old enemies in eternal battle. Above, the sails were extended, billowing, full with natural wind now, propelling the schooner along at a good clip. The sea breeze swept over him, blowing his cloak out in an impressive billowy display. It was a peaceful scene, and one that Dreth would have enjoyed a lot more if it wasn''t for the small red form sitting on his shoulder.


    "I know you had something to do with the guards finding us," Dreth accused it. "I''m going to get you Brandon, you see if I don''t."


    The devil grinned. "Try again loser," it said.


    Dreth sighed. He''d run out of names beginning with ''B'', and he was beginning to wonder if the whole thing hadn''t been one of the devil''s little tricks. Turning around, he joined the others on the aft deck.


    Sprat and Percy were gazing out over the water. Tybalt was still at the wheel, piloting the vessel with some skill. Emerald was sprawled out in a chair she had moved outside from one of the cabins, and was dozing in the sun. Frumble wasn''t enjoying himself so much though. The wizard was leaning over the rail, gagging and spitting and looking generally green about the gills. Cuthbert stood to one side making encouraging* comments.


    "You''re not looking so well there," said Percy, sauntering over and slapping the mage on the back, which produced another bout of coughing. "Land lobber." the zombie tutted knowingly.


    "Lubber," corrected Dreth. "Land lubber."


    "Bah, it''s alright for you undead, standing there making jokes," said the wizard between bouts of heaving. "I don''t find this so funny."


    "The other living are alright," pointed out Cuthbert.


    "Yes, well, we Halflings aren''t a sea-going race as a rule. We burrow by nature. You can''t burrow in water, it collapses." He gulped as a wave hit the ship, and leaned over the side again in a renewed round of vomiting.


    Dreth shook his head and pulled out a telescope that he''d taken from one of the bodies. Raising it to his eye, he swept it around, more for the look of the thing than to actually see what was there.


    "Oh cool! Let me have a go!" said Percy. Dreth handed the zombie the device, who squinted through it. "Is this working? I can b?r?ly see anything."


    "You''re holding it the wrong way round." Dreth did a good impression of a weary sigh.


    "Well, how was I to know?" The zombie righted the device and peered through it again. "It''s not much better even so. All I can see is blue."


    "That would be the sea," said Dreth. "Or perhaps the sky."


    "Well, there should be something out here. Other ships, sea monsters, mermaids and what not. I''m a little disappointed."


    "There''s a ship over there," said Cuthbert, nodding at a merchant vessel that was disappearing over the horizon.


    "I can''t see it." Percy said.


    "That''s because you stole your eyes from a dwarf, they''re not renowned for their hawk like vision," the other zombie pointed out.


    "But they''re great for underground!" retorted Percy. "How was I supposed to know I''d end up in a boat in the middle of the ocean? How many zombie sailors do you know?"


    "It''s a sea, not an ocean," Tybalt interjected.


    *Such as: "Woo that was a good lot! What did you eat that was purple?"

 Chapter 76 - Pirates and Zombies

    "Pish, it''s all the same," Percy replied. "Zombies and deep water. It''s not a match made in heaven is it? I mean, what if I fell in? I can''t swim. I''d sink and drown."


    "You need to be able to breathe before you can drown," said Dreth. "The worst you''d face is a long walk to land, or possibly being nibbled by fish. I suppose we could lower the anchor and pull you up, but I don''t know if I''d want to waste that much time."


    "I could breathe if I wanted to," retorted Percy. "I''m just out of practice." He opened his mouth and attempted to inhale, making a strange croaking sound. A moment later he exhaled, producing a wheezing noise and a puff of dust. "See?"


    "You call that breathing?" scoffed the little devil. "I can do better than that, and I don''t have lungs even."


    "Was breathing so." Percy flapped his arms about. "It was invigorating too. I feel all pumped up and oxygenated. Good for what ails you, breathing is."


    "Death is what ails you," said Dreth. "As well as maggots in the brain. I doubt one mouldy breath is going to do much for either condition."


    "I''m surrounded by sceptics," said Percy, raising the telescope again. "Hey! A boat! It''s coming towards us!"


    "Where?" asked Dreth, snatching the instrument back and looking through it.


    "Over there!" Percy said, pointing.


    "It''s a pretty small one," said Dreth, finding it. "Looks like a row boat"


    "It has a pirate flag on it!" said Cuthbert. "Sprat, look! A pirate!"


    "It''s a bit small to be a pirate isn''t it?" asked Frumble, distracted a moment from his sea-sickness. "There seems to be only one person aboard, and he''s rowing."


    "Avast there!" came a distant cry from the pirate boat. "Heave to and prepare to be boarded, arr!"


    "That''s pirate speak," Cuthbert informed Sprat, who looked on wide eyed.


    Dreth leaned on the rail and watched, unconcerned, as the pirate, by dint of furious rowing, intercepted them and threw a grapple up. It wedged in the railings and the boat was dragged alongside.


    The pirate shimmied up the rope and landed on the deck with a nimble flourish.


    "Blast yer all! This vessel now be under the control of Captain Mad Redbeard Hooks O'' the High Seas! Surrender yer gold and yer women and I might just let yer live, aar."


    "You''re a bit small for a pirate aren''t you?"


    "What''s it to yer, yer scurvy dog? I''ll bite yer kneecaps off and throw yer floundering torso to the fishes, blast yer."


    In truth, Mad Redbeard Hooks O'' the High Seas was a less than imposing figure. The dwarf stood only a little taller than Frumble, who was so amazed he''d forgotten to be sick. The pirate did have a red beard though, an out of control mass of hair which tumbled down his ?h?st, resting on a stomach that didn''t look like it was wanting for food. He also wore the traditional gear of a pirate, from the black hat with the skull and crossbones motif, down past the golden earrings, just visible through the shock of hair, to the slightly scruffy jacket and pantaloons. One leg was a wooden stump, the other was clad in a knee high black boot. The bird perched on his shoulder looked slightly shocked, and it took Dreth a moment to realize that it was actually stuffed. Not only that, but it appeared to be a raven painted to look like a parrot.


    "Well? What yer be gawking at?" demanded Redbeard, pulling out and brandishing a sabre


    Only then did Dreth realize that both the pirates'' hands were missing, each sporting a hook in their stead. The sword had a specially modified handle to allow him to wield it.


    "Hooks it is indeed," he said. "You appear to be a little down on your luck pirate, as well as just a little down."


    "Scurvy dog! Yer be laughing from the other side o'' yer face if yer don''t abide by me demands!"


    "Oh yes?" Percy stepped forward. "And how exactly are you a threat to us short stuff?"


    The dwarf smiled beneath his beard. "I be controlling a fearsome sea beast I be. If yer don''t comply, I''ll have to be calling it up and sinking the lot of yer. An'' don''t get any ideas! If something happens to me, me little monster friend will be smashing yer craft to smithereens it will, arrr."


    "Oh dear," said Dreth, shaking his head. "I''m quaking with fear." He started to reach for his sword.


    "Wait!" said Emerald. "What if he''s telling the truth?"


    "Him? Control a sea monster?" Dreth looked sceptical "Unlikely I think."


    "Still, better safe than sorry, surely?" Emerald shrugged.


    "You''re not going to listen to this one legged dwarf are you?" sneered the little devil.


    "I hate to agree with the red thing," said Dreth, "but I don''t believe you control any monster short stuff. Prepare to die."


    "Yer kill me, yer ship be driftwood pale man. It be easy to show yer the truth in any case," the pirate replied.


    "Go on then. Show us this so called sea monster," said Dreth, "before I become impatient."


    "You, impatient?" muttered Cuthbert sarcastically. "Imagine that."


    The dwarf ignored the zombie and waved a hand, or a hook in his case, gesturing off the port bow. "Take a look an'' see," he said.


    "Not very impressive so far," said Cuthbert, after a few moments of non-activity. "Oh!"


    They watched as a gigantic tentacle, complete with crater-like suckers, broke the surface of the sea, creating a small tsunami. The limb rose into the air, water falling off it like rain, and climbed into the sky, uncurling all the while. Soon it was towering over the ship, casting a threatening shadow over the vessel and crew.


    "Wooo, that is pretty big," said Percy. "Still, seen bigger." He shrugged dismissively and crossed his arms.


    "Yer be lying zombie!" scowled Redbeard, shaking his sword.


    Their gazes were drawn back to the monster as another tentacle followed the first, and then another and another, until six of them were waving slowly about high above. Finally a gargantuan form broke the surface, looking like a small island that had decided it wanted to go travelling It was vaguely pink, and covered with pot marks and smaller sea creatures, which were busy falling off. A huge eye opened and looked at them, an amber malevolence that seemed to pulse with fishy might.


    "Okay then. One sea monster, present and correct. Check," said Dreth, steadying himself as the wake of the beast hit the ship, rocking it from side to side. Frumble m??n?d and began spewing again.


    "Er, you can send it back now," said Tybalt nervously.


    "Yer be believing me then?" asked Hooks, raising one bushy eyebrow.


    "Yes, I think you''ve made a point," said Dreth. "You can tell it to sit, or whatever you do to make it go away."


    "So, yer ship be mine now¡­" started the pirate turning around, only to be brought up short by Darkblood, which was suddenly hovering a fraction away from his good eye. "Arr, what be this? Mutiny ye scurvy dog! Yer going to be walking the plank, mark me words."


    Dreth leaned down to face the small pirate. "Mark my words little man, no one tells me what to do."


    "You''d better believe that," said Cuthbert, a slight trace of bitterness in his voice.


    "If yer be after me ship¡­"


    "I don''t care about this ship," said Dreth. "I''m only using it to get somewhere. Once I''m where I want to be, you can have it."


    The dwarf''s eye brightened. "Really?"


    "Really. So you''d better call off your beasty."


    "No deal." Hooks made to bring his own sword up, but thought better of it at the last moment.


    "No deal? Don''t you see this blade I''m wielding?" asked Dreth, wobbling the item in question a little, and making Redbeard flinch. "It will feed on your very essence to power its own."


    "Bllooood," hissed the weapon, as if confirming the analysis.


    "I don''t be caring," said Hooks. "Yer kill me, me beast will sink the lot of yer."


    Dreth held still a moment, evaluating the small pirate, who stood still, defiant. "It seems we have a small impasse then," he said eventually.


    "Aye, yer be right."


    "What do you want?" asked Emerald, stepping forward and putting a hand on Dreth''s arm, pushing the sword down. "Perhaps we can reach a deal."


    "Hey, who''s running this show?" Dreth complained.


    "Hush," Emerald admonished him. "I don''t want to be sunk thank-you very much. Some of us need to breath remember?"


    "Hmmf," said Dreth, but allowed the woman to carry on.


    "If we help you Mr. Hooks," she continued, "will you guide us to where we want to go? You can have the ship if you like after that, though I would point out it is stolen, if that''s a problem for you."


    "I be a pirate woman!" declared Redbeard loudly. "Of course it ''aint a problem."


    "So then. What do you say?" Emerald asked.


    Redbeard sighed and scratched his nose carefully with his free hook. He looked at Emerald, and then Dreth and the others. Finally he shrugged. "''Tis'' a shabby looking crew yer be," he said. "Still, me''be we can reach an accord. Aye, why not? Shake on it." He held out a hook, and Emerald shook it gingerly.


    **More for forms sake than real need.

 Chapter 77 - Pirate Island

    "Very well then," she said, formalities out of the way. "What do you need that your beast can''t help you get?"


    "I be after an old enemy captain of mine," said the short form. "They be holding me hands, wickedly taken from me due to a slight misunderstanding, arr."


    "I don''t mean to be pessimistic," said Tybalt, "but if this person''s chopped your hands off, they''re probably not going to be much good by now."


    "I could always use a spare hand," said Cuthbert. "What?" he asked as everyone looked at him. "They wear out quickly, hands do."


    "Oh, no, they be of use still," the diminutive pirate scowled, waving his sword around and nearly chopping Sprats head off. "Old Captain Blue ''Hands'' Crazybeard keeps ''em for pets. Has a dozen o'' them does Blue, all crawlin'' around in boxes they be. Fair creeps a dwarf out it does."


    Dreth sheathed Darkblood, leaned against the railing and tried, unsuccessfully, to knock the little devil into the sea. He scowled and scratched at his re-growing arm. "And where be, I mean... where is this pirate now then? And why don''t you get your monster to deal with their ship?" He waved out at the sea.


    "''Aint be that easy pale man," Hooks said, sheathing his own sword. "Me beasty ''aint so subtle. It''s all or nothing yer see? Asides, Blue has something that''ll keep it away. A canny pirate Blue be."


    "Where can we find this Captain Blue person?" asked Emerald.


    "Where all the pirates be found woman," said Redbeard, looking at her. "Pirate Island of course."


    "Of course, where else?" sighed Tybalt. He turned to Hooks. "You''d better give me a bearing then," he said.


    "Ay! Be easy. Steer due east matey."


    "Aye aye," said Tybalt wearily.


    The schooner slowly turned, sails billowing in the wind, and ploughed its way through the sea, towards Pirate Island.


    ~ * ~


    On the shore of the Sparklyblue sea was a seagull. It had had a good day. There had been a surfeit of fish to feed on earlier, for some reason, so it was taking the chance to perch on a boulder and have a bit of a rest.


    The beach the boulder was on, with the bird atop it, was definitely well into the ''barren'' and ''windswept'' range. Apart from the odd rock scattered about, and a few scraggly plants further back, waving in the wind, there was nothing of interest to catch the eye. Except possibly the wreck of an old longboat, rotting a little way offshore. Inside were a dozen skeletons, remains of the crew, who had fallen foul of some mysterious end. The gull had long since explored the wreck and had come to the conclusion there was nothing to warrant its further attention.


    Something new caught the birds'' eye, and it ???ked its head, beholding an unusual sight. A tall man in dark robes, a long staff in hand, was walking down onto the beach. He appeared to have forgotten his shoes, and hence was complaining quite a lot about how his red and white socks were getting dirty, and now, wet. Occasionally he''d step on a sharp stone and jump and curse a bit.


    Finally he stopped and stood still, looking out at the sea and the wrecked boat in particular. After a moment''s consideration, he scratched his behind and raised his hands. Strange sounds reached the gulls'' ears, disturbing even to the seabird.


    Nothing seemed to happen at first, and the gull quickly lost interest as the man sat on a rock, not dissimilar to the birds'' own, and inspected his much abused socks.


    There was a movement, and something stirred in the longboat. First one, then another skeleton began to move, standing up and gazing around with empty eye sockets like they were looking for something. They spotted the man, still sitting on his stone, and jumped nimbly over the side, wading through the surf onto the shore like holidaymakers terminally overdue on their boat rental.


    Finally he climbed carefully onto his rock and spoke to the newly undead, who listened intently.


    At this point the gull, bored of all this non-fish related activity, decided it had seen enough, and flew away. This was a shame really, as things were just beginning to get interesting.


    ~ * ~


    Dreth stood on the foredeck, near the pointy bit at the front, peering into the evening gloom. The little devil was sitting on a pile of rope nearby, plucking the eyes out of a fish it''d found somewhere.


    "So, happy now?" asked Dreth. "You managed to thwart my plan back at Real well enough."


    The devil smiled and threw the mangled fish away. "Meh, all in days work."


    "What do you get out of all this exactly?" asked Dreth.


    It shrugged. "I get to get out of hell for a while, see the world and all that. And torment people of course."


    "How about you tell me your name, and then I order you to go and torment someone else? I can probably think of someone much more interesting than me to hang about with."


    "I don''t think so," it replied. "And I''m rather enjoying this voyage." It gestured around at the ship. "Ah, here''s our new pirate friend, come to bedazzle us with more colourful language no doubt."


    "Avast up there!" shouted Hooks.


    "See?"


    Dreth ignored the devil. "Are we there yet?" he said to the dwarf.


    "We be close!" the pirate said, stumping up the stairs to stand by Dreth. "But we best have a plan. They be right unfriendly to strangers on Pirate Island."


    "Surely you have lots of friends there?" asked the devil.


    "Aye, you''d think so wouldn''t ye? The fact o'' the matter is, old Captain Blue and me, we didn''t part on the best terms."


    "So we avoid this Crazybeard''s crew," said Dreth. "How hard could it be? It''s only one pirate, right?"


    "Arr. That not be so easy me lad," Hooks said. "On account old of old Blue be the leader of the pirates yer see. I won''t be welcome back with open arms. And if we sails much further as we are, someone will spot us and come a looking. They don''t like uninvited guests they don''t, and us pirates all knows each other we do."


    "Why don''t you just send your monster and smash any boat that gets in our way?" suggested Dreth.


    "Not so easy lad. The island''s in shallow waters. Me old friend can''t come much closer than we are now. And I told yer, old Blue''s got a defence"


    "Why can''t anything be easy for a change?" Dreth said. "So, what do you suggest then?"


    "Arr," said Hooks. "I be working on a plan. Lend me yer ear landlubber, and see what yer think."


    "Go on," said Dreth, leaning forward. "I''m listening."


    "Well," replied the pirate, "No one gets ter Pirate island alive yer see."


    "So you''ve implied."


    "The solution be obvious then. Death!"


    "That''s a plan is it?" asked the devil. "I''ve farted smarter than that."


    "Quiet you," said Dreth, swiping at it ineffectually. "Still," he looked at the dwarf. "It seems a bit counter productive, killing yourself to get your hands back."


    "I don''t mean kill fer real yer barnacle!" Hooks waved his hooks about. "I means yer get yer wizard to cast a spell. Yerself and yer zombie friends already look the part, beggin'' yer pardon an'' all. Pirates be a superstitious lot. They won''t look dead bodies over real close, on account they be afeared the ghosts will seek ''em out."


    "We''d have to take a smaller boat, they''d steal the ship if we sailed it in," said Dreth, tapping his chin.


    "You''re seriously considering this?" asked the devil, hopping onto the pirates'' head and ignoring the dwarfs'' attempts to remove him.


    "What''s wrong devil? I thought you wanted to see the world?"


    "But if you die I''ll go back to hell," it said.


    "I don''t know," said Dreth. "It sounds like fun, and I haven''t killed anything in a while. My sword''s getting itchy."


    "Then we be agreed," said Hooks.


    Dreth looked at the wizard, who was still hanging over the side. "If we can get Frumble to stop throwing up long enough to cast the spell that is," he said.


    ~ * ~


    "Why we be having to patrol here?" grumbled Dirty Gary. "I wants to be swillin'' me grog." He kicked the sand with his stump, tired and fed up with this pointless activity.


    "Aye! I''m with yer matey, to be sure." Ropeburn Ron answered with a scowl. "''Aint no reason to be out here on this blighted day, arrr."


    "We are here, as you know full well, because we are all without current berths." The third voice was, in direct contrast to the other two, cultured and refined.


    Gary and Ron turned and looked at their companion, who was walking along the beach with one hand behind his back, apparently enjoying the stroll.


    "I told yer not to be speaking like that," said Gary with a frown.


    "Aye! Speak like a real pirate! Yer fair gives me the willies yer do," Ron agreed.


    The three were patrolling a cold and barren beach. Black craggy rocks towered over them on the inland side, whilst white breakers foamed up the sand on the other, complete with the roaring sound the sea is famous for. Gulls squawked noisily overhead, floating on the strong breeze blowing in from the sea.

 Chapter 78 - Landlubbers

    Gary and Ron were dressed in traditional pirate sailor gear. Ron had his usual striped black and white top and faded blue pants on, which flapped around in the wind about his ankles. A sabre hung at his waist on the left side, so he could use it with his one good hand, the other being a dull metal hook. His feet were b?r?foot, and long overdue for a good scrub. His friend, Gary, was in similar attire, only one pant leg was cut short, to allow for his wooden leg. Both men had wild dark hair and sported a number of gold earrings. Gary had an eye patch for good measure.


    The third man though, was dressed in a nicely cut black jacket that he wore over a clean shirt with a ruffled maroon cravat about his neck. Dark britches were tucked into white silk stockings that covered whole, healthy legs. His footwear comprised of sensible black shoes, polished to a bright shine, now sadly tarnished by the wet sand. He did have dark hair, but this was neatly trimmed and was partially obscured by a tall round hat, perched on his head at a carefully calculated angle. He didn''t seem to have a blade, though he was holding a suspiciously thick looking cane with a golden handle. All in all he looked more like an office clerk than a pirate.


    "I am merely stating the obvious," the neatly attired one pointed out. "Blue sent us on patrol because we have no current ?ssignment on a sailing vessel. Besides, someone has to guard the perimeter."


    "I don''t be understandin'' half yer talk," sneered Gary, directing his frustration at the logical target. "Yer bring shame on the pirate way yer do. I should gut yer where yer stand." He tugged on his sabre


    "Very well," said the third man, whose name was Reginald. "However, perhaps we should investigate yonder small boat before we engage in violent contest." He pointed his stick out to sea.


    Dirty Gary looked around, to see a small row boat drifting towards them. Several lumps could be seen inside. "Arr! Someone''s come a cropper."


    "Look like there be bodies," said Ron, peering out.


    They watched as the vessel floated slowly along, drawn in by the rising tide. When it was closer Ron waded out to it. Grabbing a line he hauled it to the shore, where the other two helped pull it up onto the sand.


    "Urg. Been a while at sea I''m thinkin''," said Ron, examining their find.


    "Yer be havin'' the right of it," Gary agreed, wrinkling his nose. The boat held five bodies, all which looked the worse for wear. Obviously they''d been dead for some time, and the elements had been at work on them. The smell made him step back a pace.


    "The wench could have been a looker mind," said Ron wistfully.


    "Yer welcome to ''er," Gary chuckled, showing the shining pirate wit he was famous for. He started to walk away, Ron close behind.


    "Wait! Shouldn''t we search them?" Reginald was peering at the corpses, holding a kerchief over his nose to void the odour


    "Yer mad man?" asked Ron. "Stir up their spirits? I ''aint be doing nothing o'' the kind."


    "Come now. Silly superstition, nothing more. They are dressed well enough, could be coin in their purses, and that sword looks like it''s worth a measure of gold."


    The mention of loot brought Gary up short. Greed warred with superstition. "I ''aint be so sure¡­"


    "Plus Blue wouldn''t be happy if it''s found later and we didn''t report it. Think of that." Reginald nodded.


    "Mebe we should be checking it out," Ron said, edging back a little.


    That made Gary''s mind up for him. No way was Ropeburn beating him to the booty! He stepped forward importantly. "Ay! Yer be right. Let''s see what we have here then."


    Holding his breath he leaned over and picked at one of the bodies, which promptly giggled. "Hey stop that! It tickles!"


    "Spirits!" Gary leaped backwards as another of the corpses spoke.


    "Well, so much for that. Plan B it is then."


    One of the dead rose up and drew its weapon. Gary''s eyes went wide as the blade was thrust forward with blinding speed. He looked down at the black sword that had stabbed him through the midriff. A cold sensation spread throughout his body, and he thought he could hear a voice inside his head.


    "Blllooood! Feeeed meee!" The words seemed to be coming from within somehow.


    Dirty Gary tried to speak, but his mouth opened and closed in vain. Finally he managed to croak something out.


    "Arrr," he said.


    Which wasn''t much of a last word really.


    ~ * ~


    Dreth pulled Darkblood from the body, and whirled around to face the second pirate, but Percy was already sitting on top of a bloody corpse and munching away gruesomely on the face, tearing off the skin and splattering blood over the sand. As he watched, the zombie su?k?d an eyeball out with a slurping sound.


    Dreth instead turned and faced the third, who backed away, holding up his hands.


    "Please! Good creatures! Spare me, I beseech you!"


    "What kind o'' pirate be you?" asked Hooks, climbing out of the boat and looking the man up and down with scorn.


    "I''m Reginald Harkworthy. Please, don''t drag me into the spirit realm oh dead one!" the pirate babbled.


    "Yer what?" Hooks looked down and realized he was still wearing the corpse illusion disguise that Frumble had cast on them. "Oh. Wizard, yer can get yer spell off now."


    The mage, who had fallen to the ground and was hugging the sand, stood up slowly. "Very well. It served us well enough until we got here I suppose."


    There was a pop, and the devil appeared in the boat. "Are we here then?" it asked. It looked around with some distain.


    "I told you to stay hidden," said Dreth. "Oy! Where do you think you''re going?" He pointed his sword at Reginald, who had started to edge slowly away.


    "Ah, my apologies Mr. Corpse, I just thought that if you''d finished with me¡­"


    "Not by a long chalk," said Dreth. "You stay there, unless you want to meet my blade up close and personal."


    "Aye aye," said the man agreed, miserably.


    "Here," said the dwarf, handing Dreth a hook from the pirate he''d killed. "Yer can wear this." He indicated Dreth''s arm, which had grown back down to the wrist. "Disguise like."


    "Oh, that''ll make a big difference," said the devil, watching as Dreth clumsily attempted to attached his new appendage.


    Frumble chose that moment to finish his dismissal spell, and the illusions wavered and vanished, though Percy remained remarkably unchanged.


    "Captain Mad Redbeard Hooks O'' the High Seas," gasped Reginald, as their real countenances reappeared.


    "Aye, the very one yer scurvy dog, an'' don''t yer be fergetin'' it," said Hooks, shaking what would have been his fist.


    "But Blue¡­"


    "Yer never you mind about old Blue," said the dwarf. "I be dealing with Cap''n Crazybeard in me own good time." He turned to Percy. "Take his rags too." He gestured at the clothes. "Make yer blend in some."


    "How come pirates lose so many limbs?" asked the zombie, tugging at the man''s striped top. "You lot b?r?ly have a set between you, except for this character." He pointed to Reginald.


    "That be the pirate way," Hooks replied. "How be people to know who yer are if yer don''t have a hook or a stump or the like?"


    "The ship with the black flag isn''t enough then?" the devil interjected.


    "How about me? Do I get a disguise?" asked Frumble, watching Percy try on his new attire.


    "Can''t you just conjure one up?" asked Dreth.


    The Wizard sighed. "I''ll use all my magic up," he said. "Still, I suppose so¡­" The Halfling thought for a moment, and then started to mumble an incantation.


    "What about ye then?" the pirate asked Emerald, who had remained quiet, sitting on the boat whilst the others stood about chatting.


    "You''re not cutting any of my parts off!" she said, jerking away.


    "It be alright, yer can just be a pirates'' wench. Mine me''be?" He winked with his good eye.


    Emerald scowled. "Just remember we''re acting the part. One wrong move and you''ll have something else chopped off. Now, are we going to just stand about all day chatting?" She looked about, trying to locate some clue as to which way they should be heading.


    "Ay, wench alright," said Hooks. "Come on then. Pirate Town be this way," he indicated a direction inland. "You! Reginald or whatever yer miserable excuse fer a pirate name be. Yer lead on, and yer try anything and me sword''ll feed on yer liver right quick."


    "Aye aye Captain."


    The group set off, practising their pirate lingo as they went.

 Chapter 79 - Blue

    "They''ve split up," Wilbur said, looking up from his scrying orb. "Dreth is on an island of some kind. They''ve left one of the zombies and the little one on the ship with the man."


    "Interesting," said Harold the Hedonistic without turning around. He was staring out over the railing of his ship, seemingly entranced with the Sparklyblue Sea. "Who''s on the island?"


    "I''m not sure milord, my scrying is at the limit of its range, and the island appears to have some kind of magical warding. We may lose sight of Dreth if he goes inland." Wilbur gulped silently to himself. Harold didn''t usually like being told bad news. He knew he was the third Magical Advisor to the king this year, and that was because he''d been away when the Wizard''s guild had chosen the post. For the hundredth time he lamented skipping that meeting. Today though, it seemed he was in luck.


    "Very well," Harold said, waving a hand vaguely. "Keep an eye on their ship. Let me know when they move off."


    "As you d?s?r?, of course." Wilbur bowed to the rulers'' back and made a hasty withdrawal.


    The king continued to stare out over the water.


    ~ * ~


    The village was thriving, despite the late hour. The small whitewashed buildings on either side of the roughly cobbled street all had lights burning. Several appeared to be selling women, and Emerald scowled as one scantily clad lady leaned out and called as the group passed.


    "Fancy a good time dearie?" she waved at Percy.


    "Don''t even think about it," hissed Dreth.


    "But a Good Time," m??n?d Percy, who had a hat pulled down low over his head, the better to disguise his features.


    "We''re not here for a good time," said Dreth, pulling his hood closer around his own face.


    "Story of my life," m??n?d the zombie. "Here we are, passing fresh food shops, and I can''t go in for a snack."


    "I don''t think that''s quite what they intended," said the tall muscular figure of Frumble, in his new illusion disguise. He waved at the woman, who winked and blew him a kiss.


    "Where is this Captain Blue exactly?" asked Dreth.


    "Usually the Captain be in the Inn," said Hooks, glancing from side to side nervously. He nudged Reginald. "You! Be Blue in port?"


    "Yes skipper," the captive replied. "Holding court as usual the last I saw."


    "Then we be having a chance," said Hooks. "Here be the Inn now."


    They all looked where he was pointing.


    The building in question was a large one. Horses were tethered outside, and oil lamps hung along the wall, illuminating the exterior with an orange light. The windows were large and allowed glimpses of the boisterous activity that was taking place inside. A large wooden door allowed entrance.


    "There''s no one on guard," said Percy.


    "Why would there be anyone on guard?" asked Reginald. "It''s an Inn."


    "Come on, and no funny tricks," said Dreth, prodding the man. "If there''s trouble you''re the first to die."


    They sauntered as casually as possible up to the door, and stepped inside.


    Dreth looked around, taking in the scene. The interior was dimly lit, which was something to be thankful for at least. There were sturdy wooden tables all around the room, surrounded by rough looking nautical figures drinking, wenching and generally behaving in typical pirate fashion. Their shouts filled the air, making Dreth think he''d fallen into a barrel of salty sea talk.


    Rickety stairs led up to a balcony that overlooked the central area. A large chandelier hanging from the ceiling dripped wax from its many candles onto those below. Waitress wenches moved amongst the crowd, pushing and punching their way through the patrons to deliver large wooden mugs of grog.


    In the centre of it all, overlooking the rest, was a large chair. Sprawled out on this makeshift throne was what could only be Captain Blue ''Hands'' Crazybeard. Dreth did a double take. No, there could be no mistake. Captain Blue was a woman.


    The initial source of the confusion was the beard she was wearing. It was a mass of blue hair that covered most of her face. On closer inspection Dreth could see wire wrapped around her ears. There was no doubt, it was a fake beard.


    The rest of Blue was more or less normal. She was a big woman, brawny enough to be a man, though with a fairly huge ?h?st threatening the integrity of the dirty grey jacket, the gender wasn''t much in doubt. She was wearing grey breeches that matched her top, and long black, knee-high boots. Her hair, such as was visible under the large pirate hat complete with Jolly Roger insignia, was blond, and platted in braids down her back. She had an eye patch, of course, and a large sabre was propped by her side.


    As Dreth looked on she raised a mug and downed the contents in one long, messy gulp, spilling half into her beard.


    "That''s Captain Blue?" asked Emerald incredulously.


    "Aye, she be a piece of work ''aint she?" Hooks replied admiringly. "What a woman!" He licked his lips.


    "Indeed," said Dreth dryly. He looked about and pulled the group into a shady corner. "So, where are these hands of yours?"


    "They be upstairs, in yonder room," Hooks said, gesturing.


    Dreth looked up to the balcony, to see the door of a room plainly visible from the main area. A large pirate stood guard outside it.


    "Wonderful," he said. "So what we need is a plan."


    "How about you just kill everyone?" asked Percy.


    "I don''t think that''s the best way to proceed here," said Dreth. "I''m good, but not that good."


    "And I don''t want to be caught in the crossfire," added Emerald.


    "So what then?" asked Percy.


    Dreth thought about it, looked at the large pirate in the centre of the room, and smiled.


    ~ * ~


    Captain Blue ''Hands'' Crazybeard took another quaff of grog, spilling most of it. Smacking her lips she let out an enormous belch, followed by an "arr" for good measure. Several of the pirates nearby applauded.


    "Git me another lad," she growled, throwing the mug at her cabin boy, who caught it deftly and, nodding once, scampered away to get a refill.


    She tapped her fingers on the arm of the chair whilst waiting for him to return, snarling at a drunken deckhand who dared venture too close. The man fell over, landing on his back, much to the amusement of those pirates around him.


    Blue sneered. Pirates! Simple tradition bound folk. She had more guts, more fire and daring in her little finger than¡­


    Her musings were interrupted by shouts coming from near the entrance. There was a scuffle, and several of her loyal crew approached her. They were holding something down between them, a something that was swearing in a familiar salty tone.


    The pirate chief leaned forward as her second in command, a large bald man with a jewelled eye patch, thrust a small figure forward, forcing it face down on the floor in front of her.


    "Well well well, look what the tide washed up," Blue said, smiling.


    Captain Redbeard Hooks stood up and spat. "Aye! I be back. What yer going to make of it?"


    "A foolish move yer made, me dwarven colleague," Blue replied. "And what brings ye back to us? Lonely perhaps?" She laughed, and the watching pirates dutifully guffawed too.


    "Or maybe," the pirate chief said, squinting, "yer be bringing back me little kraken yer took? Be that it now?"


    "Or maybe I have something ter tell yer," the small pirate snarled back.


    "Something ter tell me eh? Well, spill it then. What''s on yer mind Captain?"


    Hooks looked left and right, and sidled forward slightly. The crewmembers to either side of him blocked his way. "Arr! Yer scurvy lot! I be having something for Crazybeards ears alone, yer hear?"


    "Let him through," said Blue, waving a hand. "Let''s be hearing what he has ter say. I think I can deal with ''im easily enough, needs be."


    The sailors stepped back at her word, allowing Blue to close in. He looked about at all the pirates in the tavern as he did so. "What I be saying¡­" he started, "is Blue ''aint be a proper pirate!" With that he swung his hook round and pulled Blue''s false beard off, exposing her b?r? chin for all to see. "See? She ''aint even got a beard! Down with Blue! Down with Crazybeard!"


    The tavern erupted in noise as everyone shouted at once. Several of Blue''s rival pirate Captains, always looking for a chance to improve their social standing, took up the call, whilst others, more loyal, countered. Then someone threw a mug.


    Violence exploded, swords were drawn and furniture was thrown. Blue scowled and ducked as a chair flew overhead.


    Then she smiled. At least this had livened the day up!

 Chapter 80 - Hit and Run.

    "You!" she said to her boy, who''d returned with her drink just in time for the fighting. "Git me some glue!"


    "Glue?" the lad said.


    "You ''eard me! Glue! And make it right sharpish like, or I''ll cut yer from prow ter stern!"


    "Aye aye Cap''n!" the lad said, and scampered away through the brawling seamen.


    "She ''aint got a beard!" someone cried, as a window was smashed.


    "Curses!" Blue muttered. She grabbed her sabre with one hand and a bottle of rum with the other and looked around. Spotting a large fat sailor in a white top who suited her purpose, she strode over and smashed the bottle over his head, knocking him senseless, or more senseless. Thrusting her sword into another howling pirate who dared charged her, she ducked down and cut away at the fat man''s face as the fight raged through the tavern.


    Finally done, she stood up, danced to one side to avoid a thrown blade, and looked around for her boy. "Where are you blast it?" she muttered to herself, dropping out of pirate lingo in her anger.


    "Cap''n Blue!"


    She turned to see him hiding under a nearby table, his way blocked by two sailors hacking away at each other. In one hand was a pot.


    "Throw it to me lad!" she growled, and then scurried to retrieve it as it rolled nearby. Grabbing it, she hunkered down in an undignified squat near her throne and pasted a coat over her chin. That done, she retrieved the beard she''d cut off the pirate a few moments ago, and jammed it onto the lower half of her face, making sure it was secure.


    "Right then!" she roared, standing up. "Who''s saying old Blue ''aint a full bearded pirate then? Come on and meet me blade!"


    The fighting suddenly ceased, and quiet descended on the inn, with the exception of a late thrown bottle that shattered against the wall.


    "I be pirate chief!" Crazybeard waved her sword about madly. "Any one o'' ye who thinks otherwise stand forth and speak yer piece now!"


    There was silence. Several captains who''d earlier shouted out against her shuffled backwards, looking sheepish.


    "So be it! Now, where be that little troublemaker Hooks? I''ll see the colour of his liver I will." Blue searched around for the dwarf before realization suddenly struck. "Me hands!"


    She looked up at the landing above, but the guard was down and the door hanging open. "Blast it all ter hell! Me pets! The little creep''s stolen me collection!"


    ~ * ~


    "This way! Hurry!" Reginald Harkworthy took a sharp right, ducking into an alleyway between two tall buildings. "It won''t be long before Blue discovers what we''ve done. We have to get to the sea and get a ship out of here."


    "How do we know which hands are Hooks?" asked Percy. "We might not have them all. They do look quite tasty though. Really fresh."


    "Don''t you go eating any!" Dreth admonished, looking at the glass tank they''d found in the pirates room, which Percy was struggling not to drop. Inside at least a dozen hands crawled around, looking like strange pale spiders. Several sported expensive looking rings.


    "I''ve seen some strange stuff in my time," he said as they trotted out of the village, "but pet hands are a new one."


    "Crazybeard isn''t called crazy just because of her beard," said Reginald, his black coat flapping behind him as he jogged along. "She dabbles in the dark arts too, so I hear."


    "Oh, that''s just great," panted Frumble, who was struggling to keep up. "A spell caster, and me with my power low. I knew it!"


    "Are we having fun yet?" asked the devil, who was sitting on Dreth''s head looking bored.


    "Where are we going?" said Emerald.


    Dreth looked around. They were stumbling down a low slope dotted with straggly trees. "Is this the way to the harbour?"


    "No," said Reginald. "There are too many vessels there. This way is Skeleton Cove. I happen to know that the Black Skull is docked there. Maybe we can get away on that."


    "And how do you propose we persuade them to help us?" panted Emerald.


    "That part''s easy at least," said Dreth. "I''ll just kill them one at a time until they agree. I''m tired of all this skulking around. Time for some old fashioned violence."


    "Subtle," said the devil, "but I like it. Oh, I think I see your little captain friend behind us. He can really move for a short arse with one leg can''t he?"


    Dreth glanced behind, to see the squat form of Hooks half running, half hopping towards them. He slowed down slightly to allow the dwarf to catch up.


    "Yer get them?" Hooks asked when he finally did, gasping for breath.


    "We got a whole tank full!" said Percy gleefully, holding the handarium up for the pirate to see. "Very nice they are too!" A finger wiggled desperately about as he su?k?d it into his mouth. "What?" he said, as Dreth scowled at him.


    "I told you not to eat them!"


    "Relax, there''s no way that one was a dwarf hand. Elf maybe, or half Elf perhaps," Percy said, chewing reflectively. He paused and considered a moment. "Yes, half Elf."


    "Let''s see that tank, afore yer scoff me limbs!" Hooks demanded, but Dreth put an arm out, blocking his way.


    "Let''s get off this island first," he said, gesturing ahead. They had crested the brow of the hill, and were now heading down, towards a small cove, where the shape of a ship at anchor a little way offshore could be seen.


    "The Black Skull is it?" said Hooks, squinting forward. "Arr. It be a suitable vessel, and Captain Longshanks and most of his crew be back at the inn."


    "Then let''s do this thing," said Reginald.


    They set off to steal a ship.


    ~ * ~


    "Two points ter starboard!" shouted Hooks.


    "Are they gaining?" asked Dreth, who was sitting on the stairs up to the bridge cleaning his sword. Below him a heap of pirate bodies lay piled up on the deck, as a reminder to the others who were now eagerly manning the ship.


    "They won''t catch us," said Hooks, scanning the horizon with a practised eye. "This ship be as fast as any in the pirate fleet, excepting Blue''s maybe. We got a good start on them too. They weren''t expecting us to go to Needle point I''m guessing."


    Dreth scowled. "Emerald was fairly insistent we pick up Tybalt. And I suppose they could have tortured Cuthbert for information."


    "I would never crack!" declared the zombie, who was attempting to teach Sprat how to fish with a length of cord.


    "Crack no," commented the devil. "Ooze maybe."


    Dreth rolled his eyes, wondering how he''d collected such a motley group of hangers-on to his quest. It''d seemed so easy when he''d set off to get the treasure in the dungeon. How did he manage to end up on a ship in the middle of a sea, being chased by a mad pirate queen, with a tiny devil on his back, a dwarf captain with half his limbs, a midget wizard, a vessel for some sort of great Evil and her boyfriend? Oh, and some sort of dandy sailor. He looked on as Reginald climbed up onto the helm and reported to Hooks.


    At least the dwarf captain was a little happier now. He''d found one of his hands in the tank, and promptly re-attached it. The ordeal had apparently not harmed the digit, which was functioning perfectly. What had happened to the other one remained unknown, but one was enough it seemed, for a pirate.


    Dreth held his own hand up. It had nearly fully re-grown now. He flexed it, testing it out, and wondered what would happen if someone cut his head off. Would his body grow back, or would his body grow another head? Best not try finding out.


    His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Hooks using various salty words. He looked up enquiringly. "Trouble?"


    "Blue may be crazy," replied Reginald, "but she''s not stupid. Her ship, along with at least two others, is heading towards us on an intercept course." He pointed ahead and off to port.


    Dreth pulled out his telescope and squinted through it in the direction indicated. Sure enough, heading towards them under full sail were three ships, all flying the Jolly Roger. The lead ship appeared larger and somehow more menacing, and the Skull and Crossbones was a blood red colour, in direct contradiction to pirate tradition. "Bugger," he said, lowering the scope. "Hey, Hooks, can''t you summon your sea creature and deal with them?"


    The dwarf shook his head sadly. "Aint possible matey, on account of I stole me beasty from Blue herself. She''s another one. I''ll keep me own in case she uses hers against us. They be doomsday weapons yer see."


    "Blast," said Dreth.


    The door to the cabin behind them opened, and Percy stuck his head out. "Is there a storm?" he asked. "I think I feel seasick."


    "Do undead get seasick?" asked Reginald.


    "Don''t be daft," said Dreth.

 Chapter 81 - Death on the Water.

    "Oh, the ugly beast of unliving discrimination rears its head once more," Percy m??n?d, stepping onto the deck and leaning against the wall. "Just because someone dies, all feelings stop, is that it?"


    "Usually," replied the devil.


    "You! You should be on my side," Percy said. "You''re not alive either."


    "But I don''t get sick," it pointed out.


    "Now you mention it," Cuthbert said. "I don''t feel too good myself. Do I look pale to you?"


    Dreth looked at the two zombies critically. "You may be a little greener than usual, but I put that down to rot, not seasickness."


    "Daddy! I feel funny," Sprat chimed in. "And not a good funny, like when I ate that boys'' brain."


    The medical debate was cut short by the sound of footsteps, and Tybalt''s head appeared up the steps from the lower deck. "We''re being intercepted!" he reported.


    "We know," said Dreth. "Blue and a couple of her friends."


    "There''s more?" Tybalt asked. "I only saw the one, straight ahead. Funny looking longship."


    "Another?" Hooks looked through his telescope once more, as did Reginald and Dreth.


    Dreth steadied himself as he brought the new ship into view. "It doesn''t look like a pirate," he said after a moment''s reflection. "In fact, I think it has holes in the sail."


    "And the hull," added Reginald.


    "How be it afloat?" asked Hooks.


    "I have a funny feeling about this," said Dreth.


    "You too?" asked Percy. He really didn''t look well, which was saying something for a zombie.


    Ignoring the undead, Dreth turned to Hooks. "Come about," he said. "Put Blue and her friends between us and this new ship."


    "Are yer mad man?" Hooks protested. "We''ll be sailing in to their teeth and against the wind! One rotten vessel be better than three!"


    "Just do it," Dreth said, "or I''ll cut your hand off again and throw it into the sea." He looked around. "Where''s Frumble?"


    "He''s down below," said Tybalt.


    "Better get him up here, and Emerald too," said Dreth. "We might have to get off suddenly."


    "Aye aye." Tybalt saluted and slid back down to the main deck.


    "Oh, I wish I''d not eaten so many hands," ?r??n?d Percy, clutching his stomach.


    "What''s wrong with you?" Dreth asked. "Zombies don''t get sick."


    "Are you going to puke?" asked the devil. "I wonder what that would look like?" He leaned forward eagerly.


    "I don''t want to know," said Dreth. "Go and stand near the railing."


    "We be having more problems than the sick dead," said Hooks, pointing with a newly restored finger.


    The pirate ships, so distant but moments ago, now loomed large. Dreth could see a figure in a long coat standing near the prow of the flagship, waving a large sabre about. Behind her a group of men were busy about some kind of contraption. It wasn''t long before the purpose of such was revealed, as, with a sudden movement, a wooden arm sprang upwards, catapulting a large boulder into the air.


    "Incoming!" shouted Cuthbert, putting his hands on his head.


    "Aye, never fear, it''ll miss," said Hooks, squinting at the missile as it sailed through the air. Sure enough it landed some distance to their rear in an explosion of spray.


    "Where''s that damned wizard?" asked Dreth. "We could use some fireballs about now."


    "They ''aint caught us yet," Hooks said, and shouted commands down to the crew, who scurried about to do his bidding, performing whatever tasks seamen did to make the ship work.


    The Black Skull turned sharply, sails flapping in the wind as it tacked hard to port, dodging a second, more accurate, rock fired from Blue''s ship. Dreth thought he could hear shouts of rage from the enemy.


    "Are we going to die?" Frumble staggered up to them. He''d stopped vomiting, but still looked green about the gills. Tybalt and Emerald followed him, Tybalt holding Emerald in his arms.


    "Mage! Cast some magic," demanded Dreth. "Get us out of here, or blast those ships apart or something."


    The vessel veered again as Hooks continued his evasive manoeuvres, making Frumble wince. "What do you think I am? Some master level wizard or something? I told you, I used most of my magic on those illusions. I need to rest before I do anything like summon wind or try to throw death about. I''ve never been very good at fireballs anyway. Most of the time I end up burning my own hair off. It''s very embarrassing."


    "We''re about to be a lot more than embarrassed," snarled Dreth. "I can''t fight three full ship loads of angry pirates on my own."


    "Maybe we should swim for it," said Cuthbert, who was slumped on the deck.


    "I''m not going to jump overboard," said Emerald.


    "What the hell be that?" Hooks interrupted the discussion as a smashing sound reached Dreth''s ears. "By me mothers left tit! Look at that!"


    They looked. The trailing pirate ship was now sinking, having been cut almost clean in two. The longboat they had spotted earlier was powering away from the wreck, oars churning up white water in its wake. It had evidently smashed right through the larger craft, and was now heading directly for the second vessel, from which pirates could be seen abandoning ship with gusto.


    "Oh mummy!" m??n?d Cuthbert, clutching his head.


    With an enormous crash, the longboat intercepted the second pirate ship. Barely slowing, it powered through, shattering it, sending wooden planks flying into the air. With an almost human m??n, the vessels'' stern tilted ninety degrees and slid under, pulling floundering seamen with it. The front of the ship listed heavily to one side, but remained afloat.


    "Look! It''s manned by the dead!" Reginald said. "A ghost ship! We''re undone! Abandon ship!"


    "This ship''s also manned by the dead!" Dreth threatened, pulling out Darkblood. "And one with a bloody great big sword too. So if you think you''re going swimming, think again." He waved his blade meaningfully.


    "It be coming for us!" Hooks said.


    Dreth could see the longboat more clearly now. It was crewed by skeletons, rowing with cold precision. There was also one thin figure in a long dark robe standing at the stern. He felt a shiver run down his spine. Here was someone he didn''t want to meet. As he watched, a large shape broke the surface next to the death boat, and a huge tentacle came smashed on to the body of the ship, making powder out of several skeleton crew.


    "Is that your Kraken?" asked Dreth, swaying as waves slapped into the hull.


    "Nay! It be Blue''s beast!" the dwarf pirate answered.


    Focused as he had been on the longship, Dreth had forgotten about the other menace. Now he could see the pirate flagship, which had overshot them in the confusion, coming slowly about. Captain Crazybeard was standing on the deck, her hands held high as she directed her monster.


    "We''re not done for yet then!" Frumble said. "Blue''s vulnerable! Get your monster to attack her ship! Hurry!" He tugged at Hooks'' arm.


    "Aye lad. Yer have the right of it. Her guards down and no mistake." The dwarf captain made a gesture with his good hand, facing Blue''s ship.


    Frumble turned to Tybalt. "Quickly! Get this bucket out of here!" he said. "Whilst they''re both distracted."


    Nodding, Tybalt turned around and started bellowing orders. Slowly the ship changed course, sliding neatly between both enemies.


    Dreth looked left as another huge form broke the surface ahead of Blue''s ship, which started to turn, trying to avoid the monster. It was too slow, and there was a splintering sound as hull met kraken.


    Simultaneously a deafening noise, like the world''s largest foghorn, echoed around the sky. Dreth looked right, in time to see the first sea monster wrap its tentacles around the longboat. It was trying to pull the ship down, but something seemed to be resisting. The man, a minute figure compared to the giant sea animal, was still standing on the deck. From his arms a dark aura seemed to be emanating, and this was washing over the massive attacker, evidently causing it pain.


    Whatever it was, it wasn''t enough. As the Black Skull slipped through the waves, the strange death boat finally succumbed, dragged reluctantly under the grey surface, to disappear in a tidal wave that surged outwards in an enormous ripple. The mini tsunami caught up with the Black Skull and it rose up on a wall of water, pushed forward like some highly peculiar surfboard.


    "Oh frell!" Frumble cried, falling over and rolling along until he hit the railing, where he promptly vomited.


    Dreth hung onto a nearby beam as the ship rocked back and forth, at the mercy of the elements.


    "Bloody barnacles!" cried Hooks as the Skull slipped down the other side of the wave, and then up the one behind it.


    Somehow they managed to keep upright, and eventually the sea calmed. When it did so, and everyone stood up, dusted themselves off and looked about, they were alone on the water.

 Chapter 82 - Farsii

    "You''ll be okay on your own then?" Dreth asked, gesturing at the Black Skull, which was anchored offshore. "Not that I care you understand, but I''m just curious. We went to a lot of trouble to get your hand back, and I hate to think I wasted my time."


    "Never fear landlubber, they be proper respectful now they think Blue be dead," Hooks said.


    "Do you think she''s dead?"


    Hooks shrugged. "Maybe. Like as not she got away. Slippery one be Blue." He pulled at his beard thoughtfully.


    "So we''re east of the hills then?" Dreth confirmed, looking about.


    They were standing on a beach littered with sharp stones and rocks. A seagull watched them carefully a little distance away, no doubt wondering if they were some kind of interesting new walking fish. The sound of breakers could be heard as the sea washed up against the shore.


    "Aye, due east, as the gull flies," the pirate answered. "There be a village between ye and the hills though. Aint never been there myself, but I hear it''s a mite strange. Maybe best detour around it says I."


    "I think I can deal with a few bumpkins," Dreth said, tapping his sword. "And we''re running low on snacks anyway."


    "So be it then." Hooks looked at the group for a second. "Yer a strange crew, no mistaking," he said. "Luck ter ye dead man." With that as a farewell, he turned about and stumped off back to his waiting row boat


    "Thus ends out life as pirates," said the devil, watching him go.


    "Good riddance I say," said Frumble. "Life on the ocean wave I can do without."


    "Or death on the open wave even," said Percy. "Let''s not forget the living dead."


    "Oh, blow it our of your ?ss zombie," said the wizard.


    "Why is this midget still alive?" Percy asked. "I''m hungry and he''s not got rid of this curse¡­"


    The zombies'' complaints faded away as the party made their way inland, towards the hills, and the Prophet of Farsii.


    The group peered through the trees at the small settlement. The village ahead didn''t look very big, apparently consisting of a single street with crudely built houses on either side. A larger building could just be made out, near the centre Frumble thought it was probably a temple of some sort.


    Villagers, all human by the looks of them, wandered around the place. They didn''t seem to be anything more than simple peasants for the most part. The small wizard didn''t spot any that were armed. He said as much.


    "Let''s go in and massacre them all then!" said the devil, who was sitting on Dreth''s shoulder.


    "I''m inclined to agree," Percy said. "I can''t remember the last time I butchered a load of innocents." He looked all wistful for a moment. "The splattering of blood, the sound of bones splintering, the m??ns and screams of the dying. It''ll be like a holiday. Can we Dreth? Please? Can we?" The zombie jumped up and down, clapping his hands together.


    "I don''t know," said Dreth, running his chin. "It might slow us down¡­"


    "Oh come on," Cuthbert interjected. "Look at Percy. How can you say no to that hopeful little face?"


    "I think I''m going to be sick," said Frumble.


    "You can be quiet mage," Dreth said. "I''m only allowing you to keep breathing because you''ve been useful, and you may yet get rid of this red pest."


    "Hey!" said the devil. "Thanks."


    "So, how about it? Can we slaughter them like sheep?" asked Percy. He pulled out his rusty dagger and tested the edge, which was notched and blunt.


    "I want to kill the people and eat their brains daddy," said Sprat.


    "We all do lad," Cuthbert said. "We all do."


    "You can''t just go in and kill a whole village!" Emerald complained.


    "You''re right," Dreth said. "Some will get away. There''re not enough of us to catch them all. Still, if we do it right we can probably get a fair few before they catch on." He tapped the handle of his sword.


    Emerald looked desperately at Tybalt, who stepped forward. "Don''t you think it''s strange? An apparently harmless village out here on its own? They must have some kind of hidden defences This area''s pretty wild you know, there are constant battles between settlements. Yet here this lot are, seemingly without any warriors, all unharmed. There''s more going on than meets the eye."


    "You may have a point." Dreth nodded. "Something doesn''t feel right, and old Hooks said they were a bit strange. Perhaps you and the wizard should go and scout things out first. See if they have any secrets we should know about."


    "Us?" asked Frumble.


    "You got a problem with that shorty?" Dreth asked.


    "Well¡­" Frumble looked at the village doubtfully. "I suppose not, but I can''t help remembering what happened last time you sent us in to scout a place out."


    "This is a little village," said Dreth. "Real was a different proposition. Go on with you now. Hurry back."


    The mage looked at Tybalt, who shrugged. "May as well."


    "Great." Frumble took a firm grip on his staff and ran through the list of spells he had ready. "Come on then."


    Without waiting to see if the rogue was following, he left the cover of the undergrowth and stepped out on to the road, trudging along it and cursing the fate that had managed to involve him with a mad half dead being and his insane quest.


    "Looks innocent enough," said Tybalt, catching up with him.


    The village main street was little more than a wide, dusty road. On either side were rundown houses, little more than huts in most cases, mainly constructed from wood, though one or two were brick. It was a depressing place.


    "They''re probably all werebeasts knowing my luck," said the wizard despondently. He looked at his companion. "My legs aren''t long enough to run away, but why are you still here?" he asked. "You don''t have to be dragged along through all this."


    "Emerald," the man replied promptly, going all misty-eyed. "I''ve never met anyone like here. For her I''d go to the ends of the earth."


    "Be careful what you wish for," Frumble said. "Steady up now, here we go."


    The two traipsed into the village, where several people immediately smiled at them and approached.


    "Welcome travellers!" said one man in a blue robe. "My name''s Dave. Welcome to the village of Farsii."


    "Farsii is it?" asked Frumble. "Does that mean the Seer is near here?"


    "No more than an hours walk over yonder hills," said Dave, smiling and gesturing towards the other end of the street. More villagers, most of them dressed in similar robes, were wandering over to greet the newcomers. They were all smiling too.


    "Ahh, good. Good," said Frumble, scratching his ear and looking about uneasily.


    "But you don''t want to go there," said Dave. "The guardian beast is fearsome indeed. Far better you rest here. We live a simple life under the guidance and protection of our god, Contenx. A simple life but a pleasant one. You''ll be quite content."


    "Ah, well," Frumble said, edging slightly closer to Tybalt. "That''s a very generous offer I''m sure, but we really can''t stay long. We have friends waiting."


    "No problem!" Dave said, smiling so widely Frumble began to wonder if he was on some kind of funny pills. "There''s room for all in Farsii Village. Isn''t that right?"


    "Aye!" came the answer from the other villagers. Frumble started, he hadn''t realized how many were around them.


    "Weirdos," whispered Tybalt in his ear. "Let''s get out of here." Then, in a louder voice: "Wonderful! We''ll just go and fetch our friends then." The two turned around, facing the way they had come, but the villagers stepped forward, blocking their way.


    "I''m sorry," said Dave. "You can''t do that."


    "What?" Frumble looked left and right. They were seriously outnumbered. "Why?"


    "Oh, no one leaves Farsii," Dave said. "No ones wants to you see? It''s so lovely here. You''ll understand in time. Come this way, let''s make you comfortable shall we?"


    The crowd pushed forward, and Frumble moved with them. It wasn''t like he had a great deal of choice in the matter.


    ~ * ~


    Belinda ''Knives'' Raxor cursed to herself as she opened the gate to her small garden. If she''d known getting married and settling down meant haggling for vegetables without killing people, she''d have thought twice about it. It was alright for James, he was out raiding, no doubt having a great time, slicing down innocent villagers and plundering their treasures. Just as long as he didn''t partake of the other, she''d have words to say about that oh yes.


    Taking a deep breath, she dropped the sack of supplies outside her back door, which was hanging open. This didn''t worry her. The small house was set well outside the village, in a secluded spot facing the beach. Both times the settlement had been raided they''d escaped notice. Maybe it was worth the walk after all. Just as long as the kids hadn''t drowned themselves whilst she was away.


    As if they heard her thinking, Red came dashing out of the house, with little Max close behind, su?k?n? on his finger.


    "Ma! You''re back!" The small boy leaped into her arms. "Did you kill anyone? I want their scalp!"


    Belinda smiled and ruffled the young boys hair. "If the price of vegetables goes up much more I may have to start raiding with your father again."


    "When''s daddy coming back?" Max asked.


    "Soon," she replied, looking out over the sea, as if the boat''s sail would suddenly appear. No, they weren''t due back until tomorrow at the earliest. She brought her attention back to the kids. "What have you been doing all day? Have you been good?"


    "Yes ma," Red said. "We saw a man walk out of the sea."


    "Did you now?" she replied, not really paying attention as she picked up her bag again and started inside. "What did he want?"


    "He was angry and we were scared at first," Red replied.


    "And wet," Max interjected.


    "And wet," agreed Red. "But he said he wasn''t angry with us. A big monster had sunked his ship and he had to walk under the water until he came here again."


    "And he had no shoes," added Max. "And he had a dead man too. And the dead man was his friend."


    "Was not so," Red said. "He was his¡­ monion?" He looked puzzled.


    "Minion," Belinda replied absently. "Now, what did I tell you boys about making stories up? Go and wash your hands. Dinner will be ready soon."


    "Red gave him your shoes," Max said.


    "Oh! I didn''t!"


    "Did so!"


    "Did not!"


    "Did¡­ ow!" The argument was cut short with the help of a swift clip around the ear from Belinda, who was too tired to listen to youngsters argue.


    "Enough stories! Go and wash!" she commanded, and glared at them until they did as they were told.


    It wasn''t until later, long after the kids were asleep, that she realized her slippers were nowhere to be found.

 Chapter 83 - Dave

    "Where are they?" Dreth scowled, peering down the road. He was getting impatient, and the urge to slaughter something was getting stronger. He managed to suppress it, just.


    "Why are we waiting?" the devil said, hopping from one foot to another. "It''s just a village. Are you an evil monster or aren''t you? Looks like you''ve gone soft to me."


    "Blooood!" m??n?d Darkblood.


    "Very well. Come on then." Dreth adjusted his cloak so it looked its best and drew the dark blade with a flourish. "Forward! To death and glory!"


    "About time!" said Percy.


    "Oh no," said Emerald in dismay. She watched as Dreth marched off down the road, his black robe billowing about him impressively. The zombies followed, a foul and rotting trio of minions.


    "Follow us, but stay out of the way," Dreth called back over his shoulder to her.


    The small group approached the village, and he grinned savagely. This was going to be fun! A woman in a green dress saw them coming and waved in a friendly fashion.


    "What''s she so happy about?" asked the devil.


    "Who cares?" asked Dreth. He raised his sword, which was howling with anticipation, and brought it down in an impressive overhead swing that would have split the woman in half, had something not stopped it.


    "Well? What are you waiting for?" asked the devil. "Kill her already!"


    "I''m¡­ trying," said Dreth through gritted teeth. He was wrestling with the blade, trying to complete his attack, but some invisible force was resisting, pushing back against him.


    "Welcome travellers!" A short man with dark hair, dressed in a blue robe trotted up. "My name''s Dave. Welcome to the village of Farsii." He was smiling and apparently totally oblivious to the fact that three of the people he was talking to were mostly dead.


    "Die!" said Dreth, giving up on his first target and swinging at the new one.


    Dave stood there, beaming like an idiot as the blade came closer, but once again the invisible force stopped the sword.


    "Arrrg!" said Dreth, with feeling.


    "There''s no need for such anger," Dave said, shaking his head gently. "We here in Farsii live a simple life under the guidance and protection of our god, Contenx. A simple life but a pleasant one. You''ll be quite content." He reached out and took Darkblood with his b?r? hand. Plucking it out of Dreth''s grip like a man taking candy from a baby.


    Dreth stood still, mouth open in astonishment.


    "You must be the friends of our other guests," said Dave. "Let''s go and join them shall we? They''re over by the temple." He pointed at the large building further down the street. "Your lady friend will come too," he stated, as several other villagers approached. Emerald was walking along between them. She shrugged when she saw Dreth looking at her.


    "I don''t think we want you though," Dave continued, waving at the devil, which disappeared with a shriek.


    "Every cloud," muttered Dreth.


    "This won''t take long, and then we can have dinner. I hope you like potato." Dave turned away.


    Dreth shuddered. "I''m in monster hell."


    They trudged off, herded along by the locals.


    "What the is going on here?" asked Emerald.


    "How should I know?" Dreth replied.


    They approached Frumble and Tybalt, who were sitting on a bench surrounded by smiling villagers. The whole effect was creepy, though Dreth, and that was saying something for him.


    "Hello again," Percy said cheerfully. "You two really aren''t very good as scouts are you?"


    "Don''t blame me," Frumble said. "It''s this place," he gestured at the structure they were sitting outside.


    "What is it?" asked Dreth, looking at the building. It was grander by many levels than the surrounding shacks, painted all in white with a bright blue dome on top trimmed with gold. The windows were stained glass and decorated with various pictures.


