Tired Of Death

"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 c.h.e.s.t.

"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."