Tired Of Death

"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 bloodl.u.s.t 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.o.a.n.e.d in terror as the Anti-Paladin took another step forward, then picked himself up and ran off down the road screaming.

Satisfied, Veronica mounted his Nightmare again and kicked it into life, galloping off down the street, leaving hoof-prints of fire behind.