    "It''s a temple to Context, the god of blissful ignorance," Frumble replied. "No doubt the priest will perform some ceremony and we''ll all end up in a state of, well, ignorant bliss, like this lot." He waved his hand at the villagers.


    "At least we''ll be happy I guess," Emerald said.


    "Only for a while," the mage replied. "The god is said to suck your life energy out. You end up little more than a drained husk."


    "This guy took my sword away!" Dreth complained, waving at Dave, who was talking to another person near the temple entrance.


    Frumble nodded. "Yes, he''s the high priest I think. The god''s very powerful close to his base. It would take a lot to overcome him here."


    "So there''s nothing we can do?" asked Dreth.


    "We''re doomed is my guess," Frumble said.


    "Newcomers!" Dave raised his hands. "Listen to me and you shall soon bask in the radiance of Context!"


    Sighing, Dreth shook his head. "Great," he said sarcastically. "Lectured to death. Just how I always wanted to go."


    ~ * ~


    Marvin Moonface was sitting by the side of the road, eating an apple, when the thin old man came into town. The other newcomers were still near the temple, listening to Dave preach. They didn''t look very enthusiastic, he thought. Still that wasn''t unusual before they went through the Ritual and were transformed by the Greatness of Contenx.


    He bit into his fruit and watched as the latest visitor trudged down the road. It was certainly a busy day today. There hadn''t been any visitors in months and months, and now a bunch had all arrived at the same time!


    This one was an old man, dressed in a long grey gown that looked like it had seen better days. Wispy white hair that stuck out at odd angles and blew about in the breeze, and he was using a long black staff as a walking stick. He appeared to be muttering under his breath. Behind him was a skeleton, rattling along in a knock kneed gait, white bones gleaming in the sun.


    Despite this, what caught Marvin''s attention were the large fluffy pink slippers the old man was wearing. They were shaped like rabbits, complete with beady glass eyes and floppy ears sewn on.


    Someone near the temple pointed out the fellow to Dave, who stopped preaching at the others and walked up to the man and his bony friend, meeting them in the street in front of Marvin, who took another bite of his fruit as he watched.


    "Welcome travellers!" Dave said, as he usually did. "My name''s¡­"


    "I don''t care," the man interrupted. "Unless you''ve got a cup of tea on your person you can just bugger off and get out of my way."


    Marvin noticed the other newcomers, the mostly dead looking ones, talking excitedly amongst themselves and pointing down the road. His attention was distracted as Dave spoke again.


    "This is the village of Farsii, where all live in contentment¡­"


    "I''ll be content with a hot cuppa," the man interrupted again. "Now, get out of my way. I can see my business over there." He started to walk forward, and Marvin watched as Dave held out his hand to stop him, as he usually did.


    To Marvin''s immense surprise, the old man pushed him aside and started off towards the temple.


    Dave looked at his hand with a puzzled expression, as if trying to figure out why it was broken. At the same time there was a disturbance outside the temple. The first group was trying to fight their way through the crowd, evidently attempting to get away from the approaching man, who trudged steadily onwards. They didn''t have the same success though, and were still there when the man closed.


    "Dreth!" he said. "I am the Extremely Dark Necromancer, and I have been charged by the Overlord to put an End to you."


    The necromancer seemed to swell, and a shadow fell over Farsii as clouds scudded across the sky at unnatural speed, blocking out the sun. A cold wind picked up, and Marvin shuddered.


    The tall one, evidently Dreth, grabbed the black sword that Dave had propped up against the wall earlier, and ran at the old man. The Necromancer watched him for a moment, and then made a movement with his hand. Dreth flew through the air, to land on his back in the middle of the street. The sword flipped away, to come to rest point down in the dirt.


    A shadow rose out of Dreth, as if his soul were being dragged out of his body. The screaming continued as the Necromancer raised another hand, and continued to suck out the energy, as if reeling in a particularly stubborn fish.


    Marvin wrapped his arms around him as the temperature plummeted, dropping the apple in his fright. The sun was almost totally obscured now, like night had decided to make an early start, so he didn''t see the zombie sneak up behind the necromancer and stab him in the back with the black sword until it actually happened.


    A piercing shriek rent the air, and Marvin clapped his hands to his ears. There was an explosion, and a halo of pretty blue energy ripped though the village, knocking over everyone in its path. Marvin rolled onto his back, crying out in fear as he was blown along the ground, coming to rest against the side of a house.


    He lay there for several minutes, quivering with shock as he recovered from the battering. Eventually he opened his eyes and shakily sat up. The street was a mess. People lay strewn about the road, ominously still. In the middle of it all lay the necromancer. His skeleton friend was no more than a pile of scattered bones. Of Dreth and his group, there was no sign.


    Picking himself up, Marvin staggered over to the prone body, which once more looked like an old man. One of his pink slippers had fallen off, to reveal a red and white striped sock with a hole in the toe. As he watched the man opened his eyes.


    "Er, are you alright?" Marvin asked.


    "Come¡­Come¡­" the necromancer croaked, beckoning.


    "Come closer?" Marvin said.


    "Yes."


    "Sorry¡­about¡­this." So saying, the Necromancer grabbed Marvin''s head with both hands, which turned out to be very cold indeed, and muttered a Word.


    Icy pain swept through Marvin''s body, and he tried to pull away. The grip was too strong though, and he opened his mouth to scream instead. Nothing came out, and now he gasped for breath as the air was su?k?d from his lungs by some unseen power. He struggled, thrashing about like a fish on land, desperately trying to escape his fate. He could do nothing but watch as his arm slowly turned brown, the skin crumbling before his eyes. In his last moments of life, Marvin saw the Necromancer in his true form.


    Which wasn''t the most pleasant thing to see just before you die.

 Chapter 84 - Hide! Ra.

    "Hurry up!" Cuthbert half carried Dreth up the hill, staggering along the narrow muddy path that wound between the closely packed pine trees. Sprat tried to help, but he was too small to do much good.


    "Who was that?" asked Emerald, panting.


    "I don''t know, but I sure kicked his ?ss!" Percy replied, waving Darkblood about. "Who said zombies aren''t hard core? I''ll show them!"


    "Be careful with that sword!" said Tybalt. "It''s not something you want to play with."


    "What¡­ happened?" croaked Dreth. "Who was that? Where am I? Who am I?"


    "I saved your hide," Percy beamed, doing a little jig. "Perhaps now you''ll take us zombies more seriously eh? Just call me Percy the Necromancer Killer. No, no, the Necromancer Slayer! Percy the Necromancer Slayer! That''s'' me!"


    "Well, good one. Whatever he did was painful in the extreme," Dreth said weakly. "Not even falling in lava hurt as much as that."


    "So, who was it?" Emerald repeated.


    "I''m fairly certain he was The Extremely Dark Necromancer," Frumble said, panting as he tried to keep up. "I read about him in necromancy class back at the academy. You must have really annoyed this Overlord fellow if he''s working for him."


    "Apparently so," m??n?d Dreth.


    There was a pop, and the little devil appeared in front of them. Dreth ?r??n?d again.


    "Did you miss me?" it asked, looking around. "I see things didn''t go so well without me there to advise you."


    "He''s a bit of a mean one then? This necromancer I mean," said Tybalt, ignoring the devil.


    "About as bad as you can get. From what I remember he used to be some kind of genius mage, centuries ago. Created a whole book of spells, mainly to do with raising the dead and so on. Then, some while back, so rumour goes anyway, he did a deal with Death himself. Now he lives on the Other Side, with those who have Passed Over."


    "So what''s he doing here then?" Cuthbert said, struggling to hold Dreth upright.


    "Oh, you can summon him. It''s not a spell that you''d want to get wrong though, not unless want to spend the rest of eternity regretting it."


    "Pah! He wasn''t so hard. I saw him off easily enough," boasted Percy.


    "I doubt you''ve done more than slow him down," said Frumble.


    "Well, the good news is your Seer fellow is not far off," said Tybalt. "Though there was talk of some kind of guardian."


    "Always a cloud eh?" said the devil cheerfully, taking his old place back on Dreth''s shoulder.


    "I need to sit down for a while," said Dreth.


    "Here''s a good a place as any," Tybalt noted, gesturing at a small clearing in the trees that was set back from the path a little way.


    The group moved off the trail and settled down. "Just a short rest, to get my breath back," said Dreth, lying down on the grass.


    "You don''t have any breath," the devil commented.


    "Shut up," Dreth snapped.


    "I''m going to scout ahead. Clear any dangers away," Percy said, attempting to strike a heroic pose.


    "I''ll come with you," said Cuthbert. "Sprat, stay with Uncle Dreth."


    "Yes daddy."


    "Don''t stray too far," Dreth called after them. "And that''s my sword, I''ll be taking it back!" He lay back down. "In a moment," he added in a lower voice.


    "Keep close," Percy said as the two zombies pushed their way through branches overhanging the path. "I''m the hero of this party now. It''s the zombies turn to shine."


    "I don''t think we shine, as such," Cuthbert replied, rather annoyed he wasn''t the one with the magic sword. "Unless it''s the protruding bones of course."


    The two suddenly stumbled out of the trees into a barren stony area. Ahead of them a cliff of grey rock climbed steeply upwards. A large cave opening was set into the centre; a dark and foreboding gap in the stone.


    "I''ve discovered the Seers'' cave!" Percy proclaimed.


    "Hello? I''m here too you know," Cuthbert frowned. "We''d better go carefully, Tybalt said something about a guardian."


    "Pah! I''m not afraid of any guardian." Percy flourished the blade, which seemed to be humming, and strode forward, to stand in front of the entrance. "Come forth foul beast, or be smote by Percy the Slayer!"


    "Oh good grief." Cuthbert took a step back into the protective shelter of the woods. "His brain''s finally given out. I knew I should have given it an overhaul when I had the chance."


    "Come forth I say!" Percy waved Darkblood over his head, nearly decapitating himself.


    There was a noise from the cave, as if a lot of snakes were hissing. Very large snakes. Cuthbert edged behind a tree.


    Slowly a shape emerged from the gloom. A monstrous reptilian head, twice the size of a man''s, with teeth as long as fingers appeared. Its green scaled neck was long and sinewy, and it looked down at Percy with evil yellow eyes. A second later another, similar in form, followed the first, and then another and another until eight dragon-like heads stared down at the zombie, who hadn''t moved.


    "Oh Dreg! A Hydra!" m??n?d Cuthbert from his hiding place. "Percy! Get out of there!"


    "I''m trying!" his friend called back in a quivery tone. His voice definitely lacked the bravado it had moments ago. "I can''t seem to move. I think the sword wants to fight it!"


    There was a sudden movement, and Percy swung Darkblood as one of the heads lunged forward, hissing like a geyser about to erupt. The sword screamed and sliced clean through the neck, splattering gore and blood over a wide area.


    The beast''s other heads howled as the severed section crashed to the ground, nearly squashing Percy in the process.


    "Wooo! Go zombie!" cheered Cuthbert.


    "That was the sword, not me!" Percy shouted, skipping backwards to avoid the attacks of two more heads. Moving far faster than he usually did, the zombie did a dive and a roll, coming up under one of the necks. Darkblood stabbed upwards, showering himself with more blood, and inducing another roar of anger from the great beast as the damaged head slumped to the floor near the first one.


    Percy back-flipped over another lunge with the grace of a dolphin, ending up beyond the immediate danger range of the Hydra''s jaws.


    "How did you do that?" gasped Cuthbert.


    "I told you, the sword''s too strong! I can''t stop it! Yow!" The last as Percy was caught a glancing blow, knocking him to the side.


    "Feeeed meeee!" hissed the dark blade, pulling the zombie forward into the fight once again.


    The monster screamed and counter attacked


    Cuthbert winced and covered his eyes. "This isn''t going to end well."


    ~ * ~


    "Where are they?" Dreth grumbled. "If that zombie''s lost my sword, I swear I''ll pull his limbs off."


    The group was climbing up the small trail, Dreth having decided he didn''t want to wait any longer, even though he still wasn''t feeling very well. He was concerned about the zombies, and even more concerned that the damned necromancer was going to come after them. Admittedly, being stabbed with Darkblood should have slowed even him down, but better safe than gutted, as the saying went.


    "I can hear something ahead," said Tybalt. "Sounds like fighting."


    "Oh goody!" said the devil, clapping his hands. "Finally a bit of action."


    "And what was that back in the village then?" asked Dreth, staggering up the slope. He still wasn''t feeling normal, and it was upsetting him more than he wanted to admit.


    They stumbled through the trees and into a clearing. Ahead of them a figure, Percy, Dreth saw after a moment, was wielding a black sword, his black sword, and engaging in death defying combat with a large dragon-like beast with multiple heads. Dreth counted fifteen of them. The creature was standing in the entrance to a large cave.


    "A Hydra!" gasped Frumble.


    "I thought they only had eight heads?" said Tybalt, taking as step back as Percy sliced one of them off. Another two immediately began to sprout in its stead. The cave entrance was beginning to get crowded.


    "It did, at first," another voice said. Dreth looked round to see Cuthbert emerge from his hiding place in the trees.


    "Why doesn''t he stop?" asked Emerald. "Is he mad?"


    "Well, yes," Cuthbert said loyally, "but the sword''s in control now. He can''t stop."


    Dreth shook his head. "Sometimes I wonder why I allow you zombies to tag along. You''re more trouble than you''re worth most of the time."


    "Oh thanks a lot!" Cuthbert said. "It wasn''t like we were given a choice in the matter. ''Come with me or die!'' you said.


    "I''m sure I phrased it more politely than that," Dreth replied, frowning slightly as he tried to recall the situation. His decision to set out from his dungeon crypt seemed to be a long time ago.


    "We have to do something!" said Emerald, watching as Percy narrowly missed being swallowed whole.


    "You''re right," said the devil. "If he cuts any more heads off, we won''t be able to get past and into the cave."


    Another voice suddenly cried out. "What do you think you''re doing???"

 Chapter 85 - See. Er.

    The conversation was cut short by the new voice, which came from nearby the Hydra. Dreth looked on as a door, which had been artfully hidden in the cliff side, opened and a small figure stepped forth.


    "Fido! Heel! And you! Stop that!" The newcomer pointed at Percy, who paused, the black sword wavering in his hands. "Honestly, I have to feed all these heads you know!"


    Dreth strode forward quickly and, reaching around from behind, neatly plucked the blade from the zombies'' hand. Immediately a wave of bloodlust swept over him, and he raised Darkblood into a fighting stance before managing to overcome the weapons'' influence and lower it again.


    Percy collapsed. "Oh, thank you! I thought I''d die of exhaustion!"


    "You can''t die of exhaustion, you''re undead," snapped Dreth, turning to the short figure glaring at them. "Who are you then?" he asked.


    "Laurence is the name, Gate Keeping''s the game." The pixie drew himself up to his full height, which was about up to Dreth''s bony kneecap.


    The Undead Way guardian examined Laurence sceptically He was short and rather fat for one of the little people, and his attire made Dreth''s eyes water.


    The pixie was dressed in a garish pink and yellow tunic with not-matching blue tights. His shoes were long and rolled up at the toe. They were sparkly silver. A maroon hat, complete with mauve tassels, rounded off the whole fashion disaster. He wondered if the pixie had some sort of terminal colour blindness. The Gate Keepers'' eyes were certainly small, as were all his facial features.


    "Draw a picture why don''t you," Laurence said. "It''ll last longer."


    Dreth shook his head. "Who''s this then?" He gestured at the monster, which was glaring down at them with its mass of heads.


    "That''s Fido, and I''ll thank you to leave him alone please! You bully." The small man went up to the beast and patted a giant nose. "There there, did the nasty zombie hurt you boy?"


    "We''re here to see the Seer. Is he in?"


    "What am I, the butler now?" asked the pixie. "Go and see for yourself." He nodded at the entrance.


    Shaking his head, Dreth waved his arm at the others. "Come on you lot. We''ve travelled a long way to see this prophet. May as well see if he''s any good."


    Squeezing by the now quiet hydra and his diminutive keeper, Dreth entered the cave. It was time to get some answers.


    ~ * ~


    Harvey Von McVon trudged through the small village. It was eerily quiet. Bodies lay scattered untidily about the place, and there was a small crater in the middle of the street.


    He walked towards the only figure still active. The person in question was sitting in a rickety chair by the side of the road and drinking something from a small white cup. He glanced up as Harvey approached, but did nothing but take another sip of his beverage.


    "Having fun?" Harvey asked.


    "Sod off. I''ve had a bad day," the other replied. Fluffy pink bunny slippers peered out from under a tatty grey robe.


    "Now now, is that any way to talk to an old chum?" Harvey looked around and located another chair a little distance away, lying on its side. He retrieved it and sat down next to the other wizard.


    "If I recall correctly, the last time I saw you we were on opposite sides at the battle of Mud hill." The Extremely Dark Necromancer paused for a second, and then added: "I believe I took that one."


    "Pish!" Harvey said, scowling slightly. "A lucky shot with Murvello''s Sucking Soul spell. Anyway, what was what? Five hundred years ago? Talk about gloating."


    The Necromancer shrugged and took another drink.


    "So," said Harvey after a moment of silence, "what are you doing here? I thought you resided in the Dead Realms these days. Someone go and summon you did they?" He shook his head. "Must be inconvenient that, being summoned all the time. What if you''re having a bath or something? Not too sharp if you ask me."


    "Who''s asking you?" the Necromancer spat back, suddenly animated. "At least I didn''t spend several hundred years stuck in a chair. Ha! Yes, don''t think I don''t know where you''ve been lately. Wizard magic thyself."


    "Hmf," said Harvey, and the two ??psed into silence again, the quiet only broken by the sound of the Necromancer slurping his tea.


    "Anyway, they don''t summon me all the time. Haven''t had to answer a Call for nearly seventy years before this one." The wizard in the dark robes sniffed.


    "So why are you here?" Harvey asked. "Wouldn''t have something to do with a certain ''Dreth'' would it by any chance?"


    "You know I can''t talk about that. Summoner-necromancer privilege."


    "Oh come on! Don''t give me that. It is Dreth isn''t it? You''ve been commanded to get rid of him haven''t you?"


    The Necromancer looked down at the ground and shuffled uncomfortably.


    "It is!" crowed Harvey triumphantly. "I knew it. And you blew it didn''t you? He''s a tricky one that one, I''ll give him that. He''s thwarted me more than once."


    "I nearly had him, just was a bit careless. I''ll get him next time." The Necromancer finished off his drink and stood up. "Anyway, it''s been delightful catching up. We must do it in another five hundred years. Now I must be off. People to kill and then to raise and all that."


    "Hold on a moment." Harvey kicked his own chair away. "Don''t be so hasty. Do you know why the Overlord wants him dead? And who Dreth has with him?"


    The Necromancer frowned. "What are you talking about McVon?"


    "You''re going to like this." Harvey smiled.


    ~ * ~


    Dreth climbed carefully down the narrow stone stairs that wound down in a tight spiral. The air was damp, and water dripped down atmospherically from the low ceiling. His eyes were quickly readjusting to the gloom of underground. Centuries spent in the dungeon had made him used to the low light levels.


    "How far down is this Seer?" asked Emerald behind him. Her voice echoed off the walls.


    "We''ve been walking for about five minutes already," said Tybalt. "Hold tight to me, you wouldn''t want to fall."


    "Oh Tybalt, what would I do without you?"


    "You''d be a lot quieter for one," Dreth snarled. Since he''d recovered his sword he was feeling distinctly edgy. The blade had absorbed a lot of life force from the Hydra.


    "Don''t be so mean," said Emerald. "I didn''t ask to be dragged along you know. You could always let me go."


    "I don''t think that would go down very well with whatever Greater Evil is interested in your hide," Dreth answered.


    "We''re here!" Percy''s voice bounced up from the gloom below. Dreth had sent the zombies ahead, just in case.


    "About time," Frumble grumbled.


    Dreth stepped off the bottom step and looked around.


    They were in a large, circular stone chamber. The ceiling invisible far above them. The walls were carved directly from the rock, stained from years of water running in small rivers down them. Underfoot was slippery, as Frumble found out, skidding backwards and landing on his behind, much to the little devils'' amusement.


    "Now where?" asked Tybalt.


    "I''d say over there," said Cuthbert, pointing ahead.


    Dreth followed his finger. A dais was placed against the far wall, with a dark niche to the rear. He could just make out a large stone seat, and a shadowy figure sitting on it. He stepped forward. "Prophet?"


    "Go away. We''re closed." The voice was strangely high pitched.


    "This will only take a short time," said Dreth, moving closer and peering into the niche, trying to see the Seer more clearly.


    "Sorry, not feeling well now. Come back in a year or so."


    "Ah well, we tried," said the devil. "What say we go and find some children to torture?"


    "Quiet you," Dreth said, slapping ineffectually at the thing. "Prophet, I''ve travelled a long way and killed a lot of people to stand here before you. More¡­ people are behind me, so I''m not exactly in the mood to hang about."


    There was a pause. "Very well. Speak."


    "My question is easy. Where does the Overlord reside?" Dreth leaned forward. He would have held his breath if he had any.


    "The Overlord?"


    "Yes, the Overlord." Dreth frowned. "Where can I find him? And by that, I mean where does he live most of the time? Don''t give me any stupid riddle answers, or I''ll come back and eat your tongue."


    "The Question is a complex one. I must consult the sacred tome."


    Dreth could just about see the Seer fumbling about with a large book he''d plucked from somewhere.


    "It''s not complex! What are you doing? Reading your answers from a book? What sort of Prophet are you?" asked Cuthbert.


    "Yes, we''re wasting our time here," the devil urged. "Let''s go back upstairs. Maybe that badly dressed pixie will know¡­"


    "I''ve fought fashion conscious anti-paladins, mad kings, strange wizards, pirates with not enough limbs and nearly had my soul su?k?d out of me to get here," Dreth snarled, drawing his sword and striding forward, climbing onto the dais. "I want an answer, and I want it now, or blood will be spilled."


    "You aren''t allowed up here!" the Seer squeaked. "It interrupts the magical karma! Eeek!"


    Dreth had grabbed the robes and pulled.


    "Who the hell are you?" he demanded of the squirming youth he now held by the throat. The boy looked like he was b?r?ly in his teens, and wore clothes that were only slighter better than Percy''s'' rags. "Where''s the Prophet of Farsii? Speak or I''ll grind your bones to make my bread!!" He shook the lad hard.


    "Okay! Okay!" the boy gasped. "Stop it! I''ll tell, I''ll tell! Just put me down!"


    Dreth snarled and dropped him back into the stone throne. "Very well, you have ten seconds. Talk!"


    "It¡­ it''s like this¡­" the youth stuttered.

 Chapter 86 - Seen and Gone.

    The Overlord jabbed at the fire in the hearth with the poker, stirring the flames up to a more acceptable level. He could have just Commanded them to flame higher of course, but he liked to do things the old fashioned way sometimes.


    The fire sorted out, he moved over to the table where his cup of coco was sitting, steaming away next to the book he''d been reading. It was a fantasy tale about a land where magic didn''t exist. Preposterous stuff of course, but he liked a good yarn as much as the next ruthless tyrant.


    As he picked the mug and novel up, he looked around his lounge. His personal chambers were hidden away in a corner of the Malevolent Citadel, a place where he could cast aside the pressure of work and relax in private.


    The fire flickered merrily in the hearth, making an effort to please, casting its warm glow over the werewolf rug he''d had specially made. He disliked werewolves, those and vampires, but properly skinned they could be quite attractive. The low wooden coffee table just beyond was in the centre of three seats: one sofa and two large armchairs. One of the armchairs was made of a pale coloured skin, the vampire contribution there, with several plump cushions stuffed with the bilious souls of heroes artfully arranged on it.


    The Overlord gave a shrill whistle as he shuffled over and sat down, arranging himself comfortably, hot drink on the small table next to him, book on his ??p.


    There was a patter of claws, and a black dog the size of a small pony padded up to him, tongue hanging out, panting as it looked at his master with his glowing red demonic eyes.


    "Slippers!" The Overlord commanded in a ruthless tone.


    The Hell hound wh?n?d and ???ked his head to one side.


    "Skippers! Fetch!"


    The animal barked, a sound that for many was the last thing they''d ever heard, and turned quickly, bounding away out of the doorway and into the next room. A moment later he returned with two scraps of material hanging from his mouth.


    The Overlord scowled as he examined the remains of his footwear. "What did I tell you about chewing the Masters'' slippers? Bad dog! No treats for you today."


    The demonic creature whimpered, ears flattening on its massive head as it ducked down low. The Overload glared at it for a second, before breaking into smile. "Oh go on then, how can I resist that look? Just one mind." He stretched his arm down behind his chair and brought up a sealed can. Twisting it open, he reached inside and pulled forth a small figure, which cried out in fear as it writhed between his two fingers.


    "Here you go boy! Catch!" He threw the diminutive fairy into the air. There was a scream and then a snap, and the noise cut off.


    "Good boy! Now go and sit, the Master wants to relax. Sit. Sit!"


    The hound turned and went and lay on the rug in front of the fireplace, walking around in a circle before settling down.


    The Overlord lifted his mug to his lips and took a small sip of the hot drink. Sighing with p???sur? he settled down again and picked up his book, rifling through the pages as he tried to find where he''d got to.


    He''d b?r?ly started when there was a noise from next to him. He frowned, but ignored it, continuing with his reading.


    A minute later there was a cough, as if someone was clearing their throat as they waited for another person to pay attention to them.


    He sighed and put the book on his ??p. "What is it?" he said in a resigned voice.


    An old man''s wavery voice answered. It appeared to be coming from the side of the chair, on the floor near the d???? treats.


    "I don''t appreciate this you know. I''ve never harmed you in any way."


    "And I''m grateful," said The Overlord. "Now, if you don''t mind, it''s my day off."


    "I though evil never slept?"


    "I''m not sleeping," The Overlord retorted, rolling his eyes. "I''m trying to read a book. Now please be quiet."


    Silence descended again, broken only by the intermittent sounds of pages turning and coco being drunk.


    "It''s just I''m not at all comfortable in here you know. It''s very cramped."


    The Overlord scowled. Why did you always get interrupted just at the good part? He put a finger on the passage he was reading and looked up. "Look, if your body behaves, I''ll put you back. I could have just killed you you know, you should be grateful." He shook his head. "I don''t know, some people."


    "Yes, well, that''s the problem isn''t it? Without me, my body''s just a stupid teenager. Who knows what he''ll say to Dreth?"


    "I gave you a choice and you took it. Stop complaining."


    "A choice?" the voice wh?n?d. "Death, or all my memories and experience extracted. What''s to choose?"


    "It wasn''t all your memories, just most of them. And you''re supposed to be a seer aren''t you? How come you didn''t see me coming and bugger off? Not as good as you''re advertised if you ask me."


    "We all have our off days," the voice replied petulantly. "Trust me when I say I''m speaking from experience here, because that''s pretty much all I am."


    "Tough luck," The Overlord said unsympathetically. "Now be quiet, or I''ll feed you to the dog."


    The voice of the experience of the Seer of Farsii mumbled for a second more, but then subsided back into silence. The Overlord nodded to himself and carried on reading his book.


    ~ * ~


    "What have you done with the seer? Speak!" Dreth shook the lad, rattling the boys'' teeth.


    "I... it¡­it''s not¡­ what you¡­ think!" the lad replied between shakes.


    "Let the kid speak Dreth," Tybalt said, putting a hand on his arm. "You can kill him later."


    Dreth growled, but slowly put the young want-to-be-seer down. "Very well, talk! And this better be good."


    "I am the seer," the youth said. "Someone came and did something to me."


    "Did what?" Emerald asked, pushing forward.


    The boy blushed slightly when he saw her. "I''m¡­ I''m not sure actually. I think he took my powers away or something. I don''t remember."


    "Then how do you know he took them?" demanded Dreth.


    "Laurence told me."


    "Who''s Laurence?" asked Percy.


    Cuthbert rolled his eyes. "Pay attention at the back there, he''s the guy upstairs, the one looking after your many-headed friend."


    "Oh him."


    "What did Laurence tell you exactly?" asked Emerald.


    "He said some heavy duty representatives of the Overlord came a few days ago. When they came out they were carrying something in a small bag and I was like this." The young seer gestured at himself.


    "What were you like before?" asked Tybalt.


    "Older, I think." The boy shrugged.


    "Well, I can see we''re surrounded by all the answers we could ever need here," the little devil said, sarcasm dripping from every word. "I''m so glad we came."


    "Shut up you," Emerald said. She stepped forward and put a hand on the boys'' shoulder. "What''s your name?"


    "I''m Cedrix."


    "Cedric?" Emerald repeated.


    "No, Cedrix, with an ''X''. My parents weren''t too good at spelling. I thought it was kind of cool myself."


    Their discussion was interrupted by footsteps coming down the spiral staircase into the cavern. They looked around to see Laurence, the Gatekeeper, panting from exertion.


    "You''ve got someone coming," he gasped. "Wizards, or my name''s not Fred."


    "I thought you were Laurence?" Frumble said.


    "I have many names."


    "It''s that bloody necromancer," said Dreth. "I''m not hanging around here to get my soul su?k?d out again." He pointed at the seer. "You. Is there a back way out?"


    The seer shrugged. "Maybe, I don''t know. I can''t remember. There''s a lot of caverns'' back there, could be a way out I suppose."


    Dreth turned to the Gatekeeper. "You, Laurence or Fred or whatever your name is. Tell your hydra to attack."


    "Not bloody likely. There''s only one outcome of that fight, and it''s not with us on the winning side. You''re on your own." He turned and ran back up the stairs.


    "Chicken!" Dreth shouted after him. He paused and then looked around. "Well, are we ready for a fight then? Together we can take them."


    There was an uncomfortable silence.


    "What?" asked Dreth, as the others bunched together in a group that suddenly looked very distant.


    "Well," Cuthbert backed away a step or two. "It''s like this you see." He looked around and pushed Percy forward. "You tell him."


    "Me? Why me?"


    "You''re the oldest. I figure you''ve had the longest life."


    "And I''d like to keep it that way thank-you!"


    "What is this? Mutiny?" Dreth shouted. His sword hand began to itch and he raised Darkblood.


    "No! No! Absolutely not," Tybalt said, raising his hands in a pacifying gesture. "It''s just that it seems a bit unfair that we''re put in constant danger just to help you all the time."


    "Amen to that," Frumble muttered.

 Chapter 87 - The Wayz of Wizardz.

    "It''s true," Emerald said. "You never listen to us. It''s always, ''do this'' and ''do that, or else''."


    Dreth stepped forward. His sword was throbbing in his hand.


    "See? Now you''re going to threaten to butcher us all," Percy said, trying to hide behind Sprat.


    Dreth snarled and opened his mouth, but then stopped. In the distance he could hear two pairs of footsteps echoing down the stairwell.


    "You lot are either with me or against me. We''ll talk about this little uprising later." He glared at Cuthbert. "At length."


    "Why look at me?" Cuthbert complained.


    "Now we need a plan," Dreth said. "Or do you think our friends are just going to let you go? Come on, think!"


    "Look, you may as well face the inevitable," said Percy. "You''ll never beat two of them together."


    "Yes," agreed Cuthbert. "But for once in your, er, life, have some consideration for others. If they have you, they might let us go. It''s a win win situation."


    "How''s it a win win situation?" Dreth frowned.


    "Well¡­" Cuthbert thought for a moment. "Maybe a win win lose situation then." He shrugged. "Come on, two out of three isn''t bad."


    "That all depends on which one of the three you are," scowled Dreth. "No, listen, I think I have a plan¡­"


    "Too late," said Frumble, "they''re here."


    The party scrambled to hide behind him as he drew Darkblood and stood at the ready.


    Two robed figures stepped out into the chamber, standing side by side.


    "Oh well," said the little devil. "It''s been fun. See you Down Below." He popped out of existence.


    "Now he goes," said Dreth to himself as he turned to the two wizards. "So, we meet again. Harvey. Necromancer." He dipped his head in acknowledgement to each.


    "Hello Dreth, you''ve given me quite a bit of trouble," Harvey Von McVon said. "If you''d have just handed over the girl in the first place, it might not have come to this."


    "Stop with the gabbing," said the necromancer. "Dreth, I''ve been commanded by the Overlord to dispose of you."


    "Okay," said Dreth, leaning on his sword.


    "Okay?" The extremely Dark Necromancer raised his thin eyebrows.


    "Yep, fine."


    "Is that it?" The death wizard seemed a little put out.


    "Should there be more?"


    The dark mage scratched his nose. "Well, I suppose not. It''s just that people usually do some sort of monologue before they go, given the chance. You know. ''I vow vengeance! I will return stronger than ever!'' That sort of thing."


    "I can''t be bothered really," said Dreth. "It''s just satisfying to know that you had to team up with this one," he gestured at Harvey, "to catch me."


    "Hey! He came along with me," the necromancer said. "I didn''t need his help."


    Dreth nodded. "Oh, I see. That''s why then."


    "Why what?" the raiser of undead asked, glancing at his companion, who was frowning,


    "Well, I did wonder why you were with him, after what he said about you the last time we saw him." Dreth shook his head sadly.


    "I never said anything about him!" complained McVon.


    "It''s okay Harvey, I won''t tell. We agreed you were the stronger one." Dreth picked up his sword. "Right then, shall we get this over with? I ?ssume you don''t mind if I put up some resistance, for the look of the thing."


    "Hold on a minute!" The Extremely Dark Necromancer held up a hand. "What, exactly, did he say about me?"


    "I think a blood curdling howl, and then I''ll come at you directly yes?" said Dreth, pretending not to hear.


    "I never said anything!" Harvey said at the same time.


    "Are we ready?" Dreth raised Darkblood above his head.


    "Wait, wait wait!" said the Necromancer. "I''m not killing anyone until you tell me what he said."


    ???Oh come now, we''re all grown, and maybe even dead, people here," Dreth said dismissively. "It doesn''t matter that he could beat you in magic. You''re both powerful in your own areas. Highly feared and respected dealers of death and all that."


    "He lies!" said the death mage, swelling up.


    "I never said that," said his fellow wizard.


    "You were always jealous of me, even when we were boys," the Extremely Dark Necromancer accused McVon, jabbing a bony finger at him.


    "Oh, I was so not," Harvey replied.


    "I remember when I summoned that skeleton when I was ten, and you couldn''t. You sulked for weeks."


    "Who wants to summon a bony old skeleton?" Harvey raised his voice slightly. "At least I could attract the living, not like you. All the girls called you smelly!"


    "And who slew them for their impertinence? I did! Me!" The necromancer pointed at himself proudly.


    "Yah! Because the only friends you had were dead ones. Even they said you were smelled funny, I talked to a few of them you know."


    "You were jealous!"


    "Was not!"


    "Was so!"


    Dreth stepped back a pace as the necromancer raised a hand.


    "Threaten me would you? You wouldn''t dare!" Harvey steamed, raising his own hands in response.


    "I''d certainly dare enough to deal with an upstart like you!"


    "Really? Well, try this then!" With that, Harvey threw a blast of white energy at the necromancer, who staggered backwards under the onslaught.


    Dreth winced at the light. When he looked back, he saw the necromancer, standing straight and tall, radiating power and looking nothing like the skinny old man from a few moments ago.


    "Is that the best you''ve got boy?" The dark mage raised his staff and pointed slammed it onto the floor, causing the earth to tremble.


    The ground erupted around Harvey, and black skeletal hands clawed at him from below. Harvey shouted a Word and they fell back.


    "That old one! It didn''t work when I was fifteen, what makes you think it would work now? Try something new why don''t you? Like this perhaps." Harvey held both arms out, and a wave of multi-coloured fire spewed from his hands and flowed over the necromancer, who screamed in rage.


    "Muddley''s Multi-coloured fire! You think you can defeat me with a mere thirteenth level spell! I knew that when I was in short pants! Try this one for size!" He retaliated with another gesture from his staff, and the walls reverberated from the explosion that followed.


    "Er, I think we should leave," said Tybalt in Dreth''s ear. "We don''t want to get between these two. The Seer boy thinks he can remember a way out."


    Dreth nodded and backed away, slowly, so the mages wouldn''t notice him.


    He needn''t have worried, the two were screaming in rage and throwing so much magic about that the wall were beginning to glow.


    Dreth turned and ran after the others, leaving them to it.


    ~ * ~


    Tybalt pushed at the trapdoor above him. It didn''t budge.


    "Push harder!" Dreth urged.


    "I think that''s my line," said Emerald, giggling.


    "I''m glad someone finds this situation amusing," said Dreth, watching as Tybalt strained against the exit.


    "Oh come on, relax a little," said Emerald. "You outwitted the wizards, probably getting rid of at least one of them in the process. And they aren''t likely to be able to catch up with us soon after Percy tripped that trap and brought down the tunnel roof behind us."


    "That was an accident!" Percy piped up.


    "We were lucky," Dreth answered. "Lucky my plan worked, lucky youngster here," he jerked a thumb at the seer, "remembered this way out, and lucky I wasn''t buried when the roof collapsed. Actually, Percy was the lucky one there." He glowered at the zombie, who simply smirked in return. "Our luck can''t hold forever though," Dreth continued. "I''m becoming curious about why the Overlord is going to such lengths to stop me finding him."


    "He does seem to be throwing everything at you," Frumble interjected. The wizard had been quiet lately, probably afraid Dreth was going to get rid of him now the devil seemed to have disappeared. "The necromancer is a dangerous being to summon. Only those who are desperate conjure him usually."


    "But we don''t know where the Overlord is even," Cuthbert said.


    Dreth looked at the seer, who gulped. "I went to a lot of trouble to reach you," he said. "What about that book of yours? Doesn''t that have some clues in it?" He pointed at the large tome that the seer had brought with him.


    "Well, I don''t think they''d have left it with me if it did," the youth replied. "However!" He raised a finger, forestalling any violence Dreth may have in mind for him. "I''ve been looking through it, and it might be able to help find someone who does have the information."


    "Go on," said Dreth.


    "A little way to the west, so it goes, are two sisters. They may know."


    "And who are these sisters exactly?" asked Frumble.


    "Well," the seer shifted from one foot to another. "They''re a pair of powerful wrmble."


    "I''m sorry," said Dreth. "I didn''t quite catch that. A pair of what?"


    "Wrmhrmfs," the seer said, coughing into his hand.


    "No, still not got it," Dreth tapped his chin and gave the boy a Look.


    The seer sighed. "Witches," he said.


    "Oh, great!" Cuthbert said sarcastically. "We''ve run out of wizards, so we can start with the witches now, is that it? Just what we need." He folded his arms.


    The seer shrugged.

 Chapter 88 - Nature.

    "Got it!" said Tybalt triumphantly, breaking into their conversation. He thrust at the trapdoor and it flew open, allowing a shaft of sunlight to filter in, causing the zombies to wince. The man grunted as he climbed onto a large root that was protruding from the wall and stuck his head through the hole above, peering around carefully for several moments.


    "All clear," he shouted down eventually.


    With some small effort, the group climbed out, to find themselves in a pleasant forest glade.


    Sunlight filtered through the leafy cover of large trees that rose high overhead. Grass covered the floor, interspersed with the occasional splash of colour contributed by various flowering plants, creating a pleasant carpet underfoot.


    Birds chirped in the trees and a squirrel scampered along a branch, doing whatever squirrels do. It was an idyllic scene of natural beauty.


    "Ug! Gross," said Cuthbert, wrinkling what remained of his nose.


    "It is rather pleasant," Dreth commented, gazing about at the tranquil vista. "If you like this sort of thing I mean."


    "Well, I think it''s lovely!" Emerald exclaimed, linking arms with Tybalt, who smiled at her. She beamed as she took in the scene.


    Frumble, after a brief glance around, merely grunted and sat down on a convenient rock. The seer looked up at the sky, as if he was unsure what it was.


    "What are these things?" Sprat said, pointing.


    "They''re flowers," Percy answered. "Deathies or something I think they''re called. It''s been a long time since I''ve seen any." He paused. "I think."


    "Cool," said Sprat, squatting down and examining the small yellow and white blooms.


    "Daisies, not Deathies," Emerald corrected.


    "Whatever," the zombie replied. "Look Sprat, you can link them together." He picked a few and started making, rather clumsily, a daisy chain, with the small zombie looking on, fascinated.


    Dreth shook his head at the sight of a zombie playing with flowers. "There''s something fundamentally wrong about this scene," he said.


    "Hey! Let''s not start on the discrimination again," Percy complained. "Zombies are at one with the earth you know."


    "That''s because they''ve usually been buried in it," Frumble muttered.


    "So, not to interrupt, but which way now oh intrepid leader?" asked Tybalt.


    "I suppose we should pop in and say hello to these sisters," Dreth said. He looked to the seer again. "Which way?"


    "Due west."


    "Right then. Let''s go."


    Then set off, walking through the undergrowth steadily. Dreth sent Percy and Sprat out ahead to scout, and walked along by himself, deep in his own thoughts. Tybalt followed, arm in arm with Emerald, and Frumble brought up the rear with the Seer. Cuthbert kept an eye on them both.


    The forest was quiet, and the weather pleasant, and they made good progress, stopping only briefly to allow the living to rest.


    The day wore on, and they made steady progress, moving without incident through the afternoon. Percy and Sprat reported back at regular intervals, and they adjusted course several times depending on what the ground ahead was like.


    In the early evening they crossed a stream, and took the chance to rest and allow the living amongst them to refill their canteens.


    The group was just preparing to get going again, when Percy emerged from the undergrowth, Sprat in tow. "There''s something ahead," he reported. "Looks like a village."


    "What in Dreg''s* name is that?" asked Cuthbert, pointing at his friends'' rotten ?h?st.


    "It''s my daisy chain necklace," Percy sniffed. "It shows that I am at one with nature."


    Cuthbert shook his head in despair. "Oh Percy, how the mighty have fallen."


    "He wasn''t very mighty to begin with," Dreth commented, walking forward through the woods. "If that''s any consolation."


    "He''s wearing a daisy chain!" accused Percy. "He''s a zombie! A force for darkness and evil! It''s unnatural. Wizard, tell him. You''re educated."


    "Don''t look at me," Frumble replied. "I slept through most of my necromancy classes."


    With Cuthbert grumbling under his breath, the group walked carefully through the under-brush, and in a little while Dreth saw the squat shapes of log cabins ahead. He slowed and drew Darkblood.


    "I can''t see anyone," said Tybalt, after a short amount of silent advancing upon the small settlement.


    "Or hear anything," Emerald added. "I don''t think anyone''s home."


    "Maybe they''re all out cutting trees down," said Cuthbert. He looked at the Seer. "You did say it was a woodcutting settlement didn''t you?" he asked.


    The youth nodded. "That''s what it said in my book."


    "There''d be someone about, surely," said Tybalt.


    "Come on, let''s go and see." Dreth picked up the pace, and they were soon standing on the strip of ground that passed for a street in the remains of the small village. The buildings either side were all similar in design, made from solid looking logs. Nothing moved, and there was a distinct feeling of desolation and desertion about the whole place.


    "Looks like no one''s around," Cuthbert said.


    "Look daddy, old people." Sprat was pointing at a mound next to a cabin.


    They traipsed over to examine his find.


    "Very old," said Dreth looking down at the remains of a skeleton. It was mostly overgrown with weeds, but enough was still visible to see that the ribcage had been squashed flat.


    "Something fell on him," said Percy.


    "Crushed him more likely," Tybalt said.


    "Well, whatever it was, it''s long gone," said Dreth. "Come on, let''s keep moving."


    "Hey, what about sleep?" Frumble complained. ??Some of us aren''t dead yet you know."


    "The word to focus on here is ''yet''," Dreth said.


    "Come on Dreth. I''m tired too," Emerald complained. "Here''s as good as any place to rest, and it''s getting dark."


    "I like the dark," Dreth scowled, but then relented. "Oh very well. Cuthbert, Percy, Spit, gather some firewood. We''re staying the night it seems."


    They began to set up camp.


    *Dreg. Relatively minor deity of Not-quite-living creatures.


    ~ * ~


    Harold walked through the devastated village, his personal guard in a loose protective circle about him, fingering their weapons nervously.


    "Do you think it was Dreth?" asked Wilbur.


    "Of course it was," Harold said, irritated at the comment for some reason. "Who else could it be?"


    "Well," the court wizard fidgeted for a moment. "There''s that strange energy I''ve been detecting, and I can sense that something highly magical has happened here." He stopped as a guard jogged up and came to attention in front of the king.


    "Report soldier," Harold said.


    "They''re all dead sir," the man said.


    The king took a deep breath and counted to ten.


    "And what," he said eventually, "killed them?"


    "Dunno sir." The man shrugged, making his black studded leather armour creak. "They all seem to have just fallen down and died, except one, over there near that small crater in the middle of the road. He seems to have rotted."


    Harold gestured at his mage, and the two walked over the shallow hole. Sure enough, a mummified body lay there. The king raised an eyebrow at Wilbur, who examined the scene critically.


    "There''s death here," the magic user said finally.


    "Don''t you start!" Harold gestured at the corpses all around them that were starting to bloat in the sun. "I can see that with my own eyes. You''d better come up with something better than that wizard."


    "No, I mean¡­ I can''t explain it. A¡­presence. Something powerful. I don''t think it''s Dreth."


    "Sir! King Harold sir!"


    The king looked up to see one of his advanced scouts trotting towards him, sweating. "What is it trooper?"


    "We''ve found a survivor sir, a wizard by the looks of him. Looks like there was some kind of serious magical battle. Up the hill, through the woods."


    Harold nodded. "Lead on," he said. "Men! Double time!"


    They jogged off, Wilbur keeping up with some difficulty.


    They made their way out of the village and up a steep hill covered with trees, emerging suddenly into a rocky area. A sheer cliff rose up ahead of them, though a goodly portion had collapsed. Several of his men were surrounding a robed figure sitting on the remains of a shattered boulder. He strode up and the guards parted slightly to allow him access.


    "Where''s Dreth?" the king demanded, getting straight to the point.


    The wizard, dressed in robes scarred with burn marks and rents, was examining his hands, he didn''t acknowledge the king as he spoke. "Got away," he said.


    "And who are you?" Harold said.


    The man looked up and smiled, an expression that totally lacked humour "Who''s asking?"


    The king bristled at such impertinence. A wave of anger washed over him, and he pulled his black sword free and levelled it at the man. "I," he said, "am King Harold of Real, and I am not used to impertinence from underlings. Now speak, or I''ll slice you from head to toe."


    The seated figure didn''t respond to his order, but looked at the sword closely. "Is that a devil blade?" he asked. "If it is, we may just be able to help each other."


    Harold frowned, but nodded. "Go on," he answered. "I''m listening."

 Chapter 89 - Knitting

    "Haven''t you finished yet?" Dreth asked impatiently. "We need to be moving. I''m still not confident that we''re far enough away from that blasted death wizard." He scowled at the thought.


    "Just done," Frumble answered, hurriedly swallowing the last of his breakfast and standing up.


    "Me too," said Tybalt, putting down his plate and patting his stomach. "Thank you my dear, you are a wonderful cook." Emerald beamed at his compliment.


    Breakfast finished, they broke camp, Dreth urging them on all the while, and set off, traipsing along the overgrown path that wound its way through the centre of the deserted village. During the night the undead had scoured the area, finding no woodcutters, but several more smashed skeletal remains. Some of the buildings had also been caved in by the mysterious force. There was no sign of what had caused the damage.


    It didn''t take long for them to leave the settlement behind, and once more Frumble found himself stumbling through the woodland, trying to keep up with the others. Perhaps it was because of his height he spotted the pixie first. He halted suddenly and Cuthbert, who was bringing up the rear, nearly fell over him.


    "Hey! Watch it short stuff!" the zombie said.


    "We are not alone," Frumble replied, looking at the small figure that was standing on a log, staring at them.


    "What?" Cuthbert swivelled his head about, trying to find out what the wizard was talking about. "Where? Who?"


    "There," Frumble pointed, and then, because he''d been taught it was rude to point, added: "Hello."


    The pixie, who came up to Frumble''s ankle, was dressed all in green. A green hat, a green tunic and green shoes. His little face seemed to be twisted in an expression of annoyance.


    "What do you want here?"


    "Sorry?" asked Frumble, leaning forward to try and hear the tiny voice.


    "What''s the hold up back here?" Dreth arrived on the scene.


    "It''s the little person," Cuthbert answered.


    "What have you done now wizard?" Dreth glared at Frumble.


    "No, not that little person, that little person," the zombie said.


    Dreth squinted. "Oh. A pixie. They''re quite tasty in a sandwich you know." He reached out towards the creature and then stopped when about a hundred others suddenly popped out of the undergrowth, appearing from no where.


    "What''s going on?" Emerald and the others joined them. "Oh, pixies! How cute!"


    "Shush," Frumble said. "He''s saying something." He knelt down to listen to what the first pixie was trying to say.


    "Leave now! We don''t want your sort wandering around our woods, destroying the environment," it said.


    "We''re only passing through," Frumble replied. "We won''t damage anything."


    "Unless we feel like it," Dreth added, perhaps feeling that he was above taking terms from a bunch of midgets.


    "You damage the forest, and we''ll get very upset," the pixie replied.


    "Ooh!" Cuthbert replied, going all high pitched and sarcastic. "We''re soooo scared. What you going to do about it? Squeak us to death?"


    "We won''t do anything," the little person replied, "but they will." He gestured behind him.


    Frumble looked at where the pixie was pointing. At first he couldn''t see anything through the trees, but then he realized he was looking at the trees, which were creaking and groaning unnaturally As he watched, the trunk of one seemed to split into two, and it stepped forward with a loud, splintering, potentially-person-crushing crash.


    "Oh, I see," Cuthbert took a step back. "Well, that''s fine then. Just asking."


    "You. Will. Not. Harm." The voice was wooden, slow and loud. One of the trees to their right, perhaps an oak, Frumble wasn''t too good at vegetation types, pointed a large branch at them.


    "No problem!" Percy answered. "We love nature! Really!"


    "Then why do you have a string of dead flowers around your neck?" the pixie demanded.


    "I, er, found them like this. Shocking isn''t it? I was, ah, hoping to find somewhere to re-plant them. I honour them by wearing them close to my unbeating heart."


    "Mmmm."


    "Look, we''re just passing through, really. We mean you no harm," Emerald stepped forward, addressing the ?ssembled forest.


    "We. May. Not. Share. That. Sentiment."


    "Come on, we''re harmless!" Cuthbert spread his arms wide.


    "Speak for yourself," Dreth muttered.


    There was a pause, broken only by the sound of wood creaking. Finally the first tree, a birch, answered.


    "Very. Well. But. We. Will. Be. Watching."


    "Us too," the pixie said.


    "You''d better," scowled Dreth, "or I might step on you."


    With a final glare in their direction, the pixies disappeared into the woods, and the trees drew back a little, to allow them to carry on their journey, which they did with little hesitation.


    Following the Seers rather hesitant direction, they kept going west, moving steadily through the day, making sure they didn''t tread on any plants.


    "We need to get more supplies," Frumble grumbled as he discarded the remains of his last apple. His pack was distressingly light.


    "Perhaps we could just eat you," Percy said. "Kill to birds with one hand."


    "Shhh," said Emerald gesturing and glancing about nervously. "Don''t go around talking about killing wildlife. Remember, the trees have ears."


    "And. Eyes." A nearby ash tree rumbled.


    Percy cast a rueful glance at the forest and fell silent.


    "How far are these witches anyway?" Tybalt asked as they continued their journey. "Shouldn''t we have been there by now?"


    "I''m sure we''re practically there," the youth said, gulping nervously as he looked at Dreth.


    "I think I can hear something," Emerald said.


    "Finally," Dreth grumbled.


    "Probably a squirrel convention or something," muttered Frumble.


    They walked forward more cautiously, and soon found themselves peering out into a small, overcast clearing. In the centre, squatting there like it was paying a visit to the restrooms, was a small, one storey, red stone cottage.


    The building was square, with a thatched roof sporting a chimney that was industriously pumping out white smoke. Frumble wondered what the forest thought of the pollution. There was a green door set into the wall facing them, and quaint windows on either side of that.


    Around the cottage, encircling it like a suburban defence perimeter, was a small picket fence, painted black rather than the traditional white. A single gate allowed ingress. Within the border grew a variety of strange plants, some of which looked rather too sentient for mere vegetables. Frumble thought he saw one grab at a bird that foolishly hopped too close.


    "Are they the witches?" Dreth asked the seer, who shrugged in response.


    "They don''t look very old," Tybalt said.


    "Maybe the Overlord has stolen their experience as well?" Cuthbert suggested.


    "He better bloody not have," Dreth rumbled. "Come on, may as well make a house call." He started forward, and the others trailed behind him reluctantly.


    As they approached, Frumble could hear the women talking. They seemed to be having an argument centred on the middle ones nose.


    "See? See how big it is?"


    "Call that a wart?" the one on the right, who was slightly fatter than the other two, said. "I''ve seen bigger on the last prince I turned into a frog."


    The middle, nose-warted one, wasn''t the least put out by this criticism. "At least I remembered to cast a waterproofing spell on my gingerbread house so it didn''t collapse when it rained!"


    "It did? I don''t remember that," the third one said. She was tall and skinny.


    "You were too busy trying to sell poisoned apples," wart nose replied. "Hello? What have we here?"


    The three turned as one to observe their visitors.


    "Are you the sisters?" Dreth asked, stopping in front of them. "The witches who live here?"


    "Us?" Fat witch shook her head vigorously. "Oh no, they''re inside. We''re just the apprentices."


    "I''m practically a witch," nose wart said. "More so than these two excuses anyway." She gestured with her arms, an action accompanied by a clashing of bracelets.


    "Oh, you are so not!" The one on the left argued. "We all started at the same time, and it will be me that gets the promotion, just you wait and see." She turned to Dreth. "I''m the only one who can get her broomstick to fly you see," she explained.


    "Fascinating," Dreth said, clearly unimpressed. "So, if you are not the sisters, I ?ssume they''re inside?"


    "Yes, they''re in there. Knock on the door if you dare," fat trainee-witch said.


    Dreth dared. He strode up to the small door and hammered on it in thunderous fashion.


    A screeching, grating voice from inside rewarded his enquiry.


    "Who the bloody hell is making that racket? I''ll turn you into a toad so I will! Nearly made me drop my knitting!"

 Chapter 90 - Witch Way?

    "I am called Dreth, and I am here to seek your aid," Dreth replied with as much dignity as he could manage through a closed door.


    "Really? Our aid is it?" the voice replied. "Better come on into our lair then, hadn''t you, if you''re feeling brave."


    The door swung open, and Dreth stepped inside, followed more slowly by the others, who cast glances at each other, apprehensive at this invitation into the lair of powerful magic users.


    Inside, against all of Frumble''s expectations, was a small cosy room, much in the style of ones favourite grandmother. A fire crackled merrily in a stone hearth, with the traditional large metal cauldron hanging over it, with contents he couldn''t, thankfully, see. The whitewashed walls were clean, and small pictures hung at random intervals.


    In the middle of the room, sitting on a rocking chair that rocked itself, was a fat old woman dressed in black, knitting a scarf. Frumble had to admit she certainly looked right for the part. A bulbous nose, sufficiently wart covered, spread itself out in the middle of her face. Small round eyes glared forth, and he felt them bore through him, as if seeing into his very soul. Her chin bristled with bristles, and reminded him of a couple of pigs he''d seen. On a table next to her was a pair of spectacles on a stick, in the style of those you would find at an opera.


    Her sister was standing over by the fire, looking into the flames. She was an almost direct contrast in appearance. Exceptionally tall and skinny, she seemed to be all sharp angles. She was dressed in black too, but such a dark, deep, black she was almost invisible. Her face matched her body, long and narrow, with an enormous hooked beak for a nose.


    "We have guests Hilda!" screeched the fat witch in the rocking chair, without a pause in her knitting.


    "So we do Hetty," replied the second witch, not looking round. "So we do."


    "Strange looking sort," Hetty said, rocking madly. ???Half of them are dead it seems."


    "Unusual guests indeed," Hilda agreed, still looking into the flames. "And yet, they are more than they seem I feel."


    "Oh sister, so they are." The fat witch stopped her knitting for a second and picked up her opera glasses, peering through them at the group.


    "Three zombies, a Halfling wizard, a rogue in love, a seer who isn''t quite, a¡­ well. A young woman with the heavy mark of dark destiny on her, and¡­" She stopped and squinted at Dreth, as if not quite believing what she saw. "And Him. We''re honoured today Hilda, look who''s dropped in on us. Better get the best sherry out."


    "You know me?" Dreth stepped forward.


    Hetty put her spectacles down and resumed her knitting, the needles clicking in counterpoint to the chairs squeaking. "That we do young fellow, though it''s been a while, hasn''t it Hilda?"


    "It has indeed Hetty, quite some while."


    "I''ve spent the last few centuries in a dungeon. What do you know of me? Tell me!" Dreth sounded almost like he was pleading.


    "Oh no deary," Hetty said. "You''ll have to figure that one out by yourself. Go and ask his Lordship maybe, I''m sure you''ll enjoy that, yes indeed." She cackled loudly.


    "Oh, good cackle," Percy said.


    "Thank-you young Percy," the witch replied.


    "Hey! She knows my name!" Percy said, nudging Cuthbert.


    "His Lordship?" asked Dreth. "You mean the Overlord? Are you his allies then?" He fondled his sword.


    "Allies!" Hetty laughed sardonically. "That miserable amphibian-to-be? Did you hear that Hilda?"


    "I did indeed Hetty. I did indeed, and I''m not amused."


    "I take it he''s not a close acquaintance of yours then?" Cuthbert asked.


    "Acquaintance. Ha!" the hag screwed her face up into something even uglier. "Used to date him, until he dumped me. Him! Dump me! Me! Hetty the Horrible! The one and only! Did it from a distance of course, and inside a circle of protection too, otherwise he''d be small green and croaking right now, I''ll tell you that much for nothing." She spat into the fireplace, which flared up brightly for a second. "Some of the best years of my hag-hood, wasted on that bumbling idiot."


    "So, you''re not exactly friends with him," said Cuthbert, rubbing his hands together. "Good. Excellent even."


    "What''s it to you zombie?" Hilda pointed a finger at him, making the undead wince.


    "Nothing, nothing at all," Cuthbert said, backing off.


    "Good." Hilda nodded.


    "Listen," said Dreth. "We''re here because the lad here," he gestured at the Seer, "said you might know where the Overlord is. Can you help us?"


    Hetty grinned, a worrying sight. "Oh, we can do better than that young fellow. We can transport you near to his lair. How would that be for you?"


    "What''s the catch???? asked Dreth.


    "You have to do us one small favour when you get there," she said, putting down her knitting.


    "How small?" Dreth said.


    The witches smiled in unison.


    The Malevolent Citadel, like all good Fortresses of Evil, was built in a barren wasteland on top of a high, rocky peak. It''s towers, made of the same dark stone as the crags below, rose into the ominous dark cloud that surrounded the edifice at all times. The blasted land around stretched out as far as the eye could see*, a maze of sandstone walls rising up from the cracked earth below. It was certainly an impressive sight, albeit not very convenient for the shops.


    Some way out, on the outer rim of this hellish landscape, there was a brief flash of white light, which quickly faded, leaving in its place a motley group of figures.


    Three of these were currently arguing about the ingredients used in teleportation spells. They were dressed in black, their tall pointy hats proclaiming their profession to be witches, though in this case it was really witches in training.


    Next to them, standing and admiring the scenery, were three undead, although it would probably be more accurate to count them as two and a half undead, as Sprat was only knee high.


    On the other side of the witches stood a man and a woman, holding hands. The woman''s black and white striped hair was striking. She was garbed in a simple robe, and armed only with a dagger. Her boyfriend, in contrast, had two swords strapped to his leather armour, and he looked like he knew how to use them.


    Slightly behind the humans was a Halfling. Clearly a wizard from his robes, he was thumbing through a thick book and mumbling to himself. A gangling youth stood peering over his shoulder.


    Finally, standing in the centre of this strange gathering, a tall thin figure in dark robes with a large black sword strapped to his side. He looked around him with an expression of eagerness on his ancient face. Dead eyes stared out at the landscape, and turned unerringly in the direction of the citadel, even though the view was obscured from their current position.


    ~ * ~


    Dreth nodded. He was close now. He could feel the presence of the Overlord. His hands tightened into fists. One way or another, he was going to get to the bottom of things, if it meant the deaths of thousands. As long as his death wasn''t one of them of course.


    "This way," he said, cutting short the various conversations around him.


    "How do you know?" asked Percy.


    "I just do," Dreth replied, stepping forward and nearly tripping over Sprat.


    "I must say, I like what they''ve done with the place," Cuthbert said, admiring the rough walls that rose up on either side of them, canyon like.


    Emerald coughed. "What are you talking about? It''s horrible, I can b?r?ly breathe!"


    "Ah, that''s where I don''t have a problem," Cuthbert replied. "Another example of the superiority of the undead race."


    "You''re not a race," Tybalt said, covering his own nose.


    "Of course we are!" the zombie replied. "What else would you call us then?"


    Tybalt opened his mouth to reply, but then shut it again, unable to think of an answer.


    "The Mystical Lexicon of Taraamapoo defines race as: ''Any people united by common history, language, cultural traits, etc.''," said Frumble conversationally. The wizard had cast a small spell, and so wasn''t troubled by the poisons in the air.


    "See? The mage says we''re a race," Cuthbert said.


    "What sort of name is Taramamaaasoo?" Tybalt sneered.


    "Taraamapoo," corrected Frumble, "is a fabled city on the far side of the Ocean of Twisted Death. The population is said to consist of mystics and wizards who spend their days researching new and powerful magics."


    "So who does the cooking then?" Emerald asked.


    "Well, not all the population are wizards, obviously," the mage said. "There are others who serve them of course¡­"


    The discussion carried faded as the party wound their way through the cursed land, heading towards the Overlord''s domain.


    Hidden in the rocks, eyes tracked their every move¡­


    *which wasn''t very far, due to the sulphurous emissions of volcanic vents in the area.

 Chapter 91 - A Maze ing.

    "So, you''re telling me that the woman with Dreth is some kind of host for a super-powerful malevolent spirit? Is that it?" King Harold sat on a rock opposite near wizards and scratched his chin.


    "A Lord of Hell, one of the hells to be precise, but otherwise that''s right." Harvey nodded. He was sitting on some rubble, consciously not looking at the necromancer nearby.


