Tired of Death - Dungeon

by Neil Hartley

  Sure enough, around another corner, light could be seen filtering in. He scrambled towards it, poking his head out cautiously. Uncle Dreth had said these Ogres didn't like little zombies, so he had to keep very quiet.

  No one seemed to be about, so he pulled himself into the small cave, which was stacked high with boxes. Resisting the temptation to peek inside, he walked quietly along, towards the only entrance he could see. He passed through it, dodging to one side as a large ugly beast carrying a club thudded past. Waiting to ensure the ogre was gone, he carried on along the wide passage.

  Skipping around another two giants, he crawled through one cave and then another and another, looking for the sign that Uncle Dreth had told him about.

  Just as he was about to give up he saw it - a large skull on a pike, outside a doorway with a curtain across. He crept up carefully and listened. From the other side thunderous snoring could be heard. He peered under the curtain, and then squirmed through, being careful not to disturb anything.

  The room inside was dark, but he could make out enough. There wasn't much to see actually. At the back of the wall was a large table, too high for Sprat to on to. To the side was a wooden chest with a large lock. Directly opposite was a low bed. Lying on top of that was a huge ogre, snoring loudly enough to make the floor vibrate.

  Sprat sidled around the wall, standing on tip toes to see what was on the table. Just the remains of a meal, some unfortunate Orc by the looks of it. Glancing at the form sleeping on the bed, Sprat crept over to the chest and heaved at the lid. Locked.

  He looked around. There! Around the neck of the slumbering Ogre was a chain. Attached to the end of the chain, dangling over the side of the bed, was a large metal key.

  The young zombie looked at the key and then at the chest. They seemed like they could match. Pushing his arm on more firmly, he tiptoed forward. The snoring rose to a crescendo, and the monster snorted, rolling to the side, facing the undead. Sprat stood still, not breathing, though this was normal for him.

  After a moment, the snoring started again, this time accompanied by grunts from the sleeper. He seemed to be mumbling about someone called 'Doreen' and how he was going to 'eat her up'. Sprat smiled. He would sure like to have a whole person to eat too!

  He drew near, hand worming closer to the dangling key. A grunt, and the ogre opened his eyes, staring right at the little zombie. Sprat froze, nearly biting his tongue off.

  A long second passed, then another and another. Slowly the giant's eyelids dipped and closed. A moment later the snores started again. Sprat stood were he was. How had he not been seen? Wait! Stupid! He was invisible!

  Another snort and a massive hand swung around, nearly removing Sprat's head in the process. Lunging under the arm Sprat grabbed the key and twisted, disengaging it from the chain. He dropped to the floor as the ogre rolled over again, pulling the chain with him.

  Wiping his forehead dramatically, Sprat slithered over to the chest and inserted the key. He turned it slowly, wincing at the grating noise it made. Finally, it clicked open.

  He pulled on the lid again, and this time it lifted. Pushing it back he peered inside, looking for the box Uncle Dreth had described. It sure seemed a lot of work just for one leg bone...

  ~ * ~

  Herbert's new partner was a young Orc, fresh from the nursery pits as far as he could tell. He was none too happy at being assigned to a 'dead end alley' as he put it.

  “Look, don't complain. This is easy duty,” said Herbert.

  “Cowards work!” exclaimed the new boy, whose name was Frank.

  Herbert sighed and settled back. It was going to be a long watch.

  “Hey, someone's coming!” said his eager partner. “All right! A bit of work already. Maybe this isn't so bad after all.”

  Herbert gripped his sword as Frank stepped forward, clutching a wicked looking flail. “Hold! You’re entering... oh.”

  An enormous figure leaned down, looking the young guard in the face with glowing red eyes. “Where are they?” it demanded.

  Frank hesitated, but then seemed to gather some courage. “I don't know who you are, but I’m a Black Tribe Orc warrior...” he began.

  Herbert, who was trying his best to become part of the corridor, closed his eyes. Wrong answer.

