Tired Of Death

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 assailant.

"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 tall man looked about, apparently satisfied with his work. Then he spotted Miles.

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 peac.o.c.ks. The men were not much plainer. Some were dressed in black tuxedoes, whilst others were garbed in military uniforms of various kinds, c.h.e.s.ts 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.'