    "And in return for my help capturing this woman, you''ll share the power with me when you capture the devil, which will occur during a moment of vulnerability during this, this possession procedure?"


    "A portion of the power." McVon raised a finger. "Which will still be quite significant, I can ?ssure you."


    "And where do you come into this thing again?" Harold turned to the thin figure sat on another boulder nearby.


    The necromancer waved a hand. "The Overlord summoned me to deal with Dreth, nothing more, nothing less. I have no interest in getting involved with the Coming of the Four. This idiot''s foolish quest is his own."


    "So, you two are here on unrelated missions, and yet you seem to have had a little¡­ squabble." The King of Real raised an eyebrow.


    His men had come across the Extremely Dark necromancer shortly after they had arrived on the scene of what had obviously been an extremely vicious magical battle. The wizard of death appeared to be untouched, but Wilbur, Harold''s court wizard, said that in fact he was hurting, and badly weakened on the magical plane. Apparently the two mages had fought each other to a standstill.


    "Pah, it was nothing," McVon said. "I decided he wasn''t worth the effort."


    "I never made an effort in the first place," the necromancer spat back.


    "Now now gentlemen," Harold said, waving a finger. "Let''s not get excited. It seems to me that Dreth tricked you into fighting. Rather a simple ploy to fall for wasn''t it?"


    Both wizards muttered something under their breath.


    "I think that we can all help each other here." Harold stood up. "Together we can defeat Dreth, capture the girl and have a happy ever after ending. For us I mean." He looked at the wizards. "What do you say?"


    ~ * ~


    "Right. Any other smart ?sses want to try their luck?" Dreth, holding his dripping black blade, stared around at the walls. There was a distinct lack of movement from them. So much so that it could almost be inferred that any creatures hidden therein were keeping very still so as not to attract attention.


    "Good, because I''ve been through too much rubbish to be stopped by some¡­ some¡­ What were they anyway?" He peered down at the remains that were scattered around the ground. Some of them were scattered quite far.


    "I think they were Ankhegs," said Sissy, the tall thin witch apprentice, peering at a piece of chitin near her foot. "We use their eyes in the old ''sleep for a hundred years'' spell."


    "What''s an Ankheg?" asked Emerald.


    "A kind of armoured Blasmonger," the wart nose witch apprentice explained. Her name was Rose, which was a constant source of amusement to the other witches.


    "Oh. Well, that clears that up then," Emerald said, rolling her eyes.


    The Ankhegs, creatures resembling very large and extremely angry warrior ???kroaches, had swarmed out of a number of hidden holes and attacked them as they had reached an open space in the maze of walls.


    Dreth had felt a surge of anger course through him from Darkblood, and had, before he had b?r?ly registered it himself, hacked half of the creatures into small pieces. The remaining monsters had retreated under the onslaught, scuttling back into their camouflaged lairs.


    "Good," Dreth said, as nothing answered his challenge. He wiped the sword clean of green gunk and sheathed it. "That''s what I thought. See to it I don''t have to get angry again."


    "You wouldn''t like him when he''s angry," Percy added.


    "They know that already idiot," whispered Cuthbert, elbowing his fellow zombie in the ?h?st.


    "Come on then," said Dreth. "He waved them forward.


    "Which way?" Tybalt asked, pointing at the five different exits out of the clearing.


    "That one," said Dreth, pointing at the one on the left.


    "How are you navigating, exactly?" Cuthbert said, puzzled. "You seem very sure of yourself all of a sudden."


    "I¡­" Dreth paused. "I''m not sure. I know it is that one though. Come on, enough dilly dallying." He started walking over to gap in the rock he''d indicated, stepping over bits of Ankheg as he did so.


    "Who''s dilly dallying?" asked Percy. He hurried to catch up to Dreth. "Do you think these things are tasty?"


    "If you want to hang around and sample them, be my guest," Dreth said, intent on the way forward. "I''m not waiting."


    They followed as he stalked forward, into the opening, which led down another narrow canyon of blasted orange rock. Ahead and above them the dark mountain loomed, with the citadel perched on top of it like an overweight stone giant surveying his domain.


    "Do you think He knows we''re coming?" the Seer asked, his voice trembling slightly.


    "It''s quite likely," said Belladonna, the final witch apprentice. "If he has your experience, no doubt he''s using that to see what we''re going to do too. It''s quite clever really."


    "Well, that''s encouraging," Emerald said. "Maybe there''s a waiting area we could hang around in whilst Dreth goes and has a chat then."


    "Ooh, good one," Sissy cackled.


    "Your laugh is coming on really well," Percy said.


    "Thank you dearie," she answered.


    "I''m sure I wouldn''t co-operate with the Overlord," muttered the Seer youth.


    "You may not have any choice," said Frumble. "Hello, I''m guessing we''re going the right way."


    They all stopped and examined the entrance to the large cave that led inside the mountain. It was dark, looming and overall highly ominous. Skulls were carved around the edge in rough yet effective fashion. Unhygienic looking stains splattered the edges.


    "Cool entrance," Percy said. He nudged Sprat. "Isn''t that cool Sprat?"


    "Yes Uncle Percy," the little zombie replied, eyes wide as he took the sight in.


    "Bah, all show," Sissy said dismissively, straightening her pointy hat. "Purely for tourists."


    "Well, you''d know about show wouldn''t you?" Rose sniped.


    Dreth shook his head. "Come on, let''s see who''s in." He advanced, crossing over the threshold into the gloomy bowls of the mountain.


    "Just like home," Percy said after a little while.


    The interior was dark and damp, with corridors hewn through the granite. The dripping of water echoed in a lonely fashion somewhere, underlining the silence of the interior. Behind them the dull light from outside had quickly faded, and now only a torch retrieved from Dreth''s bag, and a couple of magical lights Frumble had conjured up, illuminated the scene. Of course, Dreth and the zombies were quite at home in the dark.


    "There''s a crossroads ahead," Cuthbert said. He looked at Dreth.


    "Er, left," Dreth indicated, but he wasn''t certain.


    They went left, then right, then right and left and left again and soon they were totally lost.


    "We''re totally lost," said Belladonna, crossing her pudgy arms.


    "It''s a maze," said Tybalt.


    "Oh, you''re quick on the mark, I can see that," Rose said.


    "Listen, witch¡­" Tybalt''s reply was interrupted by a loud m??n that rolled over them.


    "What was that?" Percy asked. "Hello? Anyone there?"


    "Of course there''s someone there," Cuthbert replied cheerfully. "Probably a fearsome guardian, eh Dreth? Just like old times."


    "It would follow the pattern," Dreth replied, tapping his sword and trying to figure out where the sound had come from.


    "Tuuuurn back!" A mysterious voice boomed out, echoing around them.


    "To the left I think," Sissy said.


    "No, the right," Belladonna indicated a turning just ahead.


    "Turrrrn baaaack and liiiive!"


    "What if we aren''t alive?" Percy called back.


    "Turn back and er¡­" The voice paused slightly, before making a game effort to get back on track. "Turn baaaack!"


    "Yes, right." Dreth pulled Darkblood from its scabbard with a cold scraping, the sword gleamed with a black light, and they set off forward at a trot.


    "This is your laaaast waaarning!"


    "We heard you the first time," Dreth said, speeding up as he homed in on the source of the sound.


    "You aaare dooooomed! Doooomed I say!"


    "Yeah yeah yeah, we''ve heard it all before," Cuthbert muttered as they took a sharp left.


    "Soooo beee it! You shaaaaall perish! Fleeee now!"


    They turned another corner, and the passage opened up into a sizeable square area. Ahead, towering above them in the gloom, was the giant form of a fearsome beast.


    The body rose at least three times the height of Dreth, from the shiny cloven hooves, up around the bulging legs covered with brown hair, on past the impressively muscular torso, to the bulls head, complete with horns that glittered in the low light.


    An axe twice the size of a man''s shield was held in its arms.


    "Gaze upon your doooom!" the Minotaur bellowed.

 Chapter 92 - The Final Stretch

    Dreth, undaunted, raised his sword. "We''re on the same side. Stand back and let us pass and I will let you live."


    "Ha!" Steam snorted from the monster bulls massive nostrils. "Such is impossible! It iiiis you who must yield! Fleeee now and I will beee merciful!"


    "Sorry, no can do," Dreth said.


    "Er, Fleeee! Fleee! I won''t tell you again." The monster remained where it was, blocking the path.


    "There''s something not quite right here," Emerald said, frowning.


    Dreth glared at the creature. "Step forth and do battle!" he demanded.


    "Well¡­ okay. Hold on a minute."


    The bull grunted strangely for a moment, and raised a leg slowly. And then stopped, leg still held high.


    "Oh oh."


    They watched as the guardian tilted to one side and, like a felled tree, slowly toppled over, landing with a deafening crash on the floor in front of them.


    "Hey! You aren''t a real Minotaur," said Percy, rapping the head. "This is made from wood!"


    "Who are you?" Dreth said. "What are you? Speak!"


    "Please, I''m just doing what I was told, but the mechanism''s rusty see? It can''t walk any more. No one''s done maintenance in decades, it''s all seized up." The voice lacked the former booming quality it had previously had.


    Dreth frowned. "What do you mean?"


    "The real Minotaur''s sick just now, I''m just the stand in," the prone ''monster'' complained. He paused for a second, and then added: "Please don''t kill me."


    "Come out of there!" Tybalt said. "Let''s see you."


    There was some grunting, and the head popped off, to reveal a small green goblin in a loincloth. He was sitting in a small hollow in the ?h?st. In front of him were several levers and switches.


    The goblin looked at them miserably. "Hello," it said. "I don''t suppose any of you are any good at metallurgy? I think the main driveshaft''s come loose."


    "What is this thing?" Emerald said.


    "It''s the stand-in," the goblin said, wriggling free. "Minotaur are hard to get, but what else can you have in a maze? Got to be a Minotaur, it''s tradition see?"


    "So do you work for the Overlord?" Dreth asked.


    "Me? Yes. Five years of loyal servitude under the belt. Spotless record." It paused and looked at the fallen Minotaur shell behind him. "Well, up until now."


    "I see," Dreth said. "In that case, maybe you can help us out." He smiled.


    ~ * ~


    Greg stood upright at his post, although this wasn''t very upright what with him being a rather hunchbacked troll. Still, he took his job seriously. After all, it was an honour to be the one chosen to guard the Overlord''s quarters.


    He looked down a moment and idly swung his giant club.


    After a little while he lifted one leg slightly and let loose a fart that would probably be more effective at keeping intruders away than he was. Next he spent a while rooting out and examining the contents of his nose.


    Time passed.


    The problem with guarding the Overlords'' quarters was, well, no one was stupid enough to want to come here, let along force their way into the place.


    "This way."


    A voice jerked Greg out of his daydream, dragging his attention back to the passage ahead that led up to the entrance he was guarding.


    "Who goes there?" he asked in a voice of gravel.


    A motley group approached. Carrying a body were four humans dressed in guard uniforms. Two of them looked rather unwell to Greg, though he wasn''t very good on humans so it could have been normal for all he knew. A short wizard was leading the procession, an aura of self importance surrounded him, as was usually the case with wizards. He seemed to have a long gangly apprentice with him. Bringing up the rear were three witches, who were talking in low voices amongst themselves.


    The wizard stopped in front of the troll and looked up. "Make way there!" he commanded.


    "Er, whu?" Greg said intelligently, peering at the body.


    "I said¡­" the wizard slammed his staff on the ground, causing sparks. "Open the door."


    "Who are you?" Greg asked, rather nervously. One of his clan brothers had argued with a wizard once, and he was now probably regretting it. Greg didn''t know for sure, as the ???kroach he''d been turned into had scuttled off and never been seen again.


    "We have an important item for The Overlord," the wizard replied.


    "No one tell Greg you come," Greg said, in his politest tones. "You bugger off now." He poked the corpse with one finger.


    "Oh, this is stupid." The supposedly dead man opened his eyes and stood up.


    There was a blur of movement and Greg felt a sharp pain in his neck. He stood there and tried to bring his club up, but his body wasn''t responding to commands any more He attempted to shout, but that didn''t happen either. He stared to panic as he realized he couldn''t breath. Things began to lose colour


    Slowly he toppled over, hitting the ground with a crash. The world seemed to turn over and over, and as things started to fade from sight, his head finally came to rest facing his own body. Blood pumped from the neck onto the floor, creating a small lake.


    Greg died.


    ~ * ~


    "Well, that wasn''t very subtle now, was it?" Percy said, folding his arms. "I thought we were going to pretend you were dead and present you to the Overlord so you could leap up and surprise him?"


    "It got us this far didn''t it?" Dreth said, wiping his sword on the corpse. "That and your guard uniforms. The Overlord probably wouldn''t fall for it anyway."


    "Sprat, you can come on out now," Cuthbert called out.


    "Hey, you killed Greg," the goblin said. He smiled. "Good. I never liked him much."


    "Are we ready then?" asked Dreth.


    "No," said Percy.


    "Oh yes, we''ve got a good spell all prepared," said Rose, rubbing her hands together. "He''ll be sorry he ever slighted our mistress."


    "Are you sure this is a good idea?" asked Emerald.


    "No," replied Dreth. "But why start now?"


    He pushed on the door and stepped through into the Overlord''s lair. The others shuffled after him.


    "Impressive," said Percy, after a few moments of examining the surroundings.


    They were in a large stone hall. Banners and trophies lined the walls, ranging from human heads to full dragon skins. A dark carpet led up to a dais, upon which was a tall throne made of bone. On either side of the seat, set in the wall behind, was a wooden door.


    The throne wasn''t currently being used. In front of the dais someone had placed a desk and some chairs. Sitting at the desk was a small man wearing half moon glasses. He was slightly bald on top, a fact he''d tried to mask with a comb-over, and was wearing an unimpressive white shirt that would have benefited from a good iron. There was a slight stain down the front, as if he''d spilled breakfast on it.


    "Come in, come in," the man said, standing up and waving his arm enthusiastically. "I''ve been expecting you."


    "You have?" asked Dreth, stepping forward warily.


    "Of course, do you think I didn''t know what happened in my own domain? It''s been quite entertaining watching your progress. I might write a book about it one day."


    "You are The Overlord?" Tybalt asked.


    "Yes indeed. Master of all I survey, or else." He beamed at them. "And I see you''ve brought a representative from dearest Hilda and Hetty. How are the sisters?"


    "She curses your bones every day," hissed Sissy.


    "Excellent, excellent," The Overlord rubbed his hands together.


    "You know why I''m here then," Dreth said.


    "Of course, I knew you''d come back eventually."


    "Come back?"


    "The spells to transform you and alter your memory worked, but I couldn''t erase your abilities, your resistance to death." The Overlord shook his head sadly.


    "Transformation? Memories?" Percy asked, saving Dreth the trouble.


    "Indeed." The Overlord looked at the zombie. "He was immortal even back then you see. I couldn''t kill him, so I had to find some other method to get him out of the way."


    "If you wanted him out of the way why didn''t you just bury him or something then?" Emerald asked, frowning.


    The Overlord''s smiled faded and he scowled. "I made a deal."


    "A deal?" Dreth asked. ???With whom?"


    "Why, your beloved of course." The Overlord grinned again. "I suppose she still had feelings for you, even though you betrayed her. Even after you disposed of her I couldn''t change the agreement though."


    "What the hell are you talking about?" Dreth shouted.

 Chapter 93 - Confrontation!

    I was The Overlord''s turn to look puzzled. He peered over his glasses. "You mean¡­ you still don''t remember?"


    "Don''t remember what?" snarled Dreth, holding on to his temper by a thread. In his hand Darkblood m??n?d.


    "Interesting." The Overlord tapped his fingers together. "Ah well, I may as well spill the beans I suppose. It won''t make any difference now."


    "Ooh, a story! Come close and pay attention Sprat," Cuthbert said, clapping his hands.


    "Centuries ago, Dreth ruled this place," the Overlord gestured round at the citadel. "Along with his beautiful and, of course, evil wife, Rage. I was a simple employee at first, working in the dungeons as a messenger. However, I had ambition. I studied, observed, learned and worked my way up the chain of command. Centuries it took, but eventually I secured a place on his private staff. There I bided my time, waiting for my chance."


    "You despicable fiend," Percy said. "Good one."


    "Finally my opening came. One day a young elf maiden, disgustingly Good, was captured and brought here for a sacrifice. Only, for some reason Dreth became infatuated with her. If I didn''t know better, I would swear he even¡­ loved her." He spat the word out in disgust.


    "Oh, gross!" Cuthbert said, clapping his hands over Sprat''s ears. "Don''t listen son."


    "I''m scared daddy," Sprat said.


    "He kept her in a hidden chamber, visiting her in secret. I was the only one trusted with the knowledge, his faithful servant. For years this went on, and she came to¡­ you know, the ''L'' word, him in return. How this could be I do not understand to this day. A pure, Good maiden and the Ultimate evil in the land together? Such a match was impossible, and yet there it was."


    "What happened?" asked Tybalt.


    The Overlord smiled. "I plotted and planned and finally ''arranged'' for Dreth''s wife to find out. She was a hellish woman. Cruel, sadistic, petty and vengeful. Almost perfect in fact. She was furious of course, and murdered the elf with her b?r? hands. Dreth found out and came after her. Still, he''d gone soft by then. He didn''t kill her, but merely had her imprisoned."


    "How romantic," Percy said, clasping his hands together.


    "I made a deal with Rage, to release her in exchange for taking Dreth''s place. I''d been working on a way to get him out of the picture remember. I cast a transformation spell, and was preparing another to alter his memory when he became aware of our plot. He tried to stop us, but she delayed him long enough for me to get away. Her act enraged him so much he disposed of her in some fashion, both foul and cruel no doubt, showing off his true calling at last. I don''t know what he did, but I never saw here again."


    "Mmm, I think I met her wandering ghost a while ago," Dreth said, remembering the close encounter with the female sprit back in the dungeon. "An ex eh? Her attitude makes sense then." He raised a finger. "Wait! Now I remember you. You''re name''s¡­ Reg! You were my servant!"


    "The name''s Reginald, thank you very much." The Overlord snarled. "I was your Personal Assistant. And I left that name behind long ago. Now, I''m The Overlord thank-you very much."


    "Not for much longer," Dreth said.


    "Yes yes," Percy interrupted. "But what happened next? In the story I mean?"


    "Oh, there''s little else to tell. I managed to complete the spells I''d prepared, making Dreth forget who he was and believing he was some sort of cursed adventurer. Then I put him in one of his own dungeons, not too close, but somewhere where I could keep an eye on him."


    "What a lovely tale," Cuthbert said, clapping.


    "Oh, but it''s not finished yet. I recently stumbled over something which may be the answer." He reached behind the desk and pulled out something wrapped in a cloth.


    "The answer to what?" Frumble asked.


    "Dreth," The Overlord replied, letting the cloth fall to the floor, to reveal a long blade. Darkblood m??n?d in rage.


    "Another black sword!" gasped Emerald.


    "Not simply another one," The Overlord replied, bringing the weapon up, but the Diamond devil blade. The most powerful of the set. I believe it will kill even Dreth, and then I''ll have the rest of you for dessert. Except you my dear," he looked at Emerald and smiled gently. "You''ll go back to your chamber."


    "You''re going to take us all on yourself?" Dreth raise a thin eyebrow.


    "Don''t be silly." The Overlord made a quick gesture and the doors behind him flung open, to let in a set of familiar faces. "Some of your friends wanted to join the party."


    In the centre was King Harold, his own black sword, taken from the anti-paladin, in his hand. Beside him stood his wizard, and behind him a group of armoured, mean looking warriors.


    To the left of the king was Harvey VonMcVon, grinning tightly. He looked at Emerald and his eyes sparkled.


    On the other end, scowling and muttering under his breath, was the Extremely Dark Necromancer.


    "Looks like the gang''s all here," said Dreth, taking in the force ?ssembled in front of him.


    The Overlord nodded. "You''ve been lucky before. This time we shall make certain. So, any final words Dreth? Perhaps some kind of evil monologue about how you will rise again, stronger than before? Something like that you know?"


    "I have no intention of dying. I''ve figured out your plan even if this lot haven''t. You''re going to get your lackeys here to deal with me first and then eliminate the witnesses. Not much of an original plan to be sure," Dreth said. He shrugged. "Still, if you''ve fooled them this far, I''m sure they haven''t thought it through."


    "I''m no one''s lackey," Harold said, snarling.


    "I was summoned, it is one of the penalties I pay for my powers," the necromancers said in a low voice.


    "I am here for my own reasons," Harvey answered.


    "Doesn''t sound like the group is really united," Dreth said, shaking his head.


    The Overlord growled and turned to the group ?ssembled behind him. "Come now, there''s no ''I'' in team," he said.


    "Who said we''re a team?" Harold said.


    "I did," the Overlord said.


    "I thought there was no I¡­" Harvey started.


    "Shut up!" The Overlord raised his sword. "You will aid me in this, or I''ll personally rip your livers out and make you eat them."


    "No one speaks to me thus!" the wizard replied. "You may have these minions under your thrall, but I''m¡­"


    There was a humming noise and a blur of dark light. Harvey''s eyes widened and he looked down at the great gash that had split his front open, from neck to groin. He opened his mouth.


    "You¡­ you¡­" The wizard fell forward onto the floor. A pool of blood spread our around him.


    "Any others wish to complain?" The Overlord waved his big black weapon about. The sword glittered and twinkled slightly, radiating hunger for blood and death.


    The remainder of the group shuffled their feet and avoided looking at each other.


    "Right then." The Overlord turned to face Dreth, and was hit with the spell the witches had busy been casting whilst he was distracted.


    There was a large, green, explosion, and the Overlord''s shape shimmered and shifted, as if it was a reflection in water.


    "That''s a present from Hilda!" cackled Rose, dancing about. "See how you like her vengeance!"


    The ?ssembled looked on as the Overlord was enveloped within a large green bubble. His form twisted this way and that, as he looked this way and that, and thrashed about in desperation.


    Just as Dreth was about to congratulate the apprentice witches, the black sword the Overlord carried glowed again, and he raised it above his head, so it pierced the surrounding membrane. The witch-light slowly faded as it was su?k?d into the blades black aura, finally leaving the Overlord standing, unharmed, with a smirk on his face.


    "Well, it was worth a try," said Sissy said, her shoulders drooping.


    "Good try though," Percy said. "I thought you had him for a second there."


    "Yes," added Cuthbert. "Although personally I never thought it would work. It''s just not traditional for the big boss to be defeated until the very last moment you know?"


    "It would have done so, if not for that sword. Where did he get it from anyway? They seem to be showing up a lot at the moment," commented Tybalt, what with Dreth''s one and the one King Harold now has. Anyone else think this is curious?"


    "Enough of this!" screamed the Overlord, interrupting their chat. "You cannot defeat me with this sword! Dreth! Finally I have the means to end you. Stand ready to finally die! Men, attack!" The Overlord pointed ahead dramatically.


    There was pause.


    "I said attack! Unless you wish to end up like the wizard there."


    They attacked.

 Chapter 94 - The Final Cut!

    Harold''s elite SES squad rushed forwards, Wilbur, his wizard, began chanting, and Harold himself raised his own black blade and strode into the fray. The necromancer raised a finger and began a spell.


    "It''s an old fashioned head to head!" screamed Percy, and kicked one of Harold''s men in the groin with his robot leg, sending the warrior flying into the man behind him.


    "Delicious!" said Cuthbert, biting into the neck of another warrior and pulling back, his mouth full of meat, spraying blood everywhere.


    Tybalt stood in front of Frumble and the witches in an attempt to fend off Harold, who smiled. The magic users began to cast spells in an attempt to counter the necromancer and Wilbur. Emerald screamed and danced backwards, trying to hide behind a chair which the seer was already crouching behind.


    A fireball flew overhead and was met with a counter charm, forcing it off course so it hit the ceiling in a bright explosion of flame.


    Dreth stood in front of the Overlord. They eyed each other warily.


    "You know what happened last time I fought someone with a devil blade?" asked Dreth. He ducked as a black ball of fog the size of a man''s head erupted from the necromancer. The spell flew past his ear, bounced off a far wall and headed for Emerald, who screamed as it enveloped her.


    "I think I have the upper hand this time," said the Overlord. He swung his blade, and Dreth countered with Darkblood, which cried in rage.


    The two swords met with an explosion of blue sparks, and Dreth winced at the blow.


    "Not so confident now eh?"


    Another attack drove him backwards as the Overlord swung horizontally. He countered with a lunge of his own, but his foe blocked, the two black blades scraping together with howls of pain.


    A blast of purple light stabbed forth from Wilbur, to be counted by a yellow ball of energy from Frumble.


    "ONCE MORE I''M FORCED INTO THIS WORLD TO DEFEND MY INTERESTS!"


    The voice echoed around the room, making all within wince. Dreth glanced backwards quickly, to see Emerald, eyes glowing red, hanging in the air.


    "WHO DARES?" She swivelled around to face the necromancer, who stepped back a pace.


    "I didn''t mean¡­" the dark wizard started.


    "NEVERTHELESS¡­" Emerald opened her mouth, impossibly wide, and a black beam of energy shot across the room, striking the necromancer, who raised a palm to defend himself against the demonic attack.


    Dreth saw no more as the Overlord was upon him once again, taking advantage of the distraction to press forth a renewed ?ssault, hammering away with his powerful blade, forcing Dreth to defend himself with his own weapon, which screamed ever louder under the blows.


    As he ducked another attack Dreth saw Cuthbert take a blow to his arm from one of Harold''s men, who promptly went down as Sprat attached himself to the man''s leg.


    Spells flew about, deflecting each other as the magic users blasted away, trying to overcome the other''s defences


    Dreth whirled in the midst of it all, ducking, diving, dodging as he tried every trick he knew to fend of the Overlord''s ?ssault. Still his enemy advanced.


    There was a brief cry as something finally penetrated Wilbur''s wards. The wizard literally blew up, splattering blood and gristle over the surviving combatants.


    A moment later one of the witches screamed. Dreth didn''t see what happened, he was too busy trying to avoid getting gutted as the Overlord pushed him steadily backwards. A wind had blown up from nowhere, and was enveloping them in the middle of a miniature typhoon. Darkblood was glowing a dull red and m??ning in agony as the other sword beat upon it mercilessly.


    There was another explosion, a cry of pain and a dull thump, but now Dreth didn''t dare even glance about. The Overlord''s attacks were coming faster, his devil blade trailing silver sparks as it crashed against his own, which howled louder and louder. He no longer attempted to attack, concentrating on simply surviving.


    "Now we shall see who deserves to rule!" The Overlords'' form had shifted. His skin was red, and small horns protruded from the scaly forehead. The comb-over hadn''t quite gone though, which spoiled the effect a little.


    A detonation from somewhere near the necromancer shook the room and brought down chunks of rock from the ceiling. Dreth stumbled, and the Overlord nicked his arm, sending waved of pain through his body. The enemy blade laughed, and silver runes glowed upon the surface. Darkblood, by comparison, was howling and hot to the touch.


    Dreth tried to step back further, only to find his way was blocked by wall.


    "So, now we finish this!" The Overlord hissed, a forked tongue flicking between thin black lips. He redoubled his speed, forcing Dreth down onto one knee as he attempted to defend a flurry of blows.


    Finally, as a result of an enormous sidewise sweep, Darkblood was smashed from his hands, flying across the room to embed itself in the stone of the far wall. The Overlord loomed over him, raising his weapon high over his head.


    "Hey Reginald!" Dreth said, as he cowered on the floor.


    "What?" hissed the Overlord, ready for the death stroke.


    "Remember this?" Dreth pulled something from his robes. The Overlord''s eyes'' widened.


    "No!" The sword came down.


    Dreth spoke fast.


    ~ * ~


    "I can''t feel my legs!"


    Cuthbert bent over his friend as Percy writhed on the floor. "Don''t worry!" he said in a reassuring tone.


    "But I can''t feel my legs!!"


    "Here! Here they are, right next to you." Cuthbert pointed.


    "Am I going to die?" Percy looked up at his friend from where he was lying on the floor.


    The zombie shook his head slowly. "That''s not very likely."


    "Oh, thank Dreg."


    "¡­because you''re dead already."


    "Is he going to be alright?" Dreth staggered over to the two.


    "He''s a zombie, b?r?ly un-alive," said Cuthbert. "We can rebuild him, we have the necromancy."


    "Yes, what happened to the dark necromancer anyway?" asked Dreth. He looked around.


    The room was a battlefield, literally. Bodies lay strewn about. Magical blast and burn marks peppered the walls, counterpointed with a liberal spattering of blood.


    Emerald was crying as she knelt over the body of Tybalt, who had finally been cut down by Harold. The king himself was locked in a death grip with the tall thin witch, who had evidently cast some kind of fatal spell on him even as she had been killed. Belladonna, the sole surviving witch, stood over their bodies, scratching her nose.


    Sprat was taking a light snack from one of the dead men, and the seer was bandaging Frumble''s side.


    "What about the Overlord?" asked Cuthbert. "What did you do? Last I saw, you were being handed your ?ss on a plate."


    Dreth smiled and held something up.


    "What''s that?" asked the zombie.


    "Remember the dungeon?"


    "How could I forget it?" Cuthbert sounded bitter.


    "Well, what did we finally get at the end?"


    Cuthbert frowned. "The¡­ treasure? The treasure! The wand! The wishing wand!"


    Dreth nodded, waving the now depleted stick about. "It turned out to be useful after all."


    "What¡­ what did you do to him?" asked Percy. The zombie was in a bad way. At some point in the battle he''d been cut, literally, in half from the waist down. He was lying on the floor, cuddling his lower limbs.


    Smiling, Dreth placed the wand back in his robes.


    "Justice," he said.


    ~ * Epilogue * ~


    Seth the Sneaky hacked at the last creature, cleaving it in two easily.


    "Take that!" he gasped in triumph, leaning on his sword and trying to recapture his breath. All around him the remains of zombies lay scattered about. The rest had shown unusual sense for undead and fled.


    As he straightened up he considered that he''d been lucky really. The slab that had dropped down behind him, separating him from the rest of the party, could have crushed him. Instead all he''d had to deal with was a group of zombies. Easy prey for him.


    Picking his torch up from where he''d dropped it, and keeping his sword unsheathed, he stalked down the narrow passage, which was constructed with the same smooth, dark stone as it had been since they''d entered the dungeon.


    Taking care to scan the dark stone floor for traps as he went, Seth slid along, holding his torch high to illuminate the way. At some point, he was sure, there would be another exit, and he''d be able to find the route back to the others. There hadn''t been anything in the dungeon so far that had been really challenging, almost a disappointment really, considering its reputation.


    He stopped. Ahead, blocking his way, was an ancient door, the wood almost black with age. To his left there was another one, almost identical in style, but a little newer perhaps.


    "Which way?" he mused, checking the portals for signs of booby traps. Nothing was evident and, on a whim, he turned left and pushed at the door carefully.


    It swung open with a suitable creak, and he stuck his head into the chamber beyond and looked around.


    There wasn''t much to see. A mid-sized room constructed of black stone blocks with two doorways leading out. To the right was a large white chair. He squinted and held the torch up higher. The chair was made up of bones.


    "Classy," he said, stepping further in.


    "Welcome to your death mortal!"


    Swinging round, Seth brought up his sword and dropped the torch at the same time, leaving his other hand free to pull forth a long dagger.


    Standing in front of him was a large, red-skinned humanoid. Small horns protruded from his head, and red eyes stared out at him above a grinning mouth full of sharp teeth.


    "You''ll not defeat me beast!" He lunged at the thing with his sword.


    It skipped to one side easily, moving far faster than he''d ever seen anything do before, and grabbed his arm, yanking him forward.


    Stabbing at the beast with his dagger, Seth tried to recover his position, but it pulled him close and encircled him with its arms, which felt as if they were made of iron.


    Foul breath washed over Seth as the creature came face to face with him.


    "Welcome to my lair!" it hissed. "You are honoured!"


    "H¡­honoured?" Seth gasped, struggling for breath as it squeezed.


    "Indeed! For you are the first of my victims! Yet not the last." With a loud laugh it lunge forward and Seth felt an agonizing pain as those sharp teeth ripped into the side of his neck, tearing his flesh away.


    Blood spurted and his vision started to fade. He throat clogged with liquid and his body shuddered.


    "Nnnn¡­" he gurgled.


    "Oh, but yessss!" it replied, blood dripping down its chin. "Reginald shall feed!"


    So saying, it opened its mouth impossibly wide and bit down on his face.


    Everything went black.

 Chapter 95 - Urts Journey

    Quick Authors Note:


    Dear readers, Firstly, let me thank you for supporting Tired of Death so far, it is much appreciated.


    So, the chapter that just finished is, in fact, the last chapter of the book Tired of Death: Overlord. Now, Tired of Death is the book that I''m contracted for with WebNovel, so by rights I should shut up shop and mark this as complete.


    However, I feel that would be letting down my readers, those of you who have endured this sorry tale of undeath so far. So, whilst I''m under no obligation to WebNovel1 to do this, I''m going to carry on!


    Wooo! I hear you say. Well, maybe. Perhaps you''re saying, damn, just as I thought I could go and read something decent somewhere else. In any case, let me just try and reassure you a smidgeon:


    What follows is actually the Next in the Series of the ToD saga (yes, I''ve decided to make it a saga, ''cos that sounds cooler). It''s sort of a sequel in a way, but I think Next in the Series is actually a better description.


    Whilst it does not follow (directly) on from Overlord, references to what has gone before are certainly there.


    That said, I''ve written it in such a way that it can be read as a stand alone book too. Still, if you proceed you will encounter answers to questions that you may have thought about in ToD, but have not been thus far addressed.


    Whilst you may, initially, miss your favourite characters that you''ve become familiar with up to this point, I would ask you to be slightly patient, as there are many more, equally (un)lovable ones to come. In fact, throwing what little modesty I have out of the window, I''d go so far as to say that this new work is better than what has gone before. Upon re-reading it, (whilst editing it, polishing it and so on,) I''ve actually laughed at parts myself.


    So, please give it a try. The first bit''s below.


    Oh, just one more thing. At the time of writing this intro, I''m approaching 70,000 words written, and so I will be pushing out chapters at a reasonable rate. However, at some point it''s likely I''ll catch up to where I am still writing it, so I apologise in advance for that.


    All feedback (done constructively) is welcomed, and I am also very happy to receive ideas about what could happen in the book as well! I''ve been known to weave reader suggestions into my stories quite a lot. I like a challenge, and it helps inspire me and thus write more.


    Right, enough of all this waffle, I''m probably boring you to tears. Without further ado, let me introduce...


    Urt''s Journey  A (Further) tale of undeath, adventure and even... love!


    Ch1 - Mudrut.1


    "Rise! Rise! Rise! I command thee RISE!" Urt waved one hand over the corpse in the prescribed fashion and threw the Redroot powder with the other.


    Nothing happened.


    "Rise damn you! Rise and do my bidding."


    The corpse failed to do any such thing.


    "You will rise!" screamed Urt, losing his temper.


    The body twitched and, for a brief moment, the eyes opened. Urt could have sworn a moment of panic passed over the dead man''s face, but then it was gone, and the body slumped back and remained still. Again.


    "Curses!"


    The necromancer''s apprentice punched the stomach of the corpse, which resulted in no change at all. It remained dead, counter to everything that was good and natural. Or at least evil and unnatural, which was the situation here.


    "No luck then boss?" a voice said.


    "It must have been the Redroot powder," he replied. "Too old."


    "Yeah, and I''ll sprout a body and do the tango."


    "Shut your face you!" Urt swung round and pointed a finger at the partially rotten head sitting on the table next to him.


    "Oh, that''s it. Take it out on your only friend in the world. Like it''s my fault." The detached noggin rolled its eyes.


    "You are not my friend," the young necromancer scowled, brushing back a lock of dark hair that had fallen down over his eyes. "You are the first of my army. My undead army of world domination."


    "The head of it I hope."


    "Original."


    "I like to help where I can."


    "Well, you can come with me and help me look for more Redroot."


    "You know it wasn''t the¡­"


    "Shut up."


    "Yes boss."


    Urt stepped back from his latest failed attempt and heaved a deep sigh. If he was honest with himself, it probably wasn''t the root. It was the same thing that stopped him raising anything larger than a frog. The same thing that had prevented him from raising anything worthwhile since¡­


    "Hey, if you''re finished with the body, do you mind passing me over a bit of brain?" Horace, his heady companion, smacked what remained of his lips.


    Urt ignored the zombie head and looked around his small living quarters. It was a depressing place, even for someone who was supposed to live in depressing places. The small chamber b?r?ly had room for his work bench, which was pushed up against the wall. Behind him, close enough for him to fall over if he took a step back, was a narrow bunk. A single window looked out over the marshland that served as scenery in this part of the world. It was a tiny space.


    "We work with what we have," he muttered, sitting on his bed, which squeaked and sagged in the middle.


    "Don''t get down boss," said Horace, in an overly cheerful voice. "You''ll get he hang of it one day, and then it''ll be world domination in no time at all. Zombies all over the place, obeying your every whim."


    "I appreciate the sentiment," Urt sighed. "But I''ll be undead and a lich before that happens at this rate. Maybe old Mangle was wrong about me."


    "No, he might have been mad and deranged, but he knew his stuff. If he said you had power, then you have power."


    "Maybe he realized he was wrong. Maybe that''s why he disappeared."


    "Come on now. We''ve been over this so many times," Horace said. "He ran into an angry badger or fell into the swamp or something. There are million things that could have happened to him."


    Urt smiled and scratched his head, wondering if badgers were that ferocious. He''d never seen one, so he couldn''t estimate how likely it was that Mangle had fallen prey to one of the beasts. He shrugged. "We all do what we can," he murmured.


    "That''s the spirit! Come on, let''s get rid of this useless body and find some Redroot shall we? I could use some fresh air anyway, it''s not good to be stuck indoors so long. Bad for the complexion."


    Urt rolled his eyes, but stood up. "Very well, let''s go for a walk."


    Maybe he''d get lucky and fall into a muddy hole and drown.


    Stalking through the swamp, Horace swinging in a pouch hanging from his hip, calmed Urt down a little. It was good to get out of the shack for a while. A change of scenery, even if the scenery consisted mainly of stinking plant life and fetid pools of water, did him good.


    The odd scaly head broke the surface of the murky liquid at intervals, but the ''gators knew he wasn''t food. Uncomfortable things happened to the creatures that had tried, and the lesson had been learned by the survivors. Even the mosquitoes and bugs kept away from him, he was powerful enough to repulse those at least.


    "¡­boss? Boss! Are you listening to me? What''s the point in having me along if you don''t pay attention?"


    Snapping out of his reverie, Urt looked down at the head. "Sorry Horace, I was miles away. What is it?"


    "Over there," the zombie said, rolling his eyes. "Redroot. You do still want some I presume?


    "Oh, yes. Thanks." Urt scanned the area and located the ugly brown plants. Sauntering over he squatted down and plucked the toadstool shaped growths out of the ground. They resisted, as if reluctant to come, but a good tug freed them from the earth.


    The crop harvested, he stood up and took a deep breath. The methane in the air lifted his spirits. If there was any place more suited to Necromancy, he didn''t know where it was. Actually, he pondered as he started walking once more, that really was true. Most of his young ?du?t life had been spent in this place, under the harsh guidance of mad Mangle, his old master. Mangle had insisted he had power, great power, despite the more recent failed attempts to raise.


    Squelching through the bog, Urt wrinkled his forehead. It seemed that as he grew older he grew less able to raise anything. There had been a time, once, when he was very young, he''d performed great magic. That was when Mangle had found him, or shortly after anyway, when his village has expelled him in fear, so Mangle had explained. He shook his head. It was all such a long time ago, he couldn''t remember anything other than living in the swamp. He certainly couldn''t remember any village.


    Sighing, he plodded on. Maybe it was time to take some kind of action.  Legal disclaimer there.Er, chapter 1.

 Chapter 96 - Lucy

    "Where we going now boss?" Horace once again piped up, no doubt bored by their wandering.


    "What? Oh, er¡­" Urt stopped and looked around. He''d been walking aimlessly, lost in his thoughts. Not the best idea considering one wrong step and he''d be hair deep in a muddy hole. The swamp had plenty that specialised in su?k?n? down anything stupid enough to walk into them.


    Getting his bearings, he discovered the area he''d wandered into was close to the trail that led to the only civilization in the area, though to term a village called Mudrut civilization was pushing the boundaries of the definition.


    "Maybe we should go and dig up another corpse," he said.


    "You didn''t bring a shovel," Horace pointed out.


    "There''s usually one lying around," Urt replied, though in truth a bucket would probably serve just as well. Mudrut''s method of disposing of their dead lacked all ceremony. The villagers seemed to believe that the swamp did the best job of getting rid of bodies, though in fact it was usually Urt that performed that duty.


    "May as well go and take a look," he said, taking a wet step forward. "As we''re in the area."


    "That''s it, get back on the horse," Horace encouraged, as the young necromancer squelched his way along the path, towards the huddle mass of rude dwellings that made up Mudrut.


    As he approached the village he slowed, moving with care. The villagers knew there was a dark wizard in the swamp, but they didn''t know what he looked like. Urt wanted to keep it like that, on the vague suspicion they wouldn''t be enlightened enough to treat him with the fear and respect that he deserved, ignorant savages that they were.


    "There''s the burial area," whispered Horace, from Urt''s waist. "Can you see if there''s any new business?"


    "Not yet," Urt replied. He scrambled behind a bush and peered through its slimy leaves, trying to make out if there was the tell-tale lump that indicated a fresh corpse. They didn''t come along very often, and the most recent had only been a few weeks ago, so he was surprised to see not one, but two low mounds.


    "We''re in luck," he whispered. After a final quick look left and right, he dashed forward in a bent over run.


    "Two of them!" said Horace, spotting the graves. "We''ve hit the jackpot!"


    "Hush," Urt said, sticking his head up and looking over at the village. "We should have come back at night."


    "Oh it''s alright. They''re probably getting drunk or whatever the living do these days."


    Urt rolled the sleeves of his robe up, stuck one hand into the mud and groped about until he touched flesh. With some effort he managed to pull the body slowly from its rest, until the wet earth released its hold with a dull plop. T


    "It''s a young one," Horace said. "Practically a baby. What a waste, they''re so tasty fresh."


    "No eating my experiments," Urt scolded, grimacing at the mud on his arms and reaching back down, into the other grave.


    The second one took more effort, and he was covered in mud by the time the cadaver, a girl of maybe seven or eight years old, was freed from the embrace of the cold ground.


    "At least they won''t be hard to carry," Horace pointed out, as Urt viewed his finds with distaste. How was he to build an army with babies and child zombies? It wasn''t fair.


    "Beggars can''t be choosers," he muttered. Putting the baby in the sack he carried for herbs - he had to squash it down a bit to make it fit - he slung it over his back and turned his attention to the girl, only to step back in shock. She was looking at him!


    "What the hell!" he said. "She''s alive! How can they bury a living person?"


    "Dunno," Horace said. "Does this mean I can taste her though? Just a finger, nothing important."


    "No." Urt sidled forward and examined the girl, who blinked and slowly sat up. "You know they go right through you." He directed his attention to the child. "Hello girl, who are you?"


    "Braaains," the girl said, and stood slowly up. She turned to Urt and repeated herself. "Braaaains."


    "Ahhh, isn''t that cute?" said Horace, as the young zombie lurched forward. "She''s trying to eat your brains. That brings back memories, do you remember the time..."


    "Er, hold on a second." Urt took a step back, to avoid a swipe from the girl, and raised a hand. A dark haze spread from his fingers as he said a Word.


    The young zombie stopped at once. "Masster," she said.


    "Nice catch," said Horace.


    "I may currently be having difficulties getting them up, but I''m not totally helpless." Urt addressed his new friend. "What''s your name?"


    "Lucy massster."


    "Yes, I think we can drop the slurred speech as well, that''s just for tourists,"


    "Of course master," she said, in a far more normal voice.


    "Who raised you?" Urt asked.


    The zombie shrugged. "I don''t know."


    "When were you raised?" Horace interjected. "I mean, you still look fresh. It can''t have been long ago."


    "I don''t know," Lucy said. "Why aren''t I sad?"


    "It''s the whole zombie thing," Urt said. "You tend to have a whole different perspective on life, when you''re dead."


    "I see." The young deceased paused. "What''s perspective mean?"


    "It''s¡­" Urt struggled for the words and gave up. "Never mind."


    "Can we keep her master? Can we? Can we?" Horace licked where his lips used to be excitedly. "It would be nice to have another deceased around the place."


    "Well, maybe," Urt pondered. "I mean it''s not as if you''re good with the cleaning. But why would someone raise a perfectly good zombie and then just go and abandon it?"


    "Maybe she was too small. She''s hardly army of darkness material is she now?" Horace said. "Perhaps they raised her by accident."


    "Great. Here''s me, unable to raise more than a head, and other necromancers are throwing undead away because they have too many. That makes me feel really wonderful, a real morale booster."


    Urt turned to his new Zombie friend and passed her his bag. "Here, carry this. Come with me."


    "Yes master."


    "And don''t fall in any quicksand." In a bad mood once more, Urt turned around and tramped down the path he''d come along, heading back to the small hut he called home.


    ~ * ~


    The following day Urt busied himself with preparations to raise the baby. He was determined to have everything exactly as it should be. He added extra ingredients and drew runes that were supposed to help with the spell, and made sure there was no contamination in the area. He replaced anything that was even slightly old, unless it had to be old, and polished his equipment until it shone.


    During all this Horace was unusually quiet, watching him as he made the preparations. Lucy ran errands, collecting things and helping arrange the raising area.


    Finally Urt could put it off no longer. Everything was as ready as it could be. He''d sent Lucy to find some more ingredients, but he found he didn''t really need them, so he turned to face his project.


    "This is it Horace," he said. He was standing in front of the slab where the baby was laying at rest. The smell of decomposition lingered in the air, but this didn''t bother him. Such was the craft of the necromancer.


    "I''m nodding," replied Horace.


    "Very well."


    He glared at the body as he chanted the incantation, feeling the mana, twisting it to his ends. The dark light washed through him, settling into the corpse exactly as it should, pulsating with energy as he shouted the final words.


    "Rise! Rise and do my bidding! Rise!"


    The baby twitched and its dead eyes opened.


    "Yes! It''s working!" Urt clenched his fist in triumph.


    The tiny zombie opened its mouth, made a croaking sound, and then slumped back. Lifeless, or at least inanimate, once more.


    "Noooooooo!! Noooooooo! Curses! Blast and curses! By the oozing pustules of Dreg noooooo!" Urt fell to his knees and shook his fists at the sky.


    "Oh bravo!" Horace said.


    A red mist descended upon Urt, and he swung around, pointing a finger at the detached zombie. "Quiet you!" He shouted, and a blast of dark energy blew Horace off the bench and into the wall, which he bounced off before hitting the floor and rolling under the bed. A fearful m??ning emanated from under the narrow space.


    "Curse this place!" shrieked Urt. Raising both arms he swept them outwards, sending a wall of power hurtling away, tearing his small hut apart as if it were no more than paper. "I hate this swamp!"


    "Ahhhhh!!" A massive explosion of power emanated from the enraged necromancer, ripping any surviving material out of the ground and sending it, smouldering, into the surrounding swamp.


    When the dust cleared, Urt was on his knees, sobbing in in the centre of a large, muddy crater.

 Chapter 97 - Mudrut

    "Finally! I thought I''d have to sit and look at that tree forever!"


    Urt bent down and picked up Horace. The zombie didn''t seem to be any the worse for wear, although the bar was set pretty low in that area. He plucked a twig out the scraggy hair and held the unhead before him.


    "Sorry, lost my temper there," he said.


    "I wouldn''t have guessed," Horace replied. "What with all the cursing and explosions and howling and all."


    "But you could have been killed. Again I mean."


    "Boss, as far as I''m concerned that little show just proved to me you are a master necromancer. As a creature of the dark, you really had no other choice."


    Urt smiled. "Yes, well. Maybe you''re right." He took a deep breath and put Horace in his special sling so he could have his hands free whilst travelling.


    "I see the little one survived too," Horace said, noting Lucy waiting a little way off.


    "Yes, I sent her to get something before I started the¡­ spell."


    "So, where are we going now then? I think I saw the bed fly past me when I was in the air, so I''m ?ssuming the hut is gone."


    "I''ve decided to leave the swamp," Urt said, plodding along a narrow mud path. "I have to seek out another necromancer, or some kind of wizard doctor. There has to be some reason why I can''t raise the dead."


    "Finally, we get to see the world."


    "Well Mudrut anyway," Urt said.


    "Mudrut? Why there? What about somewhere more exciting?"


    "One, it''s closest," said Urt, ticking off the points on his fingers. "Two, it''s the only place I know."


    "Oh. Fair point."


    "Anyway, depending on what we find after that, perhaps it''s time to relocate. Travel broadens the mind, so old Mangle used to say."


    "So why did he live in a marsh then?" Horace asked.


    Urt shrugged. "No idea. Maybe he was just looking after me. I mean, he always told me of other places, so he must have come from somewhere else, plus he would disappear for days, even weeks at a time on occasion."


    They travelled on in silence after that, heading back to the village Urt had always seen from a distance, but never entered. Mangle had always been the one to visit there, on the rare occasion they needed something. Apart from the odd item of clothing, or item for magical preparation, the swamp provided all they required.


    "Any ideas on how we''re going to find another necromancer?" asked Urt of Horace, when they were closer.


    "Can''t you just ask someone?"


    "I don''t think that''s how it''s done."


    "Why not?" said Horace.


    "I don''t know." Urt shrugged. "It just doesn''t seem to be the thing to say. Hello there, do you know where I can get the dead raised? They may get the wrong idea."


    "Bah, the living are so repressed. No offence intended."


    "I share your view in this one instance."


    "I mean," Horace continued. "There''s nothing unusual in raising the dead. It''s as nature intended."


    "I''m not sure I''d go that far," Urt said, cautiously. He looked back at Lucy, who was walking steadily behind him. "Did you live in Mudrut?" he asked her.


    "I can''t remember master."


    "Do you know if they have any necromancers in the village?"


    "What''s a necromancer master?"


    "I''m beginning to agree with your theory about why they left her behind," Urt said to Horace. "Still, we''d better be cautious. You''ll have to go in my pack I''m afraid."


    "Oh come on boss! I hate it in there! It''s all dark and musty smelling."


    "Firstly, you''re dead; dark is your thing. Secondly, the musty smell is actually you, and musty is rather a generous description at that."


    "Well I can''t see out," grumbled the head. "You know how I enjoy travelling, seeing new places, meeting different people, and then eating them."


    "When have we ever travelled? Except for here?" Urt made a sweeping gesture with his arm, encompassing what passed for scenery in the marsh.


    "A head can dream can''t it?"


    Urt sighed. "I''ll see how things go alright? If it looks like there are necromancers every second house, you can come out and enjoy the sights. Otherwise, caution is our watchword. Until I can raise an army of the dead to conquer all I survey, I''m just like any other human being. Except obviously superior."


    "Yes boss."


    "Good, glad we have that settled, because we''re close. You need to go into the pack now." He stopped and shed the backpack he''d recovered from the wreckage of his former dwelling. Opening it, he plucked Horace from his sling and shoved him into the bag.


    "Hey, careful there!" the zombie complained. "I want to go in the right way up at least."


    "And be quiet!" Urt admonished, pulling the drawstring tight.


    "Ug," came Horace''s muffled voice. "It''s all stuffy in here! I can''t breathe even."


    "You don''t breathe, you''re dead. Now, no more speaking until we''re in the clear, is that understood? That''s an order."


    "Yes boss."


    Nodding, Urt shouldered the backpack again and then turned to his other zombie companion.


    "Lucy, you need to remain here until I come back or send for you." He scanned the area and pointed at a witchwart plant. "Go behind that bush and hide until then."


    "Yes master." The child undead did as she was told.


    "Nice to have an obedient servant for a change," muttered Urt, resuming his journey into the village.


    Urt walked a little way around Mudrut, onto the narrow road that led towards the dwellings. It wouldn''t be good to raise suspicion by walking out of the marshes. Even the road was risky, considering he didn''t know where it led.


    ''So this was civilization!'' he thought, altering course to avoid the trench down the centre of the road, that obviously served to transport waste away. ''The hurly and burly of village life.''


    The few people on the road paid him little attention as he sauntered along, but he had trouble doing the same. He''d never been in such a crowded place.


    "There must be nearly a dozen people here!" he hissed back at Horace, itching to share his discovery with someone.


    Finally he stopped and examined the buildings. He was standing in what seemed to be the busy part of the town. Several glass fronted houses appeared to be displaying goods. These must be the stores that Mangle had spoken of. They had names over the windows. One was a ''grocers'', another an ''ironmonger'' and still a third was a ''general store''.


    Right in the middle of this bustling metropolis were two larger structures. One was called the Goose Inn, and the other the Traveller''s tavern. The Goose Inn seemed to be a swankier affair. Sometime in the past it had been painted red and white, though these colours had now faded. The tavern was what the term ''rustic'' probably was designed for, Urt decided.


    He looked up. The sky, never bright, was turning gloomier. Night was coming and he was tired. Mangle had told him about money of course, and he''d managed to retrieve his old master''s pouch, which contained a small selection of gold coins and some gems of unknown value.


    Urt pondered his choices.


    "Let''s start small," he said to himself, and wandered over to the grocery. The place was not large, and appeared rather weather-worn, but it appeared to be open at least. Piles of potatoes and carrots were stacked in boxes and barrels around the entrance.


    Ignoring the merchandise, Urt entered, finding himself in a crowded and slightly strange smelling place cluttered with fruit and vegetables of all kinds. Behind a small counter at the back of the shop stood an elderly man wearing a grey tunic and brown leather apron. His face was wrinkled, and Urt had seen cleaner hair on the dead.


    "Evening," the man said, pleasantly enough.


    Encouraged by the civility, Urt nodded in way of greeting. He wandered over to the shop keep, stopping to poke at a sack of apples along the way, for the look of the thing.


    "You must be new in town. Welcome to Mudrut," the man said, frowning at Urt''s casual treatment of his produce.


    "Yes, that''s me, new here." Urt nodded again and leaned casually against the counter. "How are you today?"


    "I''m fine. Business is a little slow, if you see what I mean."


    Urt ignored the sales pitch. "So then. Seems a nice little village you have here. Any necromancers about?"


    The man raised his eyebrows, evidently surprised at the unexpected turn the small-talk had taken. Still, he recovered well. "Necromancers you say? Well, there''s rumours of an evil mage living right here, in Mudrut swamp if you must know."


    Urt raised his eyebrows in alarm. They knew!

 Chapter 98 - The Perils of Scud

    "A necromancer living in a swamp?" Urt tried not to show any alarm. "It doesn''t sound very likely."


    "Well, I''ve never seen him," the shopkeep conceded. "The other necromancers all live over in Banesville. A dark wizard every other house over there, so I they say."


    "Really?" Urt had to work to suppress the excitement in his voice. "Every other house you say? Where is this place?"


    "You want to know where Banesville is? I told you, it''s a dark place, only the evil reside there." The man rolled his eyes. "Evil," he repeated. "So they say."


    "Yes, yes of course. I only want to know so I don''t wander that way by accident. I''m new to these parts see."


    "Yet you smell like swamp," the man commented.


    "That''s because I fell into the fool thing!" Urt banged his fist on the counter. "You should have warning signs up or something."


    "Alright then, keep your shoes on. No need to go bashing my shop apart." The shopkeeper rubbed at the spot Urt had attacked.


    "Sorry. I was just, er, nervous when I heard there were necromancers living nearby. You did say they lived nearby didn''t you? My, er, father was killed by a necromancer. Evil man. The necromancer, not my father of course." Urt realized he was starting to babble and shut up.


    "Well don''t you worry then, Banesville is far, far away from here, so they say. Even out of the swamp, though I don''t expect that''s a shock to a well travelled fellow like yourself. You''ve probably been to Scudbloom or even Old Snog I dare say."


    "It''s quite likely I have," Urt countered. "Hard to keep track of everywhere I''ve been, all these places blur after a while." He shrugged gently.


    "Aye, I suppose so." The shop keep squinted at him for a moment, as if trying to divine the truth of his customer''s words. "Well, Banesville is to the north, so they say."


    Urt was beginning to wonder who these people were, who kept saying these things, because the man certainly didn''t seem to wish to impart the details. He looked around the shop. Perhaps if he bought something he would be more forthcoming.


    "How much is that thing?" He pointed at a turnip sitting forlornly on its own, next to a pile of potatoes.


    "Five bits," the shop keep replied promptly.


    Mangle had told Urt about shopping. ''You have to haggle hard,'' his old master had said. Urt was ready to do just that.


    "One bit, or I''ll tear your spleen out," he said fiercely.


    The other man took a step back.


    "Er, two bits?" Urt realized he may have overdone things a little. "Two and a half?"


    "Four," croaked the man, rallying slightly.


    "Very well." Urt fished around in his purse and pulled out a gold coin.


    "I can''t change that!" the merchant protested, spotting the money.


    "Of course not," said Urt, and improvised quickly. "I don''t know what currency you use in this village do I? This is the norm in Old Snog." He tipped out several more coins onto the counter top.


    "Here, this half Groat will do. Wait a moment, I''ll get your change." The man picked up a rather bent silvery coin and scurried along to the other end of the counter, where he pulled out a wooden box and rummaged around in it, no doubt trying to work out how much he could rip this stranger off without endangering himself.


    Urt scowled and scooped the rest of the money back into this pouch. It was clear he had much to learn about local customs.


    "Here you go." The man poured a few tiny copper coloured coins into his hand and then stood back, beaming.


    "Mmm." Urt decided not to make a big deal of things, and added them to the contents of his purse just as inspiration struck. "I say, you don''t know where I could buy a map of this area do you? I think I may have gone off course somewhere along the way."


    "Master Tinkle usually does maps," came the reply. "But he''s visiting his sick uncle over in Lower Scrag. Won''t be back for days probably."


    "That''s a shame." Urt picked up his new purchase and, after one final glance around the shop, nodded at the man. "I''ll be going then. Thanks for the turnip."


    The shop keep nodded back. "Nice doing business with you. Pop back in in two weeks, we''ll have a load of pickled pigs feet in then. Tasty things, pig''s feet, as I expect you know."


    "Just so," Urt said, sidling towards the exit. "Though you can have too much of a good thing. Goodbye now." He fled the store before he was roped into any further culinary discussion.


    "Well, that wasn''t a total waste of time," he huffed to himself, as he paused to recover after his shopping ordeal. "Banesville, some unspecified distance to the north, probably. A turnip is four bits, and old Tinkle is visiting a sick uncle. We''re practically locals I''d say."


    Deciding that one vegetable purchase was enough in the way of adventure for the time being, Urt turned about and headed towards the tavern. As he approached he slowed slightly, gathering the courage to enter the place, as he reviewed what old Mangle had told him about them.


    ''You can''t trust anybody in the local drinking establishment. They''re all liars and thieves, rob you blind as soon as look at you,'' he had said. ''And don''t get into any game of chance with them, if you wish to hold on to your belongings.''


    "Not so encouraging," Urt muttered. "Still, onwards we must go."


    Gripping his new turnip firmly in one hand, he took a deep breath and strode towards the entrance. Pushing the swing doors out of the way, he made his way into the bar.


    It was less exciting inside than he had expected.


    There was a long and rather grimy counter set along the wall to his left, with a woman of gigantic proportions wiping a dirty rag around a glass. The rest of the area was full of sturdy tables and chairs, though currently only two of the tables were occupied. One had three men sitting at it, playing some kind of card game. The other table was inhabited by an old fellow with a long beard, nursing an ale, and dressed in what appeared to be a nightgown.


    The whole sorry affair was dimly illuminated by a complex, candle-laden chandelier arrangement.


    Urt''s entrance drew little excitement from the hordes inside. The game-players spared him only a quick glance before returning their attention to the cards, and the old man could have been dead for all the activity he was showing. Only the gigantic bar-woman paid him any attention.


    "Hello deary! You''re a cute one aren''t you? Waddlitbethen?"


    "Er." Urt stepped towards the bar nervously.


    Frankly the woman scared him. She must have been part giant or ogre or something, for she was half as tall again as he was, and with arm muscles thicker than his th??hs. Despite her size she was fairly attractive, and her rather grubby top was stretched tight in its attempt to hold back the pressure of an enormous bosom. Her hair was gleaming blond, and washed over her broad shoulders like a golden waterfall.


    "You alright deary? You look like you''ve never seen a young lady before." She winked at him.


    Urt flushed at this unexpected wanton behaviour. In fact, as far as he could remember, he had never seen a young lady before, at least a living one. He had no experience at all with the still breathing opposite s?x, though he''d read about them in some of the reference books old Mangle had in his limited library.


    "I, er, what do you have?" He managed to recover slightly.


    "Brown ale, black ale, red ale, blood red ale, dark red ale or Scud."


    "What''s Scud?" Urt asked, reaching for the odd one out.


    In way of an answer, the barmaid leaned forward and reached under the counter, an act that supplied Urt with his first view of the living female body, by way of the traditional glimpse down a woman''s top.


    "Here." The barkeep slammed a heavy bottle of clear liquid down onto the counter. "First drink''s on the house." She poured a tiny amount into small, and only slightly dirty, glass.


    "That''s it? That little bit?" Urt raised an eyebrow sceptically.


    "Big man eh? Very well then. The barmaid poured more, until the glass was full. "But in return you have to drink it down in one. Oh, and I get your belongings when¡­ if you die."


    Urt picked up the glass and sniffed at the drink cautiously. It didn''t smell of anything. He was suddenly aware that the noise of men playing cards had ceased, and looked around. The customers were all staring at him. Urt put on a haughty expression and looked back at the glass.


    "Seems easy enough," he said.


    In a smooth, casual movement, he knocked the beverage back, slamming the glass down back onto the bar once he was done.


    "See?" He smiled at the barmaid, who was staring at him. "A bit tangy, perhaps with a hint of orange yes? Pleasant enough I suppose. Now, perhaps I could try one of those other drinks next, maybe that dark brown ale?"


    "That''s amazing," she said, still staring. "Do you have a metal throat by any chance? Perhaps some kind of enchantment? Yes! That must be it."


    "Of course not." Urt raised a hand dismissively. "You''re no doubt used to a lesser class of character here. A bit of Scud? That''s nothing to¡­"

 Chapter 99 - Girls Room.

