Tired Of Death

"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' c.h.e.s.t. "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 l.a.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.o.a.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.

The tear expanded, and the m.o.a.ns turned into howls. Several half visible tortured spirits escaped, shrieking from a black world that was beyond any living comprehension. Following them came a shape. Shrouded in mist, it appeared as a stooped over humanoid form, leaning on a long black staff coated in ice.

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.