Tired Of Death

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 bloodl.u.s.t 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 S.u.c.k.i.n.g 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 lapsed 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' amus.e.m.e.nt. 

"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 s.u.c.k.e.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 barely 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.