    Urt awoke to a hammering noise that seemed to force its way in through his nostrils and then bounce around inside his skull.


    "Dreg''s* balls!" he m??n?d, raising his hands to his face. "What the hell happened?"


    "Oh thank the powers of darkness, you''re finally awake!" The familiar voice of Horace came from nearby.


    Forcing his eyes open, Urt discovered he was lying down. Above him was an unfamiliar ceiling. The paint was peeling he noted.


    "Open up! We want our money back! Cheater!" A muffled voice added to Urt''s headache.


    "Where am I? What happened?" Urt sat up, and discovered three things.


    The first was that he was in a bedroom the likes of which he had never imagined. It was pink all over, with cushions that had frills on them. A slightly battered dressing table sat opposite, with Horace''s head propped up against the large mirror leaning against the wall. The reflection allowed him to discover the second thing.


    The only item he was wearing was a frilly gown with pink fur trim.


    The third thing he discovered was that sudden movement triggered a wave of nausea. That, in turn, resulted in him leaning over the side of the bed and vomiting violently for a good minute. Some of the things that came out he couldn''t recognize.


    "Way to go!" Horace said, above the hammering.


    "What... happened?" croaked Urt, wiping his mouth and gasping for breath.


    "Master, you were amazing. If I''m dead another thousand years I''ll still be telling the tale of last night. The necromancer that conquered Mudrut, separated the cheating locals from their money, and captured the heart of the girl. It was magnificent."


    "Wha¡­ what''s that hammering?" Urt clutched at his head and wished he could remove it until the pain went away.


    "The cheating locals. I think they want the money back."


    "What money?" Urt''s thought process was still only up to the pink thing he was wearing.


    "The money you won master! I say you fight them for it! Banish them with magic! Though you''d better cast a spell quickly, before they break the door down."


    Urt finally caught up with what Horace was saying, though he was still utterly confused in many other regards. What was apparent though, was that people intent on doing him harm appeared to d?s?r? entrance.


    Risking another bout of nausea, he glanced around the room again. Apart from the besieged door, the only other exit appeared to be a window. There was also no sign of his clothes.


    "Master?" Horace wiggled his eyebrows. "I don''t wish to worry you, but I don''t think that door''s going to hold much longer."


    "Dreg''s balls," repeated Urt. His turnip was missing too.


    *Dreg: Minor deity of not quite living things.


    ~ * ~


    "We want our money back!" The angry voice from outside was only just audible above the hammering on the door.


    Holding his head with both hands, to ensure it didn''t fall off, Urt staggered over to the window and looked out.


    Through the gloomy dawn outside he saw he was impossibly high up off the ground, perhaps even as far as the third floor. He let go of his head and held onto the windowsill to steady himself. This wasn''t a good time to find out he was afraid of heights.


    The thumping on the door stopped, though he doubted the angry gamblers had given up. More likely they were just getting organized.


    "Cast a heal spell master!" Horace urged, casting worried glances at both him and the door.


    "I''m a necromancer not a cleric damn it," Urt replied, he stumbled back to the bed and sat down heavily on it.


    "I saw old Mangle heal himself once," Horace said. "It was only a scratch, but he healed it."


    "I don''t remember that." Urt closed his eyes in the hope that it would help his nausea. It didn''t.


    "It''s true though."


    "Fine." Trying to block out the pain, not very successfully, Urt considered how a necromancer could have healing skills. On first examination it didn''t seem likely, but then he thought about it again. He dealt in raising the dead, which obviously meant that the magic had to, in some form at least, affect rotting flesh, making it stronger and more resilient. What if he tried that on living tissue?


    "It''s risky," he mumbled, just as the hammering resumed. This time it was in the form of a single, forceful attack.


    "They''ve put together a battering ram," Horace exclaimed.


    "Cease your babbling," commanded Urt. "Let me concentrate." He went over the spells he used to raise the dead, considering which ones would be the most likely to work on his immense headache. Finally he decided to merge parts of two.


    Standing up again, he mentally went over his improvised spell once more. Once that was done he nodded to himself, which nearly instigated another bout of vomiting.


    "Right." Raising his hands, he summoned the Power, which seemed more willing to respond than usual, and incanted the Words needed.


    Immediately his headache eased, and strength flooded through his limbs.


    "Woo!" he exclaimed, bucking up. "That hits the spot!" Then he sagged back slightly. He still didn''t feel totally well, but at least he could think a little more clearly. Another thump at the door made him wince again, and he snarled.


    "Stop that you imbecile! I have a headache."


    The pounding ceased, to be replaced by a gravelly voice.


    "Give us back your money and we''ll let you live. Probably."


    "Your money is it? I think it''s my money. Why would I give you back my money?" Urt wondered where the money actually was, he couldn''t see any in the room.


    "You used magic to win the game! You''re a dark sorcerer! An evil mage!"


    "So what if I am?"


    That seemed throw them. There was a short bout of muffled whispering.


    ???You''re evil!" the voice restated eventually. "And you cheated."


    It seemed to Urt they were more concerned about their losses than the fact he was a wizard. "Go away or I''ll blast you into turnip," he shouted. "By the way, where is my turnip?"


    "We''ve called the Warden," the voice replied, ignoring the question. "He''ll deal with you if you don''t give us our money back. He don''t like cheats he don''t. Or evil warlocks."


    Urt decided to try persuasion. "Look, just because I''m evil doesn''t mean I''m a bad person."


    This statement provoked another bout of whispering.


    "We think it does."


    Urt''s patience, never a large supply, dried up. "Very well. Come and die foolish minions." He rolled the sleeves of his pink gown up and tried to think of some kind of offensive spell whilst the hammering resumed.


    The problem with Necromancers is that they weren''t really big on actual battle spells. It was simple evolution. Death Mages were supposed to be surrounded by an obedient horde of raised horrors. Any hero strong enough to fight their way through an army of the walking dead was probably not going to be put off by a few fireballs anyway.


    "Curses," he said.


    "Why don''t you just Turn them boss?" asked Horace.


    "They''re not undead you idiot."


    "There''s no need for name calling." The head gave a sniff.


    Urt considered the spells he knew. They were mainly limited to raising and animating. What if he tried the raising part, but in reverse, on his betting friends? It was worth a try he decided, especially as the door was beginning to splinter under the continual ?ssault.


    He tied the belt of his robe about his middle and concentrated again. With his head clearer, the magic responded even faster, congealing in an almost visible dark cloud.


    "Bastalar!" he cried, opening the spell with a forceful Word of evil. His enemies on the other side of the door cried out in alarm as they realized what he was doing, and redoubled their efforts. The door began to come off its hinges.


    Sweating slightly, Urt incanted as fast as he dared, concentrating as hard as he''d ever done. Word after Word fell from his lips as the door slowly gave way under the battering. Perspiration beaded his brow. Casting magic when under stress was harder than he''d anticipated. He shook his head slightly and uttered the final Words just as the wooden portal gave way to one final attack, and fell inwards with a loud crash.


    "Zamara!" With a dramatic cry, Urt raised his arms and swept them around in a double thrust towards the group that was hastily reorganizing from siege to attack force.


    Urt''s robe fell open.


    "Arg!" the angry gamblers cried as a one.


    "Ah ha!" Urt declared in triumph. "Feel my power! You peasants are under my control. Bow before your new master."


    "I''m not bowing," replied the first man, a big fellow dressed in a simple brown tunic and wielding a large club. "Close your robe!"


    "Oh." Urt lowered his hands and pulled the pink thing he was wearing closed in a dignified a fashion as was possible, which wasn''t much.

 Chapter 100 - Ware the Warden!

    The group of half a dozen gamblers turned lynch squad stepped forward in a threatening manner. The lead man waved his weapon in a threatening manner, although most weapon waving tended to be that.


    "Where''s the money wizard?"


    "I, erm, I''m not sure," Urt replied, truthfully, stepping back slightly and wondering why his spell had failed. "How about you take this talking head instead?" He pointed at Horace. "It''s very valuable."


    "Oh thank you very much!" the zombie said.


    "I don''t want to be given head," the thug replied, then paused for a moment as he considered the statement.


    "Where''s his¡­ our money Kang?" said another, much smaller and skinnier man, just behind the leader.


    "Yeah, give us the money and we''ll probably just let you off with a beating." Kang, as he''d been identified, rubbed at his arm and glared at Urt.


    Spotting the movement, Urt stood straighter, in a belated attempt to recover some of his dignity, despite his current garments. He smiled slightly, doing his best to emulate his old master''s evil grin. "If you wish to live, I would suggest you grovel on the floor and beg forgiveness now."


    "What are you talking about?" The man scratched at his arm again and then his eyes widened. Looking down he cried out and dropped his club.


    Maggots fell to the floor alongside the weapon, dripping in a steady stream from sleeves of Urt''s aggressors, who screamed in panic as the small white creatures wiggled from their skin, puncturing through the flesh in a bloody orgy, trying to free themselves from their meaty prison.


    "Stop it! Stop it!" The lead man, now openly weeping, begged Urt as he plucked the small worms from his body. It had little effect, more followed, in a never ending stream. And now movement could be seen under his tunic.


    Urt laughed. "You dared to ?ssault me! Now you pay the price for that impudence. Writhe on the floor peasant! Writhe and wriggle like those that will consume you from the inside out, and know that Urt the Necromancer¡­ the Great and Dark Necromancer," he added, supplementing his title, "has claimed bloody vengeance!"


    "No¡­" the man croaked, dropping to his knees. Blood dripped down his cheeks as small white forms burst out of his eyes and writhed about in the dim light.


    Behind him, his friends were already on the floor, limbs twitching as their muscles were consumed by the growing mound of small white forms. Blood pooled out on the floorboards in a dark counterpoint to the feeding creatures.


    "Boss!" Horace said.


    "Yes Horace?" Urt replied, eyes still on the dying men in front of him.


    "That was awesome! High five!"


    Urt sniffed. "Yes, well. One cannot allow these upstarts to act as they please now, can one?" He stepped back, to avoid standing in the spreading pool of blood.


    "I didn''t know you could even do that!" Horace continued. "I mean, maggots! That''s pure evil genius. How did you think of that?"


    "A true practitioner of the dark arts must present a certain artistic flair," Urt said, not mentioning that the effect wasn''t at all what he''d been trying for. "Anyone can simply kill someone." He waved his hands in a dismissive fashion. "Now, where are my clothes?"


    "Your extra-large girlfriend took them whilst you were sleeping," Horace replied. "She also took your purse and your turnip and climbed out of the window."


    "The window?" he asked, puzzled. "Why didn''t she just take the door? And why didn''t you wake me?"


    "I tried!" Horace said, rolling his eyes madly. "You were about as lively as your friends there." He glanced at the oozing remains of the angry gamblers.


    "Wonderful. What am I supposed to wear now?"


    "There''s bound to be more clothes around somewhere," the head said.


    "I suppose."


    Urt looked around the room. Apart from the dresser, which Horace was resting on, there was very little in the way of furnishings. He pulled the single drawer open in the desk. Inside was a sealed envelope and a silver hairbrush. He picked the envelope up and examined it. There was no addressee on it, but it had a deep red wax seal with the insignia of a crumbling tower.


    "Interesting," he said, picking at the wax with a finger. An act that was interrupted by a distant crashing noise, like glass breaking.


    "Did you hear that?" Horace asked.


    Wrapping his flimsy robe around himself a little tighter, Urt picked up Horace and tucked the head, and the letter, under his arm.


    "Let''s go and see," he said.


    Picking his way around the oozing mess that was all that remained of his gambling buddies, Urt slipped out of the room and padded gingerly downstairs. Shoes, he found, were severely under-appreciated. He resolved to look after the next pair he managed to acquire.


    The stairs led down into the main room he remembered from, what he ?ssumed was the previous night. There had been little change since that time. The tables still cluttered the majority of the floor space, and the bar was as he left it, with its row of bottles lined up against the wall. He saw the bottle housing the clear liquid named Scud and gave an involuntary shudder.


    There was one fairly noticeable difference though. It came in the shape of a figure standing by the shattered window.


    "And this would be the Warden I''m guessing," Horace said.


    "Oh dear," said Urt. "What are you?"


    "I have been summoned!"


    The figure standing in the centre of the room glared at Urt. His large, two handed axe sparkled in the low light, a direct contradiction to the studded matt black leather that covered most of his muscular body. The deadly air was only slightly spoiled by the very small poodle by his side. It had a pink bow on top of its head.


    "And you would be?" Urt asked, trying to wrap his gown a bit tighter around himself whilst not dropping Horace and the letter.


    "I''m The Warden. Guardian of this village. Nice gown." His voice was higher pitched than Urt would expect from someone of such a fearsome appearance.


    "Um¡­ thank you. It''s a friend''s." Urt made up, still not fully back to full cognizance.


    "Oh, you''re such a fibber." The Guardian put a hand on his hip and raised an eyebrow. "He''s such a fibber isn''t he Fluffy?"


    The small poodle by his side yapped once.


    "No really!"


    "Very well sweetie, whatever you say. Now where''s this miscreant they complained about? I hear he''s a necromancer. I simply hate them, don''t you? So¡­ icky." He made a face.


    Urt was torn between a d?s?r? to argue against the ickyness of his profession and the obvious respect due to the large axe the strange man was holding. There was no way he''d get a spell off before the weapon could be applied. Self-preservation finally beat pride by a whisper.


    "Yes indeed, total blagards no doubt. I heard a disturbance just up the stairs. I was the one that called you, in fact. Help," he added, as an afterthought.


    "Let''s just hope I don''t have to slay a dozen zombies first. I ruined my nails last time that happened." The warden held out a hand, revealing the items in question, which were painted a deep red colour.


    "That would be terrible," Urt agreed, unsure of what else to say. "I don''t think there are any zombies. At least I didn''t hear any." He shrugged.


    "That''s nice then. Where is he now?"


    "Upstairs somewhere," Urt said. "I, er, ran down here to get away." He stood to one side to allow the large man passage.


    "Is that a head you''re holding?" The Warden glared at Horace, still tucked under Urt''s arm. The zombie sensibly remained inert, much to Urt''s relief.


    "Yes." Urt thought quickly. "I''m a travelling salesman. This is one of my collection of shrunken heads. The last one I have in stock in fact."


    "It doesn''t look very shrunken to me." The Warden lifted his alarmingly large axe up. Besides him the poodle growled, though to be honest it didn''t add much to the menace.


    "It was a giant." Urt smiled disarmingly. "Are you interested in purchasing it? I can do a good price for such an upstanding citizen."


    "It''s a bit icky for me," the Warden replied. "Now, you should take your cute little behind away. This could get messy, necromancers are usually all blood and rot and such, terrible really. It takes simply ages to get the stains out of my leather. Come along Fluffy!" He snapped his finger at the dog, which trotted obediently after its master, growling at Urt as it went past.


    "I''ll just go and stand outside," said Urt.


    The Warden ignored him, no doubt worried about the state of his nails. Urt took the chance to escape out of the main exit, grabbing a large brown cloak that was draped over a chair as he fled.

 Chapter 101 - Paladins Friend.

    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 ?bs??n?ly from his eye socket.


    Smiling, the ?ssassin 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.

 Chapter 102 - Hag.

    "Shh." Urt crept forward, examining the small dwelling that squatted amid a mass of twisted and stunted trees.


    It certainly looked like a hag''s house, from what he knew of the matter at least. The walls were constructed of rude bricks, with mud daubed in a protective layer over them. Sticks and twigs were piled up in a conical shape to make the roof, with a small opening at the apex, out of which drifted the thin column of smoke Urt had detected earlier. The only breaks in the wall he could see were two thin windows, set high up in the wall, with a small door between them.


    "What a lovely place," Horace said. "Much nicer than our old home."


    "Especially now our old home is scattered over half the swamp," Urt replied. However, he nodded. As crude as it was, the abode was better than his shack had ever been.


    "So? Are we going in?" Horace swivelled his eyes up at him, from his perch in Lucy''s arms.


    "May as well, looks like we''ve found our hag." Urt started walking again, squelching his way through the muddy path and up to the doorway, which, after a moment to steel himself, he banged on.


    "Oos there?" The voice was high pitched and grating, more of a screech really.


    "It''s me, Urt."


    "Don''t knows no Bert, boogger orf!"


    "Urt," Urt repeated. "U. R. T. I''m old Mangle''s apprentice."


    This announcement was followed by silence.


    "Hello?" Urt asked. "I''m¡­"


    The door was flung open, revealing a diminutive figure on the other side wielding a small but wicked looking dagger. "I ''erd ooh yoo is! Now, prepares ter dies!"


    ~ * ~


    Tung made his way along the dark hallways of the citadel, his black robes flowing around him as he swept along the passages, a direct contrast to the bright orange sparks that spat and sizzled from the end of his staff. Guards in dark armour came to attention as he passed, saluting with a fist to the ?h?st. The wizard ignored them.


    Despite outward appearances, Tung was concerned. Unsettling portents had been reported lately with increasing frequency, and usually reliable demons, summoned from the underworld, had all lied when he asked what was going on.


    The rumours all centred on the coming of the Four, and this concerned him. Whilst evil to the core, the wizard preferred an orderly world, rather than one consumed by chaos. And now there was this summons from the leader of the Coalition. This was unusual, and Tung didn''t like unusual. Of course, he didn''t like eggs either, but when you''re a two hundred year old Grand Mage of the Dark Order, you could afford to be a bit picky.


    Finally he turned up the corridor to the Grand Hall, named for its size rather than any splendour within. The giant double doors were open, as they always were, and the blackness beyond seemed to be a hole into hell itself.


    Having been to hell, Tung knew this wasn''t at all the case. Hell was warmer to start with, and there were dancing girls. Or they looked like dancing girls. At first.


    In any case, he didn''t pause, which would have shown weakness, which in turn would have led to a swift death, but strode forward into the gloom, taking care not to slip on the ice that tended to form underfoot. His footsteps and the tap of his staff echoed off the walls, which were too distant to see in the low light, but Tung knew to be unadorned black brick. He concentrated on looking forward, towards the area ahead that was lit slightly brighter than the rest of the place.


    Finally, mildly out of breath, he arrived at the dais upon which the throne of thorns was placed, and bowed low.


    "You summoned me lord," he said.


    The figure on the Throne of Thorns shifted, and Tung winced. The name wasn''t a metaphor.


    "I have detected a Presence." The voice was low, almost a hiss.


    "A presence?"


    "A Presence. One of great power. One I have been waiting for. One many thought lost two decades ago."


    Tung, his eyes carefully averted from the form on the dais, nodded. "Could this be related to the rumours that the Four are coming?"


    "Indeed, it is not a coincidence. The coming age will be one of great upheaval, an age that can bring us great advantage, if handled carefully."


    "My lord?"


    "The Four are not our allies, they would treat us the same as they would the Good. Yet they are too strong to stop directly."


    "They have their weaknesses," Tung said.


    "Yes, but they must know this. No, there is only one Power that can defeat them."


    "But he was lost twenty..." Tung put two and two together. "Oh."


    "Exactly. If we move quickly we can take the power for ourselves. I have spent some time preparing for this. Now we must apply ourselves to manipulating events to our advantage."


    "I await your instructions," Tung said, bowing again.


    "We will need our allies in this venture. Call a meeting of the council."


    Tung ?r??n?d. "Must we?"


    "Yes, why spend our own resources, when there are others who can do it for us?"


    "As you wish."


    "Good."


    Detecting the dismissal, Tung bowed one final time and backed away several steps before turning and walking back towards the exit. He could feel the gaze of the Bleeding Man on him all the way.


    ~ * ~


    "Holy Dreg!" Urt leaped backwards, landing on something sharp. "Ow wow ow!" He hopped up and down on one foot, clutching at the injured other one, whilst trying to keep one eye on the figure at the door. "Please don''t kill me!"


    "Give meh one good risson why not!"


    "Er, because I haven''t done anything to you?" Urt replied, once he''d deciphered her speech. He lowered his foot slowly, and gingerly put some weight on it, testing the ground in case he needed to run away.


    "What does that ''ave too doo withs anythink?"


    "Look, my old master, Mangle, said if I needed help, I should come and see the Hag here. Well, I need help. Here I am." He held his arms out.


    "Mangle''s a thievin'' grubba!"


    Unsure of what a ''grubba'' was, but guessing it was nothing good, Urt continued, speaking in what he hoped were calm and soothing tones.


    "But I''m not Mangle."


    "Me''be soo." The hag leaned forward slightly, and Urt was surprised to see a dirty, but young face under a mass of wild and un-kept hair.


    "You aren''t a hag!" he exclaimed.


    "Says hoo?" The girl, who had lowered the knife slightly, raised it again.


    "No! No! I mean, you don''t look like your average hag. I thought they were older. Generally." Urt ran out of steam.


    "Yoo dun''t gets old alls at once. Ah''s sneaking oop on its."


    "True, true," Urt mollified. "Look, it''s cold out here, and I have no shoes and only a cloak and a¡­ only a cloak to keep me warm. Could we discuss this inside? Preferably without any stabbing involved."


    The hag paused for a second, but then nodded. "Very wells. Boot the deads stays ootside."


    "Deads oot. Got it." Urt nodded. He told his minions, such as they were, to remain where they were, and followed the hag into the small structure.


    Inside was just about as dismal as outside, but at least it was warm. The room, for the interior appeared to consist of only one, was cluttered with herbs and dried, and sometimes not dried, animal parts. In the centre a large iron pot, big enough to hold Urt, bubbled away, producing a vile smell. Several gas lamps hung from the low ceiling, in defiance of all kinds of safety regulations.


    Turning to his host, Urt examined her more closely.


    No doubt she was quite attractive, he concluded, if bathed for several hours and clad in something other than a dress made from skins crudely sewn together. Some bits looked like the animal hadn''t quite finished with them.


    Firm looking legs ended in boots, also made from animal parts. Urt lingered over the legs, feeling twinges in certain areas of his anatomy. His love life so far had consisted of a few ribald stores told by Mangle when he''d been drunk, and the previous night of alleged passion with the giant barmaid, of which he had no memory.


    "Ad a good looks then?" The Hag snarled at him and wandered over to the cauldron, which she stirred vigorously with a large iron ladle.


    "Listen, I don''t know what your problem with my old master is, but I need some help. I''m a necromancer you know. We could trade."


    "Don''t want nothink from noo dead dabbla."


    "Well, what do you want? All I need are some clothes, perhaps a little money, and some information. Everyone wants something."


    He smiled hopefully.

 Chapter 103 - Deal.

    "Well, me''be one think." The young hag stirred the pot vigorously for a moment. Several objects bobbed to the surface momentarily. One of them wriggled before being dragged back under by the tidal forces in the cauldron.


    "Go on then," Urt prompted, relocating his gaze back to her legs, which were preferable in any number of ways to the contents of the pot.


    "S''a book."


    "A book?"


    "Yus."


    "Er, any more details? What kind of book are we talking about here? A Grimoire of ancient spells? A Tome of Knowledge? A treasure map? A book of naughty pictures?" A sudden flush rushed up Urt''s body, and he looked back up at the content of the pot again. Perhaps he shouldn''t be concentrating on legs just now after all.


    "The Lexicon Tormentus,'' she replied, after a moment more of stirring. "S''rare and deadly and rare ''tis."


    "The Lexicon Tormentus is it?" Urt rubbed at his chin. "Sounds impressive anyway. I don''t suppose you know where this rare and deadly tome can be found do you?"


    "And rare."


    "And rare, quite."


    The hag suddenly stopped her cooking and leaned forward, poking him in the ?h?st with a dirty, but otherwise slender and attractive finger. "Ay! I does! I does! ''tis yonder!" Her finger swivelled around to point at the door for a moment, before returning to his ?h?st.


    After glancing at the door to ensure the book wasn''t hanging on a hook there, Urt looked back at her. "I''m probably going to need a little more detail than ''yonder''," Urt replied. "Unless it''s on the road outside."


    "Oh aye, ''tis far ''way." She paused and looked up at the ceiling for a moment, and then down at her finger again.


    Urt nodded encouragingly, hoping he wasn''t expected to fly off anywhere. "Go on."


    "Ina straange place."


    "And where would this be, exactly?" Urt said. The finger on his ?h?st was giving him goosebumps.


    "Groan."


    "Groan?"


    "Groan." The hag nodded, removed her finger from his ?h?st, and returned to her pot.


    "How far away, and what, exactly, is Groan?"


    "Toown. Big ''un. East. Me''be coupla days. No neva goon."


    "A big town." Urt nodded. "Very well, it may be interesting to see somewhere that has plumbing. Plus I have few options at the moment. You have a deal."


    Smiling, and incidentally revealing perfect and somewhat shockingly white teeth, the hag nodded. "Ay, yoo neh be sorry."


    "I find that unlikely," Urt replied. "Now then, what about those clothes? Also, and I hesitate to ask this, but I wouldn''t mind a bite to eat and somewhere to rest up."


    The hag nodded. "I can doos them."


    "Excellent," said Urt, looking around the room once more. "I''m sure we''ll have a jolly time."


    ~ * ~


    Samantha woke up and stretched luxuriously. She didn''t often indulge like this, but with her latest mission almost complete the temptation had been too much. The inn had been perfectly placed, and the young man had been as gullible as he had been handsome.


    She opened her eyes and cast a glance at the form lying next to her.


    "Hello handsome, I hope you slept well." She kissed him lightly on the forehead and slipped out of bed. "I had a marvellously wonderful sleep, but it''s time to get back to work." Lithe as a cat, she padded over to the bowl of water the inn provided for freshening up, and splashed some over her face.


    "So, maybe some breakfast," she said, drying herself off with the cloth next to the bowl. "What do you think? Some eggs perhaps, maybe a slice of pork, have to keep the strength up if I''m to deliver the package to my employer."


    She pulled on her tight leather outfit and then adjusted it whilst looking in the mirror. "I shouldn''t really be telling you this," she carried on. "But under the circumstances I think it''s probably alright. You''re not got to say anything, are you?" She giggled and slid several daggers into various strategic points around her body, before giving herself one more once over in the reflection.


    "Still got it, but you found that out last night, didn''t you?" Smiling, she sauntered back over to her date and sat down on the bed next to him. "You were great by the way, I''m just sorry it had to end so soon. Ah well, no hard feelings eh?"


    Reaching over, she pulled the thin knife from his eye socket and wiped it clean on the bedclothes, before slipping out of the room to get something breakfast.


    ~ * ~


    "Tell me again why we''re going back to Mudrut?" Horace said from the arms of the zombie girl, as they trudged along the road.


    "I have no food, other than a couple of rather old apples the hag gave me," Urt pointed out. "Besides, the hag didn''t know if a ''few days travel'' was by foot or horse, so one has to ?ssume it could actually be further than the alleged ''few'' days."


    "Well at least you had a nice place to stay the night," the zombie said. "I was stuck out here with little miss chatty for company. It rained a bit too, and you know how water plays havoc with my skin."


    "The hag''s pretty decent once you get to know her," Urt said, ignoring his minion''s complaints and recalling the surprisingly pleasant afternoon and evening with the young witch. It had turned out that she had about as much experience of the outside world as Urt had. Her mistress had died the year before, and she''d had to make do on her own since then. They''d got on well, though Urt had wanted more. Despite his d?s?r?s he''d slept alone, on some straw near the cauldron fire. Overall it had been more comfortable than is old hut.


    "Well, at least you look spiffy in your new clothes," the zombie head replied.


    Looking down at his new attire, Urt had to agree. Somehow the hag had provided him with fine dark robes, fit enough for any wizard of evil. The shoes, more like workman''s boots actually, didn''t quite match, but they were hidden under the low hemline. Besides, they were sturdy and comfortable. Far more so than his old ones.


    The problem of transport, provisions and money still remained though. He hadn''t admitted it to Horace, but part of the reason he wanted to return was to see if he could track down his erstwhile date from the previous night. The only thing he had on him was the letter he''d picked up in the hotel, which he''d still not read. He thought about opening it now, but he didn''t really want to do that on the road whilst walking.


    "Do you know anything about this Groan place?" he asked the head.


    "I''ve heard of a place called Groan, but it wasn''t a city, more like a large village, maybe a small town," the zombie replied.


    "Well, as long as it''s bigger than Mudrut."


    "I don''t think that would be hard," Horace replied.


    "I''ve been thinking¡­" Urt started.


    "Always a first time for everything," Horace interjected.


    "You know, you are my minion. I don''t think you should be answering back so much. There''s probably a necromancer''s code I''m breaking just speaking to you in civil fashion." Urt scowled. "I should banish you, or subject you to some kind of horrible torment."


    "Like taking away my body maybe?" Horace waggled what remained of his eyebrows. "Perhaps trudging up and down this Dreg forsaken road? Maybe even visiting an out of the way village inhabited by halfwits?"


    "Oh shut up," Urt commanded, suddenly weary.


    "By your command." Horace shut up.


    The rest of the journey was made in silence, with Urt in a bad mood. Ever since his mentor had vanished things had gone from bad to worse. Now he was traipsing back to a, to use Horace''s description, out of the way village inhabited by halfwits, in the hope of recovering items stolen from his person by one of said halfwits.


    Thus, when the village finally crept into view Urt had worked himself up into quite a temper. No more taking orders from semi-literate farmers! It was time to start making his mark on the world.


    "Am I a necromancer or am I a minion?" he asked out loud.


    "Was that directed at me?" Horace asked. "Are you still sulking?"


    "I am not sulking," Urt snapped. "I am¡­ focusing on my goals. Yes, that''s it. Positive thinking. That''s the way to go. It''s time to show them who''s boss."


    "That would be the Warden then," Horace commented. "Or anyone with who can wack you over the head with a stick whilst you''re incanting."


    "There may be some obstacles," Urt replied. "But I''m ready now. They won''t catch me off guard again."


    "This should be good," the zombie said then.


    Urt rolled up the sleeves of his new robe and nodded. "Oh yes," he said. "People are going to die laughing."

 Chapter 104 - I See Dead People.

    "What we need is an edge," Urt said.


    "And how, exactly, are you going to get an edge?"


    "I''m tired of dealing with the living, it''s time to play to my strengths. Time to speak to those within my realm of influence."


    "Um," Horace thought for a moment. "Dead people?"


    "Exactly."


    "But you can never raise anyone," the zombie pointed out tactfully.


    "Thanks for reminding me." Urt paused to grimace before carrying on. "That''s not what I had in mind anyway. I don''t need bodies here, though a zombie army would be nice. No, I''m after their minds, and you only need a spirit for that."


    "Oh, you mean ghosts!" Horace exclaimed, catching on.


    "Exactly." Urt nodded and looked up. It was only mid-day, not the best time to speak with the passed over, who tended to favour the dark of the night to come out, as per the dictates of tradition. "I''ll have to wait a while," he said.


    "There''s that small hut somewhere round here I think," Horace pointed out. "Remember the one? You took shelter in it when it was raining that time, when you didn''t want to get that Marsh dust wet."


    "You have a good memory," said Urt.


    "Your other senses tend to improve when you lose touch," Horace replied.


    "I don''t think memory is a sense." Urt rotated, trying to get his bearings.


    "I work with what I have."


    "I know the feeling." Urt finally recognized the area and set off towards the hut. Knowing his luck it would have collapsed, or have been used as a toilet by the locals, although that was less likely than it could have been. Mudruttians would probably think defecating indoors was bad luck or something.


    "There it is," said Horace. "Over there."


    "I see it," said Urt. Approaching the old shack with care, he peered inside. Luck was with them for a change, and it appeared to be rather dirty, but otherwise dry and un-toileted.


    "Right then," said Urt. "I''m going to have a nap. Wake me when it''s time to speak to the deceased. Other than you I mean."


    "Yes boss," said Horace.


    Urt found a slightly cleaner corner of the hut, spread his cloak out and lay down. Within minutes he was asleep.


    ~ * ~


    Tung took a deep breath, composing himself before entering the chamber. He''d never go against the wishes of the Bleeding Man, at least not without a full set of combat spells and a small army, but he''d debated not calling the council together anyway. They were all evil self-serving killers, not that he had anything against evil, self-serving or killing, but when they all came together they spent as much time bickering as actually planning deeds of malevolence. It was all very inefficient.


    "Well, no sense putting it off any longer." Smoothing his robes down, Tung straightened up and put on his sternest expression before striding into the council chambers.


    He may as well have not bothered with the entrance. No one noticed. The Council of the Coalition of Evil was busy shouting at each other. The dark wizard took his place at the table as Murdren the Warlord threw a bread roll at Nigel the necromancer, in response to his argument that his army of the dead would beat Murdren''s legion of the damned, and also the warlord was a fat poo.


    "We will come to order!" he shouted, slamming his staff down on the floor and causing a minor quake.


    "Bah," Murdren, who had been half standing, sank back down into his seat.


    "Just in time," Nigel sneered. "Two more minutes and you''d have been a rotting corpse."


    "Enough!" Tung raised his staff again as the warlord opened his mouth to respond. "We will come to order. Don''t make our leader angry."


    That caught their attention as nothing else he could say did. The group, almost as one, glanced at the large, thorny chair at the head of the table, with its occupant slumped in it, and subsided.


    "Very well," Tung carried on. "I, Tung the Mighty, hereby convene this extraordinary meeting of the Coalition of Evil." He pulled a scroll out of thin air and, unrolling it, read out loud. "Present at this meeting are The Bleeding Man (chair), Tung the Mighty (minutes), Old Garl, Grand Mage of the Order of Corruption, Murdren the Dark Warlord, slayer of The Paladin of Greer, Synista from the ?ssassins league, Nigel the Necromancer, Jack, rapist and murderer of innocent women and children and Vork, alleged vampire of the night."


    "Objection!" the pale figure dressed in flowing blood-red robes at the end of the table raised a hand.


    "Apologies from Leonard the Lich," Tung carried on, ignoring the outburst. "He is currently recovering from dying after a battle with the forces of Good. This council member wishes their fellow evil being condolences, and suggests we send a gift basket."


    "Seconded," Old Garl said, raising a hand.


    "Thank you Garl." Tung nodded in reply and carried on. "The minutes from last meeting are¡­" He looked at the masses of tiny script and made a face. "¡­long and boring. Move to skip."


    "Seconded," several of the council said at the same time.


    "Good." Tung rolled the scroll up and looked up. "That brings us to the first, and only, order of business for today." He paused for dramatic effect before continuing. "The upcoming end of the world."


    The announcement didn''t get the reaction he expected.


    "Okay."


    "Didn''t we talk about this last time?"


    "I thought this happened a few years ago."


    "This is the Four thing yes?" Jack said. "I heard that had been postponed."


    "Not so. That the Four are coming is not to be denied," Tung said. "The question for this Council is: What is our stance on this event?"


    "Bloody nuisance," said Garl. "I''m just about to release a deadly plague upon the town of Randomheart. It''s taken ages to get ready, and this will mess it all up. We can''t allow them to interfere."


    "I don''t know." Jack tapped a gloved finger on the desk. "The Four will no doubt bring chaos and anarchy to the lands, surely this can only be to our advantage."


    "Only for a disorganized thug like yourself," Nigel replied. "Widespread war, which I''m naturally in favour of, should be on our terms, working to further our causes. This group is overstepping its bounds. They''re not even human, or similar."


    "Humanity is overrated," Vork said.


    "I agree," Synista hissed, ignoring the alleged vampire. "Such an event would interfere with my guild''s business."


    "I don''t see why we can''t make an alliance with them," Murdren said. "Our forces would surely fit well with their objectives, mainly: World domination."


    "They aren''t interested in domination," Tung pointed out. "Only the complete destruction of all mortals."


    "Ha, doesn''t sound too bad to me." Vork laughed.


    "Vampires, if they still existed, would also be on their list," Garl said.


    "They do still exist! I exist!" The alleged vampire leaned forward and slapped the table.


    "Says you! I saw you eating a melon the other day," Garl replied.


    "That was a human head! Your eyesight is going old man."


    "I''ll blast you into a hundred pieces you little upstart!" Garl stood up, staff in one hand.


    "Enough!" The voice cut through the hall, making everyone jump. "Sit."


    The other members of the council glanced at their chairman, whilst Garl and Vork subsided.


    "Ahem," Tung said again, clearing his throat. "As I understand it, the proposals here are¡­" He squinted at his hastily scrawled notes. "A formal alliance with the Four, Opposition to the end of the world at this time, or we simply sit and see how things go."


    "I suggest a vote," Nigel said.


    "Seconded." Synista nodded in agreement.


    "Very well," Tung replied. "All those in favour of an alliance with the Four, raise your hands." He paused for a moment and wrote down the result. "Those who say we should oppose them." Another pause. "Finally, those who say we should sit this one out until we see who''s winning." Tung counted, and then sighed. "Vork, you can only vote once."


    "Bah."


    "Very well then. By a clear majority, the Council opposes the end of the world by the Four."


    "Excellent," Nigel said. "I request a toilet break."


    "Wait, we have to decide how to oppose them," Tung said.


    "Isn''t there supposed to be a great hero destined to stop them?" Synista asked. "I''m sure I read a prophecy somewhere¡­"


    "That hero disappeared nearly twenty years ago," Murdren said.


    "Even so, he''s bound to turn up at the last moment, out of nowhere, just to save the day. It''s practically a given," Garl said. "He''s probably some innocent but strangely burly farmhand, who''s just found a mystical sword that tells him he has a great quest or something. Seen it a hundred times." He shrugged.


    "In this case," a voice from the head of the table made them start. "Not a farmhand."


    "You know of this hero?" Nigel asked. "Sir," he added, remembering who he was talking to.


    "He is on the Path even now," the chairman said. "He will be travel towards Groan soon, near the Dark Marshes."


    "Then perhaps we can¡­ guide him." Synista smiled. "I have an agent near Groan." She looked around at the others, who nodded.


    "Very well," Tung said. "Send your agent. Now, any other business? Except from you Vork." The council member lowered his hand. "No one? In that case this meeting is adjourned."

 Chapter 105 - Mudrut - Dead and Alive.

    The village of Mudrut in the early morning was as quiet as the swamp. Quieter actually, as there were fewer toads and other night animals crawling about.


    "It''s a bit spooky isn''t it?" Horace whispered, as Urt traipsed down the middle of the main street.


    "Spooky? How can you think something''s spooky?" Urt asked. "You''re a hideous flesh eating undead, or the head of one at least. You are spooky."


    "I never really liked ghosts," the zombie confided. "Give me the willies they do. All pale and ghostlike."


    "I must have been on some kind of funny juice when I raised you," Urt said, shaking his head. He looked around. "Right, this should do."


    "Why do we have to do this in the middle of town?" Horace asked.


    "I told you already. This is where the greatest concentration of life force is. The passed over always congregate near the Warmth of Life. Moths to the flame and all that. Now shut up, I''m trying to concentrate."


    "Yes boss." Horace looked up at the raised girl who was carrying him. "You be quiet too," he said. Lucy, never the big talker, merely raised her eyebrows in response.


    Urt closed his eyes and extended his senses. Old Mangle had taught him the spell for conversing with ghosts, but he hadn''t needed it. He could do that already, just by concentrating, something he''d not mentioned to his missing mentor.


    "Heed me!" he commanded to the pale shadows of the dead, as he felt their presence drifting about around him. "Show yourself! By my power, you will attend me." He opened his eyes again and looked about. Half a dozen ghosts were facing him, curious expressions on their shimmering faces.


    "Who are you then?" one of them, the spirit of an old lady with her hair done up in a bun, asked.


    "I am¡­"


    "He''s a necromancer isn''t he? What a stupid question," said the spirit of man with a deep gash in his neck. "Who else would be calling us?"


    "You shut up Roger," the old lady ghost replied. "He could be a passing traveller, wanting to know the way out of here, goodness knows I''d leave if I could."


    "There''s nothing wrong with this place," the ghost of Roger scowled back.


    "Oh, ignore him," Granny said to Urt. "He always did think he knew everything."


    "How would you know? You died years before me." Roger sniffed.


    "I watched you," the woman said. "And may I just add that¡­"


    "Ahem." Urt interrupted the impending argument. "Attend me!"


    "''oo''s this then?" asked the ghost of an old man, drifting up to the group. Urt could see more spirits beginning to congregate, attracted by the excitement. No doubt being dead in Mudrut was possibly the one thing that was worse than being alive in Mudrut.


    "He''s a necromancer, obviously," Roger pointed out patiently.


    "Ooh, we ''aven''t ''ad one of them around ''ere for a while." the newcomer peered at Urt through ghostly spectacles. "What you want then?"


    "I''m trying to tell you, if only you''d stop jabbering for a minute," Urt scowled.


    "Cheeky bugger!" the old woman said. "You pay respect to your elders!"


    "I''m only ten," said the spirit of a very thin young boy.


    "You''ve been ten for three hundred years," the woman replied, but in a more kindly tone.


    "Shut up!" Urt shouted, losing his temper, and then looking about, nervous that he would wake the living. "Now, listen. You lot are going to help me¡­"


    "Presumptuous beggar ''ain''t ''e?" the old man interrupted.


    "You just don''t get the same quality of necromancer these days," another, middle aged, ghost said.


    "What would you know about it?" said the spirit of a woman dressed in a short skirt. "You only died six months ago."


    "Again, be quiet!" hissed Urt as loudly as he dared.


    "May as well hear him out," the woman said. "What do you want dearie?"


    "Firstly, my name is Urt, necromancer," Urt said. He stood a little straighter. "You will address me with the respect my station deserves."


    "I thought I was doing," the ghost commented.


    "Secondly," Urt ploughed on. "I need information, and you lot are going to give it to me."


    "I don''t think I like your tone young man," the middle aged spirit said.


    "Presumptuous," the old man ghost repeated.


    "Don''t make me send you all to purgatory!" Urt said, gritting his teeth. He looked at the ?ssembled dead and nodded as they remained quiet. "I''m a dark mage remember? There are worse things than simply being dead!"


    He glared at the crowd of spirits, who suddenly looked very sheepish. Those that were still Present enough to still have feet, shuffled them.


    "Better," he said, nodding. "Now then, this is what I want to know¡­"


    ~ * ~


    Giles staggered out of his house and, holding on to the edge of the horse trough with both hands, plunged his head into the icy water within.


    "No more Scud for me, ever again," he m??n?d. "Hello, what''s going on here?"


    Traipsing over to the small crowd in the middle of the street, he squinted into the rising sun to see a young man in black robes address his fellow villagers.


    "My name is Urt, and I am a Wizard of Death! You will answer my questions or suffer my wrath."


    "Sod off," said Henry, the town clerk. "We''re not afraid of you. The Warden will sort you out good and proper."


    "Maybe, maybe not," the wizard replied. "However, if you call him, I??ll just have to tell everyone here what you do in the living room with the dog won''t I Henry?" The mage smiled grimly.


    "Er¡­" Henry stumbled backwards.


    "And you, Harriet," the wizard pointed a finger at the first wife of the local priest. "I know all about you and a certain young schoolboy."


    "I never!" shrieked Harriet, both palms on her face.


    Giles sniggered, and then stopped as the mage shifted his finger to point at him.


    "Giles. You won''t be laughing when I tell your wife about what''s buried behind the privy."


    Gasping, Giles shut up quickly. How did he know about that? he wondered.


    "What do you want wizard?" asked someone from the front of the crowd.


    The Dark mage smiled.


    ~ * ~


    Urt glared at the small crowd of Mudruttians as they shifted uncomfortably in front of him. Once he was sure there wasn''t going to be any more challenges, he nodded and spoke again, in a slightly kinder tone.


    "Right, what can you tell me about Groan?" he asked.


    "Groan?" Harriet said, making a face. "What do you want to know about that place for? It''s two days hard ride to the East."


    "Right," another man, who looked like a farmer, agreed. "I don''t hold with ''forn places. They have all sorts of funny customs."


    "I hear they put their poop in a hole, rather than have it flow healthily down the middle of the road," Giles added.


    "Disgusting!" the farmer exclaimed. "How can the vapours escape?"


    "And sometimes they put themselves in water!" Henry chimed in, eager to contribute his knowledge to the general conversation. "In water! Water I tell you!"


    There was a general muttering about the horrors of strange lands.


    Sensing he wasn''t going to get any useful information about Groan, Urt changed his line of questioning to something closer to home.


    "What about the town of Necromancers then? What do you know about that?"


    "They''re evil! Evil!" Henry waved his hands about.


    "Do a good pie though," Harriet said. "So I hear."


    "Pie? It''s made by zombies! They''re dead people," the farmer pointed out. "And not all properly dead either, they''re all shambling about with bits falling off. Unsanitary, zombies cooking."


    Urt had to agree with that, and resolved not to eat the pie, should he make it to Banesville. Still, he needed more specific information.


    "So where is this place then?"


    "North and east a bit," Giles said.


    "No, it''s west," the farmer disagreed.


    "I heard it was south of the swamp," the town clerk said.


    "None of you have been there have you?" Urt asked.


    There was an uncomfortable mumbling, and the small group shuffled their feet. Someone muttered something about ''forn parts'' again.


    Sighing, Urt tried another tack.


    "Fine, never mind then. I don''t suppose anyone has heard of the Lexicon Tormentus?"


    "What''s a lexicon?" asked the farmer.


    "A kind of book," Henry replied.


    "Oh." The farmer scratched his head.


    He''s going to ask what a book is, Urt thought.


    "What''s a¡­"


    "Very well," Urt interrupted. "Just one more thing, and then you can go about whatever pathetic business that usually occupies you."


    Several blank stares met his, and he decided that, should he ever gather his undead horde, Mudrut would be wiped off the face of the earth.


    "I need a horse and food. You will supply me."


    Once again, the gathered townspeople fidgeted uncomfortably.


    "You do have a horse, don''t you?" he asked.


    "Well," Henry replied. "Sort of¡­"

 Chapter 106 - The Dark of the Night.

    Samantha was fuming. How could she have been so careless? She''d been overconfident, that''s how. Lazing away the night in bed with some male idiot, enjoying herself whilst still on a mission. Her supervisor would have her flayed for such lax behaviour, if she was lucky.


    Sliding off her horse, she pulled the black throwing knife from the body of the traveller that had been unlucky enough to whistle at her as she rode past. People tended to die easily around Sam, especially when she was in a bad mood, and right now she was furious.


    Bending down, she examined the ground. Yes, the tracks were fresher now, she was closing in.


    Stopping only briefly to rifle through the belongings of the new corpse, waste not want not, she climbed nimbly back onto her mount and was about to set off again when a low chime came from her saddle bag.


    "Not now!" she swore. "Please Zzrif*, not now." The chime repeated though, and, after a moment to compose herself, she reached into the pack and pulled out a small leather pouch. Opening it, she tipped out the portable crystal inside and muttered the activation word.


    Immediately the face of none other than the Den mother appeared in the stone.


    "Mistress!" she gasped.


    "Samantha," the image replied, the voice was tiny, but the steel was evident even so. "I have another task for you."


    "Mistress," Samantha dipped her head slightly. "I haven''t yet brought in the package from my last ?ssignment." She crossed her fingers, hoping the other woman wouldn''t ask to see it.


    Luck was with her. "Never mind that for now, our client can wait a little longer. I need to you store that in a safe place whilst you perform an urgent task for me. You''ll need to travel north quickly."


    "Yes mistress," Sam concealed her joy. This would give her extra time to recover her mission! "How may I serve you?"


    The Den mistress leaned forward and smiled, sending a shiver down Sam''s spine.


    "The mission is one of utmost priority. Whatever you do, you will not fail, and you will report only to me. Do you understand?"


    "Of course Den mother."


    "Excellent. Now, here''s what I need of you¡­"


    * Zzrif ¨C Deity of murder and other dark deeds.


    ~ * ~


    "What a magnificent mount!" Horace said from his cradle in the arms of Lucy zombie, who trotted alongside Urt on the dusty road.


    "If you say that one more time I''m going to bury you in a hole and leave you there." Urt scowled down at his minions and kicked the donkey in the sides as it tried to head towards a weed.


    The beast brayed loudly in complaint, but returned to the original course, which was eastwards, towards the fabled city of Groan.


    Yanking the rope that was acting in place of reigns, Urt wondered if it wouldn''t be easier walking. The beast required constant kicking and guiding as it veered from one side of the track to the other, trying to eat any small amount of greenery that presented itself. He was sweating from the effort, and his rear end was aching from the bouncing. The villagers, he had to admit, had made best effort, but Mudrut was a poor place, and the donkey, with a makeshift blanket saddle, was the only form of transport available on such short notice. Urt hadn''t wanted to risk hanging about and bumping into the Warden, who was still lurking about somewhere a villager had informed him, so he''d taken it, a bag of dried fruit and a canister of thin wine, and left town as fast as the donkey would carry him.


    At least the pace of the beast was reasonable, it moved ahead at a decent clip. It was a good job zombies didn''t get tired, as the girl had to trot to keep up. He''d considered letting the undead ride, but his mount wasn''t large, and the dead did smell. Anyway, it wasn''t a good thing to give minions ideas above their station.


    "I must say, it''s nice to get out and see new places," Horace said, eyes straining left and right.


    Taking in the almost uniform straggly greenery that lined both sides of the road, Urt understood the head''s meaning at least. Despite the lack of interesting sights, the shrubbery was different. Plus it didn''t smell of methane. In fact the air was quite fresh. Urt felt slightly guilty as he realized he was rather enjoying it. A necromancer should surely feel at home in the darkest of places, not on a relatively clean track in bright sunlight.


    "It''s not a very busy thoroughfare is it?" Horace asked, apparently determined to make conversation.


    "I doubt anyone really wants to go to Mudrut," Urt replied. "And we''ve heard the opinion of the people there about ''foreign parts''. No doubt anyone with a slight interest in travelling has long gone."


    "Well, I''m happy to visit new places," Horace said. "I always liked to travel when I was alive. Probably."


    "Probably?"


    "I can''t remember."


    "I thought you had a good memory?" Urt asked, interest piqued, despite himself.


    "You know it''s the zombie curse, other than the rotting skin and such I mean. We can''t remember anything about our time as the living. It''s said if we do find out, we can rise again. So it is said anyway."


    "Oh. Mangle said something about this once, but I thought it sounded unlikely."


    "Well, it''s not."


    "You sure?"


    "I didn''t make the rules up," the zombie said. "It''s just how it is."


    Urt made a face and steered the donkey away from a branch that was overhanging the road.


    "Considering I''m supposed to be a powerful necromancer, I don''t really know a great deal."


    "Old Mangle hadn''t finished your training," Horace said.


    "I wonder what happened to him?" Urt had spent many a night wondering this.


    "Why don''t you cast some magic? Try and summon his spirit," the zombie head suggested.


    Kicking the donkey in the sides again, Urt nodded. "I''ve tried before, but it''s never worked. Maybe I''ll try again now we''re travelling, it could be there''s a range issue." He nodded again, agreeing with himself. "I''ll try it when we camp, if I have the energy," he said, wrenching his mount back on course again.


    "Perhaps we should consider looking for a spot now." Horace swivelled his eyes skywards. "It will be dark soon."


    Urt looked up to discover the zombie head was right. Had it been a day already? Well, perhaps. What with everything in the village he probably hadn''t set off until halfway to midday. He began scanning the brush on the sides of the road, looking for a suitable area to set up camp.


    ~ * ~


    "Finally!" Horace said, as Urt slumped down on a makeshift bed. "I''d be exhausted if I was still alive."


    "Well I am exhausted," Urt said, yawning. He looked around his little camp with a modicum of satisfaction. Considering he''d never travelled anywhere outside the swamp, he thought he was doing quite well.


    Laying back Urt considered casting a spell to seek out Mangle''s ghost, but he was too tired. His hand touched the letter in his pocket, but it was too dark to read it now, even by the flickering illumination of his low campfire.


    "You two keep watch," he said. "Wake me if there''s any¡­" He was asleep before he finished the sentence.


    ~ * ~


    "Master! Wake up! You, girl, poke him."


    Urt was roused from an appealing dream with the hag, who had been dancing around inside a giant pot n?k?d, by a prod from Lucy zombie.


    "Wurt Snrglz," he said, and woke up. "This better be good," he hissed at the head of Horace, which was sitting on the ground next to him.


    "There''s someone, or something, out there!" Horace swivelled his eyes to the right.


    Creeping forward, he peered through the brambles. "I can''t see anything," he hissed to Horace. "Are you sure?"


    "Of course I am," the head replied. "Heightened senses remember? Plus we zombies can see well in the dark. Another of our superior qualities."


    Ignoring the bragging, Urt hefted his branch and tried to think of a quick, offensive spell. It was undignified waving a wooden stick about when he was should be casting death magics.


    A moment later a movement in the brush distracted him. A low growl and two points of red at waist height hinted at something unfriendly with sharp teeth.


    "Uh oh, this doesn''t look good," said Urt.

 Chapter 107 - Were Here.

    Spurred on by the dark shape now approaching, Urt pointed a finger and uttered the shortest incantation he knew, which was a fire starting spell.


    The resulting panic induced mini-fireball was more than satisfactory, and illuminated the fearsome wolf-like creature just before it hit the beast on the neck. With a howl the monster fell to one side, writhing about as fur burned, sending out a foul smell.


    As Urt rushed over to finish the job, the howls changed, becoming far more human cries of pain, and then words.


    "Owowowow! What did you do that for?" the previous-wolf m??n?d, clutching at his neck with two human hands. "I wasn''t going to hurt you! By Growl*, it hurts!"


    "Er¡­" Urt slowed and stopped, branch still in his hands, as he took in the n?k?d figure squirming around in the grass.


    The man, or youth as it turned out, was painfully skinny, the lack of clothes ensured that was clear. He had thin sandy hair, as best as he could make out in the low light, and several scars were visible on various parts of his body, of which Urt could see far too much of for his taste.


    "Who are you?" Urt waved the branch. In a spark of inspiration, he cast a lower-powered version of his spell at the end of the thing, turning it into a makeshift torch.


    "I''m Reginald, Reg to my friends." The youth rolled over, exposing more of himself than Urt wished to see. "You can call me Reginald. Help me! It hurts!"


    "Well you shouldn''t have been sneaking about in the dark then should you?" Urt replied, unrepentant, and more than a little pleased with his spell casting.


    "I was hunting rabbits!" Reginald, Reg to his friends, said, still clutching at his neck. "I''m hungry." He paused and dabbed at his injured neck, before looking up at his attacker, squinting to see past the light. "You don''t have any food do you?"


    Sniffing, Urt lowered his illumination slightly. The lad, he was probably year or two younger than Urt, was clearly not an immediate threat.


    "If you can catch that rabbit, I''ll share my campfire with you," he said. "I have some supplies and a bit of wine."


    "How about I catch the rabbit tomorrow?" Reginald countered. "It takes energy to shift form, and I''m so hungry I''ll probably get stuck halfway." He sat up, still clutching his neck.


    Rolling his eyes, Urt relented. "You can come in then, but only if you put some clothes on first. I can see your thingy." He gestured in the general direction.


    Reginald looked down briefly. "Sorry, it''s not such a big deal when you''re a wolf."


    "Well, I have my standards," Urt replied, crossing his arms and nearly setting fire to his hair with the torch. "No n?k?d men by my fire, unless it''s me."


    "Fine. Wait here then." The lad turned and staggered away through the woods, his trailed marked by the odd curse as he trod on something sharp.


    Returning to his camp, Urt stuck his torch into the ground and sat down to await his new friends return.


    "Who was it then?" Horace asked.


    "Some kind of starving werewolf, as best as I can make out," Urt answered. "I invited him in for a snack."


    "That was unusually kind of you."


    Ignoring the jibe, Urt nodded. "Strategic thinking is what it was," he said, tapping his temple. "I need a fighter who can hold enemies off long enough for me to loose my spells. This fellow may be just what I need."


    "The first mercenary of your army of terror," Horace said. "Nice one."


    "Glad you approve. Ah, here he comes now."


    "I don''t have much," he warned the youth, whilst opening the bag. "I''ve had some¡­ bad luck lately." He passed a wrinkled apple over.


    "Ha," Horace said.


    "What''s that!?" Reginald asked, starting as he saw the head, though not enough to let go of the fruit.


    "Oh, these are my undead minions. Allow me to introduce Horace the head, and Lucy. They''re both dire creatures of the night."


    "Mmmm." Reginald settled back down again and took a bite of the apple, keeping one eye on the zombies as he munched. "So, you''re a necromancer then? Thought you lot all lived in Banesville."


    "You know where Banesville is?"


    "Sure. Used to work for a blacksmith near there, until he was killed by a rampaging horde of Deadlings. I made a run for it, b?r?ly escaped with my life. Evil place, Banesville." He looked at Urt again. "But I expect you''d be right at home there, wouldn''t you?"


    "I am a Dark Wizard," Urt agreed. "Capable of dire deeds."


    "Yet you''re camping in the woods with only a bag of old fruit and about three quarters of a zombie, in total. Seems you''re down on your luck."


    "As I said, there have been some recent unfortunate events. I am even now on a mission to change my status."


    There was a pause, and Reginald finished the apple, core and all.


    "And?" he said, looking longingly at the food bag.


    Reluctantly, he really didn''t have much food, Urt passed him a rather squashed banana. As he watched the fruit being¡­ wolfed down, he groped about for a way to put his proposal to his new companion.


    "So then, you owe me a rabbit."


    "I suppose." Reginald stuffed the remains of the banana into his mouth and looked at the skin, as if considering eating that as well.


    "I''ve held up my side of the bargain, so you''ll have to hold up yours."


    Reginald nodded.


    "Excellent. However, this means you will have to accompany us on our journey. I hope you won''t slow me down too much."


    "I think I can probably keep up. Especially after such a grand meal." Reginald lay back and curled up into a ball.


    "Very well then," he said, more to himself than anyone else. With renewed instructions to Horace to keep watch, he settled back and soon joined Reginald in slumber.


    *Growl: Lesser god of werewolves and similar creatures. Animal-types tend to be rather literal when it comes to names.


    ~ * ~


    Samantha slid off her horse and examined the ground. The road here was cobbled stone, which made tracking harder. Still, it was heading in roughly the direction she needed to go for her new mission, which was something to be grateful for at least.


    "You! Wench!" She gestured at an enormous peasant girl traipsing in the opposite direction. "Did you see anyone come this way? Maybe dressed in red?"


    "Aye Miss," the wench replied. "Maybe two hours since."


    "Damn it, she''s further away." Not bothering to thank the peasant, Samantha leaped back onto her horse and galloped off.


    The large former barmaid shrugged, adjusted the sack on her back, and made her own way along the road. Neither party thought anything more of the meeting.


    ~ * ~


    "Did you notice that?" Urt stopped suddenly. The donkey, which he''d been leading, bumped into him.


    "What?" Reginald and Horace both asked at the same time.


    "It was a kind of¡­ flash. And I felt¡­ something. Like a freezing cold wind suddenly blew over me."


    "I didn''t feel anything," Horace said.


    "Me neither," Reginald added.


    "Must be these foreign parts that the villagers spoke of," Horace said. "Maybe we''re near some giant ice fields or something. Better watch for snow." His eyes turned skywards.


    Urt scowled. "I''m fairly sure we''re not about to be snowed in."


    "How do you know? We''ve never been to Groan, it could be in the middle of a frozen wasteland."


    "Not last time I was near there," Reginald said.


    "See? It was probably just my imagination, or a premonition or something." Urt started to walk again, yanking the donkey, which had started to graze.


    "So we''re going to be going somewhere cold in the future then?" Horace continued. "You should buy me a hat and scarf then. I''m not fond of the cold, gives me chills."


    "For Dreg''s sake! I''m not getting you a hat! Dead people can''t get ill, they''re well known for not catching colds, or anything else for that matter. Otherwise the physicians would be overrun by zombies with runny noses. Now, be quiet. Reg, help me up here would you?"


    With only a small amount of difficulty, and with Reginald holding the donkey, who went rigid when the lad went near him, Urt mounted his transport. "Forward!" he declared grandly, once aboard.


    With a hard kick to the flanks to spur it on, his mount obeyed. His companions, dead and otherwise, followed behind.

 Chapter 108 - Grocery

    The Tower of Light had seen better days. A recent siege by an army of the Lich King had left it with gaping holes in the infrastructure. Black soot marks from fireballs and other burning projectiles were slowly being whitewashed over, but overall there was still a lot of work to do.


    A group of workmen, who were busy trying to hoist a giant stone up the side of the tower, hastily moved to one side as a wizard strode by. They shuffled their feet as the tall man, who was garbed in flowing red robes, went past.


    The mage was almost by when he stopped and turned to look at the men who, as one, took off their hats and looked at the ground, in classic humble villager style.


    "Step away," the wizard commanded.


    "Whu¡­?" the group of workers, almost to a man, or Halfling in several cases, gaped at the him.


    "I said¡­"the magic user raised a long staff that hadn''t been there a moment ago. "Step. Away."


    With shrieks the workers fled. Just in time too, for the rope hoisting their rock, which was now halfway up the side of the tower, snapped. The enormous stone plummeted groundwards, and would have caused even more damage to the battered structure if the mage hadn''t raised his staff and uttered several Words of Power.


    The stone slowed and landing gently on the ground.


    "Look out below!" came a belated cry from far above.


    Shaking his head, the mage turned away to continue his journey, but stopped suddenly, straightening as if jabbed by something sharp from behind.


    "It can''t be!" he said. "After all these years!"


    With a gait unseemly for such a senior wizard, Redthorne turned and made his way back to his quarters at full speed.


    The workers watched him go, grateful to be alive, and even more grateful that the foreman hadn''t seen the rock incident.


    "No one told me you had to pay to get in! What sort of lunacy is this? I am a mage of some standing, these petty taxes are surely beneath me." Urt rolled up the sleeves of his robe whilst Reginald looked on nervously.


    "You may be a big man in whatever flea infested village you''ve come from," the guard said, hitting the description of Mudrut on the head. "Here though, we''re civilized folk." He spat off to one side. "If you''re not a resident, you pay your fee, or else."


    "Or else what?" Urt demanded.


    "Or else I chop something off with my sword."


    "I''m not afraid of you."


    "Me''be not, but you should probably be afraid of boiling hot oil on the head, or some rocks on the head. We''re big on things on the head." The guard nodded upwards.


    Following his gesture, Urt''s gaze travelled up the stone wall to the parapets, where several other guard-shaped figures stood next to a, from his underneath angle, looked like a large metal cauldron.


    "Bah." Scowling he yanked his pony around. "I''m still not afraid."


    "Of course not." The guard leant on his halberd and watched as the small group retreated some way to discuss the situation.


    "You never told me there was a fee!" Urt said accusingly at Reginald.


    "I''ve never been inside Groan!" the lad retorted.


    "You said you''d been here before."


    "Near here."


    "Bah." Urt sat on his donkey and examined the much repaired, but still solid looking city wall. "How are we going to do this?"


    "Don''t look at me," said Reginald, shrugging. "I don''t have enough to buy decent rags even."


    "I left my savings in the shack," Horace added. "Which blew up."


    "You never had any savings," Urt scowled.


    "I might have done," the head replied.


    "How, exactly, would you have accumulated money?" Urt crossed his arms.


    "I have friends." The zombie sniffed.


    "No you don''t," Urt said. "And even if you did, they wouldn''t give you money. Zombies don''t care about money anyway. They''re all about brain eating and so forth."


    "That''s stereotyping that is," Horace countered. "I was probably an investment banker in life, or something."


    "You mean you don''t know?" asked Reginald.


    "It''s our curse," Horace replied.


    "This is all very well," Urt said, interrupting the familiar conversation. "However, we need money to enter the city."


    "Can''t you just conjure up some?" Reginald asked.


    "Of course I can," Urt replied, stung into defending his honour, as tiny as that was. "A few pebbles can easily be transformed by a powerful wizard such as myself. However, they would just revert back minutes later."


    "So?" Reginald sniffed and rubbed his nose. "We get through and who cares after that? The guards aren''t going to mount a city wide search for someone who bribed them are they?"


    "Bribed them?" Urt raised his eyebrows. "You mean they''re asking for a bribe? Not a real city fee?"


    "Of course not!" Reginald made a face. "They''re city guards! Corrupt as they come. Where have you been living all your life? A swamp?"


    Scowling to cover his embarrassment at the accuracy of that remark, Urt waved a hand. "Find me some pebbles," he said.


    ~ * ~


    Samantha pulled her horse up sharply, making it whinny and rear. The action of the large black beast caused the few simpletons who had remained in the street to scream and run for cover.


    Smirking, she calmed her mount and guided it over to a rail outside a decrepit store front. As she dismounted she considered the¡­ well, village was giving it a status upgrade, but she''d go with it for now.


    Shabby was one word to describe the place. Backwater. Backwater of a backwater. Leaving the horse to fend for itself, she wandered over to the shop, which turned out to be a grocers. Stacks of vegetables were piled in containers outside the door, and she idly wondered where the owner managed to find fresh produce in the middle of nowhere.


    Wandering into the store, she approached the scrawny old shopkeeper, who stood quaking behind the counter, twisting his leather apron tightly in his hands.


    "M¡­ miss?" he quavered, as she stepped close.


    His nervousness could have been because he was just like that around attractive women, a category in to which Sam definitely fell. Alternatively it could be because she''d taken out a long dagger and was idly digging it into his top of his counter.


    "I''m looking for a young man," she said.


    "I''m sure you won''t have any problems there," he croaked. The apron was twisted another turn.


    "A specific young man," she added.


    "W¡­ we all have our needs."


    "This one was probably different in some fashion."


    "Different miss?"


    "Yes."


    There was a pause. Sam watched as the man plucked up courage to ask. The small tortures were sometimes the cruellest. Well, perhaps not. Plucking out a man''s eyeball, for example, was definitely harsher than this, but she took her p???sur?s where she could.


    "D¡­ different how miss?"


    There it was.


    "Let me ask you a question." Samantha leaned forward suddenly, causing the old man to jerk wildly.


    "M¡­ m¡­ miss?"


    "How many strangers have passed through here recently? I mean in the last, I don''t know, week?"


    The man looked up and mumbled to himself.


    "Well?" she demanded.


    "Just counting miss."


    Samantha waited for another moment, and was about to dig her knife into something other than the counter when he responded.


    "Two."


    "Two?"


    "Y¡­ yes miss. Fairly certain it was two."


    "Fairly certain?"


    "Well miss, two that I know of. Maybe three, but I think one fellah was the same one. The same person I mean. He looked different, and my eyesight''s not the same, but someone told me¡­"


    "Where did he go?" Samantha interrupted the flow before it could become a flood.


    "Which one?"


    Taking a deep breath before she replied, she spoke again. "Both of them."


    "The first fellah or the second? Or the woman? Eeek!"


    Samantha''s knife stopped halfway to the shopkeeper''s throat. "What woman?"


    "I¡­ I¡­ I¡­ only caught a quick look miss, my eyes you know, they''re not what they were, and old Parson says¡­"


    "I don''t care what Parsnip says!" snarled Sam, resisting the urge to gut the man where he stood only with some difficulty. "Who was the woman and where did she go?"


    "I thought you were looking for a man?"


    "Both!"


    "So which one?"


    "What?"


    "Which man?"


    "I thought you said there was only one man?"


    "Well, I thought there was only one, he was dressed different¡­ AWK!"


    Breathing hard, Samantha held the man''s collar in one hand whilst her knife hovered a fraction away from the shopkeeper''s eyeball.


    "Tell. Me. Where. They. All. Went."


    "Groan."


    "Groan? The town? North of here?"


    "I¡­ don''t hold with forn parts miss," the man managed to croak.


    "It''s probably a good job," Samantha said, releasing his collar and unconsciously wiping her hand on her leg. "You''d likely have your throat cut within a day."


    "The Warden may know."


    "The Warden?" Samantha''s head flipped up suddenly. "He guards this excrement of a community?"


    "I do," another, far stronger, and yet strangely light voice intruded.


    Sparks flew off the dagger as the Warden knocked the thrown knife to one side with his sword.


    "Naughty," he said, waving a finger.


    "Just testing." Samantha smiled and palmed another.


    "Put it away, or I''ll be forced to take you over my knee."


    "You''d like that wouldn''t you?" Sam said, as she allowed the weapon to slide back into its sheath.


    "Not as much as some."


    "Hello Bruce."


    "Hello Samantha. Long time no see. What brings you to this backwoods?"


    "Y¡­ you know each other?" The shopkeep, all but forgotten in the exchange, piped up.


    "A long time ago," Samantha said.


    "She''s my sister," the Warden replied.

 Chapter 109 - Inn

    "I can''t believe they fell for that!" Urt shook his head in wonder as they made their way through the surprisingly long tunnel through the city wall. "Who can''t detect magical coinage?"


    "Shhh!" Reginald said. "They may hear you." He pointed up.


    Looking up, Urt noted hundreds of tiny holes in the ceiling of the carved passage.


    "What are they for?"


    "Pouring boiling oil down," the werewolf replied.


    "Oh." Urt looked down again, then: "Oh!" as the implications of this registered. "That''s cunning."


    "Just because people are stupid, doesn''t mean they aren''t dangerous," Reginald whispered.


    "I see. Something to consider for sure." Urt stroked his chin. He was beginning to grow stubble, and he wondered if he should attempt to grow a small goatee. Goatees, he felt, added to the general look of evil. If ever there was evil facial hair, it was the goatee.


    "Look, we''re here." Reginald interrupted his musings and pointed at light flooding into the passage from the other end.


    Urt checked Lucy. He''d pulled a hood low over her head, so no one could see her deceased status. Horace was in his backpack, where he''d gone after a rash of complaints.


    The small group entered the town, and Urt stopped dead.


    "Wow," he said, after a moment. "Finally, civilization."


    "Maybe." Reginald shrugged.


    Groan, or at least this part of if, consisted of tall, thin buildings. So tall and thin, in fact, that they seemed to sway in the breeze, an alarming sight to the travellers, but obviously it didn''t concern the residents, who ignored the phenomenon. The buildings, which appeared to be constructed mainly of wood, made strange wheezing noises as they swayed.


    "Hence the name." Urt nodded.


    "I''m never going to be able to catch a rabbit in here," lamented Reginald.


    "The rabbit can wait for now," Urt replied, looking left and right.


    "What are we looking for, exactly?" Reginald asked, after several minutes of aimless wandering.


    "I''m looking for a book," Urt replied. "A very specific book."


    "I see," Reginald said. "So. It will be dark soon, we have no money and only a couple of pebbles." He hefted said stones.


    Urt looked at the pebbles and shook his head. The guards were one thing, they wouldn''t be around when the coins turned back. An inn-keep would know where to find them. Turning around, his eye fell on a business across the street. "I think I know what to do," he said.


    ~ * ~


    "Inn keep!" Urt said, slapping the counter.


    "Sire?" said the well dressed man behind it.


    "Your finest suite for my friend and me," Urt leaned forward and smiled.


    "Delighted sir. That will be one Gold." A well manicured hand was held out. "Deposit."


    ~ * ~


    "Innkeep!" Urt shouted, slapping the rough wooden bar top.


    "Whadyawant?" snarled the gigantic form behind the counter.


    "How much for a room for my companion and myself?" Urt asked.


    "Shilling a night." The man leaned forward and thrust a bristly chin at the small group. "In advance."


    "Does that include dinner?" asked Reginald, stopping Urt from handing over one of the two Shillings they had made from the sale of the donkey.


    "No."


    ~ * ~


    "Inn-keep!"


    "Waddlitbe luv?" asked the woman, scratching an ample behind with a hand that surely hadn''t been washed in some days.


    "I wish to rent a modestly priced room for one, and possibly further nights. What are your rates?" he asked.


    "Lumm¨¦, rates is it?" She smiled, showing a mouth full of teeth severely in need of dental work. "Four Groats a night for you ''andsome." She winked. "Five Groats for an ''earty dinner and breakfast of finest meat."


    "Real meat is it?" Reginald asked.


    "To be sure lad," she replied. "Caught the rats me''self. Fat buggers they was too."


    "We''ll take it," Reginald stated, before Urt had a chance to speak. "It''s been ages since I had a good rat."


    ~ * ~


    "I think I''m getting seasick," Reginald said, holding his stomach as he sat on the edge of the single battered chair their room had.


    Another gust of wind caused further creaking, alarmingly loud, from the walls. Urt leaned slightly to one side to counter the sway of the building.


    "It seems that the top floor has certain disadvantages," he said.


    "I feel fine," Horace said. Urt had taken him out of his backpack once they were safely ensconced in their lodging, and he was now back in the arms of Lucy, who remained quiet and uncomplaining. "Zombies don''t get seasick," he carried on. "Part of our natural superiority."


    "You don''t have a working stomach, of course you can''t get sick," said Reginald.


    "Well don''t spew inside," Urt instructed, slightly alarmed at the lad''s expression.


    "You''re all heart you are." Reginald slid off the seat and curled up on the floor. "I''m going to sleep. Wake me when it''s morning or I''m dead, whichever comes first."


    "If only I could," muttered Urt, but to himself. He sat on the narrow bunk and considered his forces. They weren''t impressive to look at he had to admit. Perhaps he could do something about that, magically.


    He lay down on the bed thinking what spells he could use, and still hadn''t thought of what to do when he fell asleep.


    ~ * ~


    "Any food left?" asked Reginald. "I''m hungry."


    "You only ate yesterday!" Urt replied.


    "A mangy couple of fruit! Hardly the diet of kings."


    Urt scowled and finished pulling on his boots. The night had past peacefully enough. The rocking was actually quite soothing once you became used to it. Now though, another day awaited their attention, and the wolf did have a point. Urt was hungry too.


    "Well there''s your tasty rat breakfast," he said, not wanting to squander the little money that remained. He now realized that he''d probably been cheated on the donkey deal, and wondered if he should go back and turn the horse trader into something nasty. Of course, it could just be that donkey''s weren''t very valuable here.


    "Come on then," Reginald said, moving towards the door.


    "Hold on." Urt put the complaining Horace back in his pack and told Lucy to wait for them, before following the lad downstairs into the dining area.


    "Ere''s they is!" said the same large woman they''d spoken to the evening before. "Comes for your real meat breakfast has you?"


    "Yes, please," Reginald said, plucking a spoon and a wooden bowl from a stack that had been set up on a nearby table. "It smells wonderful," he added, approaching the large pot just beyond.


    "Ooh, I likes you I does," cackled the inn-keep. "An extra big spoonful for you!"


    "You too!" she said, repeating the action with Urt. He thanked her and took a seat next to Reginald, who was busy shovelling the stuff into his mouth as fast as possible.


    "Take it easy," Urt said. "You''ll choke."


    "Mmffff," replied Reginald, dribbling gravy down his chin.


    Shaking his head, Urt spooned a mouthful into his own mouth and chewed carefully. Overall, he decided, it wasn''t as bad as he''d expected it to be. He ate some more.


    Rat stew was obviously popular in this part of Groan. Before they''d finished the dining hall, empty when they''d first come in, was full of patrons enjoying their breakfast. Urt purchased a cheap goblet of thin wine for himself and, after some consideration, Reginald, and by the time they were done both were stuffed full.


    "Ahh, that''s the finest meal I''ve ever had," the werewolf said, leaning back and patting his stomach. "I don''t think I''ve ever been this full!"


    "You obviously aren''t the best hunter then," Urt said. "I''m beginning to think I''ll never see that rabbit I''m owed."


    Reginald took the criticism in his stride, no doubt buoyed up by the fine cuisine. "Never fear!" he said, slapping him on the shoulder. "I''ll pay my way, you see if I don''t."


    "Mmm," Urt said. He wasn''t going to complain though, it was nice to have someone living to talk to.


    "So," Reginald said, ???k?n? the bottom of his already clean bowl. "Why are we going to so much trouble for this book? Coming thousands of leagues for a bit of reading seems unusual."


    "It''s hardly been thousands of leagues," Urt corrected. "I''d be surprised if it was ten. And I made a promise."


    "But you''re evil! A dark mage being who lies, steals and murders! What''s a promise to you?" Reginald quite reasonably pointed out.


    "I appreciate the compliments," Urt replied, "but I feel strangely compelled to follow this one." The image of a shapely leg ran through his head, and he shuddered slightly.


    "You have a cunning plan don''t you?" Reginald said, nodding wisely. "I get it. Say no more." He tapped the side of his nose.


    Rolling his eyes, Urt gave up on the conversation, filing the shapely leg image away for perusal at a more convenient time, he stood up. "Come on. Go and get the Lucy, I''m going to ask around."

 Chapter 110 - Clock

    Reginald did as he was told, and Urt once more approached the inn-keep, who was risking serious disease by biting her fingernails.


    "Excuse me ma''am," he said. "Where might one locate a book in this town?"


    "Ma''am is it? You charma you!" The woman tittered, spitting out clippings.


    Trying his best to keep a smile in his face, Urt waited.


    "Well, I''m not a big reader me''self," she went on, surprising nobody. "But if I was taken with it, I''d try the library, up the road yonder a ways." She pointed a dirty finger.


    "Thank you." Urt bowed slightly. It went against his code of evil, but zombies can''t be choosers, as the saying went. and right now he was down to his last shilling.


    Reginald joined him outside, followed by Lucy and the backpack holding Horace.


    "Let''s go," Urt said, and started off down the cobbled street.


    Almost immediately he was accosted by a small, grubby figure.


    "Wanna guide mister? Half a Groat and I''ll take you whereva you want! One Groat a day and you can beat me too! Witha stick!"


    "Tempting as that is, bugger off," said Urt, swatting at the urchin, who was wearing the latest fashion in filthy rags, complete with a torn flat cap.


    The lad ducked out of the way with practised ease.


    "Just a beating then sir? Two Bits to you! Witha stick," he reminded him.


    "How about I just dissolve your innards? Be away with you!" Urt waved his hand in a magical fashion, and the lad retreated. "The city is a strange place indeed," he said, checking to ensure his pouch was still attached to his belt. Old Mangle had warned him about pickpockets.


    "He seemed harmless enough," Reginald said, trotting alongside. "Reminds me of me, when I was his age, though with less fur."


    Urt made a tutting noise and they carried on until they found an impressively building with a sign that indicated the library was inside. Pausing only to straighten his robe, he entered, with Reginald and Lucy behind.


    The interior was a large room, lined with bookshelves. A wooden counter ran the length of one side. A bored looking middle aged woman sat behind the desk. She was clad in a putrid coloured green robe with a name badge attached to one sagging br??st.


    "Can I help you dear?" she asked as they approached.


    "Madam, I am not ''a dear''," Urt replied. "I am a wizard of some standing."


    "If you say so dear," she replied, totally unperturbed. "And I''m not a madam. What can I do you for?"


    Deflating a little, Urt replied. "We''re looking for a book, the Lexicon Tormentus. You''ve probably never heard of it, it''s an ancient tome, known only to a few¡­"


    "Yes ducky, we have it."


    "You have?" Urt''s shock overrode his irritation at being compared to a water fowl.


    "Well, not here, obviously."


    "Obviously," repeated Urt.


    The two stared at each other for a moment, until Urt realized she wasn''t going to say anything else.


    "So then, er¡­" he squinted at her badge. "Deirdre. Who would have that particular book at the moment, and when is it due back in?"


    "I''m afraid I''m not allowed to tell you that," she replied with a slight smirk. "Library rules."


    "Library rules, of course." Urt paused and thought for a few moments. "I can see you are a person of great moral fibre," he said deciding to try a different tack.


    "I like to think so," Deirdre replied. "Someone has to uphold good old fashioned values around here."


    "Of course, of course." Urt nodded in agreement, whilst wondering why people always thought that the ''old ways'' where better. When he was old, if things weren''t better than living in a swamp, something would have gone pretty badly wrong. He shook his head and brought himself back to the, apparently failing, present. "Yet I find," he went on, trying to phrase things in as delicate a way as possible. "That everyone has something in their lives that, for reasons that they are not at all to blame for, is¡­ unjust. Wouldn''t you say that is the case, Deirdre?" He raised his eyebrows.


    "I''m not sure what your point is," the woman replied.


    "What I am saying is that everybody needs help at some point in their life. Like, for example, the location of a book." He paused. The librarian looked at him.


    "Go on," she said.


    "So, it''s only logical that in these circumstances that¡­ friends help each other out." A bolt of inspiration struck. "Like it used to be, in the old days," he added.


    "You could certainly rely on people more back then," Deirdre agreed.


    "So, what I''m saying here," Urt said, struggling to steer the conversation to its ultimate destination, "is that the ''old days'' don''t have to stay in the past. I am a firm believer in helping out when others are in need." He didn''t mention that the person he believed in helping out was himself, and that someone in need was probably an easy mark.


    "So what are you saying here, exactly?" The woman frowned at him.


    The diplomatic approach didn''t seem to be working. Urt adjusted the conversation several levels of subtlety lower.


    "What can I do for you in return for the location of the book?" he asked.


    "Oh, I see," Deirdre finally climbed aboard the boat of understanding. She pursed her lips, and Urt wondered if he was going to have to resort to violence by werewolf. He hoped not. Reginald, who had been standing behind him during his chat, was busy scratching himself, and generally failing to live up to the image of a frightening magical horror.


    "Well," Deirdre looked left and right, as if she was standing in the midst of a crowd of people. "My ex-husband, that cheating weasel, has my antique clock. It was handed down to me from my grandmother, it''s an heirloom, close to my heart, but that bastard, pardon my language, won''t return it."


    "I see." Urt nodded.


    "If, by chance, it was to find its way back to me, I''d look very favourably upon the person who made that happen, if you see what I mean." She winked.


    "I do see." Urt straightened himself up. "Where might I¡­ someone be able to find this clock?"


    "He''s moved in with some floozy down Rock street. Here, I''ll draw you a map." She pulled a piece of parchment from a drawer and started sketching on it with a quill.


    "This husband of yours¡­"


    "Ex-husband," she corrected him, making marks on the paper.


    "Ex-husband," Urt said. "He''s not a fearsome warrior or the like is he? Not that I would be put off or anything, but just out of curiosity."


    "Him? No way. He''s a clerk for the city council. A pretty boy who couldn''t fight his way out of a paper bag."


    "Good, good." Urt smiled, whilst wondering why a ''pretty boy'' would have married Deirdre.


    "Here you go." She passed him the parchment, which now sported a surprisingly well drawn map. Urt saw that his target was probably about half an hours walk away. He rolled the sheet up and nodded.


    "Very well. Now, what does this valuable clock look like?"


    ~ * ~


    "Here, careful, it''s hot." The Warden handed Samantha a tiny cup filled with some kind of light green liquid.


    "Er, thanks." She looked at the cup, which had flowers on. "What is it?"


    "Green Rose petal tea," he said, walking back across the room towards the kitchen area. "It''s good for your complexion."


    "Mmm." Samantha pulled a face and then, out of curiosity, took a cautious sip. It wasn''t bad. Then she noticed her little finger was sticking out, and frowned in annoyance. Putting the drink down on the small table in front of the sofa, she looked around.


    The warden, Bruce, as she knew him, had taken her down a small alley to a securely locked up cottage to the rear of Mudrut. Inside was like a different world. It had been tastefully decorated to resemble a cottage that some old dear spinster might live in, complete with embroidered cushions on the sofa and twee pictures of kittens on the wall. Samantha felt slightly ill looking at them.


    "There, the cakes are cooling; just give them a few moments to settle. Bruce re-entered the room and sat down on the chair opposite. He was wearing an apron with one of those humorous pictures of n?k?d br??sts on the front, intended to make the wearer appear topless. "So, have you spoken to dad recently?"


    "I haven''t spoken to him since I escaped," she said. "As I''m sure you''re well aware."


    "Yes, well, had to ask. I see you''re still stabbing people in the back for a living." He took a sip of his tea and smacked his lips.


    Samantha shrugged and picked her cup back up. "It pays the bills. What I want to know though, is what the hell you''re doing guarding this infestation of an excuse for a village?"


    "Oh, it''s my secret retreat," he replied. "I like to come here sometimes and get away from it all. The headman let me have it free in return for my protective services. To be honest, this is the first time I''ve been called out. It''s hardly a target for raiders, unless they''re particularly desperate and lost ones."


    "Yes, tell me about this necromancer." Samantha edged forward.


    Bruce wagged a finger. "He''s a sneaky one he is. Cool as a cucumber too. Talked his way right past Fluffy and me, didn''t he boy?" He looked over at his pet poodle, which was curled up in a basket, apparently asleep. "He was out of town before I knew what was going on."


    "How powerful is he?"


    "Are you after him sis?" Bruce looked at her.


    "Just curious." She smiled innocently.


    "Yes, right. I know that smile. People usually regret something shortly after you do that. Or die. Or both."


    "Stop changing the subject," Samantha said.


    Bruce sighed. "Well, judging from the remains I found, I''d not let him get a spell off. I''ve never seen such a mess. Powerful? I''d say so, though judging from the conversation I had with the grocer, he seems to be a little¡­ confused." He brought his fingers to his lips in thought. "Maybe na?ve. Asked about Banesville too."


    "The necromancer place?"


    "The very one."


    "Interesting. Well, thank you brother dearest, but it''s time I made tracks." She stood up.


    "So soon?" he said, standing himself. "Well, I''ll tell dad you said hi, even though you didn''t. Hold on a minute, let me pack you some cupcakes."


    Samantha shook her head and fiddled with a dagger, but then decided to wait. Her brother may have been more good than evil, but he did make great food.

 Chapter 111 - 5 Rock Street.

    "There it is," Urt said. "Number five Rock street."


    Reginald whistled. "Nice digs," he said, looking it up and down.


    Indeed they were. The house they''d been directed to was standing in a row of similar houses along a pleasant street, and was certainly more upmarket than Urt had been expecting. Made of light coloured stone, rather than the usual swaying wood, it stood three floors high, and featured large square windows of real glass. A small garden ran along the front of the row of buildings, with an iron fence separating them from public land. Gates allowed entrance to each residence, and it was outside number five''s that the small group now stood.


    "So, what''s the plan then?" Reginald asked.


    "I see no reason to sneak around like common thieves in the night for this enterprise," Urt said.


    "Aren''t we common thieves though?" the werewolf pointed out. "Or is it because it''s not night, and we should sneak around like common thieves in the day?"


    "You may be a commoner," Urt frowned. "I, however, am a¡­"


    "Dark mage of great power," Reginald finished for him. "Yes, I know, you keep telling us."


    "I''m glad we have that understood anyway." Urt sniffed and paused for a moment, wondering if the lad was making fun of him in some way. "So, where was I?"


    "Not stealing this clock like common thieves, in the night anyway."


    "Right. And we aren''t stealing it, we''re¡­ recovering it. For a client."


    "She''s a client now is she?"


    "Shut up and come along," Urt said. "And let me do the talking."


    "What if things get nasty?" Reginald asked, eyeing the door nervously as Urt pushed open the gate.


    "Then your job is to hold any attackers off whilst I get a spell going."


    "I see, I''m the fodder am I?"


    "I prefer to think of you as a noble warrior in my army," Urt replied, magnanimously promoting the lad whilst walking up the path and admiring the flowers that lined it.


    "Funny, I don''t remember enlisting," muttered the wolf, but trotted obediently behind regardless.


    The door of number five was painted white, and had an iron knocker set in the middle. Urt used it to rap loudly three times.


    "Maybe they''re not in," Reginald suggested, after waiting for several minutes. Urt wasn''t about to give up that easily though, and was about to knock again when the door creaked open, to reveal a middle aged woman dressed in the traditional maid''s outfit.


    "Good morning," Urt said, "we are here to speak with the master of the house."


    "I''m afraid he''s not in at the moment," the woman replied, taking a step back from Urt''s dark robed figure. "Only the mistress is in, but she''s taking a nap¡­"


    "We''ll wait," Urt said, rudely inviting himself in. "I don''t deal with underlings."


    "Ah, I''ll just fetch the mistress," the maid said, retreating rapidly in the face of such ill-manners.


    "Nice digs," Reginald repeated, holding the door open so Lucy could step inside with Horace''s head bag.


    "Through here," Urt urged, peering through into what appeared to be a living room.


    "Nice¡­"


    "Stop saying that!" Urt waved a hand, cutting off Reginald. He examined the room they found themselves invading, and decided that the Deidre''s ex had found himself a rich mistress. He wondered what his secret was.


    The carpet in here was pure white, which must be hell to keep clean. The walls were decorated with fine oil paintings, mainly of beasts both natural and magical, and the variety of comfortable looking furniture was arranged with a focus on the large fireplace, currently not lit, set into one wall. Above it, on the mantel, was a large wooden clock, merrily ticking away.


    "Is that¡­?" asked Reginald, as he followed Urt into the room.


    "I do believe it is!" Urt said, striding over to the timepiece. "Yes! It''s an exact match." He reached up to grasp his prize, only to stop suddenly as a woman''s voice interrupted him.


    "And what do you think you''re doing?"


    He spun around, to meet the gaze of a steely eyed, tall woman with long white hair. She was older than him, probably by a few decades at least, but she looked very much in shape, and had the demeanour of someone used to giving commands, and expecting them to be obeyed. She wore a long flowing blue dress with a belt at her thin waist. To one side was a short dagger in a leather scabbard.


    "I asked you a question," she repeated, frowning.


    Urt sniffed and stepped a pace away from the fireplace. He decided to take the straight forward approach. "My colleague and I are repossessing an item that your current beau has taken without permission. Stand aside and let us be at our work, and you shall remain unharmed."


    "Shall I now?" She raised an eyebrow. "Here''s my counter offer. You get out of my house right now, and I''ll let you live, albeit with some residual pain."


    "I''ll have you know that you are threatening a powerful wizard," Urt said, rolling up his sleeves. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Reginald putting a hand over his eyes.


    "A wizard is it?" the woman replied, apparently un-phased.


    "Indeed, so now you know what you are dealing with, I shall give you another chance to let us pass."


    "Let me introduce myself," the woman said. "I am Bethany the Blue, from the council of Groan. Mage of the order of Ice. Now, stand aside, or we shall see what you are made of¡­ wizard."


    Urt took a deep breath. Deidre had apparently forgotten to include some vital information about her ex-husbands floozy.


    In the corner, Reginald made a whimpering noise.


    ~ * ~


    This was no time to back down. Here was Urt''s first real test against another wizard. He stood straight and squared his shoulders.


    "You realise you are challenging me to a waark!" He ducked as a bolt of ice narrowly missed his head. It shattered behind him, cracking the wall.


    "You shall pay for that too!" Bethany said. She raised her hands, which were now glowing blue with magical energy, and pointed them at Urt. Another bolt of power shot forward, and Urt dropped to the floor to avoid the attack.


    "Get her!" he screamed at his loyal companions. Reginald whimpered and dived behind a sofa in way of response, but Lucy moved forward at top speed, obeying her master''s command.


    "Pathetic," sneered Bethany. She made a gesture and Lucy was swatted backwards. Horace''s head bag bounced on the floor, trailing complaints.


    "Reginald!" Urt rolled to one side and held up a hand to deflect another attack. The spell, Oswald''s Compression if Urt had gauged it right, bounced away and hit a picture hanging on the wall near the door, which crumpled in on itself.


    "You dare resist me?" Bethany screamed in fury. Judging by her face she should have been called Bethany Beetroot.


    "Dare and then some!" shouted Urt back at her before squeaking like a girl and throwing himself behind the coffee table as the enraged wizard attacked again. The table exploded into a million small, sharp wooden shards, a goodly percentage of which lodged into Urt. "Ow! You bitch!" he cried.


    "There''s more where that came from," the other mage snarled, hands dripping with magical fire.


    "Really?" Urt regained his feet. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Reginald quietly picking up a vase and then ducking back down again. The werewolf winked at him, and made a gesture with his hand. Urt gave a tiny nod in reply before addressing his unexpectedly powerful enemy once more.


    "Is that all you''ve got?" he asked.


    "Oh, you are so going to pay for that," she replied.


    "You''re all talk, do you know that?"


    "Die!" was all she said in response, throwing some kind of ball of purple haze at him.


    "Dreg!" said Urt, and scuttled to one side. The ball followed him.


    "You can''t escape Xendrih''s Haze," Bethany cackled, as the purple energy changed course, homing in.


    Urt tried a spell of deflection, but the light was unaffected, and rolled relentlessly towards him.


    "Prepare to die!" snarled Bethany, arms in front of her, guiding the spell to its target. "I''m told it''s very painful."


    "Foosh." Urt backed away, trying to think of some defensive magic as the pulse approached his head. He couldn''t think of anything.


    There was a shattering noise and the purple light vanished.


    Urt blinked.


    "Got the bitch," beamed Reginald, standing over the prone figure of Bethany the Blue. Around the body shards of porcelain lay. "A good bash on the head with a pot will do for you nine times out of ten I always say."

 Chapter 112 - Meet the Blames.

    "Ah, yes." Urt straightened up, aware that his previous stance could be interpreted as cowering. "Well, thank you. I was just about to put paid to her permanently, with death magic. However, perhaps killing such a high profile figure would be a bad idea. Good work minion."


    "I''m not your minion," Reginald replied, folding his arms.


    "No, er, of course not," Urt said, performing a quick diplomatic u-turn. "I meant¡­ warrior. Hero even."


    "More like it." Reginald sniffed and then prodded the unconscious mage with his toe. "Probably best not to hang around though, eh? The housekeeper has likely run off to get help, and this one''s not going to be too happy when she wakes up."


    "Good idea." Urt looked around, grabbed the clock they''d come for, and turned back. "Is Lucy all right?"


    "Here master." The small zombie limped back into the room. "I think my leg is broken," she added.


    "I''ll fix it later," Urt said. "Grab Horace and follow."


    "Yes master." Lucy recovered the bag that held Horace''s complaining head.


    "Quiet Horace," Urt ordered. "That''s a command."


    The stream of curses stopped.


    "Better." Urt gave one final look around and stuffed a silver candlestick into his robe. He was beginning to realize that an army of undead would require financial backing. "Let''s go," he said.


    Urt''s small team made what he liked to think of as an efficient withdrawal, mission accomplished. They slid out of the front door and through the gate as quietly and unobtrusively as possible, which wasn''t all that hard. The few passers-by ignored them.


    "I hear whistles," Reginald said, as they scurried away. "The militia are coming."


    Laying a hand on his companion, Urt nodded to a side street. "Let''s keep calm," he said, over the sound of his racing heart. "We''ll go down the back alleys and make it back to the inn in time for lunch."


    "Back alleys, right you are," the werewolf agreed.


    They slipped down the small lane Urt had indicated, and then hurried away from the main street just as a squad of guardsmen jogged past, in the direction they''d just come from.


    "Can you cast some kind of masking spell?" asked Reginald. "The woman''s likely to use magic to track us once she''s woken up."


    "I''m not sure I know such magic," Urt pondered.


    "Try."


    As they continued into the maze of small streets, Urt did just that. He did know various transformation spells, often used to restore the appearance of the long dead that were just a little too far gone. Perhaps a variation¡­ He stopped suddenly, as a tingle of power swept over them.


    "Did you feel that?" he asked.


    "Feel what?" Reginald said.


    "I think you may be right about her," Urt replied. "She''s casting some kind of detection spell."


    "Well do something!" the werewolf urged. "You''re the master wizard, so you keep telling me."


    "Fine fine," Urt made a gesture and stepped to one side of the narrow lane, under the shelter of a small alcove. "Give me a few moments to think."


    "Hurry," fretted Reginald, looking left and right.


    Urt ignored him, going over the spell in his mind and working out how he could change it. After a minute he nodded. "I think I have it," he said.


    "You think?"


    "Come close, stand together, I''ll have to cast it on us all at once."


    Reginald and Lucy, still carrying Horace in the bag, shuffled closer as he began his incantation.


    Casting magic was always tricky, though Mangle had insisted he had a talent for it. Even so, the pressure of the situation made Urt sweat. Why was he always casting spells in such dire circumstances? He had to plan this better in future.


    He swept his hand around, taking in himself and his companions in the target area, and spoke the final few syllables of his casting.


    There was a brief shimmering in the air, and their shapes stretched, morphing into new identities.


    They looked at each other.


    "Well, not really what I expected," said the form that used to be Reginald.


    "You there! Hold!" Another voice echoed down the street, and they turned to face a small squad of heavily armed troops marching towards them, swords at the ready.


    Without being able to see his own self, Urt had to ?ssume that he now appeared in a similar fashion to Reginald and Lucy.


    "Why do I have to be the woman?" hissed the werewolf, which confirmed Urt''s gender. He didn''t have time to reply before the guards slammed to a stop in front of them. The commander, a red face, portly fellow with a sword at his waist, looked at them uncertainly.


    Urt wasn''t surprised by his reaction. Reginald was now in the shape of an overpoweringly large woman in an elaborate red ball gown. ''She'' had a wig that, had it been real, would have probably been heavy enough to compress her spine. Its mostly white curls towered up over the group, almost doubling the female aristocrat''s height.


    In turn Lucy was now a pale child, female again, and garbed in robes that were a miniature copy of what was presumably meant to be her mother. The only difference was that she was carrying a large doll, which was probably Horace. The spell hadn''t obviously known quite what to do with the head, and the doll was burned, with one eye missing. A toy out of nightmares.


    "May I help you officer?" Urt asked, aware that the militia leader was still standing there.


    "Ah, sire," he replied, in the tone of someone who''s not sure if the person he''s addressing has enough power to order parts cut off or not. "We''re¡­ ah, looking for some fugitives sir. Ah¡­ they performed and unspeakable act upon Councillor Blue."


    "How awful," said Urt, waving a hand in what he hoped was a suitable style. "Bethany is such a dear. Please pass on my regards."


    "Ah, yes sire. What, ah, name shall I use?"


    "Whatever you''re called of course," Urt replied, deliberately misunderstanding to give him a few moments more to think.


    "No, ah, sire. I mean¡­ ah, what is your name? If I may."


    "I am Lor¡­ Duke, yes Duke Blame," Urt answered, figuring out he may as well pretend to be someone of rank.


    "Oh! Of course sire. Ah¡­" The captain obviously wanted to ask, but hesitated. Urt decided to help him out.


    "I decided to take a short constitutional after visiting a friend," he supplied. "I sent my carriage on ahead. Now, please don''t let me detain you sergeant."


    "It''s Captain sire," the man almost scowled before remembering who he thought he was addressing and saluted instead. "Have a good night Duke. Come on men!"


    Urt watched as the squad jogged by, sagging in relief as they disappeared from view.


    "Why am I the woman?" repeated Reginald.


    "Hush wife," Urt said in a voice a little too loud, and then, in a whisper added: "They might still be close. Come on."


    "Bah," said Lady Blame, but followed as Urt set off down a random alleyway.


    "Where are we going now?" Reginald asked, after several minutes of aimless wandering down various backstreets, where they attracted numerous stares.


    "We need to get the clock to the librarian," Urt replied.


    "You''re lost aren''t you?" the werewolf asked, after more wandering.


    "I''m merely misplaced." Urt scowled and then stopped. "I can''t think with you looking like that. Here, come over here, let''s dispel the illusion."


    "Are you sure that''s safe?" Reginald asked, stepping over to the dark alleyway that Urt had indicated.


    "Considering the looks we''ve been getting I''d say there''s more chance of being mugged than found by that blue mage at the moment. I can do without having you fight off a gang of cut-throats."


    "Me? Why am I fighting them off?" Mrs. Blame looked left and right, trying to spot any such threat.


    "Because you''re the fighter," Urt growled. "Now, hold still whilst I dispel the illusion."


    Mrs. Blame crossed her arms and tapped her foot as Urt closed his eyes and went through the motions needed to banish his spell. "There!" he said finally, opening his eyes.


    "Er, I don''t think you did it right." Mrs. Blame was staring at him, still very much present.


    Urt frowned. "That shouldn''t have happened, or not happened even. Let me try again."


    "Hurry up then," the disguised werewolf replied. "I think I see some of your ruffians hanging about." He indicated several skulking figures a little way off.


    "They''re not my ruffians," Urt said, but repeated the dispelling magic quickly nonetheless.


    "It didn''t work again," Reginald pointed out, needlessly, a minute later. "And I think we''re about to get mugged."


    Looking down the street, Urt saw four burly men approaching. They wore rough clothes and unfriendly expressions. Overall it was unlikely they were approaching to discuss the latest fashions and pass the time of day.


    "Plan boss?" Mrs. Blame asked him.


    "Now I''m the boss am I?" Urt looked about. "Very well. My plan is¡­ run!" So saying he followed his own advice. Footsteps from behind him indicated his Reginald was hot on his heels, and he worried, briefly, that Lucy wouldn''t be able to keep up.


    "Easy come, easy go," he gasped. Unlike his life. He kept on running.

 Chapter 113 - Party.

    The door swung open, allowing a blast of icy air to escape. The figure waiting outside shuddered slightly at the chill before stepping forward, into the dark interior and stopped at the bottom of the flight of stairs that was beyond.


    He swore mildly before inhaling deeply and starting to climb, complaining under his breath as he slowly ascended. Halfway up he stopped and swore more loudly. After several seconds mopping his sweating forehead with a black silk cloth, he stood up straight and uttered several Words of power.


    A small cyclone responded to the spell, whirling around the black boots the Warlock wore. Spirits from the netherworld cried out in agony as the summoning demanded they surrender their very essence to perform the task demanded.


    Slowly, very slowly at first, the dark wizard began to rise, gliding smoothly up the black marble staircase, cape billowing behind him, until he was deposited gently on the top stair. The spirits screamed and cursed him until dispelled, whereupon the Warlock took the final step and looked around with interest.


    He was in a large, dark stone hall, devoid of furnishings except for a looming throne sitting on a dais in the centre of the rear wall. A shadowy figure sat upon the seat, unmoving.


    As evil as the warlock was, he took a moment to steady himself before proceeding. The floor seemed to be made of ice, and his feet were cold by the time he reached the figure. After several seconds of calculated defiance, he bowed slightly.


    "I am here."


    "Took you bloody long enough. Did you just summon the dead to carry you up the stairs?"


    "I am a dark wizard, how I choose to use my powers is up to me." The warlock sniffed haughtily.


    "Bit of a fat one aren''t you?"


    If it had been anyone else speaking the warlock would have smote them mightily. As it was he bit his tongue and merely shrugged. "Why did you summon me?"


    The figure on the throne leaned slightly to one side and picked up a mug. The warlock could just about make out the words on the side. They read: ''You don''t have to be dead to work here, but it helps.''


    There was a moment of quaffing, and the mug was returned to its rest. Only then did the figure speak once more.


    "I''ve been watching you. Apart from your obvious difficulty with stairs, you''re good. Very good. You even remind me of myself, back in the day. Young, ambitious, evil as hell. I like that. Of course, I wasn''t such a fat bastard, but everyone has their weaknesses. I''m partial to a nice cup of tea myself, so it goes."


    "Is this leading anywhere?" The warlock shifted feet, which were complaining about the load, and the cold.


    The old man on the seat laughed. "Ah, the impatience of the young. Very well. I have a task for you."


    "Obviously."


    "Don''t be cheeky." There was another small delay as the dark figure took one more sip of his drink. When it was back down he made a gesture with one hand. An image flickered into life, hovering in the air between them. The warlock examined the figure portrayed with interest as the man spoke again. "This person is has just set off on a long and significant journey. I want him brought to me. Alive."


    "Very well. Tell me more."


    "You would best avoid a confrontation. Use subtlety to bring me my victim. You shall have a little help if you need it, for I have an agent in the group."


    "There will be no need. I can handle things myself." The warlock stood a little straighter and attempted to suck in some gut.


    "Whatever, just do as I say. They will be some distance away from of an insignificant village named Mudrut."


    "I shall carry out your bidding."


    "You shall need to proceed with care. I have reason to believe that other¡­ parties may be showing an interest."


    "I can handle them."


    "We shall see. Go now." A pale hand waved dismissal.


    Bowing again, the warlock backed away and then turned and returned the way he''d come. Around him the spirits of the tormented dead wailed and pleaded for freedom from their eternal damnation. He ignored them, ???k?n? his lips at the prospect of presenting his sponsor with what he d?s?r?d. Power would be his reward. Power he would use to take revenge on his enemies. Power he would use to crush those that had mocked him as a child. Power that would ensure those pretty maidens who had spurned him would fall at his feet.


    Laughter floated back up the stairs as the warlock set out for a small village named Mudrut.


    ~ * ~


    "I think we lost them," panted Reginald. "Probably didn''t expect such a turn of speed from such overweight aristocrats."


    "Did you see Lucy?" gasped Urt. He wasn''t unfit, but he wasn''t used to running either.


    "Lost her after the first turning," Reginald, still in the form of Mrs. Blame, replied. "You can sure run away fast for a necromancer."


    "I prefer to think of it as a temporary retreat, to regroup."


    "Fair enough," the wolf replied. "Except when regrouping you usually don''t lose half of your party."


    "Between them they are no more than a quarter of the group, at best," Urt countered. "Maybe a third."


    "Even so."


    "Doesn''t look like the best part of town," Mrs. Blame observed. "Probably not the best place for a couple of high flyers like us. We need to hide out or something until your spell wears off."


    "I''m open to suggestions," Urt said.


    "Well, we stick out like a couple of baby kebabs at a werewolf party here," Reginald said. "What we need to do is blend in."


    "Baby kebabs at¡­" Urt looked at his companion sideways.


    "It''s a traditional thing," the wolf said, waving an illusionary hand. "Hey, how about over there?"


    Urt looked over at where he was pointing. Several streets away, rising above the squat buildings they were surrounded with, was a far grander building. Stone turrets rose above the thatch and slate that adorned the lesser constructions huddled around it. "Looks promising," he said.


    "Perhaps they do decent grub," said Mrs. Blame.


    "If they do," Urt replied, "I''m sure they don''t actually call it grub."


    "I bet they even garnish their rat," the wolf continued, diverted from the real world by visions of cooked vermin.


    Sighing, Urt shook his head. "I see no better option at the moment. Come on, let''s go. Try not to attract any attention."


    "Unlikely," muttered Mrs. Blame, but in a distracted fashion.


    They set off and, with only the minimal of effort managed to arrive outside the larger structure.


    "Looks like we''re arrived at an opportune moment," Urt said.


    The large hall that dominated the area across the road was a scene of hustle and bustle. Carriages came and went, with richly adorned peoples of all sizes and shapes alighting, punctuated with shrieks of recognition and air kisses.


    "Where there''s a party, there''s food," Reginald commented. The drool was almost visible through the illusion.


    "It''s certainly a good setting," Urt replied. "Come on, after that carriage."


    Scuttling in the most undignified way, the pair followed a carriage drawn by four large, dark horses through the gates of the grounds and up the gravel driveway.


    "Nice digs," Mrs. Blame said, head swivelling left and right at the grounds with trees bespectacled with glowing lights of various colours.


    "Don''t start that again," Urt said. "Wait." He held a hand out as a large man in a long black cloak disembarked from the transport in front of them, then, with impeccable timing, swept forward after the owner of the carriage.


    "Name and title?" he sniffed.


    "The Duke and Duchess of Blame," replied Urt.


    The footman looked down at a parchment he was holding and frowned. "I''m sorry your Lordship, you''re not on the list."


    Urt hadn''t come this far to be put off by some random flunky.


    "Of course not you fool, we''re with that gentleman." He pointed at the black cloaked visitor who had preceded them, just as the dark figure disappeared through the door ahead.


    "You are with Count Ronald?" The doorman''s eyebrow twitched in surprise.


    "I just said so didn''t I?"


    "But the count doesn''t have any friends," complained the doorman, who obviously had a good grasp on the social gossip. "And I''ve never heard of Duke Blame."


    "Who said we''re friends of his?" Urt snarled back. "We''re invited guests of his, on a diplomatic mission from the Duchy of Blame, many leagues south of here. I hope you''re not going to start a diplomatic incident. I am also a good friend of Lady Blue, who''s on the council of Groan." Urt glared at the man and hoped his name dropping would help rather than hinder.


    "Please Duke, and madam, accept my apologies. Enjoy the party." He gestured at the doorway ahead of them.


    Urt nodded and, followed by his wife, marched through the open entranceway.

 Chapter 114 - Blow the Rat.

    Pausing as he entered the Great Hall of Light, Redthorne adjusted his robe slightly and leaned on his staff for a moment, to regain his breath. He wasn''t getting any younger, and the stairs to the main chamber were long and high.


    "Wizard Redthorne!" boomed a voice from across the large room. "Enter and be heard."


    Standing upright again, the wizard strode forward towards the raised dais, upon which the four senior wizards of his order were waiting, sitting behind an imposing wooden counter.


    Archemage Isaac the Pale smiled through his beard as Redthorne approached. The two had been friends for over a hundred years, and were firm allies in the order.


    To either side of Isaac sat the three other great mages, all of which were well known to Redthorne, who had been a senior wizard for more than five decades.


    Reaching the slight hollow that had been worn into the stone by thousands of feet, he came to a stop. The spot was traditionally reserved for petitioners, which he was. He bowed.


    "High Councillors," he said. "I have come to beg leave from this place on a quest of the highest import."


    Isaac, who knew all about why he was there, nodded.


    "We are aware of your request Redthorne. However, are you certain you wish to undertake this task? Your journey will take you into lands chaotic and evil, and the going will be hard."


    "I am more than aware of this Archmage," Redthorne acknowledged. "However, it was my fault that this happened. I was the one ?ssigned to recover him. I was the one who lost him."


    "You''re being too hard on yourself," Isaac replied. "You escaped the labyrinth and evaded the dark elves, not to mention that monstrous undead creature. No mean feat."


    Redthorne looked down at the ground for a moment, reliving his, frankly terrifying, adventures some twenty years before. Eventually he looked back up. "Even so," he said. "It was my mission, and it''s not over. In any case, this is still our best chance of defeating the Four. Nothing has changed since then."


    Isaac glanced left and right at his fellow council members. They nodded at him, and the High Mage returned his gaze to Redthorne.


    "Very well," he said. "However, we cannot spare many to accompany you. The blasted lich and its army has left us too weak."


    Bowing slightly, Redthorne acknowledged the fact. "I survived before, I shall do so again. Some supplies and one warrior guard should be enough. I can recruit others as required as we travel."


    "So it shall be," Isaac said, waving a hand in dismissal. "And our best wishes go with you."


    Inside was a scene so fantastic that Urt stopped dead in admiration. The main hall was a huge space, decorated with magical lights that swooped above the guests like errant willow-the-wisps. On the walls were tapestries depicting fantastic battles between the armies of men, the underworld and any number of creature both mythical and real.


    At the far end of the hall a huge tapestry illustrated a fight between one gigantic red dragon and a contingent of armoured warriors. The dragon was washing orange fire over the fighters, who threw spears of silver and gold at the monster in return, as others exploded in images so vivid that they that practically erupted into the room.


    "Wow," said Reginald.


    "I know," Urt replied.


    "They have kebabs." Mrs. Blame deftly plucked several charred lines of meat from a passing waiter.


    Urt took some time out from admiring their surroundings to lament the ignorance of his chief warrior.


    "Who''re they?" The werewolf waved a piece of meat to one side.


    Following the grease splatters, Urt looked to his right.


    Here were obviously the masters of the place. A long table, laden with the finest foods sitting in silver plates and bowls, sat upon a raised area overlooking the party. It wasn''t the food that attracted Urt''s attention though, but the people eating it.


    And then there was her.


    She was slim, with her shocking white hair flowing over her plain white dress. Intense blue eyes looked out over the throng, scanning the residents who were dancing and drinking within. He inhaled deeply, shaken as he''d never been before.


    And then her eyes met his, and the world stopped.


    She had a piece of meat raised, about to take a bite, when she looked at him. It remained where it was, frozen, as the sparks passed between them. A mouth full of perfect white teeth dropped open as she took in his features, and Urt knew that she was looking at him, not his illusion.


    Slowly she adjusted the chicken leg''s course, from her mouth to point directly at Urt. The large warrior to her right looked at her as she stood, allowing Urt to take in her slim figure.


    He smiled.


    "You!" she screamed. "Guards! Guards! Take him! Seize him! On pain of torture and death, bring that person to me!"


    "Have you tried the rat?" Reginald asked. "It''s to die for."


    "Blow the rat!" Urt said, looking left and right as large forms began to weave their way through the crowd. "We have to get out of here!"


    "But¡­" Reginald paused for a second, mouth full of food, as the situation began to penetrate his dinner. "Oh."


    Their illusionary forms chose that moment to wobble and vanish, revealing them for who they really were. "Now it goes!" the werewolf said.


    "Right," Urt said, grimly, as he backed against a buffet table and rolled his sleeves up. "Time to sell your life dearly."


    "I don''t think I''m that expensive," squeaked Reginald, clutching a kebab close to his ?h?st as several forms with serious expressions and even sharper swords closed in.


    Urt said a Word and threw an arm out. One of the men exploded. Gobbets of red meat splattered the walls, nicely complementing a nearby tapestry. The guests screamed and began an orderly stampede towards the nearest exits.


    "Wow, that was impressive," Reginald growled from a shape that was unpleasant to look upon.


    Looking at his hand in surprise, Urt nodded in agreement. "I know right? I was only going for Urly''s minor Repulsor. It should have thrown him across the floor."


    Reginald snarled in response, and leaped upon a nearby guard, who went down in a scream, which was cut off by a gurgle of throat being torn out.


    Urt swept another hand around, detonating two more of the soldiers and a large cake that was in the line of fire. Flesh, bone fragments and marzipan splattered the surrounding area and caused more cries.


    "Fools!" screamed a voice. "Rush him! He can''t cast spells if you''re sitting on him!"


    Urt spun around, trying to get a fix on the girl he''d seen a few moments before, only to meet a large fist closing in at some speed on his nose.


    There was a blinding pain, and then it all went away.


    ~ * ~


    "I can''t believe you left Urt!" said Horace, glaring. "That''s like¡­ zombie treachery that is! You never desert the master."


    "He''ll find us when he comes back," Lucy replied calmly.


    "What will he do without me?" Horace continued, not reassured. "He''s an innocent out here! Un-wise in the ways of the living!"


    "He''ll be fine." Lucy put Horace on the table.


    "Well, if he is, he''s going to be mad as hell at you! Oh yes, I''m wagging a finger at you now I am. You''re in deep poop.


    "He''ll be fine," Lucy repeated.


    "Well, maybe you''re right," Horace said, taking a moment to calm down. "He''s a master necromancer after all. What''s the worst that could happen?"


    "This is the worst thing that could happen!" m??n?d Reginald.


    Urt didn''t reply, mainly on account of his mouth being full of a vile tasting gag. He had to make do with rolling his eyes, which reminded him of Horace for some reason.


    "Oh yes it is," the werewolf continued, interpreting his gesture correctly. "At least if I was dead I''d be with Growl, running in the Great Meadow with the heavenly pack. Instead I''m chained up here, in some disgusting dungeon¡­" He paused for a second. "Well, it''s not that disgusting I suppose. I mean, I''ve slept in worst places. At least here''s dry and warm. They''ve even put straw on the floor, and it''s nice to have a bit of torchlight if I do say so myself."


    Wishing his captors had sealed his ears as well as they''d wrapped up his hands and gagged his mouth, Urt closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall to which they were chained, in classic dungeon style. Reginald''s shackles were made of silver.


    He''d woken up with a sore nose in the cell which he was sharing his complaining companion. Obviously his show of exploding three guards and a dessert had impressed their captors enough to ensure that any spell casting wasn''t going to happen. Without the ability to speak or make gestures, his magical ability was severely limited.


    .

 Chapter 115 - Mmmmfff.

    There was a noise of bolts being drawn back, and the sturdy wooden door that was the only egress opened, allowing the young woman from the hall to enter. A gigantic warrior in dark armour followed her, ducking under the doorway before taking his place in front of it, hand on the sword that hung at his side.


    Urt''s eyes followed the woman as she first wandered over to Reginald and looked him up and down. The wolf, for a change, was silent.


    The examination of his companion complete, she turned her blue eyes towards Urt. Once again he felt a thrill of energy run through him as she approached. Who was this girl?


    She seemed to feel it too, for she stopped and ???ked her head to one side. Urt noticed that her white gown was thin, translucent, and not only was she n?k?d beneath it, but was standing in front of the torch.


    "Who are you?" she asked, unaware of the effect she was having on him. "Which of my enemies sent you? Why do want to kill me?"


    Urt, who''d never seen the girl before, made mumbling noises through his gag.


    Wagging a finger in response, she shook her head. "Oh no. I''m no fool. I saw what you did to those men. You''re not going to find me so easy to dispose of. You were arrogant, coming into my hall like that. That shall be your downfall."


    "Mmmmfff mmmff!" Urt said, trying to spit his gag loose. She took a step back in response.


    "I''ll come back to you later, when my chief mage returns. In the meantime, we''re going to have a comfy chat with your servant." She nodded at Reginald.


    "Hey! I know nothing! He''s just a crazy necromancer I met on the road," the werewolf said loyally.


    "Oh, you''ll tell us what you know," the woman said, turning away from Urt. "It may take a little bit of¡­ extracting. It''s a good job my chief inquisitor has a set of silver tools isn''t it?"


    "I don''t know anything!" screamed Reginald, who had gone pale.


    "That''s what they all say, at first." She snapped her fingers, and two burly underlings in stained robes entered and bowed. "Take him away. Make him talk. Use whatever means you see fit."


    "Yes m''lady," one of the jailers said, detaching Reginald''s manacles from the wall. Together with his colleague they dragged the screaming werewolf out of the cell.


    The girl in white turned back to Urt and ran one finger down his body, sending Goosebumps along his spine. "We''ll be back for you later."


    So saying she turned and marched out of the small room. Her gigantic bodyguard gave him a final glare, and then slammed the door shut.


    ~ * ~


    Reginald m??n?d in fear as the horrible - whilst at the same time incredibly attractive - girl finished speaking to her large bodyguard. The man nodded, and then turned and left the room.


    The room. No, that was the wrong word. It was a chamber. A full on torturer chamber. Instruments of pain adorned the place, with strong emphasis placed on spikes, sharp edges and large crushing objects. Many had worrying stains on them.


    Reginald had sometimes wondered, in passing, when times had been slightly less hard than usual and he''d had somewhere dry and warm to hide from the world, what a torture chamber looked like. Now he had his answer, and he rather wished he hadn''t.


    "Listen, I really don''t know anything," he said, whilst the hooded man made a show of cleaning a blood splattered implement next to the table he was currently tied down to.


    "Everybody knows something," the girl replied. "They just have to be reminded. Sometimes very painfully."


    Reginald tried changing tactics. "How about we sit down over a glass of wine and have a nice chat? I can be quite charming, given half the chance. And you''re a nice girl I''m sure. What do you say? Call your thug off and let''s be civil about this."


    "I''m no thug," the torturer interjected. "I''m an experienced professional. Been doing this for twenty five years, trained at the Torturer''s Academy in Real I did." He indicated the far wall, where a framed certificate was hung between the iron maiden and some kind of upside-down cross thing. "Apprenticed under the Mad King himself for a bit," he added. "Before he disappeared of course."


    "I see. It''s nice to know I''m not being cut open by some amateur," Reginald said. "Makes all the difference."


    The girl leaned forward, looking down at him with eyes full of crazy.


    "Oh yes it certainly does," she said. "An amateur doesn''t know what they''re doing. They could cut something important by accident and kill you."


    "Well, it''s nice to be in safe hands."


    "Indeed. Morris here can make the pain last for weeks."


    "I don''t know anything!" screamed Reginald.


    ~ * ~


    Urt stopped trying to bite his way through his gag, which had been very professionally tied, and slumped back against the cold wall he was shackled too.


    Why couldn''t things just be straightforward? All he wanted was an army of undead warriors and some countries to rule with an iron fist of evil. Was that too much to ask? It wasn''t like he didn''t have the power, according to old Mangle. In that appraisal at least, Urt had more confidence after his recent show of guard and cake explosive ability, though he wondered why it had chosen that time to manifest itself.


    Enough! He mentally shouted at himself. This was not the end! Sure, he may have lost his Werewolf General, but that was what minions were basically for: distractions to allow the leader to escape.


    So escape then, he failed to mutter.


    A movement caught the corner of his eye, and he twisted his head around to see a rather haggard translucent figure floating across the cell.


    "Mmmmff!" Urt shouted, thrashing about. The ghost stopped and looked at him with hollow eyes.


    "Mmffff!"


    "Are you talking to me?" asked the spirit.


    "Mmfff!" Urt replied, then nodded to clarify the statement.


    "Oh, you''re a necromancer." The ghost drifted closer. "Haven''t seen one of you lot in here before. Annoyed one of the big nobs have you?"


    Urt nodded again, and then rolled his eyes up to the chains restraining him.


    "Something wrong is there?"


    Urt rolled his eyes again.


    "I can''t get you free of those chains, you need a more powerful spirit for that."


    "Mmfff!" said Urt.


    "What''s that?"


    "Mff mfff mffmfmfff mffmff!"


    "I''m sorry, I can''t understand a thing with that gag in your mouth."


    "MMMMMFFFFFF!!"


    The ghost paused, rubbing an insubstantial chin. "Perhaps I could get Patrick. He''d be strong enough to remove the gag at least, hear what you''re trying to say."


    Urt nodded vigorously.


    "He''s a bit touchy though, is Pat. Wouldn''t want to get on the wrong side of him, if you know what I mean."


    Apparently this ghost had to consider actions carefully. He must be an old spirit indeed, thought Urt. The longer they drifted the earth the more removed from reality they became. It made them somewhat absent minded, amongst other things.


    "Well, I suppose you are a necromancer. You''d probably be able to control him, if it came to that."


    Urt waited.


    "Hold on then. Let''s see if he''s around. Don''t go anywhere."


    With that, the ghost faded from view, leaving Urt alone with his own thoughts and some muffled screaming from the other side of the door. Either he was just getting some practice in, or the torture of Reginald had started. It was a shame really; he was just starting to warm to the lad. Plus he hadn''t been paid his rabbit.


    Some of the filthy straw on the cell floor stirred. Urt looked on with interest, not having many other options.


    A wind sprung up, blowing the filth around some more, and the unoccupied chains rattled against the walls as an insubstantial puff of smoke appeared to Urt''s necromantic vision.


    The being expanded, until it resembled the figure of a large, angry man whose long hair seemed to have a life of its own, continually writhing about on the head.


    Patrick, for that was no doubt who the spirit was, was definitely more ''here'' than his previous visitor had been. He was so here that Urt could practically reach out and touch him, if the shackles would have allowed.


    "You! You''re a necromancer?" roared Patrick. He seemed to be in a bad mood.


    Urt nodded.


    "You want my help?"


    Another nod.


    "Will you pay my price?"


    Hesitating only slightly, there wasn''t really any alternative he could see, Urt nodded again.


    "Very well. Hold still." Patrick the Poltergeist roared forward.

 Chapter 116 - Escape.

    The knife, not a silver one, though very sharp noted Reginald through a haze of pain, slid over the skin of his stomach, slicing a very shallow cut down from his navel to just above the groin.


    The torturer grinned and lifted the dripping blade up, watching as the cut slowly began to knit together again.


    "I do love you were-beasts," he said. "You heal so fast, and yet there''s still the pain. Not really a very convenient arrangement is it? You''d think that¡­" he was cut off as the door from the cells exploded, sending wooden shrapnel flying through the room. One slightly larger piece caught the torturer in the hooded temple, knocking him over in over in a splash of crimson.


    The girl, who had been sitting on a chair reading some kind of magazine, screamed as Urt strode through the doorway, cloak billowing in dramatic fashion.


    "Did you miss me?" he asked, with an evil grin. Reginald would have applauded, had he not been tied down.


    The girl dived for the exit. Urt flung a hand out, and a bolt of power streaked towards her, only to veer off at the last second. It hit the wall where the resulting impact blew out a large chunk of masonry.


    "Curses!" Urt shouted as their captor slammed the door shut from the other side.


    "Nice entrance," Reginald beamed.


    "Thank you." Urt made his way over to his companion and examined the chains restraining him. Rather than opening them magically, as Reginald expected, he knelt by the prone torturer and retrieved the keys, which he then proceeded to use to unlock the wolf.


    "Thank you," Reginald said in turn, sitting up and rubbing his wrists. "How did you get out?"


    "I am a powerful¡­"


    "¡­dark wizard, yes," the werewolf finished for him. "Now what? They''ll probably be sending half an army down here to have Strong Words."


    The two of them looked around. The torture room was underground. There were no windows. The only obvious exit was the one the girl had escaped through.


    They looked at each other.


    "Really?" asked Reginald.


    "Well what other way out is there? I seriously doubt there''s going to be a secret exit in a prison," Urt said. "Come on, we don''t have much time."


    "I''m fine by the way." Reginald rubbed his wrist as he followed Urt, who prized open the door and peered out.


    "Yes yes, we can do the small talk thing later." The necromancer pulled his head back into the room. "Come on, it''s all clear."


    "For now," Reginald muttered, as he followed his companion out of the dungeon. "That girl is no doubt on her way back with people who have wards against being blow up."


    "She''s quite something isn''t she?" Urt replied, trotting up the shallow stone steps that were the only way forward.


    "You like her!" Reginald pointed an accusing finger at Urt''s back. "She was having me tortured to death."


    "Come on, don''t be like that. I''m sure she had a good reason." The dark mage paused at the top of the stairs and looked left and right, down the T-junction they had arrived at. "Left or right do you think?"


    "Right heads up," Reginald pointed out.


    "Better go left then."


    "But surely up is out?" the werewolf complained, as Urt turned off in the direction he''d indicated.


    "That''s where the guards will be coming from then yes?"


    "Oh. Good point." Reginald jogged along behind the wizard. The passage was made of large stone blocks, lit at irregular intervals by dim lamps attached to the walls in some fashion he couldn''t see. The floor was sloping down now, and veered off to the left.


    Behind him Reginald could hear distant shouts, and the stamp of booted feet approaching at speed.


    "Hurry," he panted. "I can hear your girlfriend''s men coming to have a chat."


    "She''s not my girlfriend," Urt snapped. The tunnel branched again, into two equally dark passages. The mage took the left one again, apparently at random. "Do you think she liked me?" he added, a moment later, as they made their way along a dusty passage.


    "Of course she did," Reginald said, squinting to see the way forward in the dark. "First dates often consist of a trip to a dungeon, followed by a bit of light cutting. You''re half way to being married as far as I''m concerned."


    "There''s no need to be sarcastic. Oh."


    The two of them stopped short. The tunnel had come to an abrupt end.


    "Now what?" Reginald asked. He strained to hear behind him. The shouts were distant, but they weren''t going away.


    In way of a reply, Urt mumbled something. A small light appeared in his palm, and he held it up, examining the wall.


    "This is new," he said. "It''s been walled off."


    "So?"


    "There''s probably something behind it."


    "Probably?" Reginald asked nervously. The noises of the guards were getting closer.


    "Well, we could just hang about here and see if we can fight our way out." Urt folded his arms. The light floated up and hovered above his head, like an errant willow-wisp.


    "Let''s see what''s behind it shall we?" Reginald rolled up his tattered sleeves. His visit to the torture chamber had had rendered his already battered clothing into little more than rags.


    "I like your thinking. Stand back, let me deal with this."


    Reginald retreated as Urt took several paces backwards and then made a complex gesture whilst uttering several Words of power. With one final incantation, he pointed at the wall.


    An orange spark shot out of his finger tip and bounced off the stone onto the floor, where it lay fizzling for several seconds before going out.


    "Ah."


    "Ah?" Reginald asked, eyes wide. "What was that? The Spark of Doom?"


    "I think I''m out of magic." Urt''s light died, leaving them in the dark.


    "Fantastic," said Reginald. He leaned against the wall behind him, and promptly fell backwards, through a cunningly built, though apparently easily found, secret door.


    ~ * ~


    "Cool! A secret passage!" Reginald looked about at their new, though still dark, environment. "I''ve always wanted to see one. I''m really ticking things off my bucket list today."


    "One of the benefits of travelling with me," Urt said, stepping after the wolf and closing the hidden door behind him. "Do you have a light by any chance?"


    "There''s something over there, on the wall. Hold on."


    Urt waited patiently as his colleague scrabbled about. There was a grunt, then a sound of stone striking stone. A spark, and then a flame. Urt''s eyes acclimatized to the light, to focus on Reginald grinning like¡­ like a wolf, holding up a torch.


    "We''ve good night vision, us werefolk," he said.


    "I''m happy for you," Urt said. "Come on, let''s keep moving."


    Holding the torch high, Reginald moved off down the newly discovered tunnel.


    "Looks old," he whispered back over his shoulder.


    "Indeed, no one''s been here in a while." Urt ducked under some cobwebs.


    "There''s a door ahead." Reginald stopped and waved his torched forward. Urt peered at the new barrier.


    The door was made of stout wood, with dark metal bands running along its length.


    "Do you suppose it''s open?" Reginald asked in a low voice.


    "Doesn''t look like the kind of door that''s left unlocked to me," Urt whispered back. "Try it, but watch out for traps."


    "Why don''t you try it?"


    "I need to be here to rescue you, in case something happens. Anyway, you''re more immune to weapons and things than me."


    "Bah," said the werewolf, but stepped forward all the same and pushed down on the handle.


    Against all expectation, the door swung, creakily, open.


    "It''s open," Reginald said.


    "I can see that." Urt pushed him. "Go on then. See what''s inside. There could be treasure or something."


    "The something being a horrible death," said Reginald. After peering in, he took a cautious step inside the room and looked around.


    "So?" asked Urt, after a minute.


    "It''s a treasure room," his companion said.


    "Really?" Urt moved up to stand by his side.


    The room beyond was small enough that the torch illuminated all four stone walls, but large enough to swing a cat, if it was a young, small cat. In the far corner was a small stone dais. Resting on that was a compact wooden ?h?st.


    "Looks like the treasure trove of a not very rich person," Urt said, and then grabbed Reginald''s arm as the other started to move towards the dais. "What are you doing?"


    "Going to check out the treasure of course!"


    "Were you hatched yesterday or something? Everyone knows that treasure rooms are trapped! You have to take it slowly."


    "Werebeasts aren''t hatched!" Reginald stopped and looked down at the floor though.


    "What about a werechicken then?"


    "I''m not a chicken!"


    "Good, then prove it by going first."


    "You just said there were traps!"


    "I just wanted you to go slowly. There could be more than one, and we don''t want you setting them all off at once do we?"


    "I should have just caught that rabbit," Reginald said.

 Chapter 117 - Waiting for the Needle.

    "I should have just caught that rabbit," Reginald said.


    "Which you still owe me by the way."


    "Fine, fine. But if I die I''m going to haunt you."


    "Don''t worry about it, once I get my manna back I''ll probably be able to resurrect you."


    "Probably?"


    Urt made a face. "I''ve never tried bringing anyone back to actual life before. It''s not really something that''s encouraged in the necromantic trade. Kind of undermines the whole point of the thing, if you see what I mean. Plus, it''s really really hard to do."


    "Wonderful." Sighing, Reginald shook his head. "Well, may as well get on with my impending doom then."


    "That''s the spirit."


    Passing the torch to Urt, the werewolf started off towards the ?h?st in the corner, moving slowly, prodding the ground with his foot before standing on it.


    Halfway across he stopped and looked back. "Do you know," he said. "I think I might actually¡­"


    As if waiting for the line, the ground chose that moment to disappear, allowing Reginald to drop into the pit below.


    There was a shriek, followed in short order by the thud of body hitting stone, and then a rather sad little whimper.


    Moving carefully, Urt walked to the edge of the trap and peered over, to see his colleague flat on his back at the bottom of the dusty hole. Randomly placed pikes protruded up from the floor. Reginald had been lucky insomuch that he''d landed on only one of them, which was now embedded in his th??h, the protruding tip dripped blood.


    "That was a close one," he said. "Are you alright?"


    "Does it look like I''m alright? It hurts!"


    "Come on, it''s not that bad. I''ve done worse picking strawberries, won''t even be a scar I bet."


    "I''ve been pierced! And not in the good way," complained Reginald. "Look! Look at my leg! That could have been my head that could have been. That would have killed me. I could have died!"


    "Stop your m??ning, it''s not a silver spike is it?"


    "No."


    "Pity, we could use the money."


    "What did you say?"


    "Nothing. Are you going to lay about down there all day or get back on the horse?"


    "I''ve never ridden a horse in my life," m??n?d Reginald, but sat up anyway. He pulled his leg off the spike. It came unstuck with grisly su?k?n? noise, just audible over his cry of pain.


    "Shhhh! The guards may hear us!" hissed Urt.


    "I''m sorry for being in agony." Reginald ignored him and examined his leg wound, which was closing up even as he spoke. "Look what it''s done to my rags. Ruined they are."


    "We''ll find you some new rags later," Urt said. "Assuming we survive. Just climb back up. There''s a ladder over there, in the corner." He pointed.


    "Why would you have a ladder in a pit trap?"


    "Maintenance probably." Urt sat down on the side of the hole with his feet dangling over the edge, and watched Reginald limp over to the ladder. "You''re doing a bang up job so far," he said, trying a bit of encouragement. "I bet they''ll not even be another trap. Apart from the one on the ?h?st."


    "What trap on the ?h?st? How do you know there''s a trap on the ?h?st?" Reginald pulled himself over the lip of the pit.


    Urt swung his legs and shrugged. "Standard operating procedure. There''s always a trap on the ?h?st, everyone knows that. Probably a poison needle. You lot are immune to poison aren''t you?"


    "If by ''you lot'' you mean werebeasts, then no, we''re not. Higher resistance is all."


    "That''s a shame. If I had enough magic I''d cast a spell to help you out," Urt replied, watching as Reginald prodded the floor in front of him with his toe.


    "How long will it be until you''re powered up again then?" The werewolf took a careful step forward.


    "Not sure really. Never run out of manna before." Urt held his hand up in front of his face and flexed his fingers. "Must have been all the blasting and so forth. In hindsight I should have probably just opened the torture chamber door rather than exploding it, but the look of the thing is important."


    "More important than your friend?"


    Showing more tact than usual, Urt attempted to look hurt. "Of course not! How could you even suggest such a thing?"


    "You''re not a very good liar for an evil wizard," Reginald took another step, bringing himself to within arm''s reach of his goal.


    "I''ve not had enough practice yet," Urt replied. "Can you reach it?"


    "I can. Not sure if I want to, considering the apparent likelihood of getting shot in the eye with a poison dart."


    "You should duck down."


    "Always helpful." Still, Reginald did just that. Squatting, he poked at the small ?h?st''s catch, fumbling about until he managed to undo it. When no needle, poison or otherwise, shot out, he flipped the lid open, then winced backwards.


    Nothing happened.


    "Maybe the needle''s stuck," suggested Urt. "What''s inside?"


    Giving the necromancer a dirty look and, not touching the ?h?st or the dais it was resting on, Reginald stood up and leaned over, peering into the small box.


    ~ * ~


    "I''m bored," said Horace. "Can''t we go for a walk or something? Take in some air? See some sights?"


    "No," Lucy replied.


    "Why do I always end up at the mercy of the dull ones?" Horace rolled his eyes, which was about the limit of his expressive gestures.


    There was a knock at the door. Lucy didn''t move. The knock was repeated, slightly more urgently.


    "Someone''s at the door," Horace pointed out.


    "I know."


    "Aren''t you going to answer it?"


    "I can ''ears you in there I can," came a screech from outside.


    Giving Horace a look of what could have been annoyance, Lucy shuffled over to the door.


    "No one is in," she said.


    This was met by a puzzled silence, soon broken.


    "So ooh are you then?"


    "Lucy."


    "Cunning answer," muttered Horace, from his perch on the table.


    "Well, Lucy, it''s time for payment on the room. So if you''d just open up and ''and over the fee, I''ll be on me way."


    "My master isn''t here," Lucy replied, through the door.


    "When will ''e be back then?"


    "I don''t know."


    There was another pause, a more thoughtful one this time.


    "Your master is it?"


    "Yes."


    "That ''andsome lad is ''e? Dressed in black an'' all? Big on rat stew?"


    "Yes."


    "Well, I don''t ''old with perversion and slave ''olding usually, but ''e ''as a nice face. So I''ll let you be for now. But ''e better be back soon, or I''ll call Bob. Understand?"


    "Yes," repeated Lucy.


    "Very well then." There was the clumping of an overweight person walking off.


    "You''re a smooth talker, I''ll give you that," Horace commented.


    Lucy didn''t reply. She just stood and waited.


    ~ * ~


    "It''s a dagger of some kind, and there''s a small pouch too."


    "A dagger? Does it look valuable?" Urt asked.


    "Do I look like a weapons dealer to you?"


    "Probably magical, why else would it be there? Hold it up so I can see if it has an aura." Urt stood back up and tried to peer into the ?h?st from halfway across the room.


    "I''m still waiting for this poison needle."


    "If it''s not sprung now, then it''s not going to," Urt said with a scowl. "Come on, don''t be such a coward. What''s the worst that could happen?"


    "I can think of any number of things," muttered Reginald, but complied with the request anyway, picking the dagger carefully out of the ?h?st with thumb and forefinger. "So?"


    "It definitely has a magical aura," Urt replied. "What''s in the pouch?"


    "I don''t know," the wolf replied. "I''ll just stick my hand in again and look shall I?"


    "There''s a good chap."


    A short, and still poison needle free moment later, Reginald looked up from the now open pouch. "We''re in luck," he said. "There''s some gold coins and a couple of gems, a silver ring, which I''m not going to touch. Should pay for a bit of food and some new rags."


    "See? Things are looking up." Urt looked around. "Now all we have to do is figure out how to get out of here."


    "Well, I guess things can''t get much wor¡­" The werewolf disappeared in a cloud of dust as the floor below collapsed.


    Standing still for a moment, Urt evaluated the situation. On the plus side, he was alive and well, if a little hungry. On the negative side, he was lost in some kind of underground tunnel system and his only minion had just vanished down a hole.


    "I''ve had better days," he concluded. Making his way around the pit, he moved carefully to the ragged gap in the floor that his travelling companion had fallen through. Peering cautiously down into the dark hole, he called out. "Hello?"


    "You took your time." The familiar tones of Reginald echoed up.


    "Sorry. How are things down there?"


    "It''s an old sewer. You can draw your own conclusions."


    "This isn''t all bad news," Urt concluded.


    "Maybe not all, but there''s something moving down here."


    "Probably a rat," said Urt, pondering how to get down with least wear and tear.


    "Nope, I don''t think so. Oh heck."


    "Reginald?" Urt called down the hole. "Hello? Reg?"


    There was no answer¡­

 Chapter 118 - Right in It.

    "Reginald! Are you there?" Urt thrust the torch into the hole, but only succeeded in making spots dance before his eyes.


    "Where would I go?" came the answer, after a short and slightly worrying pause.


    "You stopped talking, I can''t see you there. It''s all dark."


    "I had noticed. Throw the light down would you? I can hear something moving about."


    "Probably that rat again," Urt suggested, letting the torch drop.


    "It''s a bloody big one then," Reginald answered, neatly catching the illumination.


    With the scene now lit, Urt could see his colleague standing ankle deep in what could optimistically be called water. The narrow passage was constructed of crumbling stonework that had seen better days. The slime that coated the walls was probably the only thing holding it together.


    "Anything?" he called down.


    "Well, I need a new pair of shoes for sure. Other than that, I can''t see anything more horrible that you would expect. Come on down, the water''s lovely."


    Urt made a face, but seeing little choice rolled over and slid backwards on his stomach into the hole made by his companion until he was hanging from his fingers. Taking a deep breath, which he quickly regretted, he let go.


    A short drop later he was ankle deep in it.


    "So? What do you think?" Reginald asked, as if he had invited Urt into his living room.


    "It stinks down here," the necromancer replied, gagging slightly. He looked around at the lack of scenery.


    "You''re telling me. I have a far better sense of smell than you remember?"


    "Do you have the treasure?" Urt asked, remembering to focus on the important stuff.


    Reginald indicated the dagger, which tucked into his waistband. He passed Urt the pouch, which the mage fixed to his belt as securely as possible. After a moments thought, he opened it up again, rummaged around in it, and drew out the silver ring, which he slid onto a finger.


    "Are you looting the loot already?" Reginald asked. "How about my share if so?"


    "No, hush now, I owe a favour to someone. Hold on a second, hopefully he''ll still be able to hear me down here."


    Whilst Reginald looked on with bemusement, Urt held up his newly bejewelled hand and muttered something under his breath.


    Nothing happened, and Reginald had just opened his mouth to make some sort of comment, when there was a movement of air and a slight murmur. The ring glowed for a second.


    Urt nodded, satisfied, before turning and looking at his companion again, who just raised an eyebrow. "I told you, repaying a debt," he said.


    "Fine," said Reginald. "Now what then?"


    "Now we move," Urt replied.


    "Fine. Which way then, oh mighty wizard?" the wolf asked, swinging the torch up and downstream. Both directions appeared to be the same in detail.


    "One way''s as good as another," Urt said. He pointed. "Downstream may be easier to walk through at least." he looked at his companion. "Lead on."


    "Of course." Splashing as he went, Reginald moved off. Keeping a slight distance in case the torch ignited some methane, Urt followed.


    "There''s an inn ahead," Yu Sod said, appearing next to Redthorne from nowhere.


    "Will you please stop doing that!" the mage said, nearly falling off his horse in shock.


    "Sorry." His bodyguard shrugged. He didn''t look it.


    "Bah. Come on then, and try not to kill anybody this time."


    "Those were thieves. They didn''t deserve the clean death I gave them." The stocky man slipped ahead as Redthorne kicked his mount in the sides, urging it onwards. It was getting dark, and he was in dire need of a soft bed. He''d forgotten how hard travelling could be. "Well try and perform your executions out of sight next time," he grumbled. "I dislike having to cast magic on the militia. They were only doing their job after all."


    "Ours is the Greater good," Yu replied, jogging along like a panther. "We cannot allow these minor distractions to impede our Divine quest."


    Redthorne rolled his eyes and didn''t reply. The Archemage had ?ssigned his top man as bodyguard and general ?ssistant for this quest. Unfortunately that meant recruiting from the ranks of the Order''s guards, which were taken from a brotherhood of slightly insane warrior priests. As fighters they were second to none, but they had a very straightforward view of the world and took an extremely sharp view with anyone who didn''t agree with it.


    By the time he looked up at the darkening sky, and then down again, the monk had disappeared. Probably slinking through the undergrowth waiting to pounce on some poor innocent merchant.


    The lights from a building ahead distracted him from his companion, and he urged his horse into a mild canter, which made him grit his teeth. Three days on the road had hardened him somewhat, but he wasn''t getting any younger, and his tailbone was bruised and sore.


    "My lord?" he asked.


    "Look after my mount lad," Redthorne said, climbing with no small difficulty out of the saddle. "You may take my bags inside, but see you touch nothing or my friend will be very annoyed."


    "What friend my lord?"


    "Me." Yu Sod was suddenly next to the boy, glaring down at the poor youth, who let out a girlish yelp of horror.


    "S¡­ sire. As you say." The lad led the horse off quickly, no doubt to get away from Yu Sod as much as anything.


    "You enjoyed that," Redthorne said accusingly, as they made their way to the entrance of the main building.


    "I take no p???sur? in scaring young children," the monk replied, absently tapping one of the blackened knives that were strapped to his leggings.


    "Liar."


    ~ * ~


    "Did you hear that?" Reginald ???ked an ear.


    Urt listened for a moment, but then shook his head. "Probably that rat''s family," he said.


    "Have you seen any rats down here?"


    "No, but it''s a sewer, there are bound to be rats," Urt retorted.


    "Unless something''s eaten them," Reginald pointed out.


    The two stopped walking and listened more intently. Water splashed behind them. Something was approaching. Whatever it was, it didn''t sound like it was a rat, unless it was the size of a pony and being dragged along.


    "I think we should speed up our exploration," Urt said.


    "Agreed."


    "Give me the torch," Urt said, taking the dwindling light from the wolf.


    The two broke into a trot, or at least a fast paddle. The dubious content of the liquid no longer seemed quite so important.


    "It''s gaining!" Reginald said, speeding up. Urt didn''t reply, saving his breath for running. The giant dragged pony-rat, or whatever it was, sloshed closer, easily keeping pace.


    The old tunnel forked. Making a random choice they chose the left one. Several minutes later they stopped short. The sewer had come to an abrupt dead end.


    "It''s a dead end!" exclaimed Reginald. "Who puts a dead end in a sewer? How does that work exactly? Where does all the sewer stuff go?"


    A gargling sound from behind interrupted the werewolf''s complaint, and they both turned. Urt held the torch out, whilst Reginald wielded the recently acquired dagger.


    "What in Dreg''s name is that?" asked Urt.


    "I don''t know, but it doesn''t look friendly," Reginald replied, a quaver in his voice. "At least we know who ate all the rats."


    The thing that was approaching completely filled up the sewer tunnel, and this also gave the pair the answer to the un-asked question of where the slime on the walls came from.


    It came from the enormous blob of semi-transparent green goo that was slithering towards them. They stepped back, until they were pressed against the wall.


    "Between a rock and a soft place," m??n?d Reginald.


    The slime slowed down as it approached, as if unsure what they were. A slight bulge in the forward portion split apart, to reveal what could have, in another creature, been a mouth. It gargled something.


    "It''s going to eat us!" Reginald said. "Quick! Blast it with a fireball!"


    No magic remember?" Urt replied. "Use the enchanted dagger on it!" He shoved his colleague forward, so Reginald practically fell into the beast. In panic, he took a swipe with the knife, slicing a small piece off the blob.


    A dark light sparkled around the weapon and surged up the wolf''s hand before sinking into his arm. At the same time the blob made a noise like a blocked toilet.


    "I think you injured it!" Urt said. "Try again!"


    Reginald swung forward once more, but this time a tentacle emerged from the slime''s main mass and batted away the weapon, which bounced off the wall and fell with a splash into the dirty water.


    "I''m disarmed!" Reginald said, backing away. His form began to shift.

 Chapter 119 - Prudence.

    Urt jabbed the torch at the slime, which seemed to be in no real hurry to engulf them, whilst the general of his would-be-army changed into wolf form.


    Apart from something was wrong. Instead of the sleek canine werebeast, Reginald had morphed into something else. The new shape was covered in wiry looking wool which had a metallic sheen to it. Evil red eyes glared out from a black face, and twisted teeth protruded from a long snout, from which a forked tongue darted.


    "Baaahahahahhh," snarled the were-sheep, lifting one leg up out of the water, to reveal a razor sharp hoof.


    The slime gargled in response, as if accepting the challenge, and started to surge forward.


    "Get it boy!" shouted Urt encouragingly, as the ferocious sheep lunged in turn at the blob, which failed to evade in any fashion. "Oh."


    Urt would have backed away more, except that the dead end excluded that possibility. Instead he was forced to watch as the malformed general of his army-to-be was slowly absorbed into the mass. Kicking and bleating all the way.


    Concentrating hard, Urt summoned forth as much power as he could muster, and said a Word as the slime completed consuming Reginald and started rolling forward again.


    The sparks that dribbled from his finger made a pretty show, but totally failed to stop Urt from being eaten alive.


    ~ * ~


    "They''re meant to be eaten alive."


    Redthorne looked down at the bowl of wriggling pink things the landlord had placed in front of him and shook his head. "Not by me they aren''t. Give them to my bodyguard, he''ll probably enjoy them." He jerked his head to indicate Yu Sod, who was standing behind Redthorne making everyone, including the wizard, nervous.


    "Er, aye sire." The landlord made a vague gesture at the monk and then scampered away. Leaving the bowl where it was.


    Pushing the alleged meal away with one finger, Redthorne looked down at his list. "Who''s next then?" he asked.


    "The name''s Prudence." A large female warrior dressed in sparkling silver plate mail was suddenly standing in front of him. A gigantic sword, apparently as tall as she was, protruded over one shoulder. Her blonde hair was cropped short, giving her a rather brutal appearance.


    Raising an eyebrow, the mage indicated the seat on the other side of the table. "Please, sit."


    "I prefer to stand. Sloth is not something that should be encouraged."


    "I agree, in principle," Redthorne replied. "Nevertheless, my old bones are creaking from travel, and I don''t wish to strain my neck looking up at you. Sit."


    "As you say wizard, I apologise." Not taking her eyes off him, the latest applicant to his party of adventurers seated herself in one smooth motion, pulling the chair up with her leg. She sat bolt upright, and the mage subconsciously straightened his own posture.


    "So, who are you then?" he asked. "Please tell me a little about yourself."


    "I have been named Prudence by my order, the Righteous Guard of The Lady. I am a paladin on quest, here to bring Light to those who lack such. I seek to eliminate evil and bring the world out of the darkness." She raised her head in, what in someone less noble, would surely have been pride.


    "I¡­ see." Redthorne nodded and considered the warrior. In truth he wasn''t even sure he needed more in his small group, but better to have muscle that wasn''t needed, than not enough that was. He sighed. He knew of the Order of the Lady. It was a small but powerful force. Paladins went through a, literal, lifetime of training within the sprawling fortified complex many leagues to the south. Rumour had it that more than three quarters terminally failed the course, and only one out of ten made the rank of Paladin. Those that did though, were not to be trifled with. The only problem was, they could be a pain in the backside to deal with.


    "We may face grave and powerful evil¡­" he started.


    "I accept!" Prudence stood and saluted. "I vow that I shall not leave your side until the dark has been vanquished and your mission, our mission ends in complete victory. Hail the Lady! Hail the Light."


    Redthorne rubbed the bridge of his nose. He could feel a headache coming on.


    ~ * ~


    It was actually quite comfortable inside the blob, if a bit cold, once you became used to being suspended like a cherry in a trifle. Urt tried to relax as the slime rolled through the tunnels. Visibility was limited, but not totally absent. The torch had been left behind, apparently the creature that had absorbed them didn''t like the taste, but the blob itself was slightly luminescent, and so he could see the scenery, if that''s what you could call it, rolling by.


    Back in human form, Reginald was carried alongside him. Urt could see the were-sheep, but as the other was facing the other way, he couldn''t make eye contact.


    ''How am I breathing?'' he wondered, as the slime took a left turn into a slightly narrower tunnel that sloped down. Perhaps it was best to consider the fact that he was breathing, and worry about other things instead.


    One of these other things was where the blob was taking them. Was it to some kind of nest full of small blobs? An image of eager green slimes reaching for their latest tasty treat came to mind, and Urt would have shaken his head to dispel the picture, had he been able.


    He wondered what had happened to his zombies. They''d probably annoyed someone and been Turned already. Well, the dead were plentiful at least, if only he could raise them.


    ''I should have taken my garments from the hag and then just gone to Banesville,'' he lamented. The thought of crossing the hag - the leg image waved at him again - sat ill at ease with him. Perhaps it was because she was a witch, a fellow dabbler in the dark arts, and dangerous to boot. He had a sneaking suspicion that wasn''t it though.


    So deep was his concentration that he failed to notice the light ahead until they were almost there.


    The blob rolled up a slight incline and into a room that was lit by evenly spaced torches. Room was perhaps the wrong description, conjuring up images of a relatively small area encompassing some chairs and possibly a table. Chamber was a better word. Cluttered chamber was even more accurate.


    The blob rolled along a narrow aisle that was made up of everything from dried¡­ sewer stuff through to glistening, if crusted, swords and metal armour.


    Finally it took a sharp right and stopped in front of a wall, next to a small space. This was evidently their spot, because Urt felt a movement as the slime pushed them out of its main mass. Ejected like some kind of twisted rebirth, both Urt and Reginald were regurgitated onto the stone floor in a most undignified fashion, where they lay gasping for breath.


    Its job done, the blog rolled off, leaving them floundering and quivering from their ordeal.


    "I never want to go through that again," Urt said, still lying flat out on the cold stone floor.


    "Before I met you my biggest worry was how many rabbits I could catch," replied Reginald, curling up into a shivering ball.


    "Don''t forget you still owe me one," Urt reminded him. "At least it let us go."


    "Indeed, and I find that suspicious all by itself." The were-sheep uncurled and sat upright, and Urt emulated him, looking around at their new surroundings.


    "What is this place?" he asked.


    "Looks like our blob friend has collected just about anything it could find in the sewers and brought it here." Reginald glanced at a small damp, still form nearby. "At least we know where the rats have gone."


    "A new delivery!" came a screeching voice from nearby. "Oh how exciting!"


    Urt and Reginald climbed to their feet and turned to face the direction of the voice.


    "I think we just found the person in charge," said Reginald.


    ~ * ~


    Samantha pulled her horse to a stop at what appeared to be just another part of the road. She knew though, that to her left, concealed by a small magic, was the road that led to Banesville, which was where her quarry, her new quarry, had apparently gone, according to her brother and the other, less reliable, sources in Mudrut anyway.


    On the other hand, her escaped target would, in all probability anyway, carried on towards Groan. She couldn''t be sure of this of course, the tracks had faded, but it was unlikely they would have veered off.


    She sighed. Screw it, Sysnista said Urt was the priority, and he was a wizard too, so maybe she would be able get him to help with a tracking spell or something.

 Chapter 120 - In it.

    "Oh my goodness! Look at this! What have we here? Here?"


    Urt stood with as much dignity as he could muster, which wasn''t all that much considering he was covered in slime. "Are you the proprietor here?" He looked the newcomer up and down, mostly succeeding in keeping the disdain off his face.


    Their new friend wasn''t much to look at all told, although if one stopped to consider the types that are likely to frequent waste disposal areas, this probably wouldn''t come as a great surprise. He was a wiry chap, clad in sewer-appropriate brown trousers and shirt, with a ragged waistcoat of similar hue. His face was also wiry, and somehow vaguely rodent like. He twitched his nose slightly as he returned Urt''s gaze, apparently unphased by his tone.


    "Looks like we have a couple of thirty three B''s," sewer-man muttered, probably to himself. "Haven''t had any of those for a good while. While." He pulled a pad of paper out of a waistcoat pocket and, taking a pencil of some kind that had been wedged unseen behind one ear, made a quick note.


    "Er, Urt," Reginald began.


    "Not now Reg." Urt waved a hand and stepped forward. He spoke to the man in the slow and loud tone usually reserved for the slow witted or foreigners. "I say! Hello there! We seem to be lost. I wonder if you would be so good as to direct us to the exit?"


    The man didn''t respond, but instead sniffed at Urt. "Ooh! No! Not a thirty three at all! More like a fifty one C! Maybe even a fifty two! Two!"


    "Urt¡­" Reginald began again.


    "Hold on a second, I''m trying to converse with this fellow," Urt said, scowling. He snapped a finger, causing sparks to fly. "You! I''m speaking to you! Who are you?"


    The man stopped suddenly and seemed to notice Urt for the first time. "You speaking to me?"


    Rolling his eyes, Urt muttered a brief prayer to Dreg to spare him from imbeciles and then tried again. "Who else would I be speaking to?" he asked.


    You shouldn''t be speaking you know," the man replied.


    "We shouldn''t be¡­ Look, er, what''s your name anyway?"


    "Rowland."


    "Look Rowland, could we speak to someone in charge please? There''s obviously been a bit of a misunderstanding. We were having a quiet stroll in the¡­ in¡­ along when your slime ball snatched us up. It''s quite the outrage."


    "Well, maybe I could get the boss, but he doesn''t like to be disturbed. Disturbed." Rowland scratched his ever twitching nose.


    "This is ludicrous," Urt said. "Why am I even speaking to you? Stand aside." He pushed at the man, but leaped back quickly as Rowland turned from a wiry human into a giant four footed rat with demon red eyes and extremely wicked looking teeth.


    "That''s what I was trying to tell you," Reginald said. "He''s a wererat. Nasty things they are, wouldn''t like to get bitten by one. Very unhealthy. Fatal even, should you survive the being eaten bit."


    Having made his point, Roland morphed back to his human shape, which had somehow retained its clothing unharmed. Urt wasn''t sure it was much improvement, apart from the teeth.


    "So then," he said. "We were talking about your boss?"


    ~ * ~


    "Again, no. We need to keep the target alive," Redthorne repeated for what seemed like the hundredth time. "Only he can stop the Four from breaking through and consuming the world."


    "But he has Fallen from grace," Prudence said again. "The Lady, may she be ever blessed, commands us to rid the world of those who serve evil."


    "But," Redthorne said, raising a finger and nearly falling off his horse. "What if the¡­ fallen one could prevent an even greater evil? Wouldn''t killing him in itself be an evil act?"


    "Killing evil is never evil," the paladin replied, but Redthorne noted a hint of uncertainty in her voice.


    "No one said you couldn''t kill him," he replied. "You just have to wait until he has prevented the Four from destroying all li¡­ all that is Good in the world. You wouldn''t want that would you?"


    "The Paladins of my order can defeat these evil Four of whom you speak," Prudence said, the steel re-entering her tone.


    "No. No they can''t. If they could then there would be no need for our mission. You can check with your Order if you like, they''ll tell you the same thing, ?ssuming their pride allows it."


    "Pride is a sin."


    "You ask anyway." Redthorne turned to the paladin who was riding alongside him, mounted on her, of course, white horse with armour gleaming in the sunlight. "I tell you what, I''ll make you a deal. If you contact your bosses and they tell you, clearly and with no word trickery mind, that the Order can deal with the Four, you can kill our chap on sight. If not, you do things my way. Deal?"


    Prudence glared at the mage for a moment before replying. "I don''t know mage. Wizards are renowned for their cunning lies as well as their magic. I shall have to think upon this." She spurred her horse, which was a magnificent beast, forward.


    Redthorne watched her go and then glanced about, eventually spotting Sod trotting off to one side. The warrior monk just grinned at him.


    "Oh, go and fall down a hole," the mage said.


    ~ * ~


    "How''s your magic regeneration coming along?" Reginald whispered.


    Urt flexed his fingers, but then shook his head. "I could probably manage a small death spell," he said. "Not really much more than that though."


    "Small death spell? As in kill a mouse or puppy? Never mind. Not really enough to deal with our friends then."


    "No. Not just now. I need incantation time anyway." Urt looked at the three thin men who had been stationed around their ''spot''. All three of them, according to Reginald''s sense of smell, or something, were wererats. They''d been stationed there whilst Rowland went to fetch the boss.


    "Heads up." The were-sheep nudged him.


    "Heads up?" Urt didn''t have time to ponder this saying before Rowland returned. He wasn''t alone. Behind him came three or four other characters. These were of a different league altogether from Rowland. Where he was skinny, these had bulging muscles. Where he had a notebook, they had swords. He had a twitching nose, they had¡­ well, twitching noses too, but also expressions that implied twitching noses weren''t just the domain of cute bunnies. These were hardened killers.


    Behind the bodyguards, on a sedan chair held aloft by half a dozen sweating Rowland look-alikes, was the fattest man Urt had even seen. Admittedly he''d not really seen that many people in the scheme of things, but this fellow stood out even so.


    With a gesture of one ring-clad hand, the Sewer King was lowered to the ground. Once safely on what passed for Terra-firma in this part of the world, he waved the jewelled cane that he held in his other hand.


    "Speak," said the king, adjusting his silver crown, which was some kind of metal ring with stones stuck to it.


    "Your majesty," Urt said, deciding a diplomatic approach was best while he was low on magic. "We wish to petition you for release. We are mere travellers, snatched up whilst on an innocent stroll."


    "You were in my territory," the king replied. "By my law that makes you my property. Unless you can buy your own freedom, you are mine to do with as you will. Of course, anything you carry on your persons now is also mine." He smiled, showing large yellow teeth.


    "Ah. I see." Urt scratched his head. "Well, it''s a shame we don''t have anything of any value on us at the moment," Urt lied. "We did have a magical dagger, but your slime¡­ thing made us drop it. Tell you what, we''ll go and get it for you, how''s that? As a sign of good faith."


    "If it was dropped in the sewers then it will end up here sooner or later," the king said. "There''s no rush."


    "Well, in that case, some of our gold, and we have lots and lots of it at home. We''ll be happy to donate something to your¡­ kingdom." Urt waved a hand about, indicating the dank cavern.


    "Happy to hear it." The king gave another toothy smile. "So all you have to do is write down your address, and one of my minions will arrange collection."


    "That could be a problem," Urt said, rubbing his hands together and trying to work out if he had enough power for some kind of illusion that could work as a distraction. "We, ah, don''t live locally."


    "But surely you would be staying in a hotel yes?" the smile widened, and yet he looked slightly less happy. "Rich travellers like yourselves."


    "Well¡­"


    "Or maybe you are just trying to trick me in some fashion?" The smile was replaced by a snarl. "I don''t appreciate people lying to me. Perhaps a short sharp lesson needs to be made. Perhaps the removal of a hand, or maybe a foot?"


    "Now now your majesty," Urt said, backing up against Reginald. "You wouldn''t want to damage the goods. Take something from my manservant here, he doesn''t really use all his limbs properly anyway."


    "Hey!" the were-sheep complained. "I happen to be attached to my parts."


    "Don''t be such a wimp," Urt replied, trying to push himself through the wall as two of the large guards advanced. "Anyway, it will grow back won''t it? Werebeast healing and all that."


    "Ah, that''s where the silver blades come in," said the king, who was sitting back on his throne and nibbling on something that looked horribly like a severed hand. He nodded at the advancing servants, and Urt saw that, indeed, their knife blades were very shiny.


    "Curse this!" Urt lost his temper. From the corner of his eye, something indistinct seemed to move, but he ignored it as he straightened up and squared his shoulders. "I am a dark mage, and I won''t allow myself to be taken so easily." Summoning up all his reserves, he made a complicated gesture and pointed at the nearest guard, who paused. "Mortartist!" Urt cried.


    A purple spark leapt from the end of his finger and hit the nearest wererat in the ?h?st, where it burned a small black mark in the leather armour.


    The guard, who had turned pale, looked down at the smoking spot and then back up at Urt. He laughed. "That it wizard? That all you got?"


    Urt slumped back. "Apparently so. I don''t suppose you''d like to come back tomorrow would you?"


    "No. I think I''ll just maim you now." There was a slight blur in the air and the guard exploded.


    "Wow," said Reginald, as the smoke cleared, to reveal an area that was now splattered with charred meat and bits of shattered bone. "How did you do that?"


    "I''m not sure, the spell was for killing mice." Urt looked at his hand.


    The Shadow King threw down whatever he''d been nibbling on. "Kill them!" he screamed.


    "No! They''re mine!" Another voice interrupted Urt''s imminent demise, and both groups swung around to see the girl from the castle above, standing in front of a dozen heavily armed guards.


    "You''re on my territory girl!" spat the king in return.


    "It''s not going to be yours for long," she countered. "Kill them all except the boy, bring him to me alive."


    The guards streamed around her, swords drawn, to be met by the king''s men, or rat creatures as they had now become.


    "Who''s she calling a boy?" Urt scowled as the two sides met in bloody conflict. "I must be at least as old as her, probably older."


    "Tell you what, why don''t we talk about that later?" Reginald said. "Now would be a good time to depart."


    Indeed, all the rat men were busy biting and slashing at the human guards, who seemed to be holding their own under the onslaught, if only just.


    Urt and Reginald quickly sidled off along the wall, hurriedly clearing the combat zone and trotting away down the aisles, between piles of collected sewer flotsam.


    "Not so fast!" Rowland stepped out from behind a heap of brown¡­ brown. He snarled and leaped forward, changing shape in mid-air.


    Urt''s life started to pass in front of his eyes, but he''d only managed to get as far as his first day in the swamp before a woolly shape flashed by and intercepted the rat. The two werebeasts landed with a crash and there was a flurry of movement, too fast to follow. A split second later Rowland was violently ejected from the melee, his limp body arcing over Urt and coming to rest with a dull splat in the brown pile.


    Reginald staggered back up, morphing back into human form spitting and wiping at his mouth. "Can''t stand the taste of wererat," he explained.


    "Yes, well, if you''ve finished rolling in the dirt with your friends, let''s keep moving shall we?" Urt replied. "I think there''s some kind of door over that way." He waved a hand.


    They hurried for the door, leaving the screams, snarls and shouts of the combatants behind them.

 Chapter 121 - Mortartist!

    Behind the bodyguards, on a sedan chair held aloft by half a dozen sweating Rowland look-alikes, was the fattest man Urt had even seen. Admittedly he''d not really seen that many people in the scheme of things, but this fellow stood out even so.


    With a gesture of one ring-clad hand, the Sewer King was lowered to the ground. Once safely on what passed for Terra-firma in this part of the world, he waved the jewelled cane that he held in his other hand.


    Urt and Reginald were rudely shoved forward, to stand before his throne, which Urt now saw was made from a motley collection of scrap metal, bone and other things best left unmentioned.


    "Speak," said the king, adjusting his silver crown, which was some kind of metal ring with stones stuck to it.


    "Your majesty," Urt said, deciding a diplomatic approach was best while he was low on magic. "We wish to petition you for release. We are mere travellers, snatched up whilst on an innocent stroll."


    ???You were in my territory," the king replied. "By my law that makes you my property. Unless you can buy your own freedom, you are mine to do with as you will. Of course, anything you carry on your persons now is also mine." He smiled, showing large yellow teeth.


    "Ah. I see." Urt scratched his head. "Well, it''s a shame we don''t have anything of any value on us at the moment," Urt lied. "We did have a magical dagger, but your slime¡­ thing made us drop it. Tell you what, we''ll go and get it for you, how''s that? As a sign of good faith."


    "If it was dropped in the sewers then it will end up here sooner or later," the king said. "There''s no rush."


    "Well, in that case, some of our gold, and we have lots and lots of it at home. We''ll be happy to donate something to your¡­ kingdom." Urt waved a hand about, indicating the dank cavern.


    "Happy to hear it." The king gave another toothy smile. "So all you have to do is write down your address, and one of my minions will arrange collection."


    "That could be a problem," Urt said, rubbing his hands together and trying to work out if he had enough power for some kind of illusion that could work as a distraction. "We, ah, don''t live locally."


    "But surely you would be staying in a hotel yes?" the smile widened, and yet he looked slightly less happy. "Rich travellers like yourselves."


    "Well¡­"


    "Or maybe you are just trying to trick me in some fashion?" The smile was replaced by a snarl. "I don''t appreciate people lying to me. Perhaps a short sharp lesson needs to be made. Perhaps the removal of a hand, or maybe a foot?"


    "Now now your majesty," Urt said, backing up against Reginald. "You wouldn''t want to damage the goods. Take something from my manservant here, he doesn''t really use all his limbs properly anyway."


    "Hey!" the were-sheep complained. "I happen to be attached to my parts."


    "Don''t be such a wimp," Urt replied, trying to push himself through the wall as two of the large guards advanced. "Anyway, it will grow back won''t it? Werebeast healing and all that."


    "Ah, that''s where the silver blades come in," said the king, who was sitting back on his throne and nibbling on something that looked horribly like a severed hand. He nodded at the advancing servants, and Urt saw that, indeed, their knife blades were very shiny.


    "Curse this!" Urt lost his temper. From the corner of his eye, something indistinct seemed to move, but he ignored it as he straightened up and squared his shoulders. "I am a dark mage, and I won''t allow myself to be taken so easily." Summoning up all his reserves, he made a complicated gesture and pointed at the nearest guard, who paused. "Mortartist!" Urt cried.


    A purple spark leapt from the end of his finger and hit the nearest wererat in the ?h?st, where it burned a small black mark in the leather armour.


    The guard, who had turned pale, looked down at the smoking spot and then back up at Urt. He laughed. "That it wizard? That all you got?"


    Urt slumped back. "Apparently so. I don''t suppose you''d like to come back tomorrow would you?"


    "No. I think I''ll just maim you now." There was a slight blur in the air and the guard exploded.


    "Wow," said Reginald, as the smoke cleared, to reveal an area that was now splattered with charred meat and bits of shattered bone. "How did you do that?"


    "I''m not sure, the spell was for killing mice." Urt looked at his hand.


    The Shadow King threw down whatever he''d been nibbling on. "Kill them!" he screamed.


    "No! They''re mine!" Another voice interrupted Urt''s imminent demise, and both groups swung around to see the girl from the castle above, standing in front of a dozen heavily armed guards.


    "You''re on my territory girl!" spat the king in return.


    "It''s not going to be yours for long," she countered. "Kill them all except the boy, bring him to me alive."


    The guards streamed around her, swords drawn, to be met by the king''s men, or rat creatures as they had now become.


    "Who''s she calling a boy?" Urt scowled as the two sides met in bloody conflict. "I must be at least as old as her, probably older."


    "Tell you what, why don''t we talk about that later?" Reginald said. "Now would be a good time to depart."


    Indeed, all the rat men were busy biting and slashing at the human guards, who seemed to be holding their own under the onslaught, if only just.


    Urt and Reginald quickly sidled off along the wall, hurriedly clearing the combat zone and trotting away down the aisles, between piles of collected sewer flotsam.


    "Not so fast!" Rowland stepped out from behind a heap of brown¡­ brown. He snarled and leaped forward, changing shape in mid-air.


    Urt''s life started to pass in front of his eyes, but he''d only managed to get as far as his first day in the swamp before a woolly shape flashed by and intercepted the rat. The two werebeasts landed with a crash and there was a flurry of movement, too fast to follow. A split second later Rowland was violently ejected from the melee, his limp body arcing over Urt and coming to rest with a dull splat in the brown pile.


    Reginald staggered back up, morphing back into human form spitting and wiping at his mouth. "Can''t stand the taste of wererat," he explained.


    "Yes, well, if you''ve finished rolling in the dirt with your friends, let''s keep moving shall we?" Urt replied. "I think there''s some kind of door over that way." He waved a hand.


    They hurried for the door, leaving the screams, snarls and shouts of the combatants behind them.

 Chapter 122 - Onion.

    Giles decided to take a well-deserved rest. It had been a hard morning of sheep watching, and he was feeling slightly the worse for wear after a late night and an early start. With a final glance at his small flock, to make sure they weren''t doing anything un-sheeplike, he settled down on the tattered blanket he had spread on the ground, and leaned against the tree he''d chosen as he base of operations for the day.


    Opening his basket, he examined the food that he''d packed earlier. The onion didn''t look very appetizing, but he''d heard old Biddwell say that it was bad to drink on an empty stomach, and he had half a bottle of Scud with him for later on, so he picked it up and took a large bite.


    Masticating industriously, he made himself comfortable and looked out over the field again. And stopped mid-chew.


    The sheep were all standing still and looking up, which is pretty unusually, not to say difficult, for a sheep to actually do, focused on grass as they usually are.


    Giles followed his flock''s gaze upwards, to see the clear blue sky had suddenly accumulated a large collection of dark, ominous looking clouds. He looked back down again, to see that the sheep were busy huddling together in the centre, all facing off to one side. The clearing, which only moments ago had been a scene of sunny calm, had been transformed into a cold, monochrome setting.


    The spot they were looking at appeared to be no different to any other patch of soggy grass, but as he looked on, a dark mist rose up out of the ground, slowly coalescing into a pillar of black smoke. Half masticated onion dribbled down his chin and on to his sack tunic as Giles watched, open mouthed, as the fog started to solidify into a figure. It gathered itself together, expanding outwards, and then outwards some more, to finally disperse, revealing the fattest man he had ever seen.


    It should be noted at this point that Giles had lived in Mudrut all his life, hardly the hub of thriving intellectual civilization at the best of times. The most travelled person he''d met was Master Tinkle, the mapmaker, who had been to such far flung and exotic places as Lower Scrag, nearly three whole miles away.


    The fattest local was the mayor, who could be described as slightly plump at best. The mayor was also the owner of the only eatery in town though, which went some way towards explaining that. People in Mudrut simply weren''t rich enough to go around getting fat.


    Eventually the fat man seemed to realize that his only audience was a small flock of frightened sheep and a yokel sitting under a tree with his mouth open. His expression changed into a scowl, and he turned around, having only a small amount of difficulty pulling his boots out of the mud, to face Giles.


    "You!" he said.


    Giles looked left and right slowly, and then point at himself. "Me?"


    The fat man rolled his eyes and muttered something. "Of course you! Who else would I be speaking to? The sheep?"


    As someone who often spoke to the sheep himself, Giles forbore to comment on that, but scrambled to his feet as the stranger made his way over to him, in the universal mincing gait of someone with nice shoes in a muddy field.


    "Where am I?" he demanded eventually, when he was eventually in front of the shepherd.


    "In a field?" Giles replied. His answer seemed to have a profound effect on the man, who recoiled in horror, holding his nose.


    "Good grief man! What in the nine hells have you been eating?"


    By way of reply, Giles held up his onion. "Onion," he added, just to be clear. "You can has a bite if you wants."


    "Why in blazes would I want to chew on¡­ never mind." Shaking his head, which was covered with long, silky black hair tied back in a black ribbon, the man took a deep breath, gagged slightly, and tried again. "Where is the nearest town?" He spoke slowly and clearly, as if to a young and slightly dim child.


    This was a tricky question for Giles, who would have failed geography had he gone to school. As the stranger looked on in horror, he scratched his head, dislodging a few small insects, and then hazarded a guess.


    "That''ll be Groan I reckon."


    "Groan? What sort of name is that for a town never mind!" The man held a hand up to stop another bout of cogitation. "Do you live in Groan then?"


    "Me?" Giles shook his head in denial. "I ''aint no big city folk. I lives in Mudrut I does."


    "But you said¡­" The man paused and changed down a mental gear or three. "Ah, yes, of course. So, which direction is this Mudrut, and how far away is it?"


    Giles pointed off to one side. "That way, ''bout five minutes'' walk."


    The stranger followed his gaze, examining the brush and mud through which one had to travel to reach the village. Eventually he sighed and nodded, more to himself than anyone. "Very well then. Carry on eating your¡­ onion."


    He turned and waddled off in the direction indicated, his cloak fluttering behind him. Giles watched until he had disappeared into the trees, shook his head in wonder, and then sat down to eat the rest of his lunch.


    ~ * ~


    Garlic Plate* was sitting in his usual spot, tending to his frog, when he heard the voices. Garlic, who heard voices all the time, didn''t pay them any real attention. Still, he did note that they weren''t the usual kind, which told him to do all the slashing and chopping, but appeared to be arguing amongst themselves. He held up a worm he''d found and twisted it in half as he listened, passing one bit to Freddy and eating the other half himself.


    "Hurry up!" said one of the voices. "You''re heavy."


    "Well stand still then, all your twisting and turning about is making it hard to see the lever," replied the other.


    "I apologize for staggering in pain as you dig your shoes into my shoulders; I''ll just quietly cry a bit shall I?"


    "That''s the spirit, ah, I think I''ve got it."


    This phrase was followed by a grinding sound, and a storm drain cover a short distance away from Garlic''s hidey hole was slowly raised up. A dirty hand pushed the cover to one side and then groped about, trying to get a grip on the ground.


    Grip acquired, the hand proceeded to pull up first one arm and then another, followed in short order by a head and the rest of the torso, which, all together, turned out to be a young man in dark, if rather stained, clothing.


    The newly emerged figure glanced about quickly, though failed to see Garlic and Freddy, tucked away in a dark corner behind a large pile of old boxes as they were. He lay down and reached back into the hole and, after a fair amount of arguing and swearing, pulled forth an even more ragged young man.


    The two clambered upright, and without looking back, staggered out of Garlic''s alley home.


    "Well, there''s something you don''t see every day, eh Freddy?"


    "No, very unusual," Freddy replied. "Do you have any more worm?"


    *His parents hoped that by naming him this, he would become a chef. This ambition was, whether by chance or fate, realised, and Garlic went on to run one of the most famous eateries in Groan. Then he started hearing the Voices, and killed an entire party of merchants over a light lunch. Strangely this actually helped business, and Garlic may have become even more successful had it not been for the fact he started serving veal, which disgusted the clientele so much he went bankrupt.

 Chapter 123 - Alf an Orse.

    "I stink," Reginald complained, as they made their way down the small road. "And my rags are falling apart! We need to get some new clothes. I can''t go back to our lodgings, low rent as they are, like this!"


    For once Urt agreed, they were both worse for wear, and a long bath with plenty of perfumed soap was needed. He looked around. They''d obviously been underground for an entire day, as it was well into evening again. Currently they were in a tangled maze of small streets, which all looked about the same to him.


    "Where are we anyway?" asked Reginald.


    "I think the hotel is that way," Urt replied.


    "Are you sure? I think it''s that way." The were-sheep pointed in another direction altogether. "Why don''t we ask this urchin?" he asked, nodding at a young boy of about ten, dressed in the apparently customary grey shorts and flat cap. The youngster was sitting on a barrel watching them.


    "Hey lad, where are we?" Reginald called over to him.


    "What''s it t'' you?" the boy asked, in way of reply. "I can guide you, if you''re lost. For a fee." He jumped off the barrel and folded his arms.


    The two approached, and the urchin staggered backwards dramatically, holding his nose. "Blimey! You two don''t ''alf pong! Watcha been doin'', runnin'' around in the sewers? You smell like a lav you does!"


    "We are aware of our current odour," Urt replied haughtily. "Now, do you know what this street is or not?"


    "You are lost!" The boy smiled and held out his hand. "Pay up and I''ll guide you right and proper, and no mistake."


    "I''m not lost, I just need to get my bearings." Urt looked left and right, in the traditional refusal of lost males the universe over to acknowledge reality.


    "Fair enough. Price will go up next time you ask though."


    "Perhaps I will use a spell to determine my location," Urt responded, stung into defending his honour.


    "You a wizard are you guvn''r? Show us a trick then!" The lad perked up a bit.


    "I don''t do tricks, I summon great magics," Urt replied in his most dignified voice.


    "You can''t can you? ''e can''t can ''e?" the lad asked Reginald.


    "I can create bugs that will eat you from the inside out you impudent worm!" Urt countered, deciding a necromancer shouldn''t have to take lip from an urchin.


    "Coooool," came the reply. "Go on then."


    "What?"


    "Eat me insides out!"


    "I''m not going to¡­" Urt was cut off.


    "It''s ''cos you can''t!"


    "It''s because I don''t wish to waste my time on a scruffy five year old," Urt said, though the temptation was beginning to grow.


    "I''m older than that! Prob''ly," the lad retorted, distracted from suicide by bug for the moment.


    "You don''t know how old you are?" Urt asked, before he could stop himself.


    "Course I do!"


    "So?"


    "So what?"


    "So how old are you?"


    "Why you want to know?"


    "I don''t!"


    "So why ask then?"


    "I don''t believe you know."


    "Oh, I seeeee," the lad said, tapping the side of his nose. "This is some kind of icony thing ''aint it?"


    "Irony," corrected Urt. He glanced at Reginald, but his companion was keeping his mouth firmly closed. Urt was beginning to wish he had too. He stopped suddenly and squinted down at the urchin, who picked his nose in response. "You''re not as stupid as you look."


    "Takes one t'' know one," the boy countered.


    "Very well then. Assuming we were lost¡­"


    "Knew it."


    "¡­Assuming we were lost," Urt went on, ignoring the interruption. "How much would it cost us for ..."


    "Shillin''"


    "I can see you take us for fools. You could buy half a pony with that."


    "Can''t see no use for ''alf an ''orse mister."


    "A single groat, and that''s generous."


    "Ten groats."


    "Ten groats is a shilling!"


    "Alright then, eight groats."


    "Two."


    "Seven."


    "Three, and not a farthing more."


    "Done."


    "Yes, I fear I have been." Urt made a face.


    "Fair enough, where too then guv?" their new guide asked.


    "I think we need a bath house, and some new clothes," Urt replied, patting his pouch which contained their plundered loot.


    "Off we go then!"


    ~ * ~


    Nicolas was in a truly bad mood when he finally traipsed into what passed for a high street in the small community of Mudrut. His shoes squelched with every step he took, and the hem of his cloak would have to be cut off and restitched somehow, he was sure, after trailing through Fue* knows what that littered the paths surrounding this squalid place.


    It was late afternoon now, and he had no d?s?r? to stay here overnight. He needed to find this boy, grab him, and then get back to his own place for a nice long bath. Usually he would just cast a spell, but some inner voice told him it wouldn''t be that easy.


    He looked about, and his eye fell on the nearest building, which happened to be a grocers.


    "May as well start somewhere," he snarled to himself, and squelched his way over.


    Inside was as exciting as he expected it to be. A small store crammed full of various items of the trade, mostly musty looking vegetables, thought where the shopkeeper acquired his stock out here was anyone''s guess.


    "You''ll ''ave to hurry, ''m just closin'' up," the man himself said. He was bending down, facing away from Nicolas, so he wasn''t aware of who he was addressing.


    "S... S... Sir, I don''t know where they went!" he stammered.


    This was not the opening line that Nicolas had expected.


    "Where who went?" he asked.


    "Any of them! The boy, the woman, the other woman, oh, wait, no I knows that one."


    "Which one?" Nicolas was lost already.


    "The angry woman sir. The one with the knives."


    Nicolas narrowed his eyes, making the shopkeeper visibly quake. "Describe her," he demanded.


    "She w... w... w..."


    "Was."


    "Was a... a... ang..."


    "Spit it out man!" Nicolas shouted, raising a hand. An ominous dark cloud began to form around his fist."


    "Angry!" the man squeaked.


    "Not half as angry as I''ll be if you don''t speak faster."


    "Shewaswearingleathersir. Andhaddaggersandabighorse," the man, thus encouraged, babbled. "AndshewentoffwiththeWarden."


    "The Warden?" Nicolas asked, once he''d deciphered this. "Who''s he?"


    "I am," came another voice from behind him. "You don''t happen to be a necromancer do you?"


    Nicolas twirled his large girth around like a planet''s rotation sped up, to face a giant of a man in leather armour, carrying an axe that was almost too big to fit in the shop. His nails were painted lilac, he noticed. A small dog stood at his feet, growling.


    "What if I am?"


    The Warden scowled. "We don''t like necromancers around here."


    Nicolas smiled and rolled his sleeves up. "Oh good, a philosophical debate. My favourite."


    The shopkeeper screamed and ducked for cover as the two men attacked each other.


    *Fue: Dark God of Spiteful and Overdue Revenge. Its followers are mainly overweight for some reason.

 Chapter 124 - Reckless

    "May I take your rags sir?" the thin man said to Reginald.


    "Take them where?" the were-sheep asked.


    "I think I know a deep hole that would suit," the manservant replied, picking up the remains of Reginald''s clothes with the very tips of his fingers. Holding them at arms length, he turned and moved serenely out of the door.


    The urchin, who had been left sitting outside, had led them to some kind of bathhouse for the gentry, which Urt had insisted they were. Apparently they would able to have a good cleanse here, and order new clothes to boot.


    He was now shucking off his own clothes, as Reginald slipped into some robe the bathhouse had provided, which appeared to be made of parchment.


    Urt had removed the candlestick that had remained with him from Bethany the Blue''s house, and given it and, with some reluctance, the purse of loot to the front desk, who had ?ssured him that it would be kept safe in their vault during their visit. Now he slipped off his robes which, being of fairly good quality, and simply dirty and battered, he decided to keep. He could give them back to the Hag perhaps. He paused for a moment, thinking of the witch, and then decided that wasn''t a good idea whilst standing n?k?d and exposed.


    He was folding the robe up when something fell out of the pocket. The letter, from the large girl''s room in Mudrut! He''d forgotten about it in all the recent underground excitement.


    Picking it up, he placed his robes off to one side, and donned the paper robe.


    "What''s that?" Reginald asked, wandering up.


    "A letter," Urt said, breaking the seal and unfolded the thick parchment that was within. On it, written in familiar script, was a note addressed to him.


    "Well come on then, don''t just stand there looking constipated, read it," the weresheep said.


    "I''m not looking constipated," Urt replied testily. Even so, he read it out loud, mainly to stop Reginald from rubbing up against him whilst peering over his shoulder.


    "Urt," he read. "If you''re reading this then I''m gone, or you''ve killed me. In which case, congratulations, killing your master is an age old tradition in the necromantic trade. If not, well never mind, there''s always next time."


    "If I''ve left, then I''ve judged you ready to take on your destiny."


    "Ooh, you have a destiny. Cool." Reginald interjected.


    "Hush." Urt carried on, fascinated.


    "I''m not going to tell you what it is, because that''s just not how these things work, you''ll find out one way or another. Besides, I don''t like to make things that easy, where''s the fun in that? However, I will say that it''s a biggie."


    "Either way, it''s time you left that miserable swamp we''ve been hiding in and seek..." Urt paused, trying to read the text, which had been smudged beyond recognition, no doubt during their subterranean misadventures. "Damn it, can''t make out what it says."


    "Never mind for now," Reg said. "Carry on."


    Urt did. "...in Banesville and collect..." Urt squinted. "Something. Maybe sword?"


    "Looks like ''school'' to me," Reginald said.


    "How would it be school?" Urt scoffed. "Go to Banesville and collect a school? How does that make any sense?"


    "Okay okay, just trying to help. What else does it say?"


    Urt carried on. "You''ve been a good student all told, perhaps a bit too obedient, but that will pass as your power and arrogance grows. Maybe we''ll meet again someday, and have that traditional battle to the death thing."


    "Your mentor, Mangle." Urt lowered the sheet.


    "Ah, well that''s lovely," Reginald said.


    "It certainly answers some questions," Urt said, thoughtfully, folding the letter up again and putting it back in the envelope.


    "Well then," Reginald said cheerfully, seeing the thin manservant approach. "Shall we bathe m''lord?"


    ~ * ~


    "I want him found!" Reckless stood surrounded by bodies and screamed. "I want him found at once and brought to me! Alive!" She looked at her remaining companions and guards, who were only to cowering from her wrath. "Well?" she screamed. "What are you waiting for?"


    Needing no further encouragement, they left, fighting with each other to get out of the door, leaving only her closest companion and adviser, Bon, behind.


    As usual, Bon stood calmly. He was used to dealing with her rages, although this one had been a doozy. It was a good job there had been plenty of these rat people around for her to focus her... Focus on. He looked at the scattered bodies and wrinkled his nose. Who would have thought all of this was down here? If the castle under-mage hadn''t tracked the escaped were-beast using magic, they would have never found it at all.


    Sensing that the worst had passed, Bon approached Reckless.


    "Who is he?" he asked, simply.


    "I don''t know."


    Bon raised an eyebrow.


    "I don''t!" she declared. "Well, he''s..." She paused and looked uncertain, which was an alien expression on her face. "He''s been in my dreams," she went on, quietly now, almost to herself. "I''ve seen his face all of my life, but recently more and more. When I saw him in the hall..." She shook her head, making her blonde mane swirl around her. "When I saw him, I thought he was just another vision. And then I realised, he was actually there! And the power he has." She looked at Bon. "I want him found!" she repeated.


    "I will arrange search parties immediately," he replied.


    "Do so. Do so," she said, looking around her again. "And get this mess cleaned up."


    Bon nodded once more as she whirled about and stormed out of the were-rat den. He took a deep breath, regretted it, and then turned to follow her. This needed some thinking about.


    ~ * ~


    "Well, I have to say this is much better," Reginald said, as they stepped out onto the street.


    Urt agreed, unconsciously stroking his new robes.


    After their much needed wash, in a fine private pool filled with hot water drawn from some natural springs underground, they had moved on to another room, where a tailor had been summoned from a nearby establishment. After some intense haggling, which Reginald mostly did, showing a surprising knack for it, they had procured some new threads.


    Feeling he had to keep with traditional, Urt had kept his garments mostly black, but had added a deep red lining to his waistcoat, which he thought added a touch of rebellion to the whole outfit. He''d retained the cloak the Hag had given him, once it had been washed and dried, feeling that the quality was good enough, and prudently trying to restrict his still reasonable, but limited, finances.


    He''d bought Reginald a whole set of clothes though, as the old ones had been, he''d been ?ssured, disposed of permanently. For him, Urt had agreed on a sensible outfit of good, hard wearing brown material, with special catches to enable speedy undressing if needed. There was also a degree of elasticity built into the trousers. The one new addition had been a wide brimmed hat which the were-sheep had taken a fancy to.


    Suitably attired, they had recovered their valuables, with the treasure pouch somewhat lighter - although less than it would have been if Reginald hadn''t traded the candlestick in as part of the deal - and were ushered outside.


    "Wow, how long were we in there?" Reginald asked, looking up at the night sky.


    "Too long," Urt replied, slightly annoyed at himself for getting so distracted with the whole affair. "Come on, we need to get to our room. Hopefully Lucy and Horace made it back there."


    With directions taken from the bath house staff, the two trotted back double-time, only getting slightly lost once along the way.

 Chapter 125 - Ostages.

    They arrived, slightly out of breath, to a raucous lodgings. It seemed that the main eating space also doubled as a drinking area in the late hours. Urt and Reginald had to push their way through a crowd of drunken and, as it turned out, very smelly, revellers.


    "It must be someone''s birthday," Reginald commented, as he squeezed by a very fat man with a huge beard.


    "Never mind, we need to get upstairs and see if the zom... Lucy and Horace are there," Urt shouted over the din. "Excuse me sir," he said, pushing a thin drunken chap carelessly out of the way.


    Eventually they made it to the stairs, which were a bit quieter, thus enabling them to hear the shouting from above.


    Reginald and Urt exchanged glances and increased their pace.


    Out of breath, they finally made it to their room, to find the innkeep screeching through their door, which was firmly closed.


    "You let ''im go, you ''ere me?" She kicked the door. "I''ll calls the militia I will!" she added, pounding on the door with meaty fists.


    Composing himself, Urt stepped forward.


    "May I ask what is happening here?"


    "He''s an ''ostage," the woman said, still staring at the door. "It''s not fair, ''e''s an innocent fellah, just doin'' ''is job."


    "Who is?" Reginald asked.


    "Bob!" The woman finally looked around, and suddenly registered who she was talking to. "Yous!" she shouted, pointing a stained finger at them. "Yous ran off yous did!"


    "I ?ssure you madam, we did no such thing," Urt replied. "We were simply... delayed in a business dealing."


    "And that poor lass in there, she''s your slave or summat! She calls you master! "I don''t ''old with slavery, not being rich enough to ''ave me own."


    "I ?ssure you that isn''t at all..."


    Urt''s counter-argument was interrupted by Lucy, who opened the door and peered out. "Master?" she said.


    "...true. Well, it''s a joke name." Urt grinned nervously. "Get her!"


    The innkeeper shrieked and fought and bit, but between the three of them they eventually managed to bundle her into their room, which was already crowded with a large unconscious fellow, dressed in an apron that looked like it had been used go clean a stable, lying on the floor.


    Lucy wrestled the innkeeper to the ground and sat on her, whilst Reginald risked his fingers, and their captive''s health, by stuffing some of the bedding in her mouth to muffle her shrieks.


    "Thank Dreg you''re back!" said a familiar, if muffled, voice from across the room.


    Urt looked over, and saw his backpack on the windowsill. "Hello Horace," he said. "Do you have the clock?"


    "Oh, we''re well, thanks for asking," came the zombie-head''s reply. "I''m sure you were worried sick about us."


    "You''re dead already, what''s there to worry about?" Urt asked, striding over and pulling the head out of the bag.


    There was a screech, and the landlady slumped back, suddenly still, as the undead head came into view.


    "Look what you did," Reginald said, grinning.


    "The clock, master," Lucy said, indicating the item stolen from Bethany the Blue''s house a day and a million years earlier. It was sitting safely under one of the beds.


    "Thank goodness, if we''d done all this for nothing..." Urt let the sentence dangle.


    "So, what now then?" asked Reginald, slumping down on one of the ramshackle beds. "Can we rest here for a bit? I''m beat."


    Urt nodded, and sat down on the other bunk. He suddenly felt very weary himself. "We need to hide out until we can get to the library, swap the clock for the book, and then get out of here." He looked at the two captives. "Who''s the big guy?" he asked.


    "Bob," Horace replied. "When you didn''t reply, she sent him up here to evict us. We overpowered him."


    "We?" Urt raised an eyebrow.


    "I directed."


    "Mmm. Well, better tie him up a bit better, in case he wakes up. And keep an eye on him. In the meantime I''ll just take a five minute nap." He looked over at the were-sheep, but Reginald was already snoring on the bed. "Just five minutes," he repeated, slumping over. "Just..."


    ~ * ~


    "We believe this is where they are Lady Nothing," Bon said, as the pulled up outside the building. Their retinue halted alongside them, and several men spread out to secure the perimeter and whatever else well trained guards did in this sort of situation.


    Reckless looked up at the swaying structure and then raised one leg over the saddle and slid easily off her horse, landing with the grace of a particularly focused cat. One of the men automatically trotted up and took hold of the beast''s reigns.


    "Why would such a powerful wizard stay in this dump?" she asked.


    Bon, climbing more sedately off his own horse, shook his head. "I don''t know my lady. One ?ssumes he is hiding from someone. If he actually is inside of course. Our mage can only detect the were-beast, not our target.


    "He must be warded, but why not hide his companion too?" Reckless mused. "Hello, what have we here?"


    They turned to see another group of men, some on horses, some not, approach. They wore the garb of the city guards, and were following a tall woman in flowing robes riding a white mare.


    "This is either a coincidence, which I don''t believe in, or we may be in for a spot of bother." Bon looked over at his captain and made a signal with his hand. The man, a grizzled mercenary in studded leather armour, nodded and moved off to one side.


    The leader of the new group drew her own horse up and looked down at them. Definitely down at them, Bon decided. Her eyes eventually alighted on Reckless, who was scowling, before moving on to settle on Bon, whom she addressed.


    "I am Bethany the Blue," she stated. "Groan ruling council member and Mage of the Order of Ice. I am here looking for a fugitive. You will stand aside whilst I go about my business."


    Bon winced internally and moved to stay Reckless''s inevitable outburst. "Good morning your wizardship," he said, giving a very slight bow. "Lady Nothing is attending to a private matter, and appreciates your patience while she competes her business, which should take but a short time." Out of the corner of his eye he could see his guards subtly readying their weapons.


    Bethany the Blue shifted her gaze then to Reckless, who was now glaring at her. Bon raised an eyebrow at the mage''s sang-froid. Reckless had a reputation, a well deserved one, and not many were strong, or brave enough, to test it out. Then again, the councillor was a wizard. How powerful he didn''t know, not being familiar with Bethany the Blue, but then his path didn''t often cross with the rulers of the city.


    "City business comes before private citizen''s business I''m afraid," the mounted mage replied calmly.


    So much for a peaceful morning then, thought Bon. His hand drifted down to rest on the pommel of his own short sword.


    "He told you who I am," Reckless said. "I suggest you wait for us. We won''t be long."


    "And I told you who I am," Bethany replied, speaking more forcefully than before. "You will stand aside."


    "Or what?" Reckless folder her arms.


    "Or I shall make you." The wizard replied, holding up a hand, around which green flame suddenly licked.


    Bon closed his eyes.

 Chapter 127 - A Lot of Cows

    Nicolas ?r??n?d and dragged his bulk painfully onto a nearby chunk of masonry. Pulling himself up, he managed to achieve sitting position, which wasn''t much of an improvement in terms of pain, but at least the view was better.


    Actually, the view was mostly of debris. He couldn''t see the body of that damned Warden though.


    Spitting, Nicolas fumbled about his ruined garments, eventually pulling a tin from the torn remains of his waistcoat pocket. With shaking fingers, he opened it and pulled out a small, tightly wound, for want of a better work, cigarette, which he put to his lips.


    Closing and replacing the tin, he pointed at the end of the roll-up with his finger. Nothing happened. He growled and shook his hand before trying again, this time rewarded with a small flame, with which he lit the smoke.


    Inhaling deeply, he held his breath for a few moments, before exhaling a large cloud of blue fog.


    Only then did he take a better look around.


    The village of Mudrut was about a third gone he reckoned. The bloody Warden was considerably tougher than Nicolas had anticipated, not to mention his poodle, which had turned rather a lot larger and more vicious once hostilities had commenced. Still, he was certain the damned mutt was no longer in one piece. Quite literally. He squinted. Yes, he could see a leg over by the ruins of a small shack, across what was left of the road.


    He hoped the Warden had met a similar fate, but the last he''d seen of him was as he was trying to fight off the hound. Nicolas had summoned several undead Furies, a kind of spirit with a very bad temper, to help him deal with his enemy. Whilst they had managed to eradicate quite a lot of the village, the Warden could have survived.


    Still, even if he had, he was no better off than Nicolas, who had another drag of his joint and took stock.


    His clothes were done for. Burned, cut and torn, much of his body was exposed to the elements. As Nicolas was a very large fellow, this meant that there was a lot on show. Only his cloak, which he wrapped around himself, protected his modesty in any real sense.


    As for the village, well, Mudrut hadn''t been much to look at to begin with, just being a single street with, for the most part, ramshackle dwellings on either side. Now that street was a lot shorter, and the remains of many structures were smoking.


    To make matters worse, Nicolas still hadn''t located his target.


    With some effort he stood up, and walked, rather unevenly, towards the largest undamaged building, which was some kind of inn.


    Trying not to stagger, he pushed his way through the doors, into the main bar area. Inside were several villagers, cowering at the back of the room. A few of them screamed when he entered, and one man threw himself to the floor and scrabbled under a table.


    To the other side, behind a long, sturdy looking bar, stood a much larger woman with long blonde hair. She was holding a staff, although in a way that could be interpreted in a non-menacing, hedging bets kind of manner.


    Ignoring the cowering locals and the apprehensive stare of the giant barmaid, Nicolas made his way to the counter and leaned heavily on it.


    "Drink," he said, simply.


    "What will..." the woman started to say, but he cut her off.


    "Give me a drink!"


    Putting her staff to one side, the giantess reached down under the counter and pulled out a sturdy bottle full of clear liquid. "Scud alright?" she asked.


    Nicolas nodded. "Pour," he said, waving a hand.


    He took another pull on his smoke as she filled as small glass, which she then pushed towards him.


    Smiling, Nicolas snapped his fingers over it, and lit the top of the drink, which burned with a bright blue flame for a moment, before he picked up the glass and knocked it back.


    "Again," he said, putting it back on the counter.


    She just looked at him.


    "I know what Scud is," he said. "I''ve been around for longer than my youthful looks may indicate, and as you may be able to tell from my stout figure, I''m able to handle my liquor. So. Again."


    Trembling slightly, no doubt she''d hoped he would drop to the floor after drinking one glass, she poured another.


    Once that was done, Nicolas spoke again.


    "I don''t suppose you know of a young lad from around these parts, goes by the name of Urt, do you?"


    He could immediately tell he''d hit pay-dirt. Her eyes widened and she stepped back. Something''s gone on here then, he thought.


    "I... I..."


    "Come on lass, I''m not going to hurt you." He repeated his ritual with the drink, and emptied the glass again. This time he didn''t bother asking, but refilled it himself. "What do you know? Where is he?"


    "He... he was here a while ago," she said, twisting her apron in giant fists.


    "And now he''s not?"


    "He went to Groan, so I heard it."


    "Damn." Nicolas banged his fist on the counter top, making her jump. Making himself jump a little too. He wasn''t totally immune to the effects of Scud after all.


    "Fine," he said. Standing upright. "Thank you for the drink. He pulled a coin out of thin air and flipped it at her. If that Warden fellow is still alive, tell him I''ll see him on the other side. And as a necromancer, I mean that."


    Closing his eyes, he summoned the last of his energy and teleported away, leaving Mudrut to its own devices once again.


    ~ * ~


    "Here we are then," Urt said as they finally approached the library.


    "Let''s just hope whatshername is there today," Reginald said. "It could be her day off for all we know."


    "Let''s hope not," replied Urt. He looked at Lucy and held out the backpack with Horace in. "You two should wait here. Give me the clock and go and wait down that alleyway. Try and remain inconspicuous."


    "Yes master," Lucy said, handing him the hard won clock and taking Horace''s bag in exchange.


    "So nice to have an obedient minion," Urt commented as the little zombie wandered off into the alleyway.


    "So, how do we do this?" Reginald asked, looking up at the building.


    "There''s no need for any subterfuge here," Urt said. "Deirdre and I had a deal. A straight swap. The clock for the book."


    "We''ve gone to a lot of trouble for this. Remind me why again?"


    Urt thought of the Hag''s leg and shook his head. "My word is my bond." He looked at the werebeast. "Unlike someone who pledged rabbits," he added.


    "I thought it was a cow now?"


    "It''s going to be a whole flock of cows soon."


    "Herd."


    "What?" Urt asked, as they approached the entrance to the library.


    "Herd of cows."


    "Of course I''ve heard of cows, what are you talking about?" Urt shook his head. "Look, let''s just get the book, get out of the city and then you can stalk cows until, well, until they come home. Honestly."


    Reginald sighed, but shut up as they entered the archway that led into the main lobby.


    They were in luck. Inside, time might well not have moved on from their last visit. There was still no customers, and there, reading a book behind the counter, was Deirdre.


    Urt, followed by Reginald, approached. "Hello there," he said.


    Deirdre glanced at him. "Hello ducky," she replied. "I''m on my break."


    Resisting the impulse to ask how one could be on break first thing in the morning, Urt decided to cut straight to the chase. With a flourish, he produced the clock, setting it down on the counter carefully.


    "Oh!" Deirdre said, "It''s you lot! I didn''t recognise you without your daughter."


    "Daughter?" Urt frowned for a moment. "Oh, you mean Lucy. No, she''s... ah, with her older brother at the moment. This is your clock yesno?"


    "Yes. Oh yes. I won''t ask how you managed to get it," the librarian said, taking the clock in both hands and examining it. "It''s in perfect condition. Thank you." She put the clock down behind the counter somewhere and returned to reading her book.


    Urt stood there. Deirdre continued to read and ignore him.


    "Ahem," he said. "I believe that we had... an arrangement? Your clock in exchange for a certain book?"


    "Oh I couldn''t possibly do that, it''s against the rules," the librarian replied, with a wave of her hand.


    "But you said..."


    "I said," Deirdre said, taking her gaze off her book for a moment to glare at him. "I can''t just give anyone books willy nilly."


    "But we had..."


    "Do I have to call security?" she cut Urt''s protest off.


    "No." Urt stood there for a moment. Strange feelings welling up inside him. "No."

 Chapter 128 - Pretty Eyes.

    Reginald had observed the exchange without much surprise. It had been his experience that most people didn''t keep their word. He was slightly surprised at Urt''s obvious shock at this.


    "So you''re not going to give me the book?" the necromancer repeated.


    "No," Deirdre repeated.


    "Really?" Urt took a deep breath.


    "Look," Reginald said, putting a hand on Urt''s arm. "It''s not that..."


    "No."


    The weresheep took a pace back from the look on Urt''s face. "No?"


    "No. I''ve had enough." Urt took a step closer to Deirdre. "You said you would give me the book in exchange for the clock. I''ve delivered the clock. You will give me the book."


    Deirdre laughed, which even Reginald, never the top interpreter of body language, took to be bad idea. He moved back a little more.


    "You will give me the Lexicon Tormentus now. Or I will be angry."


    "You''re just a jumped up country bumpkin," the librarian laughed again, showing, in Reginald''s eyes, an amazing lack of self preservation.


    In reply, Urt raised a hand. Black flame flickered around his fingers. Suddenly Deirdre looked less certain.


    "Give. Me. The. Book." The young necromancer stepped forward again and, for the first time since he''d met him, Reginald saw his comrade as someone with the potential to be very, very dangerous.


    "Y... Y... okay. It... it''s..."


    "Get it. Now." Urt wasn''t tall, but suddenly he appeared to tower over the woman. His face white as death.


    "It''s just... just here, under the counter." Deirdre was sobbing now. "Please don''t hurt me."


    "Give me the book!" Both Reginald and Deirdre were knocked back by the booming power of the Voice.


    "Here! Here!" Shaking with terror, the librarian scrabbled about under her counter, throwing tomes left and right as she sorted through a pile, eventually pulling out a surprisingly small book with a dark red cover, which she gave, with a trembling hand, to the dark figure looming over her.


    Suddenly Urt was back to his usual self. "There," he said pleasantly. "That wasn''t too hard was it?" He looked around. "Come on Reginald."


    "That was awesome!" he said, once he''d caught up. "How the hell did you do that? The whole looming thing, and the voice? To be honest, I''ve not really taken you all that seriously until now, but that was next level stuff."


    "As usual, I have no idea what you''re talking about," Urt replied. "Now, come on we need to get Lucy and Horace and then get the hell out of this town. I feel a longing for the countryside."


    "Yes boss," Reginald replied, and the two of them trotted off.


    ~ * ~


    The Very Dark Necromancer said nothing. Simply tapped a long, yellow, fingernail on his desk. Nicolas, not someone who was easily scared, tried not to tremble.


    "I give you one simple task," the Very Dark Necromancer finally spoke. "And not only do you fail to recover the target, but you destroy an innocent village in the process."


    "It was half destroyed, at most," Nicolas felt stung enough to defend himself. "Which frankly, can only have improved the place. If you''d seen..."


    "I''ve seen Mudrut." The senior necromancer slammed a hand on the desk, and then paused. "But yes, you''re probably right. The place gives cesspools a bad name."


    Nicolas looked askance at his boss, sensing, just possibly, he may yet escape the office alive, or at least in mostly one part.


    "I''ve had a new report. It seems our man is now in Groan."


    "The big barmaid indicated that he''d gone off in that direction." Nicolas nodded.


    The Very Dark Necromancer looked up at him. "And yet you came here."


    Nicolas began to open his mouth to explain he had just come to make a report, but then decided this would be a mistake. With a simple nod of his head he executed a teleport spell he kept for emergencies and vanished.


    ~ * ~


    "Excuse my impertinence Lady Nothing," Bon said. "But..."


    "You''re wondering why we''re wandering round the city walls," Reckless interrupted him.


    "Well, yes."


    "Because..." Reckless took a deep and frustrated breath. "Because I just... I just know he''s nearby somewhere."


    "Again, Lady, who is this person to you? We lost some good men fighting the city guard, and no doubt there will be further fallout from that. Is he worth the trouble?"


    Reckless whirled around and jabbed her advisor in the ?h?st, causing him, and their escort of two guards, to stop suddenly in the middle of the busy street. "We will find him!" she snarled. "I don''t know who he is. I just know he''s been in here," she took the finger off him to tap the side of her head, "for most of my life. And now he''s actually here here. I need to know... What?"


    Bon was looking over her shoulder at the main gate, which they had been approaching.


    Spinning round, Reckless''s eyes widened. There, riding a rather shabby looking horse, was the boy, followed closely by his were-companion, riding a haggard pony. Trotting alongside was a small figure with a hood drawn over their face.


    "It''s them!" she screamed, and pointed a slim, and very dangerous, finger at her target.


    Usually when she did this, something unpleasant would happen to the object of her attentions. This time however, the boy merely looked startled as part of the wall behind him exploded, showering the area with stone shrapnel.


    Her target, struggling to control his panicked horse, located her and shouted something at his companion.


    However, the were-boy had fallen off his pony, and was busy trying not to get trampled by it.


    "Get him!" shouted Reckless, pointing again at her target. This time a watch soldier guarding the gate tripped over and brained himself on a recently detached chunk of city wall.


    "What by Frell*?!" she screamed. Never had her abilities misfired like this.


    The two guards were now on their way to intercept. She started to follow them, shrugging off Bon''s attempts to hold her back, but then stopped when the boy said something and waved a hand, in what was undoubtedly a spell casting move.


    Meanwhile the crowd around the gate had twigged they were in the middle of a combat zone, and followed suite, screaming and rushing for cover, knocking Reckless and Bon to one side as the pair tried to go against the urgent tide of humanity.


    "Where is he?" Reckless punched a fat merchant ruthlessly in the face as he tried to shove her out of the way, pushing him to the ground and stepping over his gasping form.


    "Look out Lady!" Bon said.


    She saw, too late, the boy cast another spell, at her this time.


    A ball of intense blue fire rushed towards her, only to veer off at the last moment and hit a market stall, which blew up, the force of the explosion knocking her over. She fell on the fat merchant, who cushioned her blow.


    "Ha," she said, pulling herself up, ignoring the cries of the unfortunate man as she trod on his head. "Seems our immunity works both ways."


    Once again she stepped forward to pursue her quarry. This time though, a shape leaped out of nowhere and knocked her back down, once more landing upon the much abused merchant.


    She gasped as the breath was knocked out of her, and looked up at the werewolf boy, who had obviously evaded his pony''s hooves. He was now laying on top of her, his face close to hers.


    "Get... off... me!" she snarled.


    "You have really beautiful eyes, do you know that?" he said, most unexpectedly. Then he was on his feet and running for the gate, catching up with his friend who had managed to snag the errant pony.


    "Stop them!" shouted Bon at the city guard.


    The soldiers had seen what had happened to Reckless''s guard though, now a puddle on the cobblestones, and leaped out of the way, allowing both boys and their small companion to retreat through the gate and out of the city.


    "Are you alright Lady?" Bon''s face looked down at Reckless, who was still lying atop the fat merchant, making no attempt to rise.


    She looked back at him. "Do I have pretty eyes Bon?" she asked.


    *Frell ¨C Goddess of those Blessed, and those Cursed.

 Chapter 129 - Road WIzard.

    "Well, that was exciting," said Reginald, climbing once again on to his pony.


    "I wouldn''t know, I couldn''t see anything!" complained Horace. "How come I always miss the fun?"


    "Yes, more excitement than I would have preferred," replied Urt, ignoring the complaining head and making sure his saddle was tightened.


    Urt''s small group had stopped briefly a little way out of Groan, to catch their breath and make sure everything was in one piece after their high profile escape. Also to adjust the backpack carried by Lucy so that Horace could peer out at the passing world through a gap, after a litany of complaints from him.


    "That was an impressive spell there," Reginald said, leaning forward on his pommel and watching Urt arrange his gear. "Melting the poor chap where he stood. Never seen that before."


    "You''ve been in many magical battles then?" Urt asked.


    "Okay, I''ve never heard of that before. How come sometimes you can cast death magic like that with merely a gesture, but other times you can b?r?ly light a campfire?"


    "I''ve never not been able to light a campfire," Urt retorted. However, his companion had a point. It seemed like sometimes his magic became supercharged for some reason. He shook his head. "Never mind, we''ll figure that out later, let''s put some distance between us and this bloody city."


    He mounted his steed again, which he''d bought after a heated debate with Reginald earlier. Reluctant to spend any more of his funds, he''d only changed his mind when the were-sheep had pointed out that they would get back to the Hag faster with mounts.


    Reginald had again shown a talent for haggling at the horse merchant''s, and they''d come away with two, admittedly less than premium, steeds. Still, they were faster than walking, and Urt liked to think it added to their perceived status.


    "I still don''t understand why we couldn''t have had a horse too," complained Horace through his new peephole.


    "Because it was hard enough finding an animal that could cope with were-beast here." Urt gestured at Reginald. "Finding one that would allow undead to ride would be more trouble than it was worth. Anyway, zombies don''t need them. Lucy is quite capable of trotting alongside all day long if needs be."


    "Just another example of the superior species that we zombies are," Horace replied.


    "It doesn''t make a difference to you, you''re being carried anyway!" said Reginald.


    "It would be a better view up there though," Horace m??n?d.


    "Oh stop your complaining," Urt said. "We''ve a good day''s riding ahead of us to the Hag''s. Don''t make me turn round and leave you in Groan."


    "Why would you do that?" Horace asked, perplexed at the threat. Urt ignored him though, spurring on his mount, images of the Hag''s leg wandering through his mind.


    ~ * ~


    Redthorne shifted in his saddle. He was still getting used to life on the road, although he didn''t ache quite as much now, which was partly down to acclimatisation and partly down to several subtly cast healing spells.


    Beside, and slightly behind him, the giant paladin, Prudence, was sitting on her enormous warhorse, no doubt praying to herself or something.


    Half of Redthorne wished he''d not hired her. She was forever going on about the Greater Good and was ridiculously moral. They''d wasted several hours helping a farmer get his cart out of the dirt it had been stuck in. Redthorne had just wanted to use magic, but she''d insisted that would be wasteful and insulting to magic, which she maintained was provided by The Lady.


    In any case, she''d been quiet for the better part of the day so far, which had improved the journey no end, in his opinion.


    In fact the day had been quite pleasant all round. They were travelling along a rough, but fairly clear track through undulating moorland. The odd tree appeared, along with the occasional cluster of rocks, but that had been all they''d encountered, which was fine with the mage.


    "Sir Wizard." The day took a slight dip as his other mad fighter appeared from nowhere, as he liked to do, and nearly made him fall off his horse.


    "How many times must I tell you, warn me when you''re near!" Redthorne rebuked the man.


    Yu Sod, a suitable name if there ever was one Redthorne thought, frowned. "But I just did," he pointed out.


    "Never mind," the mage shook his head. "What is it?"


    "There''s a wizard sitting in the road ahead of us," the monk replied.


    "How do you know he''s a wizard?" Redthorne glanced at Prudence, who was frowning.


    Yu gestured at Redthorne''s outfit, which consisted of the Order''s traditional robes, albeit slightly adjusted for travelling.


    "Oh. What did he say?"


    "Said he wanted to talk to you, and I was to tell you not to attack as soon as you saw him."


    "Mmm. That doesn''t sound promising," Redthorne said. "Very well, where is he?"


    "Just over this rise." Yu gestured at the brow of the small hill they were currently ascending.


    Redthorne nodded, and was about to say something more, but the monk had vanished again. Where to was a mystery, it wasn''t like there was a lot of cover.


    The two of them crested the hill, and came to an abrupt stop.


    Yu had been understating in his usual fashion when he said there was a wizard sitting in the road. In fact there was a wizard sitting on a ludicrously ornate seat, practically a throne, in the middle of the track. If there was ever an incongruous sight, this was it.


    Frowning, Redthorne took another look at the seated magic user. He looked familiar somehow.


    "Hello again," the other wizard said. He was clad in orange and purple robes, and wore a rather battered hat on his head. He waved a hand in what could have been construed as a friendly fashion.


    "Don''t I know you from somewhere?" asked Redthorne, remaining where he was.


    "Oh, we met once, about twenty years or so ago?"


    Memories flooded back suddenly, and Redthorne raised his eyebrows. "Von isn''t it?" he said. "Harry?"


    "Harvey," the other mage said. "Harvey Von McVon." He stood up and bowed, very slightly. "At your service sir."


    "I heard you''d been killed in the battle of the Overlords," Redthorne said.


    Harvey shrugged and sat back down. "I''ve always viewed remaining dead as optional."


    "Mmm. What do you want?" Redthorne asked.


    "I believe you are back, how do they say it? ''On Mission.''" Harvey made the air quotes sign.


    "What''s it to you?"


    "Maybe we could help each other," Harvey smiled.


    "I''m fine, thanks for the offer though."


    "But you do know where the baby is don''t you?"


    "He won''t be a baby any more," Redthorne said. ??And why?"


    "I know a bit about who trained him, even the name he goes by now, after you lost him," Harvey said.


    "I was ambushed and he was taken from me!" Redthorne snarled. The memory of that continued to rankle.


    "Yes, yes, very unfortunate. The thing is, I have this knowledge and... other details. I could be very useful to you in your search."


    "You can''t find him can you?" Redthorne said.


    Harvey scowled. "No, he''s been masked. I ?ssume you put a Mark* on him when you had him as a baby though, which is why you can."


    "Maybe."


    "You couldn''t detect him though, until recently, because he was within a larger area, also masked. Isn''t that right?"


    "I don''t need your help," Redthorne said. "I can find him whatever he looks like."


    "You''re making a mistake."


    "I don''t think so." Redthorne rolled up his sleeves and pulled his staff from it''s travel harness.


    "Bah. I''ll remember this." Harvey made a gesture. There was a loud bang and an eruption of smoke which, once it cleared, revealed nothing more than some chair marks in the road.


    *A Mark ¨C A magical rune, invisible to all but the caster. Once placed upon a person or item, the caster can track the whereabouts, even if the person/item is personally cloaked.

 Chapter 130 - Room Fer the Orses.

    Lady Blue rubbed at her hand, which itched after she''d healed a scratch on it following her fight with the bitch they called Lady Nothing.


    After the encounter, Bethany had done some digging in the council records, as well as some subtle queries amongst her peers, both magical and otherwise. She had discovered that Lady Nothing was, essentially, left alone by the ruling council, mainly because she had some kind of inbuilt, incredibly dangerous, feral magic. There were several theories on how she could be beaten, if push came to shove, but frankly there had never been a reason to take such a move, which was not considered to be without risk.


    As for her background, no one was really sure where she''d come from. Bethany had traced records that mentioned her back about fifteen years, but that didn''t mean she hadn''t been in the city longer. The source of her wealth, which was rumoured to considerable, was also much speculated upon. As a by product, it also allowed her to hire the very best mercenaries, which was, prudent thinking went, another reason for leaving her well alone. This would also explain why the city guards had been fairly well trounced by Nothing''s forces in Bethany''s small battle.


    She scowled, and picked up a piece of recently delivered parchment from one of her agents. It held a terse and somewhat confused report about a disturbance near the south gate of the city. Apparently Lady Nothing had had another skirmish, with a small group of unidentified wizards. This time she''d not faired so well, although, sadly in Bethany''s eyes, she''d survived without injury.


    Resolving to put more surveillance on the woman, the mage suddenly became alert, as her protective wards sprang up. She retreated to a better defensive position and readied a spell.


    There was a movement next to her coffee table, and then the explosion of air that usually heralded someone teleporting in.


    "Hold!" she commanded, to the large figure that was now standing in the middle of her living room. "Who the hell are you and what do you want?"


    The mage, he was obviously a mage given his robes and aura, looked around, unperturbed at the green fire flickering around her raised hands.


    The man was rotund in the extreme, although well groomed, and sporting a goatee moustache and beard that people of his large size use to help conceal double chins.


    He bowed slightly. "I apologise for the unannounced visit," he said in a smooth tone. "To be honest, I was aiming to land outside, and then knock on the door in a more conventional, and less alarming, manner. My name is Nicolas, and, from what I understand, we may be able to help each other.


    Bethany narrowed her eyes. "Help how?"


    "I understand you have a grievance with a young necromancer. I would like to ?ssist in his capture. I bring considerable resources to the table."


    "I''m listening," said Bethany.


    "Here, this is it." Urt and his small, weary, group pulled up outside the Hag''s residence. They''d managed to make it before nightfall, which was a relief to Urt. He had come to the conclusion he didn''t enjoy sleeping outdoors. That said, there was no guarantee the Hag would offer shelter for the night.


    "Come on," he said. Dismounting, they made their way along the small, muddy path to the door, which he hammered on.


    "Ooo''s there?" came a familiar voice.


    "It''s Urt."


    "Ooo?"


    "Urt? You sent me to get the book, remember?"


    There was a pause, and then the door was opened. Beyond, exactly as he remembered her, stood the Hag.


    "She''s young! She can''t be a Hag," said Reginald.


    "And yoo''s not a boy," the Hag replied. She sniffed at him. "Me''be ''alf boy." She directed her attention back to Urt, who smiled in what he hoped was a charming manner.


    "I''ve brought the book, as per our deal," he repeated. He held out the hard won prize.


    "Aye. See''s that, ah doos." The Hag didn''t take the book but looked at him closely, examining him up and down until Urt began to feel a little uncomfortable. Her eyes were a piercing green and appeared to be looking right through him.


    "Ah, perhaps we could come in? We''ve travelled a long way to get to you, and could use a rest."


    "Yoo''s can comes in," she replied. "The ''alf boy and dead ''uns stays oot. Tell ''ems goos ''roond back, there''s be somewheres theys cans stays. Readies it ah ''as. Some room fer the ''orses too."


    Urt looked at Reginald and shrugged. "You heard her," he said.


    "I heard her, but I didn''t understand her," Reginald replied.


    "There''s somewhere for you to stay around the back. I''m sure you''ll be very comfortable. Horace, Lucy, go and get the horses will you?"


    "Yes boss," Horace replied cheerfully. Lucy merely nodded.


    Urt made a gesture at Reginald, who hadn''t moved. "Well, off you go then."


    "Bah," the were-sheep said, but trudged off round the side of the small building, giving Urt a dirty look.


    The Hag''s home hadn''t changed since the last time he''d visited. The enormous cauldron was still dangling over a low fire, and the rest of the room was cluttered with things Urt decided not to examine too closely.


    "Well..." he started to say, but was interrupted as the Hag threw herself forward at him. Wrapping her arms around his body she proceeded to give Urt a remarkably passionate kiss which Urt, after only a second''s hesitation, magnanimously decided to go along with.


    "Ah''s waited fer yoos to come backs," the Hag explained, pulling him towards the corner of the hut, where a furry sleeping mat was waiting.


    "I don''t understand..." Urt started to say.


    "Yoos don''t ''ave ter. T''is time fer mah payment." The Hag pulled at his cloak, trying to undo the catch.


    Deciding to attempt to understand things later, he dropped the book and helped her.


    ~ * ~


    Urt awoke to the smell of cooking and the sound of humming.


    He stretched luxuriously. The sleeping furs had been surprisingly comfortable and warm, although a large portion of the night had not involved sleeping. It had involved definitely not sleeping very much indeed, and Urt had learned a good deal about human anatomy, or Hag anatomy at least. Overall, he reflected, it had probably been the most enjoyable night he''d ever had. He could understand why people raved about this sort of thing now.


    He looked around. The Hag was dressed in her furs again, to his disappointment, and busy stirring at her cauldron. She saw him looking, and gave him a brief, un-Hag-like smile. "Yoos needs to get oop," she said, before returning to her cooking.


    Groaning, Urt started to recover his clothing, which was laying scattered where it had been frantically discarded the previous evening. As he dressed, the Hag located a wooden bowl from somewhere and ladled some of the cauldron''s contents into it.


    She walked over and put it, and a spoon, next to him. "Eat," she instructed, and padded off to do some unidentifiable task at a table set against the far wall.


    Pulling on the remainder of his clothes, Urt saw he still had the book that had taken so much work to recover.


    "I''ll leave the Lexicon on your bed shall I?" he asked, picking up the bowl and examining the contents. It was full of some kind of stew. No eyeballs or other off-putting parts seem to be involved, so he picked up the spoon as well.


    "Yoos keep the book. Meb'' yoos ''ll needs it. Ah''s gots me payment." She smiled.


    "Payment?" asked Urt, taking a cautious taste of his broth. It was actually very good. He took a larger spoonful.


    "Aye," she replied. "Next Hag ''ll ''ave to be right powerf''l. Fer what she''ll ''ave ter face. Needed someone wih powerf''l magic in ''em."


    Urt was only half listening, and didn''t understand, but nodded anyway. "Well, I''m really happy to be able to help," he said. He looked down at his bowl for a moment. "Er, I was thinking, maybe, after I''ve done with my business, I could come back. We could, er..."


    The Hag looked at him for a moment, then padded back over and kneeled by his side. With a surprisingly tender touch, she stroked his face. "Yoos a sweet ''un," she said. "But we''s not meant ter be. Fun as it was, won''t be ''appening agin." She looked at him for another second, and then frowned.


    "Oh," said Urt, feeling foolish. Then, when she continued to frown at him: "What?"


    "There''s somethin'' missin'' from yer," she said.


    "Like what?" Urt felt the top of his head, to check he still had hair.


    "Ah dussn''t know," the Hag replied. "Like yoos not... complete. Ahs don''t understands it." She shook her head. "Anyways, yoos needs go. Another is destin''d fer yer she is."


    "Another?" Urt asked.


    "Aye."


    "It wouldn''t be a girl in white would it?"


    "Noo. Itsa sharp ''un, in black, waitin'' fer yoos. Sees ''er soon yoos will. Right excitin'' it''ll be fer yer." She smiled, as if amused at some private joke.


    "Oh." Urt looked down at his bowl.


    "Now," the Hag stood up, all business again. "Finish yer eats and gets yer stuff wizad. Yoos needs to bes off. "


    "Aye," Urt said, feeling suddenly miserable. "I guess ah doos."

 Chapter 131 - Ships that Pass.

    "I urge you again my lady," Bon said, standing by his horse. "Please, call off this chase. With the enemy we made of that council woman, we should stay and prepare to defend ourselves."


    "If I''m not here then she won''t come for me," Reckless replied. Sniffing, she checked the saddle of her horse and then mounted the beast in one swift movement.


    Bon sighed. He hadn''t believed he could change her mind, but it was worth one final shot. Nodding at the guard captain, who was remaining behind to guard the manor, he mounted his own steed. The guard lieutenant was in charge of the half dozen mercenaries that would form their escort. The fighters were the best he could hire, but even so he was concerned. The object of Lady Nothing''s attentions had proven to be an incredibly dangerous foe, although Bon wasn''t really sure he had to be a foe. He determined to try and convince Reckless to try a more subtle approach if, and more likely, when they caught up with him.


    It was simply too costly in men otherwise.


    The small party moved out, passing through the ground''s main gates, horses steaming in the early morning air. They made a steady pace through the early traffic, passing through the south gate with no interference.


    Bon wondered how many spies were watching their departure. Shaking his head, he took a deep breath and looked at the road ahead instead. Enough to worry about with this wizard they were chasing.


    He settled himself into his saddle as the group increased their speed slightly. Adventure awaited, no doubt.


    Bon rather wished adventure would carry on without him.


    ~ * ~


    "Well, look who deigns to visit the peasants," Reginald said, as Urt entered the small barn behind the Hag''s hut. "Your majesty." He performed a mock bow, although he was sitting on a box eating something.


    A compact fire burned in the middle of the stone floor, over which the remains of some kind of small animal hung on a spit.


    "Is that one of the many animals you owe me?" asked Urt.


    "No, it was here when we arrived," chirped up Horace. He had been placed on a similar box to the one Reginald was sitting on. Lucy was standing nearby, staring off into space.


    Urt looked around. Despite what the were-sheep had said, the barn was probably just as cosy as the main hut. Straw was piled up along two walls, with a partitioned area for the horses. Several sleeping furs were off to one side, although only one looked used.


    "I see you''ve had a comfortable night then," Urt noted.


    "Not as comfortable as all that," Horace replied. "There was this terrible racket coming from the big nob''s house."


    "Yes," Reginald said, grinning from ear to ear. "Sounded like some brutal fighting. I for one was concerned for your health."


    "Oh grow up," Urt replied, both please and annoyed.


    "You''re blushing," Horace added.


    Reginald made kissing sounds, spitting out food in the process. "Oh Hag dearest!" he mocked. "Do you love me?"


    "I''m going to make you all suffer horribly," Urt scowled, only half joking.


    "Won''t be as bad as listening to that last night." Reginald went back to eating.


    "Come on," Urt said. "The Hag''s told me how to get to Banesville. We should get moving. Stop stuffing your face and put the fire out. Lucy, take Horace and ready the horses."


    "Yes master," the small zombie said.


    In short order, the group was ready to move. They led the horses around to the road. Urt looked at the front door of the Hag''s hut, but of her there was no sign. He sighed. She''d made it clear that she wouldn''t be mourning his departure.


    "You okay boss?" asked Reginald, in a moment of actual concern.


    "I''ll be fine. Ships that pass in the night, sort of thing."


    "I''ve never seen a ship," the were-sheep replied.


    "I think I have," Horace chirped up from his bag. "I might have been a sailor when I was alive. I''m sure I have sea legs, or had."


    "What happened to the rest of him anyway?" Reginald asked Urt.


    "There was a technical issue raising him," Urt replied. "Necromancer stuff, you wouldn''t understand." In truth, Horace''s head was the only thing that had re-animated when he''d tried to raise him, for some odd reason. Urt had decided to cut the body away before Horace had become fully aware of his surroundings, rather than dispose of the even limited success. Horace had been the last zombie, or part zombie, he''d managed to raise. It was embarrassing.


    "So, why don''t you raise some more zombies then?" asked Reginald, pushing ahead blindly.


    "I need bodies first," Urt said. "And ingredients. And time and a place. None of which I have at the moment." He gave Horace''s bag a glare, daring him to speak.


    "I bet you''re looking forward to Banesville then," Reginald went on, cheerfully. "No doubt they will have all those things."


    "Maybe." Urt pondered this statement. He was hoping that Mangle was there, and he''d have an explanation for his... issue.


    They trotted on in silence for a while, meeting no one, which wasn''t surprising, considering it lead to Mudrut. After about an hour, Urt pulled up and examined the side of the road.


    "What are we looking for?" asked Reginald.


    "There''s a turning off to Banesville, but it''s masked in some fashion. The Hag said I should be able to see it, but I can''t."


    "Are you sure you''re looking on the right side?" asked Horace.


    "Don''t be foo... Oh." Urt stopped as he concentrated on the left side of the track and saw a definite shimmering to his magical senses.


    "Hah, I knew it," the zombie head crowed.


    "Alright, alright," Urt scowled. "Anyone can make a mistake sometimes. Hold on a second." He muttered the incantation the Hag had given him, and the undergrowth wobbled and vanished, to reveal a fairly narrow, but well worn track leading west.


    "Interesting," Reginald said. "You passed this twice without seeing it."


    "I wasn''t looking before," Urt replied. "Come on, it only stays clear for a minute."

 Chapter 132 - Witch Revelations.

    Lady Nothing reigned her horse in and looked at the hut set back in the trees.


    "What''s up?" Bon asked, pulling up next to her, the rest of the men drawing up behind.


    Reckless frowned. "I''m not sure, but I get a definite feeling that our boy''s been here. Let''s pay a visit."


    Bon glanced over at his lieutenant and jerked his head as he dismounted, hurrying to catch up with Reckless as she walked briskly to the door. A guardsman followed him, hand on his sword.


    Not hesitating, Lady Nothing banged on the door. "Is anybody home?" she shouted, loudly.


    "Depends oos askin''," came a shrill voice from inside.


    "Open up, we have some questions to ask y..." The door swung open suddenly, cutting off Lady Nothing''s sentence mid-flow.


    "What yer want?" said the female figure standing on the threshold.


    Bon, upon seeing her, had to stop himself taking a step backwards. He''d grown up in the country, and knew a witch when he saw one. Before he could stop her though, Lady Nothing spoke again.


    "What are you then?" she enquired.


    Bon winced. Admittedly, the witch didn''t look like much of a threat, being of slim build and not even as tall as Reckless. Plus she was clad in furs that could only be described as... fresh, and held a large wooden spoon as her only visible weaponry. Still, not everything dangerous looked it.


    "My Lady means," he interjected, "Good day to you. We were just passing and would like to enquire if you had seen a young wizard around here lately. He was accompanied by another lad, about the same age, and a youngster. We will reward you generously for any information."


    "Don''ts needs noo rewad," the witch said, and slammed the door shut.


    "Oh dear," Bon muttered, too slow to stop Reckless banging on the door again, a lot more angrily this time.


    The portal swung quickly open again, and the witch put the end of the spoon under Lady Nothing''s nose. "Betta booggers off right quick!" she said.


    "Answer me or..." Reckless was cut off again, as the door was once more slammed shut. This was followed by a loud cackling from inside, which only confirmed Bon''s fears.


    "Why you..." Lady Nothing started to raise her hand.


    Bon risked his life by grabbing her arm. "My Lady!" he said, urgently. "No, please. No one cackles like that unless they''re a witch, and you need to be careful dealing with witches."


    "Bah, mages don''t bother me," Lady Nothing said. "I''ve handled worse."


    "Maybe my Lady," Bon said, "but witches work in a different way. They come at you sideways. Please, trust me. I grew up in the country, my aunt was a witch, and she was dangerous as hell, and she was a white witch! A good one. I doubt this one is."


    "She''s on her home ground," Bon went on, going for the win. "Witches are strongest on their own turf, and she''s bound to have wards and traps. And we don''t want to lose all our men," he added. He saw the guard behind them nod vigorously in agreement. "Let me talk to her."


    "Very well, but I''m standing right here." Lady Reckless crossed her arms and pouted.


    "Of course, just, please, just let me do the talking." Waiting for her to nod, Bon knocked once again on the door, this time in what he hoped was a gentile and respectful manner.


    A few moments later, it opened again, this time more sedately. The witch on the other side looked at him, and it was all Bon could do to hold his ground as her green eyes seem to pierce his very soul. Finally she nodded. "What?" she said.


    "Miss Witch..." he started.


    "Hag."


    "What?"


    "Ahma Hag."


    After a moment to decipher this, Bon nodded. "Miss Hag," he started again. "We are looking for a young wizard and his travel mates and my... companion here," he gestured at Lady Reckless, who was glaring hard enough to curse a person for life, "believe you may have encountered them. We would be most grateful if you could supply us with any information as to his whereabouts."


    "Yoos knows Winnie dussunt yoo?" the Hag said.


    Bon opened his eyes. Winnie was the name of his witch aunt. He nodded.


    "Aye," The Hag looked down a moment, and then she did something which would probably have killed most people. She stepped up to Lady Nothing and looked her deep in the eyes.


    There was a moment of silence. The air between the two seemed to crackle, before, to Bon''s amazement, Lady Nothing looked away.


    The Hag nodded again. "Aye," she said, this time to Lady Nothing. "Ah knows yer brutha."


    "My... what?" It was Lady Reckless''s turn to look shocked. "My brother? My brother? Brother? Brother??"


    "Aye. Urt." The Hag grinned, a grin that was half evil, half mischief and half spite. "Reckon'' yoos be an aunt soons." She cackled again.


    "Bon," Lady Nothing turned to him. "What''s she saying?"


    "I believe the person you''ve been trying to, ah, catch, this boy..."


    "Urt," the witch interjected.


    "Urt," Bon carried on. "Is your brother."


    "But... but... I don''t have a brother," she replied.


    "Doos," said the witch. She stepped forward again, and from her furs pulled out some kind of small metallic ring, with which she proceeded to look through, examined Lady Nothing up and down, making small noises. After a moment she put the ring back. "Ah," she said. "Intr''stin''. Elf too. Ahh! That''s why e''s missin'' somethin''. Neva seen the likes, wud explain tho."


    "What is she saying Bon?" repeated Lady Nothing, half frantic now.


    "Yoos betta comes in. Jus'' yoos two," the Hag said, indicating the guard should remain where he was. "Ah''s somethin''s ter tells yoo." She paused. "Bring summa that gold too," she added.


    Bon nodded at Lady Nothing. "I think we should hear what she has to say," he said.

 Chapter 126 - Bobs Had it.

    "Master, master, wake up." Urt was pulled from a dream where he was trying to clean the sewers with, for some reason, a shoe. He ?r??n?d and pulled himself upright, blinking in the sunlight. The sun! They''d slept all night!


    "Wake up master!" Horace''s voice once again impinged upon his consciousness. "We need to get out of here. There''s a disturbance outside, and your old friend Bethany the Blue is involved. Lucy says that''s her anyway. I wouldn''t know, having been stuffed in a bag at the time."


    Ignoring the head''s gripes, Urt staggered over to the window, where Lucy was holding Horace so he could look down on the street below. As he approached, Urt could hear shouts, and sounds of metal on metal.


    "Wake Reginald," he told Lucy, as he peered out.


    Below was a scene of chaos. Two groups were fighting each other. From what he could make out, one side consisted of the local city guards. The other side were just men in armour. Even though these men were outnumbered, they looked like more competent group, to Urt''s inexperience eye anyway.


    The only reason they weren''t winning then, was a tall figure in robes that was launching pale green fireballs at them.


    For some reason most of these bolts were going astray, which was causing significant damage to the surrounding property, some of which was already on fire and burning quite well.


    Urt''s eyes went back to the mage. "Oh Dreg, you''re right. It''s the Blue and..." he stopped and squinted. There was another figure, dressed in white, standing there, right in the midst of all the fighting men who, for some reason, were totally ignoring her.


    Reginald chose that moment to lumber up. He wedged himself besides Urt and took in the scene below.


    "By Growl, it''s your crazy girl from the castle! What''s going on?"


    "She''s not my crazy girl," scowled Urt, "and I don''t know, but I think we should take this opportunity to leave via the back door. Lucy grab the clock, Reg, put Horace in the bag."


    Turning away from the window, he looked down at their two captives. The innkeeper was awake, and staring at him with wide eyes. Her friend, Bob, though, was a rather unfortunate grey colour. Urt winced internally, and regretted not having enough time to see if he could raise him as a zombie.


    "Bob''s had it," Reginald said, poking the poor man with his toe.


    "I know, well, nothing we can do about it now. Sorry about him," Urt said to the innkeeper. And then to his rag tag team: "Come on, let''s go."


    They went.


    ~ * ~


    Bethany scowled in anger and tried casting another bolt of Garan''s Green Engulfer at the bitch in white, but, as with all her other attempts, something went slightly wrong, and the fireball veered off course, incinerating one of her own guards in the process.


    "Damn you!" she screamed, and in frustration threw a surge of pure energy at her target. That one flew almost true, spinning the girl around as it scraped past her and melted a hole in the street. Reckless''s dress caught fire.


    "Hah!" screeched Bethany in triumph. Only to shout again a moment later, but this time in alarm. Lady Nothing had glared at her mount with an almost palpable hatred, and her horse, her trained and magically warded warhorse, reared in terror.


    Only lighting fast reactions and years of experience enabled Bethany to hold on, but that''s all she could do, as the animal below her bolted, totally out of control, sending her on a mad ride through the, fortunately not too crowded, streets.


    By the time she''d managed to get the beast reigned in, and make it back to the scene of the fight, the battle had been lost, and all that remained were some of her injured and dead guards.


    ~ * ~


    "Well that was a close thing," Reginald said, as they paused for breath in a quiet alleyway.


    "I don''t understand how they found us though," Urt said. "Come to think of it, how did they find us down in the were-rat lair?"


    "For a wizards you''re a bit clueless," Horace pointed out. "Magic obviously."


    "Oh, of course." Urt frowned. "And that''s no way to speak to your master."


    "My apologies oh mighty mage," replied Horace, rolling his eyes.


    "I''m fairly sure zombies shouldn''t be sarcastic either. Maybe I can do some magical adjustment upon you." Urt rolled his sleeves up.


    "If you''re going to cast magic, why don''t you cast something to hide us?" Reginald interrupted.


    Still glaring at his zombie head, Urt nodded. "Maybe so. Let''s tend to the important matters first. I can deal with upstart minions later." He turned to look at the were-sheep. "Now then, how do I go about masking us?"


    "Are you asking me?" Reginald raised his eyebrows.


    "I''m just pondering out loud, it''s a creative process."


    "Well, maybe create a bit faster then, if they could find us before, they can find us again."


    "Fine fine." Urt frowned. He did know a masking spell, somewhere deep down. He rummaged around in there, searching for the elusive memory, until finally it came to him. "Yes!" he exclaimed. "Mangle cast this very spell on me, many years ago. How did I forget that?"


    "So you''re protected already," Reginald said. "Maybe you should give me a share of the loot and I''ll wait for you in a hotel somewhere."


    "I don''t think so," Urt replied, making a face. "And don''t think I''ve forgotten about all the rabbits you owe me. In fact, we should probably call it a cow now, with all the interest."


    Reginald opened his mouth to make a retort, but Urt stalled him, holding a finger up for silence as he concentrated, trying to remember the spell Mangle had used. Eventually he nodded. "Right, I think this will do it."


    "Think?" Reginald opened his eyes. "That''s not very reassuring."


    Urt didn''t respond, but simply started the incantation, which was a fairly simple one. A few moments later, he made a gesture at his companion, and then at the two zombies as well. Better to be sure after all.


    There was a brief shimmer in the air.


    "Is that it then?" Horace asked. "Are we invisible?"


    "Only to tracking spells," Urt replied, pleased with himself. "We should move on though, just in case they''ve locked on to this location.


    "Let''s go then," Reginald replied. "Er, which way?"


    "To the library," Urt said. "I have a book on order."

 Chapter 133 - Zombie Army.

    "How much further?" asked Horace, for what seemed like the thousandth time. Urt had allowed him out of his bag once they''d turned towards Banesville, and he''d taken the opportunity to talk almost the entire way.


    "I told you, I don''t know exactly," Reginald replied.


    "But you worked in Banesville, so you said," the zombie head repeated.


    "No, I said I worked near Banesville, and when I went there, and left too, it wasn''t via this route. Plus it was quite a few years ago now. Things change. What''s your hurry anyway?"


    "I''m interested to see it is all," Horace grumbled.


    "As much as I hate to agree with Horace, we may have to make camp soon if we don''t look like we''re getting there," Urt said.


    The group had been heading west for most of the day, along the narrow but clear track, which led through flat, untouched moorland, and the sun was now beginning to sink towards the horizon.


    "There''s some kind of woodland ahead," Reginald pointed out. "Maybe we could make camp in there."


    Indeed there was woodland ahead, and dense woodland at that. The treeline stretched left and right as far as Urt could see in the fading light. The path went straight on, disappearing into it.


    "I..." he began, but was cut off my Reginald.


    "Movement. Something''s coming."


    "Zombies!" exclaimed Reginald. "Lots of them!"


    Indeed there was. Initially a few, then a dozen, and then a veritable horde slowly emerged from the cover of the trees. Whilst zombie expressions didn''t usually give their intent away, it was generally a moot point, as it was normally to scoop out your brain and use it for lunch, or possibly dinner at this time of day.


    Reginald looked over at Urt as the horde shambled closer. "This is your area, aren''t you going to do something?"


    Urt just nodded. "Remain calm," he said, rolling up his sleeves. "I''ve got this."


    Even so, Reginald became decidedly more twitchy as the undead masses lurched closer.


    "Patience," Urt admonished, when the were-sheep made another noise.


    Finally, as the lead zombies were close enough to start seriously spooking the horses, Urt stood up in his stirrups.


    A dark haze formed around both hands as he held them up, palms out. With a sweeping gesture that encompassed the entire horde, he Spake a Word. The command reverberated off the trees, echoing over the massed zombies.


    As one the horde stopped, and in one unified voice spoke. "Master," they said.


    "Oh I say! Your first real and proper maniacal laugh boss!" exclaimed Horace. "That is truly how an evil necromancer should be. If only your old master was here to see that."


    Urt nodded and grinned to himself. He lowered his arms and surveyed his new army. This was how it should be! There weren''t enough for world domination here for sure, but there were enough to make a start.


    His newfound plans of conquest were interrupted by an agitated voice.


    "I say! You there! I say there! You! What do you think you''re doing?"


    Urt looked over, to see a tall, thin, black robed figure striding angrily towards them, threading his way through the now stationary undead army.


    "Hello," Urt said.


    "Don''t you hello me! What''s the meaning of this? Put them back at once!" The necromancer, for that was what he could only be, wagged a finger up at Urt as he approached his horse.


    "Won''t. They''re mine now." Urt crossed his arms.


    "Put them back right now I say!" the dark wizards said, spittle flying from his lips. "This is the Banesville outer defence force."


    "Not a very effective one," Urt replied.


    "Wha...? It is! Of course it is. You can''t turn all of... I mean..." he trailed off before starting again. "Just put them back. Right now! Or there will be trouble." He crossed his arms and tapped his foot.


    "What if I don''t want to?" Urt pouted.


    "Er, Urt, may I have a word?" Reginald interjected.


    "Fine." Urt looked at the man. "Please excuse me for a moment. I am going to confer with my advisors," he said haughtily.


    The other necromancer made a "Hmph," sound but gave a quick nod.


    Turning his horse around, Urt rode a short distance away, to where Reginald was waiting, Lucy and Horace nearby.


    "I think you should return them," the were-sheep said.


    "What? No!" Urt responded. "They''re mine now. Turnus keepus and all that. I can start my takeover of the world! I''ve always fancied that you know."


    "Great idea boss!" Horace chirped up.


    "Quiet you," Reginald said, before addressing Urt again. "Fine, but what are you going to do with them? Remember, we''re going to Banesville, a town that, unless I''m misremembering very much, is full of necromancers. How successful is a zombie horde going to be invading a town full of death wizards?"


    Urt nodded slowly. "Mmm. I suppose you may have a point," he conceded. He''d been so full of having a zombie army, he hadn''t really thought it through. "But I could leave them here," he added.


    "And what? No one''s going to notice they''ve lost control of their defence perimeter? You can''t just steal an army and hope people won''t catch on you know. Word about this sort of thing gets out quickly."


    "Bah." Urt scowled. "Fine." He paused as a thought struck. "Well, maybe there''s another option."


    Before Reginald could say anything further, Urt turned his horse around again and made his way back to the scowling necromancer.


    "So," he said, leaning on his pommel. "What do you want again?"


    "Give them back!" the man repeated. "They were on patrol. You should know this if you''ve been here before."


    "Sorry, my first time visiting," said Urt. He looked up at the horde. "All of you," he shouted. "Back to what you were doing."


    Slowly, the army turned and shambled back into the woods.


    "There," said the necromancer. "That wasn''t so hard was it?"


    "Sorry," said Urt again, trying to sound like he meant it. "So, how far''s Banesville then?"


    "It''s about half an hour on horseback. Just go straight through the woods," replied the necromancer.


    "Thanks." Urt kicked his horse into motion. "Apologies again about the confusion," he shouted back, as Reginald and Lucy, with Horace, trotted after him.


    "See? It pays to be nice sometimes," Reginald said.


    Urt merely smiled knowingly by way of reply.

 Chapter 134 - Banesville.

    "I do not understand why you insist in travelling in such a mundane fashion," the fat necromancer said, as he rode carefully along on the horse that Bethany had found for him. "And we certainly don''t need any escort." He nodded at the armoured men that followed them.


    "Firstly, I''ve heard recent rumours about the power of this Urt ," Bethany replied, sitting far more comfortably on her own warhorse. "Apparently he melted a guard earlier, and threw fireballs about almost casually,"


    "Bah," Nicolas said. "Rumours."


    "I would tend to agree with your ?ssessment from my own encounter with him." She nodded. "He showed little ability when we met, and turned tail and ran at the first opportunity. However, even if those rumours aren''t true, there''s also this Lady Nothing, who I know from first hand experience, does have significant power. Whilst they don''t seem to be working together, she''s reported to have followed him out of the city, so it''s quite likely we''ll meet her, and I''m not going to be defeated twice."


    "What is her interest in the lad anyway?" asked Nicolas. He wobbled on his horse, which was a plough horse, hastily bought from a farmer. It was the only beast she''d seen large enough to support the fat wizard without any major problems.


    "I do not know." She resisted the urge to sneer at his horsemanship. Whatever else he was, she knew he was a powerful spell caster, and apparently quite vain. He would likely take offence from her scoffing.


    All in all, she considered his his offer of an alliance surprising, and she didn''t trust him at all, suspecting he had an ulterior motive. However, given the power of the girl, and the supposed power of this Urt character, together they balanced the odds, so perhaps that was it.


    "And where are they heading?" Nicolas went on. "I have it on good authority that he came from somewhere around a stinking little village called Mutrut, he can''t be heading... oh."


    "What?"


    "It occurs to me that he may be heading somewhere else. A place that makes a lot more sense for a necromancer to head towards."


    "There''s no other place this trail leads," Bethany said, frowning.


    "Oh yes there is. And I happen to know it well." He smiled.


    Bethany the Blue nodded to herself, suddenly regretting her decision to team up, and decided to kill the fat mage as soon as an opportunity presented itself.


    In the meantime, they carried on, trailing their prey, along the track towards Mudrut.


    "Looks like we''ve achieved our destination," Reginald said.


    "Just in time too," Urt replied.


    His small band had been passing more and more buildings since emerging from the zombie infested woodland, which had turned out to be a fairly narrow strip of forest in the end.


    Now the terrain was back to rough moorland, although the road had widened and become cobbled. The houses squatting on either side of it were generally single storey affairs, made of the same grey stone. Some had thatched rooves, others, slate.


    At regular intervals along the side of the road tall poles with some kind of magical illumination on the top cast light down onto the street below. Urt wondered who had thought of them. He considered the idea to be an excellent one, allowing them to make their way along the street in the night easily.


    As they moved further into the small town, various citizens became visible. Whilst many were your average kind of city dweller, there were more than a few clad in the long black robes traditionally ?ssociated with necromancers and dark mages. Not only that, several of these had distinctly un-alive figures shambling after them.


    Urt tried to suppress the rising excitement he felt. Finally, he thought, amongst my own kind!


    "Where are we headed boss?" Horace called up from Lucy''s arms. He too had been swivelling his eyes left and right, taking in the environment.


    "Good point," said Urt. He pulled up suddenly, causing a man walking behind him to shout a complaint.


    Looking around, he located a black clad woman walking along the paved area that ran along the side of the street. Slipping off his mount, Urt moved quickly to intercept her.


    "Excuse me," he said, in a tone that he hoped was respectful but strong. "Do you know of a mage around here by the name of Mangle?"


    The woman, she was grey haired and thin as the lich she was no doubt on her way to becoming, looked him up and down before answering.


    "Sure lad, Mangle''s well known around here," she eventually replied. "He has a house just up the way a bit. About two minutes that way, turn off on Rib lane. His is the cottage with the dark red door. Always a bit of a rebel that one. Who are you anyway? Not seen you around before."


    "Oh, just an old friend of his," Urt said, not wishing to give any more information away than he had to. "Thank you mage." He nodded at her and retreated quickly, before she could ask any further questions.


    The old necromancer followed him with her eyes as he hastily mounted his horse again, and kicked it into life.


    "Mangle?" asked Horace. "Mangle''s here?"


    "Seems so," Urt replied.


    "Who''s Mangle?" asked Reginald.


    "My old master. Remember the letter in Groan? Pay attention now."


    "Well, sorry for not having a perfect memory," the were-sheep complained. "I''m not so good with names. Not used to it."


    "Never mind, look out for Rib lane, if you can remember that," Urt replied. "Hopefully he''ll put us up for the night."


    "As long as I don''t have to stay in the stables again," Reginald said. But shut up as they continued down the main road, looking for their destination, Urt''s old master, and, hopefully, some answers.


    ~ * ~


    Samantha wrapped her cloak around her and grabbed her pack. Her hiding place had been even more fortuitous than she''d expected. It was no great a guess that, if Urt came into town, he''d come along the main road, but to have him accost the woman and ask for directions practically outside the door was a blessing from Zzrif himself. Now she could follow at a distance and await the best opportunity to engage.


    There was a low chime from her pouch, and she determined to offer her next victim to Zzrif for his double favour. This could only be Synista, and now, with something to report, Samantha would be far better received.


    She pulled out the communications crystal and activated it. "Den Mother," she said, as the other''s image shimmered into existence.


    "You had better have news," her senior said sharply, dispensing with any formalities.


    "I have located the target," Samantha replied, keeping her cool. "I expect to engage shortly."


    The Den Mother''s mood visibly brightened. "I knew I could rely on you," she said. "What about the other package?"


    "I secured it as you ordered," lied Samantha.


    "Very well, the client has asked about it, but he''s not in a rush to collect for now, so continue with your current ?ssignment."


    "By your command mother." Samantha performed a shallow bow, which was possibly wasted, as the image vanished.


    Contemplating the crystal for a moment, Sam shook her head and stowed it. Once these ?ssignments were over, she decided, it would be time to strike out on her own. She''d never been very comfortable taking orders. For the moment though, there was a job to do.


    Glancing around at the house she''d invaded, she checked the by-now rotting corpse of the former owner one final time. He was still dead, which should have been a given, but you could never tell with these bloody necromancers.


    Leaving the body behind, she opened the door and slipped out into the gloom of the night.

 Chapter 135 - Mangle

    Taking a deep breath, Urt knocked upon the dark red door set into the stone wall of the large cottage. Behind him stood Reginald and the zombies. The horses were tethered to the low wooden fence that enclosed the garden.


    There was a short delay, followed by an unidentified noise and then the door opened.


    Light streamed out into the night, making Urt squint, and so he heard the familiar voice before he saw the face clearly.


    "You''ve finally made it!" Mangle said. He stuck his head out and glanced left and right, along the road. "Quickly, come in. Does anyone know you''re here?" He pulled Urt inside and hurriedly ushered Reginald and Lucy in after him, closing the door behind them.


    "Did anyone see you come here lad?" Mangle repeated, taking Urt by the shoulders and shaking him.


    "No, no!" Urt replied. This wasn''t the welcome he''d been expecting. "I mean, well, I spoke to one woman, but I don''t think anyone knows who I am."


    "No, well, probably not. Still." Mangle held him at arms length and smiled, peering through his round glasses at him. "Welcome my lad! I knew you''d make it eventually. I had every confidence. I see you are still have that zombie head of yours. And are these some other minions?"


    "I''m more of a companion," Reginald sniffed haughtily.


    "And something more too," Mangle replied, looking at him through narrowed eyes. "Something... Were?"


    "Maybe."


    "Good. Good." Mangle turned to Lucy. "And this, is this one of yours?"


    "No, I found her in Mudrut," Urt replied. "I thought maybe you''d left her or something."


    "She''s not one of mine. Mmm. I suspect I know who left her. You need to watch your back with the little one. Might be better if you disposed of her."


    "I''d rather not," Urt said. "She''s been quite useful, carrying Horace and everything."


    "Yes. Horace. How are you doing head?" Mangle eyed the undead noggin with distaste.


    "I''m fine master," Horace replied, looking up at the senior necromancer warily. Mangle had always disliked the head for some reason.


    "Anyway," his old master said, moving on. "Urt, you''ve arrived just in time. Things are hotting up here, and you''re at the very centre of everything. I''d not expected such a hullabaloo until nearer the time to be honest, or I''d have warned you. Did you get my letter?"


    "The one from the giant barmaid you mean?" Urt looked around. Mangle''s main room was a well furnished living area. A merry fire danced in a stone fireplace, and four comfortable chairs were spaced around a low wooden table. Several rugs adorned the floor, which was also wood.


    "Eventually, yes." He nodded, then sat in one of the chairs at Mangle''s gesture of invitation. Reginald sat in another, whilst Lucy stood to one side, holding Horace in front of her so he could see what was going on.


    "She''s a one isn''t she?" Mangle winked. "I told her to educate you if you came in. I hope you enjoyed yourself."


    "I''d like to say it was an unforgettable experience," Urt said. "But she served me this drink..."


    "Scud?"


    "Yes, that was it. I''d be exaggerating if I said the rest of the night was a blur."


    "Well, that''s disappointing." Mangle pursed his lips, then looked around. "Penfold! Tea and snacks!" he shouted through a doorway at the back of the room.


    "Yes master," came a reply.


    "Right Urt, listen." Mangle leaned forward, his mood changing to a serious one. "You''re in danger here, well you''re in danger everywhere. I need to tell you what''s going on."


    "That would be most welcome," Urt replied.


    Further education was interrupted as a zombie in a yellow and pink apron entered through the doorway. He was an old, skinny undead, but in good condition, dressed in a faded black suit and carrying a plate, which he placed on the table. It turned out to have a large number of cookies on it, artfully arranged.


    "Tea will be with you shortly sir," the zombie, Penfold Urt surmised, said, before retreating back into what must be the kitchen.


    "He does make good biscuits," said Mangle, reaching for one. "Just check for body parts before you eat. Sometimes bits of him fall into the ingredients."


    Urt, who had been leaning forward, stopped and decided he wasn''t that hungry.


    Reginald had no qualms though, and was already stuffing his first one into his mouth. "Lovely!" he said, spitting crumbs.


    "Anyway, the story begins hundreds and hundreds of years ago," Mangle started, taking a more delicate bite of his own biscuit. "There was a famous seer ¨C Moonface the Gloomy he was called..."


    "Moonface?" interrupted Urt. "What sort of name is that? And why gloomy?"


    "I don''t know!" Mangle replied. "How old do you think I am? I wasn''t around. Although they say all his prophecies were very accurate, but mostly about death and destruction, so maybe that brought him down. Anyway, his last, and most famous prophecy was about the end of the world."


    "Pah," said Urt, waving a hand dismissively, "Half the prophecies ever told are about that. We''re still here."


    "That''s probably because people intervened, because of the prophecies."


    "So how do we know this one won''t be stopped?" Urt decided to risk a biscuit after all. He took one and bit into it, after a cursory inspection for added zombie bits. It was really quite good.


    "Because this one involves you. Now, stop interrupting and listen."


    "Go on then," Urt nodded. "What did old Moonhead say?"


    "Moonface," corrected Mangle. "He said that sometime soon, our soon, not his, four, or possibly five ¨C that part of the prophecy is rather unclear ¨C Lords of Hell would break through the barriers of their realm and take over four, or perhaps five, mortals. In these bodies they would set about killing everything living, to prepare the world for the rest of their kind.


    "Bummer," Reginald said, taking another three cookies.


    "Yes, exactly," Mangle said. "Oh thank you Penfold."


    The zombie manservant had returned carrying another tray, this time with a large white teapot, cups and ?ssorted paraphernalia. He started pouring the tea as Mangle carried on.


    "These four, maybe five, hosts for the Lords of Hell have been kept safe until recently, in hidden locations. Now two of them are loose, but I''ll come back to that in a minute. For each of these four, or five, devils, a special sword was made. By whom no-one is quite sure, but they''ve appeared on and off through history, in the hands of madmen, crazed kings and so on, you know the drill. These swords are extremely powerful, and until not long ago only popped up every hundred years or so."


    "Until recently?" Urt raised his eyebrows, and accepted a cup of tea, placed on a delicate floral saucer, from Penfold.


    "Yes, about twenty years ago three of them suddenly turned up all at once. And there''s a fourth now too."


    "I hope this is all leading somewhere," Urt said, taking a sip of his tea. Reginald was busy dunking a biscuit into his.


    "Yes, yes, it all comes together. Now, let''s go forward to about twenty years ago. Several seers of that time suddenly prophesied that there would be an elf babe born with a power that could, or maybe could, stop the Coming of the Four stroke Five, and prevent the end of the world." Mangle looked at Urt. "That babe, it was determined, was you," he said.

 Chapter 136 - Finally. Whats Going On!

    "That babe, it was determined, was you," Mangle said.


    "But I''m not an elf. You just have to look at my ears!" Urt flicked his hair back to show non-pointed lobes.


    "Pah, that was me. A simple transformation spell."


    "Wait. You mean he''s an elf?" Reginald sat up. "No, I''d have smelled that."


    "You think I would change his ears and not disguise that as well?" Mangle scoffed.


    Urt sat still, stunned. "I..." he said. "I..."


    "I know lad, it''s a shock. And I''m sorry to burst it upon you like this, but time is of the essence, and you need to know this."


    "Elf?" Urt felt at his ears.


    "So, where was I? Oh yes. The baby in question, you," Mangle went on, as Urt tried to consider the implications of this sudden race revelation, "was kidnapped by forces of evil."


    "You?" asked Reginald, slurping his tea.


    "No, other forces of evil. Dark elves actually. They raided the elf encampment. However, things went wrong somehow, I''m not sure how, and the babe ended up in a dungeon, at the hands of a creature called Dreth."


    "Dreth?" Urt repeated.


    "Yes. He''s actually a very powerful being, an Overlord of many labyrinths scattered through the land. Anyway, he eventually gave you to a wizard of the Order of Light, why we don''t know."


    "Me? With a white wizard?"


    "Yes, certain powerful parties also deemed it unacceptable, so, at no insignificant risk, the mage was ambushed, and you were taken, to be put into more... suitable hands." Mangle took another sip of tea as Urt tried to take all of this information in. "Dreth''s also the one, so my sources say, that has three of the Devil blades. And possibly one of the hosts too," Mangle added.


    "Hosts?" Reginald asked, frowning.


    "Keep up Reg," Urt said. "One of those chosen to be possessed by these Lords of Hell."


    "Oh," Reginald nodded, and leaned forward to pour himself more tea.


    "The two hosts we know of are women," Mangle went on, taking a sip of his own drink.


    "So, wait a minute." Urt put his cup back on the table. "You''re saying that there''s a plot by four..."


    "Possibly five," Mangle interjected.


    "...possibly five, yes yes, Lords of Hell to come to our realm, take over the bodies of at least two females, and use magic swords..."


    "The Devil Blades."


    "The Devil Blades, to destroy all life on the planet, and I''m the one that''s destined to stop them?"


    "Well." Mangle took the kind of deep, reverse intake of breath that generally precedes bad, and often expensive, news. "Possibly."


    "Possibly?"


    "You''re possibly going to stop them. You could fail, or someone could kill you first and the apocalypse will go ahead on schedule."


    "Well." Urt looked down at his feet for a moment, and then back up. "Well," he repeated. "And you''re sure I''m an elf?"


    Mangle made a noise. "That''s what you take away from this? The end of the world is coming, only you can stop it, and you''re worried about the shape of your ears? I could put them back if you like, but that would only attract more attention."


    "No, no... I mean. No." Urt took a deep breath. "So, what do I do now?"


    "Well, you need to take something I have and find one of the hosts, and kill her."


    "What?"


    "You must kill her with her own blade." Mangle looked behind him and shouted. "Penfold, bring me the sword."


    "I''m not a cold blooded murderer!" complained Urt. "Hot blooded, sure, but..."


    "Well, you''re going to have to learn," Mangle said. "It''s a good skill to have anyway. Ah, here it is."


    Urt looked around, to see Penfold re-enter the room, this time carrying a large sword in a scabbard of deep black leather, studded with shiny red gems. The handle was decorated with silver metal, and another, large and flawless, red gem was set into the end of the pommel.


    Reginald whistled. "That''s some sword," he said.


    "Indeed it is. One of only four, could be five, Devil Blades in existence. Highly dangerous, highly magical."


    Penfold reached Urt, and held the sword out for him to take.


    "But I''m not a swordsman!" Urt complained. "I''m a necromancer! It''s a cushy number with no heavy lifting! I don''t want to go swinging something like that about. I''d chop my own legs off or something."


    "It''s a magical sword," Mangle explained again. "And I don''t recommend you use it at all. It''s quite likely to take you over and control you, once it''s tasted blood anyway. That''s how it activates for a new owner."


    "What?" Urt, who had started to reach out for the blade, stopped. "Take me over?"


    "Yes. These blades have a very strong will. The wielder has to fight to keep control, and it''s sometimes very hard to do. Most of the instances of these blades in history have ended up with the wielder succumbing to the sword and going insane, finally killing themselves." He shook his head. "Sad really. Don''t worry though, it won''t wake up properly until it tastes blood. Even so, I''d keep it in its sheath if I were you." He took another sip of tea.


    "Lovely." Urt took the sword, handling it like it might suddenly explode. "And that''s all of it is it?"


    "Well, no."


    "Of course, that would be too much to ask."


    "You see, some of the necromancers - and other parties too - but mostly necromancers, have decided that the end of the world would be a good thing, for us at least. Lots of dead to control you see. I happen to know that the most powerful of all of us - The Extremely Dark Necromancer - has put a price on your head. That''s why I was worried someone had seen you come here. Not all of us agree with this, but the E. D. N. isn''t someone you speak out against, not unless you want to start your journey to lich-dom early anyway. I''ve had to keep a low profile and pretend to go along with the flow."


    "Well, that''s just wonderful." Urt slumped back in his chair, resting the sword on his ??p and nearly knocking his tea over.


    "So, apart from that," Mangle said. "How have you been?"

 Chapter 137 - Deadly Encounter

    "It''s near here, I feel it," Reckless said.


    Bon looked over at her. She was scanning the side of the road intently, looking for the magical barrier to Banesville the Hag had told them about the previous evening.


    After the witch''s revelations, Lady Nothing, Bon and their guards had camped overnight in the grounds near the house. Then they''d made an early start back north, looking to catch up with Urt.


    Bon''s musings were interrupted by the sound of galloping hooves. He looked ahead again, to see his scout approaching at speed.


    "Trouble," he said.


    The guard gave a brief salute to Lady Nothing as he pulled up in a cloud of dust in front of Bon.


    "Sir," he said, without waiting to be asked. "There''s a group of city soldiers approaching. They''re led by the mage that attacked the Lady in the city, as well as some fat fug in black robes. Looks like another mage to me."


    "Trouble indeed," Bon said. "Did they see you? Never mind," he carried on, as he saw another group of men approaching over a slight rise in the road. "Battle stations!" he shouted over his shoulder. "Take them out!"


    His orders were not needed. The mercenaries were well trained, and knew what to do. Bon pulled to one side as they unslung bows and other weapons.


    "My Lady, we must get you out of here," he said. "There are two mages this time."


    "I''m not running," Lady Nothing said. "If I do our men will be open to magical attack. You''re not strong enough to defend against one of them, let alone two. I''ll try and shield the men, you support."


    "Yes my Lady," Bon replied, dismayed at her answer, but not surprised. The young woman was no coward. He doubted he would be able to contribute much though, he thought, as he prepared his defensive runes. He was a trained mage to be sure, but a relatively minor power, no match for Bethany the Blue alone, let alone whomever she had brought along for support. Whilst his magical ability was sometimes useful, he''d long ago realised his strengths lay more along the lines of administration, something he enjoyed and, it turned out, was good at.


    Still, he thought, rolling up his sleeves and watching as several of his men loosed arrows at the approaching enemy with admirable calm, what he had, he would use.


    The opposing forces could be seen more clearly now. There were already several enemy horses running free, a testament to the arrow fire from his side. However, two figures stood out immediately.


    The first was the familiar form of the councilwoman, Bethany the Blue, on her warhorse. The other, trotting along beside her in an ungainly fashion on some kind of giant farm horse, was a fat figure in black robes. A shiver ran up Bon''s spine. He had a bad feeling about the man.


    A ball of blue fire erupted from Bethany. It headed straight towards their front line, and for a moment Bon worried it would hit. Then Lady Reckless made a gesture, and it exploded in the air, dissipating harmlessly.


    Still, it wasn''t the only magical attack. A line of black fire leapt out from the fat man. Before anyone could react it struck a soldier square in the middle of his ?h?st. The unfortunate fighter immediately exploded in dark flame. Bon threw a nullification spell, but it was too late. The charred remains of the mercenary crumbled to ash in front of them. Some of the other men swore loudly, but they held their ground.


    That was it for the preliminary ?ssaults though, as the armoured fighters on both sides came together with a loud crash. Screams rose up over the sound of metal on metal, and horses neighing in distress.


    As far as Bon could see their small line had held, but the two enemy wizards were soon back in play, and he was forced to use the full extent of his limited magical ability to try and fend off the merciless attacks that rained down upon them.


    Bethany the Blue threw pale green fire, most of that went awry from her intended target, which was Lady Nothing, who didn''t even seem to notice. On the other hand the dark wizard threw a variety of lethal death spells which Lady Reckless had to actively try and divert. Bon helped where he could, but the man was simply out of their league. He could feel the power of his magic, and knew fear. This was a Master Mage they were up against. He didn''t know if even Lady Nothing could counter such.


    Then there was an explosion and he found himself hitting the ground hard. For a second all he could do was lay there, stunned. He could hear shouts from the battle, but they seemed to be coming from a long way away.


    Forcing himself to roll over, he shook his head and tried to stand, only managing to come to a kneeling position with difficulty. When he looked up the battle-lines had moved. His men had been pushed back, and were desperately fighting for their lives. He tried to focus, and managed to locate Lady Nothing, who was also retreating under the combined onslaught of both enemy mages. It was obvious she would not be able to hold them off for much longer.


    He had no real chance of getting through the other wizards'' wards he knew, and both Bethany and her horse would also be protected, but the mount the fat one was riding might have just been bought for him to use here, and he gambled they''d not had chance to protect it.


    When he was as close as he dared get, he cast his spell, putting all of his remaining power into it.


    A bright spark leapt from his fingers and hit the large shire horse in the rump. The results could not have gone better had Bon planned it.


    The horse shrieked and crumpled, just as the dark mage was throwing some kind of energy bolt at Lady Reckless. The bolt went wide, hitting Bethany the Blue in the side, blowing the councillor off her own horse and throwing her into the woodland besides the road.


    The dark wizard''s mount collapsed, taking its rider with it. Both hit hard, with the horse landing on the mage, trapping his leg under its body. The fat magic user screamed in pain and anger as Bon pulled his short sword from its sheath and lurched forward, clumsily slicing down, desperately trying to finish his work.


    The blade twisted at the last second, no doubt hitting defensive magics, and sliced into the wizard''s shoulder instead of the neck.


    The mage roared in anger, and said a Word.


    Bon was suddenly flying thought he air again, thrown clean back across the road. For a strange, long, moment he felt at peace, and then, with a sickening crunch, he was thrown against something.


    It was a tree, he vaguely realised through muddied thoughts, as he proceeded to slide down the trunk, bouncing off branches as he did so, each impact a sharp shock of pain, until he finally hit the ground, landing in a ludicrously absurd sitting position at the base of the tree, as if he''d just decided to take a five minute rest.


    Finally there was a gigantic explosion of light and noise which turned his world white, and then, slowly, the light faded, to be replaced with the eternal night of death.

 Chapter 138 - Flight.

    "Urt! Wake up, quickly! You''ve been found!"


    Urt ?r??n?d in complaint as someone poked him in the side.


    "Get up you lazy mage!" A bolt of electric pain shot through Urt, who screamed and leaped clean out of bed, landing hard on the floor.


    "What the Dregg?" he cried, looking up at the bald head of Mangle, who was holding a finger out. A thin line of smoke trailed from the end of it.


    "Get up, they''re looking for you," his old master repeated.


    The urgency of the situation suddenly peculated through Urt''s consciousness, and he scrambled to his feet. "Who?" he said, looking around for his clothes.


    "The necromancers," Mangle said, thrusting Urt''s garments at him. "Quickly, you can slip out of the rear. The others are already preparing." Without any further words, he turned and hurried out of the room, leaving Urt, still not fully awake, to struggle into his clothes.


    A minute or two later, pulling on his robe, he staggered out of the room he''d been given for the night, to see the others scurrying about.


    "Here," said Mangle, thrusting the Devil blade at him. "You need this. You should be able to use it to locate the target."


    "How? How do I do that?" Urt looked blankly at the weapon for a moment, before struggling to sling the sword''s sheath over his back. It was almost immediately tangled in his cloak.


    "You''ve a spellbook, use it," said Mangle. He indicated something on the table, and Urt realised he was pointing at the Lexicon Tormentus, which Urt had gone to such pains to retrieve for the Hag. He''d not even opened it.


    "Come on," Reginald urged. He was clothed and pulling on a backpack. Besides him Lucy also carried a pack on her back. Horace was held in front of her, in both hands


    "Exciting stuff eh, master?" the zombie head said, grinning like a demented football.


    "Urg," said Urt. He grabbed the lexicon and stuffed it into his pants.


    "This way," Mangle indicated, ushering them out through what turned out to be the kitchen. Penfold was there, holding the rear door open. "It was good to see you again lad," his old master said, smiling down at him. "I hope we''ll meet again on this side. Now go, the were-beast knows the way. I''ll try and send the searchers off in the wrong direction, but I don''t know how much of a head start you''ll have."


    "Thank you master," Urt said, nodding.


    The two looked at each other for a second more, before Mangle pushed him out of the door. "Go," he simply said, and closed the door on them.


    "Come on," Reginald said. He was standing in a surprisingly spacious yard, holding the reigns to both their mounts. "There''s a path to the rear we can take, but we''ll need to lead the horses."


    "Let''s move then." Urt grabbed the reigns of his steed and followed Reginald out of a small gate and into a narrow lane that apparently ran behind the houses. Lucy, with Horace, brought up the rear.


    ~ * ~


    There was an explosion of displaced air, and the large and battered form of Nicolas landed with a disorganised thump on the floor.


    "By the Dark Gods!" he swore, as he pulled himself, slowly, up into a sitting position. This mission for his master was proving to be far more painful and costly than he could have ever foreseen.


    He looked around. The emergency teleport spell had taken him to his nearest safe house, which was somewhere near either Groan or Banesville, he couldn''t remember off-hand, especially in his current condition.


    Dragging himself over to to the nearby bed in the small room, he pulled himself onto it and took stock.


    That bitch in white had been unbelievably strong, although unskilled she had a feral magic ability that he''d never encountered before. With Blue out of the fight, he didn''t know if his misdirected spell had finished the other mage or not, the Nothing girl had attacked him. Still trapped under his horse, he''d been forced to defend himself, and there had been a furious exchange of wild magic between them, until some kind of critical mass had built up, causing a giant explosion and forcing him to use his emergency teleport once again.


    The fat necromancer ground his teeth. If his master heard about this he''d be in trouble. He needed to get his mission back on track quickly.


    First things first though. He had some healing to do. His leg was a mangled, crushed mess.


    ~ * ~


    "Come on Urt," shouted Reginald.


    "Hold on!" Urt cast a Slidey-Skin Death spell, hurriedly learned from the Lexicon, against the small group of necromancers and their minions that were chasing them, and had the great p???sur? of seeing their skin slough from their bodies. The screams of agonising pain as they died, writhing in agony, gave him great satisfaction.


    "Here!" Reginald shouted.


    Urt looked over, to see the were-sheep gesturing from the ruins of some long abandoned cottage. He glanced about. Apart from the bloodied mess of his spell, it appeared to be clear from behind for the moment.


    Jogging over to Reginald, who was hunkering down behind a crumbling wall, he grinned wildly.


    "Did you see that?" he said. "That will teach them not to trifle with me."


    "I think they knew already," Horace said. He had been placed on top of the far wall for a better view.


    "What?" Urt asked.


    "There''s a zombie horde intercepting," the head replied. "With mages herding them on. I don''t think you''re going to find it so easy to turn them this time."


    "Dreg''s balls," cursed Urt. He su?k?d in a deep breath and took a look. The approaching zombie horde were cutting off their route to the forest, through which they had to get to escape.


    "Better arm up," he said. He ran back out to the mess that was the result of his spell and dashed this way and that, recovering several useful weapons. A minute later, breathing hard, he handed Lucy and Reginald some bows, arrows and a short sword.


    "We''ll try to get around, run ahead of them," he panted. "Lucy, put Horace in your pack, you''ll need both hands."


    "Yes master," the small zombie replied.


    "Let''s move then," he said.


    With Reginald and Lucy following, he made a dash towards the forest in the most direct clear route he could see, which was hardly the shortest one, with the horde cutting them off as fast as zombies could.


    First contact was moments later, as a small group of warrior skeletons that must have been in hiding somewhere near bore down upon them. Urt made a few quick gestures, and suddenly the undead were working for him. Proximity and their relatively few numbers, in this case, helped him overcome their commanding wizards.


    "Clear a path for us!" he screamed at his new bony troops, as Reginald loosed an arrow at a zombie that had appeared to their left.


    With the skeleton warriors scything a path ahead, they made good progress for a minute or so, until a new wall of walking dead blocked their path. Urt tried to turn them, but only a few responded to his commands. There was no-doubt another necromancer nearby, maintaining control.


    "Over there," said Reginald, pointing to the right, at a cluster of boulders.


    The group changed course and leaped into the meagre cover provided by the large stones.


    "We''re done for," Reginald gasped.


    "Then we go out fighting," Urt said.

 Chapter 139 - Encounters of the Hot Kind.

    "Then we go out fighting," Urt said. "If we could only make it to the woods, we''d be fine."


    "Are you mad?" the were-sheep replied. "There''s a whole other army there! Uh oh, watch out!"


    He turned and fired his bow one more time, and then shifted into his were-sheep form as an undead climbed over the nearest boulder.


    Urt cast a small fireball at another zombie as it poked its head up, and Lucy cut the legs off a third.


    "Dreg help us!" Urt cried, blasting another two zombies into dust.


    "There''s a path this way," a new voice said, from behind him. "If we can break through a thin defensive perimeter."


    Urt turned in shock, he''d not realised they weren''t alone, and then gaped.


    Standing there, silhouetted against the sun, was a goddess in black leather. Well, mostly black leather. Artfully placed slits in the outfit revealed a fit, muscular torso beneath, which immediately began causing Urt some issues. Her long, jet black hair was weaved into a couple of pigtails, giving her the appearance of an innocent schoolgirl gone really, really bad.


    All in all she looked like a dream dressed up as a nightmare. Or possibly the other way around. Either way, he didn''t want to wake up.


    His angelic visitor raised one perfect eyebrow. "Are you just going to stand there drooling all day, or help me kill this lot then?" She gestured at the group of undead that had been sneaking up behind them. Even her voice was velvety. It was like being murdered with silk.


    "Urt kill," he replied, with all the debonair sophistication of a cow turd.


    "Fantastic." With a movement so smooth a cat would have been jealous, his new friend turned and threw a knife at something behind her. "No rush. When you''re ready. Though I would like to mention I''m running out of daggers." She took another one out of the nearly empty twin straps that crossed her torso, and threw it so that it embedded itself into the eye of an approaching zombie, driving her point, both figuratively and literally, home.


    "Reginald!" Urt shouted, shaking his head. "To the rear!"


    The were-sheep stopped shaking a leg he had in his teeth and looked around. With a ferocious ''baah'', he leapt past their new, highly attractive, ally and bowled over several approaching zombies.


    "Move!" Urt commanded Lucy.


    He jumped over the rocks and ploughed after his comrade, throwing small blasts of energy left and right at the undead that were surging forward, trying to use his power as efficiently as possible. Lucy lurched after him, with their new friend following closely behind, wielding her last dagger and a short sword with horrifying efficiency.


    There followed several minutes of desperate, bloody madness as his small group ploughed their way through the small throng that sought to block their escape. Urt used more magic in those few minutes than he''d used in his entire life before. Reginald meanwhile, did the were community proud, ramming zombies out of the way with sharp horns and trampling them underfoot with razor sharp hooves.


    Lucy stoicly hacked away with her sword when she had chance, but mostly followed in the wake of the gore strewn devastation that the leather clad warrior left in her wake.


    "We''re not going to make it," Horace cried from his bag. "There are hundreds coming up behind us."


    Urt glanced over his shoulder. Sure enough, a whole zombie army was shambling along in their wake. Such were the perils of pissing off a village of necromancers. "Break through, get to the forest," he screamed, exploding the head of a skeleton wielding a rusty sword with a wave of his hand.


    They redoubled their effort, and, after a few desperate moments, finally broke through into clear ground. Ahead of them rose the forest.


    "But the defence force!" Horace wailed.


    "Exactly," Urt replied, grimly. He raised both hands and uttered Words of Power.


    Several seconds passed, and then zombies began to stream from the woods.


    Reginald returned to human form. His shirt had been torn off, but the special trousers that Urt had paid so much for in Groan were still, thankfully, present. "We''re undone!" he shouted, looking with desperate terror at the approaching dead.


    "No we''re not," said Urt.


    The zombies ahead of them swarmed forward, an unstoppable force... and rushed past to engage the other undead who were following them.


    "What the?" Reginald asked, still panting hard.


    "I never gave up control of them when we came through," Urt said, grinning like a madman.


    "But you sent them back!"


    "Yes, I ordered them to go back to what they were doing before. Did you hear me give up control?"


    "Oh! So cunning boss!" said Horace.


    Urt glanced at the woman and grinned. "You coming?" he asked.


    She was.


    "Over there," Samantha said, pointing out a small cottage near the treeline.


    "What if someone''s home?" asked Reginald.


    "I think we can handle one or two necromancers between us," Urt said.


    The small group had made their way as hastily as they could through the stretch of forest, leaving the warring undead armies behind to fight it out. However, Urt knew they wouldn''t make it out on foot, and that''s when his new friend, who''d quickly introduced herself as Samantha, said she knew where to get some.


    The place turned out to be a kind of guard post. A stone cottage with a small corral round the back, which the fighter had seen on her way in. She had stashed her horse not far away, she added. Urt thought of his own, rather mangy mount, that he''d been forced to leave behind, and determined that it was only fair to take recompense in kind.


    Samantha bade them wait in the treeline, whilst she moved incredibly quickly and stealthily towards the building, Urt looking on in admiration. Peeking in through the window, she made a gesture that he interpreted as ''wait'', and then disappeared around the back of the structure.


    A few minutes later the front door opened, and she waved at them.


    "Come on," she hissed.


    They did so, rushing over to the hut and entering through the door.


    Making the decent sized dining table messy were the blood spattered bodies of the two necromancers slumped over it. One had landed face first in some kind of soup. Samantha was busy pulling a knife out of his back.


    "There are two horses round the back," she said, wiping the blade on the dead man''s robe. "You saddle them up, I''ll get mine, and we''ll get out of here."


    "Sounds like a plan," said Urt, nodding. He watched her slip out of the door, and then turned to Reginald. "You''d better find a shirt," he said. "Maybe see if there''s anything else useful here too. I''ll go and make a start on the horses."


    "Aye boss," the were-sheep said, heading over to the bunk area.


    "Come on Lucy," Urt said, and they went about securing their transport.

 Chapter 140 - Family Reunion.

    "It''s her!"


    "We should kill her now!"


    The voices seemed to be echoing, as if she was hearing them from the bottom of a well.


    "We can''t just kill her in cold blood," one of them was saying.


    "Why not? Best time for it," pointed out a different voice.


    "I think she''s coming round," said yet another.


    Reckless opened her eyes, an act that was far harder to do than it should have been, and looked up.


    Framed by trees under a blue sky, a number of blurry faces were staring down at her. One of them seemed to be lacking a body. She blinked several time to try and focus.


    "Careful," one said, whether to her or the others she wasn''t sure.


    Taking a deep breath, Reckless frowned as her vision cleared. "It''s you!" she croaked.


    "Indeed it is," the person she was addressing said. "I am..."


    "Urt," she interrupted. "Apparently you''re my brother." She tried to sit up, and act that made her head spin and the world go dark.


    "What did she say?"


    Reckless lost consciousness again.


    ~ * ~


    "Food''s nearly done," said Reginald from over by the campfire.


    "Are you sure we''re far enough away?" Samantha asked Urt again, scanning the area from atop a fallen tree nearby.


    "I told you," Urt replied, looking up from where he was studying the Lexicon Tormentus. "I''ve cast a cloaking spell around us, no one''s going to see or hear us. It was surprisingly easy," he added, frowning a little. The spell had laid out specific ingredients that should be used, but lacking nearly all of them, he''d tried with the couple he did have, and it had worked with no problem whatsoever, which pleased him, but worried him at the same time. Casting a spell like that should have been some effort, especially after all the magic he''d used earlier on in the day.


    He looked around. Lucy and Reginald were sorting through their supplies, some brought with them from Mangle''s place, others quickly looted from the necromancer''s hut and more still from the bodies rotting in the road nearby.


    Next to Urt, asleep under his cloak, lay the girl in white. The maniac who had imprisoned him in her castle and nearly had Reginald tortured, then attacked him near the walls of Groan, and then called him brother. He wasn''t really sure how families usually worked, but her behaviour seemed a little odd, even to him. Still, whilst the idea was surely preposterous, for no reason he himself could understand, he believed it.


    The fighter they''d met, Samantha, took his attention away by sitting next to him. She did so in a smooth action, as all of her actions were. Looking at him with those intense eyes of hers, she ???ked her head in a strange manner. Urt breathed a little faster.


    "Aren''t you cold dressed like that?" Horace asked. "You''ll catch your death girl. Put some proper armour on, that one''s all full of holes."


    "I''m not sure something can be full of holes, exactly," pointed out Urt.


    "Your zombie head will be if he doesn''t stop talking," scowled Samantha, looking at Horace through narrowed eyes.


    "Ooh, someone''s touchy," Horace sniffed, but Urt noticed he shut up after that.


    "So, you''re a mage then?" Samantha turned her attention back to Urt.


    "I, well, yes. Yes I am." Urt tried to sit up straight and look arcane, although he wasn''t sure he really pulled it off.


    "Yet you carry a sword." She nodded at the Devil blade, which Urt had unstrapped from his back and placed on the ground next to him.


    "It''s... complicated," he said.


    "So, where are you bound? " she asked, not pursuing the matter further, to his relief. "Maybe I could join your little band for a while. For mutual protection." She smiled at him again, sending his heart racing.


    "Of course, of course," he said, nodding vigorously.


    "Excellent," she said. "Oh, I think dinner''s ready. We''ll talk later." With another flash of bright white, perfect, teeth, she stood and made her way over the campfire. Urt watched her go, mesmerised by the sway of her...


    "You''ll catch flies in your mouth, with it hanging open like that," sniggered Horace, his bravado restored.


    "Quiet you," Urt snapped, but closed his mouth and went to get some food.


    ~ * ~


    It had turned out that Nicolas was unable to track down Urt by himself, which should have been impossible, and in the end he''d had to swallow his pride and cast a communications spell to his master to ask for help. The Extremely Dark Necromancer had been surprisingly cooperative, and that had made Nicolas even more nervous, but he''d been given the location and so was not going to look a gift unicorn in the mouth.


    Having used more than he liked of his stock of healing spells and potions and, with a rest, Nicolas had gathered his strength and teleported once again to the track he''d so recently departed, although a little way out.


    Shaking his head at the amount of magic he''d used recently, he''d need a good month to fully recover after this, he traipsed silently along the road, using a small spell to extend his senses and another to detect background magic.


    Before long he found it. A good cloaking spell masked everything, and that was a weakness. It also masked the ambient magic in the air, which, if you were detecting it, meant a big ''hole'' where it was being cloaked.


    Smiling at his own cleverness, Nicolas made his way, very very quietly, through the spell''s area. And there they were. Not even anyone on guard. Still, he hung back at the maximum range needed, squinting until he made out the face of Urt, fast asleep.


    Forzula''s spell of Sudden Immolation should do the trick. It was hardly subtle really, but it was efficient, and quiet. The others would wake up and Urt would simply be gone, unaware that his, by then lifeless body, had been transported half a league under the ground. Nicolas took a moment to mop his brow and take a deep breath before beginning the incantation in a low voice.


    He was one third of the way through the complex spell when some unseen force surged up to him and grabbed him by the throat, causing him to choke on a Minor Syllable of Pain and swallow the following Rune of Earth.


    Abandoning the magic, Nicolas staggered backward and made a second level Gesture of Denial, which was hardly a major conjuration, mainly being used to scare away stray dogs, but sufficed enough in this case, as the invisible force''s grip loosened slightly, allowing him to wrench himself free.


    "By the Underhalls of Fue*!" he hissed, as the magical force swirled in the air a few paces away. He twisted one of the rings on a finger, and a shimmering field of energy expanded into being about him.


    Whatever it was that had attacked him withdrew slightly, before slamming back into the near invisible barrier, which ?r??n?d and let out small sparks of stress under the ?ssault.


    "Damnation!" Nicolas swore, and decided something that could do that to one of the most powerful protective devices in his arsenal wasn''t something to be taken on in the middle of the night in a damp forest. He uttered a rather nasty sounding Word. There was a flash of light and then a short clap of air rushing to fill in a Warlock shaped hole in the universe.


    *Fue: Dark God of Spiteful and Overdue Revenge. Its followers are mainly overweight for some reason.


    ~ * ~


    "Did you hear something?" Urt asked, lifting his head slightly.


    "What? No, just the badgers chirping or something," Horace said. "Go back to bed, I have things covered here."


    "Mmm." Urt settled back down, scratched an itch, and then went back to sleep.

 Chapter 141 - Nicolas Chastised.

    Reckless woke up with a start. For a moment she didn''t know where she was, and then she remembered the battle.


    Sitting up she grasped at her body in a quick evaluation. Apparently she was still in one piece.


    "Morning sunshine!" said a raspy voice nearby. She looked around to see a solitary, and slightly worse for wear, detached head perched on a stump looking at her. It grinned at her, not a sight you needed to see first thing.


    "Who... what are you?" she asked.


    "Horace. Zombie first class. Head," it replied. "Oh, I need to wake the master."


    It opened it''s mouth, presumably to shout, but Reckless squinted at him, and he fell off his perch, landing face down in some moss, muffling his shouts.


    "Better," she said, climbing to her feet. Looking about, she located the boy, Urt, her brother fast asleep, wrapped in a cloak and using a backpack for a pillow.


    Striding over to him, she took a moment to look down at his face. One she''d seen in her dreams for so many years. Now she understood, at least in part, why.


    Smiling an evil smile, she squatted down next to him and grabbed his nose. "Wake up wizard!" she shouted in his ear.


    "Wahh!" Urt awoke, pulling away and wiping at his abused face. "Wha.. .What? You!" He put a hand out, in what could have been a spell casting pose, but then paused as she simply remained still, smiling down at him.


    "What''s up? Oh!"


    The bo... Urt''s werewolf friend, and a female about her own age, dressed in black leather and holding a short sword, ran up.


    "Wait! Hold," shouted Urt, struggling to untangle himself from his cloak.


    His friends stopped, but Reckless noticed the female didn''t sheath her sword.


    Having gained their attention, Reckless stood up and whilst Urt followed suit, addressed them all.


    "I am Lady Nothing," she said proudly, head held high. "People call me Reckless, and so that is my name. I realise we''ve crossed paths before, but I''m not here to fight you. I have information." She looked at Urt. "We need to talk."


    ~ * ~


    Nicolas exploded back into the safe house he''d left not long ago, alternately panting hard and cursing. His cursing stopped suddenly when he realised that someone was sitting on the the room''s only chair.


    "M... Master," he stammered.


    "I ?ssume from your expression, and the language that you failed again?" The Extremely Dark Necromancer lifted a cup off the table beside him and took a noisy slurp.


    "There was some kind of... guardian I think," Nicolas said. At the same time he was desperately trying to figure out what offensive spells he had left.


    "It''s a shame," said his master. "I had such high hopes for you. I mean, it wasn''t an easy task I know, but then you are no junior mage. You''ve always served me most well and efficiently in the past."


    "That''s right!" Nicolas said, grasping onto the thin thread of hope. "And I can still do so! Now I know there''s a guardian..." He stopped speaking, not because he wanted to, but because a cold, vice-like grip had closed about his neck.


    "I can only tolerate failure for so long," the Extremely Dark Necromancer said conversationally, as Nicolas thrashed wildly about. His vision was beginning to dim. "You understand don''t you? How would it look if I just let things slide?" The mage took another sip from his cup.


    Nicolas grasped at his hand, and frantically twisted a ring. A luminous blue figure started to slide out of the band, but the Extremely Dark Necromancer made a gesture and it fell away with a wail.


    "Is that it? Never mind." The master mage put his empty cup down and stood up. "Well, maybe if you can fight your way back from the other side we''ll go again."


    The Extremely Dark Necromancer made a complicated gesture. There was a loud crack in Nicolas''s ears, and then... nothing.


    ~ * ~


    "But how did the Hag know?" Urt asked, skipping along behind Reckless as she wound her way through the bodies.


    Reckless turned over a dead soldier with her foot so he was face up, shook her head, and moved on before answering. "She said that she could detect my energy, or some such. She said that it was what you were missing. I didn''t understand it all. Well, I didn''t understand her much to be honest."


    "Yes, she has a small accent," agreed Urt.


    "Small?" Reckless took a deep breath, then made a face. The bodies were beginning to smell. "Apparently, so she thinks, when we''re close together, our powers increase exponentially. She says that she''s never felt... oh."


    "Oh?" Urt asked, but Reckless was running towards a body a little way away from the rest. Urt, followed, with Reginald, Samantha and Lucy with Horace, who had come for the show, a little way behind.


    "Nooo!" Samantha knelt over the body of Bon. He was sitting against the base of a tree, a shocked expression etched onto his face. Tears streamed down her cheeks.


    "Oh, it''s your friend." Urt''s shadow fell over her as he caught up. "I''m sorry," he said.


    "He lost his life saving mine," she sniffed, wiping a tear away. Looking up, she glared at Urt. "You! You can resurrect him!"


    "Oh, I don''t know about that," Urt said. "It''s not good form to go around letting people live again. What if the other necromancers heard about it? My reputation would be mud."


    "As opposed to the shining awe they hold you in at the moment?" asked Samantha. She was leaning casually against a nearby tree, cleaning her nails with a lethal looking dagger.


    "Well, I don''t have all the ingredients," Urt added. "I know you need diamond dust for resurrection spells."


    "You can try anyway," Reckless said. "I told you, when we''re together we have power."


    "I don''t know," Urt said, scratching his nose. "I don''t feel all that powerful."


    "Maybe you''re drained. Perhaps I can recharge you. Come here," she commanded.


    "Well, Okay." Urt stepped over to where she was pointing, which was just in front of her.


    "Take my hands," she said.


    "What''s all this about?"


    "Just hold my hands," Reckless ordered, "or I''ll twist your nose off."


    "Mff," said Urt, "It seems having a sister is more violent than I thought it would be."


    "Oh yes," piped up Reginald. "I have five brothers and seven sisters, and it was always my sisters who beat me up the worst. Still," he added. "Family eh?"


    "Yes." Urt took a deep breath. "Very well," he said.


    "Good." Reckless held her hands out.


    Warily, Urt reached out and held them. His hands seemed large in hers, although smoother than she''d expected.


    "I can''t feel anything," he said, after a moment.


    "Wait. Close your eyes and concentrate," she said, obeying her own instructions.


    For a moment there was nothing, and then a sudden surge of power, she felt as if she was one part finally being made whole. Energy rushed like a wave through her, and, at the same time, she felt her own energy flow the other way.


    For the first time in her life she felt... complete, although she hadn''t realised before that anything was missing.


    Opening her eyes she looked at Urt; his eyes were wide and his mouth was hanging open.


    "I think we''re..." Reckless began.


    There was a sudden shift in the universe.


    "...somewhere else," she finished, looking around.

 Chapter 142 - By the Gods!

    Urt gasped, and looked left and right, still holding on to his sister''s hands. "Where are we?" he asked.


    They were standing as before, but now, instead of the forest, they were in a large room. Actually, large didn''t do it justice. It was a giant room. For a giant perhaps. A very rich giant. Or maybe they had shrunk, it was hard to tell.


    The furnishings were of the very finest quality. A sofa loomed over them to the right, the seat as high as Urt''s head, next to an even bigger table of what appeared to be finest oak.


    The walls were of some material he''d never seen before. They were white, almost glowing white, with enormous oil paintings featuring heroes in battle with monsters and demons.


    As the pair looked around, a low rumbling noise, not unlike thunder, came from their left. Urt swung his head about to see an enormous male figure, easily three times his height, stroll into the room.


    The man, or whatever he was, had a long, luxurious blond beard, flowing golden locks, and a face that, for some reason, Urt couldn''t actually make out. He was wearing a robe of furry red material, loosely tied around the waist, for which Urt was thankful, as he obviously had nothing underneath it. A very masculine ?h?st was visible under the top half of the garment, and he strode - there was no question that it was a stride - on muscular legs that put the worlds best athlete''s to shame.


    The giant was picking at something in a large bowl he was carrying, humming to himself, when he glanced about and saw the two of them, standing mouths agog.


    "Oh, bugger it," he said, his voice rolling over them in waves. "Is it that time already?" He looked at his bowl, then back at them again. "Right. Okay then. Just hang on a second."


    With that he turned around and retreated back the way he had come.


    Reckless gasped. "Do you know who that was?" she asked, eyes wide.


    "Some handsome giant?" Urt speculated.


    "It was Ondeus! Lord of the Gods!"


    "Who?"


    Reckless frowned. "Ondeus! They say that he created the heavens when he spilled some white paint. The splashes created the stars. Don''t you know the gods?"


    "Necromancers don''t have any gods," Urt replied. "It''s considered a sign of weakness."


    "Weakness?"


    "Yes, that one day you''ll die and need an afterlife, rather than living forever as a Lich as is the natural order of things."


    "So necromancers don''t die then?" Reckless asked.


    "Oh, they do, and some even stay that way, but it''s bad form to mention it." He looked down. "Er, is it just me or can you not move your body either?"


    "No, it''s both of us. I can move my head, but otherwise we seem to be stuck like this."


    "Where are we anyway?" asked Urt. He looked up. If there as a ceiling above them, he couldn''t see it.


    "As that was Ondeus, then I ?ssume we''re in the home of the gods," Reckless said. "The living room of them anyway," she added. "Fancy. I always..."


    What she fancied Urt didn''t get to hear, as, without moving, or anything else at all changing, they were somewhere else again.


    This time Urt could believe it was the home of the gods, mainly because they were in the middle of a hall so massive that he couldn''t see the ends of it. Around them were shapes, they looked like more giants, or gods he supposed, and yet, even though they were strangely clear, he couldn''t see their forms. Like his eyes couldn''t accept what he was seeing.


    He looked the other way, and saw a series of large steps leading up to an enormous throne that appeared to be made out of fog. Sitting on the throne, dressed in gold armour this time, was the impressive figure of Ondeus.


    "That''s the Throne of Life," whispered Reckless. "Apparently, it''s made of the very essence of the Universe. If you touch it, so the stories go, you''ll be truly immortal."


    "Amazing," said Urt. Then, after a moment of reflection: "Do you think we could get a bit closer?" He was cut off as Ondeus raised a hand.


    "Children!" the god spoke.


    "Er, hi?" Urt replied. "Nice place you have here. Must be a sod to heat in the winter."


    "Quiet," Ondeus said. "You have been brought here so you can be told of your destiny."


    "Okay," Urt said.


    "Okay?" The god repeated.


    "Yep. Go on." Urt smiled in what he hoped was a polite manner.


    "You are not surprised?" Ondeus leaned forward slightly. "Don''t you wish to ask many questions? What is the meaning of life, that sort of thing?"


    "Would you answer them?" Urt asked.


    "No."


    "Yeah. That''s kind of what I thought." Urt shrugged.


    "Mmm."


    "Excuse my brother your greatness," Reckless said, probably fearing imminent lighting strike. "He''s ignorant on many, many levels."


    "Hey!"


    ???Both of you, listen then," the god said. "There is a great threat to the mortals on the world below, a plot by the Lords of the Underworld..."


    "Oh yes, we know," Urt said. "What?" he asked, as Reckless glared at him.


    "Don''t interrupt the god," she hissed. "The powerful, powerful, possibly short-tempered god."


    "Oh, yes. Sorry your god-ness!" Urt grinned sheepishly.


    Ignoring the interruption, the god carried on. "I decided that we could not let this invasion go unopposed," he said. "So I created a force with enough power to oppose it. However, the energy needed was too great for one mortal body, so it is in the both of you. You will need face the Lords of Hell together. However," he raised a giant finger. "You will need help. Powerful friends on your side, an army of your own and so forth."


    "And you will supply such?" Reckless asked.


    "No."


    "I see."


    "You have the destiny, you will have to lead this fight, for all mortals, or perish."


    "Couldn''t, you know, just fight them yourselves?" asked Urt. "Seems like you have the means to do it."


    "We will not interfere in the mortal realm, at least in any major way, directly," Ondeus replied.


    "Oh, because of like, we have to find our own way, free will and all that?" Urt asked.


    "No. Because we can''t be arsed, frankly. You''re not all that important."


    "Smashing, just what a mortal likes to hear." Urt made a face at his sister.


    "I will return you to your realm now," the god said.


    "Is that it?" Urt asked. "No special weapon or secret advice to turn the tide at the last minute?"


    "No, I just wanted to give a bit of encouragement mostly, and see you in the flesh, so to speak," Ondeus said. "After all, you are my children."


    "Wow," said Urt. "A bloodline to boast about."


    "Hey, Ondeus," Reckless asked. "Is it true about the paint splashes?"


    The god laughed. "Don''t be absurd." As he faded from view, Urt thought he heard: "What would I be doing with paint? It was a jug of milk."

 Chapter 143 - Finally, For Now... Nearly.

    "We''ve returned," gasped Reckless. She let go of Urt''s hands and staggered back.


    "From where?" asked Horace.


    "Didn''t you miss us?" Urt asked. "We were visiting the home of the gods! Well, Ombibubs''s house anyway."


    "Ondeus," corrected Reckless.


    "Really? When did this happen?" asked Reginald.


    "Just now!" Urt insisted.


    Reginald looked at Samantha, who made a face and shrugged.


    "It''s true!" Urt said.


    "If you say so," the were-sheep said. He looked at Bon, who was still dead. "I thought you were going to wake this chap up?"


    "But the gods..." Urt said. Reckless put a hand on his arm and shook her head.


    "Never mind," she said. "Now, come on." She indicated the body of her friend.


    Sighing, Urt rolled his sleeves up. "Fine," he said. Fishing the Lexicon out of his robes, he flipped through the pages until he found what he was looking for. After a few minutes of mumbling to himself, and with Reckless frowning at him, he stepped forward to the body of Bon, who had been laid out on the ground.


    Taking a deep breath, he raised his hands, and, as Reginald and Samantha took several steps back, he started the incantation.


    Returning a soul to a body, and ensuring that the body was restored and alive enough to accept the soul was, Urt happened to know, one of the hardest spells there was. It required a vast amount of energy just to pull the soul back from the afterlife, and that was ?ssuming it hadn''t gone too far. Then there was the matter of healing the body, which wasn''t quite as hard, being roughly along the same lines as raising an undead, but still not all that easy. Finally there was the merging of the two, and the use of enough power to, essentially, kick start the whole affair and ensure it lasted long enough for everything to turn on and start functioning again on its own.


    His Words grew louder as he progressed, and a cold breeze sprang up, coming from a direction that wasn''t earthly. Moans and shrieks could be heard, right on the edge of his hearing, and the sky darkened as clouds gathered over them with frighting speed.


    Urt began to sweat as he reached out with his senses and searched for Bon''s soul. He gritted his teeth as the pleas of the dead surrounded him, begging him to let them return to the warmth and comfort of life.


    Ignoring them, he pushed on, deeper into the spirit realm, following an almost invisible trail. A swarm of spirits pounced on him, and he nearly fell. Heat began to drain from his body as the dead su?k?d at his life force. "Dreg''s balls," he ?r??n?d trying to push on. He could feel his strength leaving him...


    And then there was someone else there, supporting him, replenishing his energy. Refreshed, he pushed back at the dead, scattering them, and in a surge of power, finally located the soul he was after. Dragging it back, he returned to the world of the living, and thrust Bon''s soul back into his corpse.


    Panting hard, sweat dripping from his brow, Urt finished off the incantation, refreshing the body and pulling it back to life.


    Finally, with one enormous burst of energy, he thrust both hands out and said the final Word.


    Then he collapsed.


    ~ * ~


    Redthorne stopped with his spook halfway to his mouth and gasped.


    "What is it?" Prudence asked, looking up from her own meal. Whatever else she was frugal in, Redthorne had discovered, it wasn''t food. Her plate was piled high with meat and vegetables.


    "It''s Urt, he''s... I don''t know. Changed somehow."


    "How do you know?" asked the paladin, stuffing a chicken leg into her mouth and stripping it to the bone in one clean action.


    The small group were resting in an inn for the night, Redthorne having enough of camping under the stars for the moment. Yu Sod had eaten already, he b?r?ly ate anything as far as the wizard could tell, and had gone off to do whatever he did, leaving the two of them to dine.


    "I put a spell on him when he was a babe," Redthorne replied, distractedly. "It means I can sense his whereabouts, at least to a point, and major changes, like if he was badly injured or died even."


    "So, he''s injured or dead then?"


    "Don''t look so hopeful," the mage admonished. "No, he''s changed in some manner that I can''t tell. He seemed to vanish for a moment, and then..." He trailed off and shrugged. "I can''t explain it."


    "So he''s still alive then. Our mission to rid the world of evil goes on," Prudence said, almost triumphantly. She bit down on a potato hard, perhaps symbolically.


    "Yes, it goes on," Redthorne said. He looked at his soup. "I suddenly don''t feel hungry. I think I''ll make a night of it. We should be off early in the morning."


    "May the Lady bless you," said Prudence as he stood up.


    "Aye," said Redthorne, "may she bless us all."


    For once he was totally sincere.


    "Look who''s awake then!"


    Horace''s cracked tones woke Urt, who ?r??n?d and put a hand to his head, which was throbbing.


    "What happened?" he asked.


    "My Lord Mage, I wish to thank you," said another, unfamiliar, voice.


    Urt opened his eyes and looked around. He was back at their campsite, laying on his cloak. Next to him was Horace, grinning like, well, like a horrifying undead head. And kneeling beside him, looking a lot more colourful than that last time Urt had seen him, was Reckless''s friend.


    "Think nothing of it," Urt said, sitting up slowly. "I don''t think I had much choice in the matter. What''s going on?"


    "We''re going to go back to Groan apparently." Samantha, noticing he was awake, strode over to him. As usual, her presence seemed to both stimulate Urt and take his breath away.


    "Are we now?" he asked, struggling to his feet. "Who made that decision then?"


    "The Lady Nothing decided it would be a good place to regroup," Bon said.


    "Did she now? I think I need to have a word with my sister about who''s in charge here." He looked around, spotting Reckless. He located her a little way away, talking to Reginald, who looked like he wanted to run away but was too scared about what would happen if he did.


    Striding over, Urt rescued his friend. "Sister," he said. "What''s this I hear about you making plans without consulting me?"


    Reckless turned to him and smiled, which allowed Reginald to beat a hasty retreat. "Well, brother dear," she replied. "After I rescued you from the spirit realm, I thought someone should be at the helm whilst you napped. Where were you intending to go next anyway? I suspect you don''t wish to go back to Banesville, or this small place you came from before, Buthut?"


    "Mudrut," Urt corrected her. He scowled because, frankly, he wasn''t sure where he had to go next. The devil blade linked to this woman he had to kill apparently, but he had to cast a spell to link the two. After a little research in the Lexicon, he''d discovered that, whilst usually it would have been fairly straightforward to cast such a spell, the fact that the blade was highly magical would make things a lot harder.


    "So then?" Reckless gave a gentle smile. "How about you visit my little home for a while?"


    Urt gritted his teeth. Somehow the suggestion rankled, and yet it was probably about the best option for the moment, it would allow him time to research and plan. And he could use a rest.


    "Fine," he said. "But I''m in charge of this group alright?"


    "Wouldn''t dream of contradiction you," she smiled back. Somehow, Urt didn''t believe her.


    "How do you manage to end up living in a castle anyway?" Urt asked, as they started walking towards their horses.


    "Our parents sent me away when I was young, they said it was for my own protection. They even changed my appearance to make me look human." She indicated her ears.


    "Our parents!" Urt stopped. "I''ve... I''ve never even seen them! I didn''t consider..."


    "Never fear dear brother, they aren''t going anyway, ?ssuming we can stop the end of the world of course. We elves live a long time. I''ll take you to visit them sometime."


    "Wow." Urt shook his head. A lot had changed in a short time, and he''d not had time to process it all. A sister, being an elf, parents, not to mention the whole saviour of the world deal. Maybe some time at Reckless''s castle wasn''t a bad idea.


    "Are you coming then?" Reginald asked. He was already mounted on his stolen horse. Urt noticed that they''d gained a couple of new mounts, no doubt recovered strays that had survived the battle here.


    Taking a deep breath, he nodded. "Let''s go then," he said, and strode forward.


    It was time to face his destiny.


    END OF BOOK 1. - Please read the Author''s thought below!

 Chapter 144 - Book 2 - Travails Of Reckless - Teaser.

    Carl wiped his hands on his apron, and then his brow with his sleeve. The bread he''d just take out of the large oven looked and smelled as good as ever. He nodded, a craftsman''s nod of quiet satisfaction. ;


    The bell from the shop front tinkled, signifying a customer. "Be there in a moment," he shouted, closing the oven door. ;


    There was another noise, one that wasn''t familiar. He frowned and looked around.


    The noise came again. A scratching noise. Puzzled, he scanned the room, and then looked back. There it was again, and it was coming from inside the oven!


    "Can''t be," Carl muttered. Even though it was now off, the inside of the oven was still hot enough to kill anything fairly quickly.


    Still, there was the noise again. A scratching. Like a rat or something. ;


    Putting on his glove, he opened the door. ;


    Behind it, sitting in the oven like it wasn''t hot enough to blister skin, was something so hideous that, even if it hadn''t leaped onto him and forced its way down his throat, he wouldn''t have been able to describe. ;


    As the invader filled his mind, he wondered what would happen to his bakery. ;


    "A professional to the last," came an unfamiliar voice in his head. "I like that. Thanks for the body."


    Carl''s existence was snuffed out.


    ~ * ~


    "She''s chasing me, I''m telling you," Reginald said. ;


    "Why would my sister be running after you?" Urt asked, only paying partial attention to the were-sheep. ;


    "I don''t know." Reginald peered over Urt''s shoulder, at the Lexicon Tormentus and the sheaf of notes that the necromancer was making on parchment supplied by Reckless, or at least her clerk. "Maybe she''s decided to carry on with the torture. You do remember that she tried to torture me don''t you?"


    "I think she did more than try," Urt said, scribbling a note down. "As I recall you were being cut into sections when I rescued you."


    "It wasn''t that bad," Reginald frowned, wandering off and slumping into a nearby chair. "A few slices, painful ones mind."


    "Look, I''m sure that if she wanted to cut you into bits she''d have done so already." Urt put a finger on the passage he was reading and looked at his friend slash minion. "She''s probably just teasing you. Why don''t you stop running away and see what she wants?"


    "She might want something painful," Reginald said. ;


    "You can handle it," Urt replied. "I have every faith in you."


    "How long are we going to be here anyway?" ;


    Urt sighed. "I don''t know. This detection spell is harder than I thought. This Devil blade," he gestured at the sword on the desk, "is so powerful that using magic on it is very difficult. I''m making progress, although I''d be a lot faster without the interruptions." He gave Reginald a meaningful glance. ;


    "Fine, fine. I can take a hint when it''s mashed into my face." The were-sheep stood up and sauntered to the door. "But I want you to avenge my death if she dices me into cubes."


    "She''s more likely to burn you with magical fire I''d think," Urt said, looking back at his book. "And she''s my sister, and, apparently, just as powerful as I am. I may have to kill one of her minions instead. Will that do?"


    "Very well. But make it painful." Reginald sniffed and departed the chamber Urt had taken over to do his work in. He stepped out into the corridor beyond and closed the door behind him. ;


    He had to admit, he thought as he wandered along the well decorated hallway, that Reckless''s manor house, or mini castle as it really was, was a great improvement on the lodgings he''d had in his life thus far, and that was when he had lodgings. Plus, there was plenty of food, which was also a first in his life. Overall, other than the fact that Urt''s maniac sister looked at him with those crazy - although undoubtedly attractive - eyes of hers like he was food, he was as comfortable as he''d ever imagined he could be. Far more so in fact. ;


    He turned the corner and approached the room he''d been given. Another first. A room of his own. It had a bed, with covers and everything, which was larger by itself than the shack he''d grown up in. And it had a door that locked.


    He was just entering said room when he sensed movement behind him. Turning, he gasped, and tried to slide inside, but a foot wedged the door immobile. ;


    "You''ve been avoiding me." Eyes of crazy blue glared at him. Up close they were even more intense than ever. Like the sky on a clear summer''s day. ;


    "I... I..." Reginald said, trying to push his way through the door''s solid wood. "I..." he repeated.


    Reckless pushed up against him. Her body, he couldn''t help but notice, was remarkably soft and...


    "Ohh," he said, unsure as to what emotion he should be feeling. There was certainly a large conflict. ;


    "You said I have pretty eyes," she said, running her hand (very soft!!) through his hair. "Do you really think so?"


    Reginald had lived his life so far by avoiding, wherever possible, dangerous things. And despite the fact that she was much smaller and slighter than Reginald, the girl currently causing him so much trauma was probably the most dangerous person, with the exception of her brother, for many leagues around. She could snuff him out with a blink, a literal blink, of her eyes.


    "I... I..." he maintained. "I... do," he managed to finally get out. ;


    "You do!" ;


    Suddenly Reginald was being ?ssaulted in a manner that he''d never been before, and, frankly, in a manner he''d never realistically expected to be, at least by someone as attractive as Reckless. ;


    Her mouth was soft on his, and her hands roamed his body, causing him feelings and reactions that were, whilst new, not at all unpleasant. ;


    Coming up for air, Reckless grinned evilly at him. "I think I''m going to enjoy you."


    "Oh my!" exclaimed Reginald, as she pushed him into his room. ;


    A few moments later a long, loud, sheep-like bleat echoed through the castle.


    ;Please read Author''s thoughts, below.