  There was a dull crunch, a clang of flail being dropped on the floor, followed closely by thud of dead Orc. More footsteps, stopping close in front of Herbert. He opened his eyes a fraction, to look into a face that appeared to be made of wall.

  “Where are they?” The creature repeated.

  “Ah... they went that way,” he blabbed, pointing at the entrance he was supposed to be guarding.

  The head nodded. “Sensible.” It stood up, towering above Herbert, and strode onwards, as if a tribe of greater Orcs posed no threat to it.

  Glancing only briefly at the body of his short lived companion, Herbert slipped into the passageway after the intruder. If he moved quickly, and used a short cut, he should be able to beat it to the throne room.

  ~ * ~

  Dreth paced up and down, to the distress of the zombies who pointed out that he was drawing fire. Indeed, several missiles had narrowly missed the half-alive figure.

  “What’s keeping him? Surely he should have found it by now?” Dreth turned again. An arrow whizzed passed his head.

  “He’s probably already ogre stew,” complained Cuthbert. “When I was alive there was a saying: Never send a boy to catch a bird in the hand.” He frowned. “No, wait, that wasn't it.”

  “Never bite a hand until it feeds you?” suggested Percy.

  “Good advice that,” said Cuthbert. “Get the food first, then the hand. Two apples with one stone that is.”

  “Will you two be quiet?” shushed Dreth. “I think I can hear something.” He knelt down by the hole, just as Sprat popped his head out.

  “Hello Uncle,” he said, face covered in grime.

  “Did you get it?”

  “Here,” said the little zombie, handing Dreth a closed box with runes inscribed all over it.

  “Excellent,” said Dreth, snatching it away.

  “I also...”

  “Yes, very good Splot, Cuthbert will give you your leg now.” Dreth was concentrating on the box, trying to open it.

  “But I...”

  “Sprat! Are you all right?” said Cuthbert, crawling over. “Did you see the ogres? What happened to your invisibility?”

  “It went away,” said Sprat. “And...”

  “Well, you could have been killed! What do you have to say for yourself mage?” Cuthbert turned and shook a finger at Redthorne, who merely shrugged.

  “Daddy, I found a...”

  “Here’s your leg little one, good job!” Percy handed Sprat his reward, beaming a rotten toothed smile.

  “Curse it!” said Dreth, shaking the box. “It’s sealed magically somehow.”

  “Let me have a look,” said Redthorne.

  “I don't think so wizard,” Dreth held it close. “Come on, we’ll deal with the Orcs first, then worry about opening it.”

  They moved off, Sprat happily gnawing on his new leg.

  ~ * ~

  King Oscar sat on his throne, enjoying the administrations of one of his wives, who was busy applying oral activity to his utensil.

  “Sire!” said one of his minions. “The zombies are back.”

  Oscar raised a finger, and the guard waited for a minute, until the King let out a long and happy sigh. “Well done my dear,” he said, dismissing the wife, who backed away, dabbing at her mouth.

  “King Oscar!” The voice was calm yet radiated power.

  The king looked down his nose at the skinny pale human. “Ah, it's you again. And I see you have brought your friends too,” he observed the zombies & wizard behind their leader. What do you want?”

  “We bring you your box sire,” said
the pale human, holding forth the object in question.

  King Oscar sat up straight. “Indeed! Bring it here quickly!”

  “First, your end of the deal, where’s the way to the dungeon's center?”

  Oscar laughed uproariously. “That? Hahahahahaha! That's easy! It's through the ogres' domain! Hahahahahaha!”

  The human's face tightened. Oscar pointed a long dirty finger at him. “Tricked you good didn't I? Now, hand over the box!”

  Dreth handed it over, keeping a wary eye out for tricks.

  “How did you disarm the tracking device?” asked Oscar. “Just out of curiosity.”

  “Tracking device?” Dreth looked puzzled.

  Oscar opened his mouth, closed it and then opened it again. “Don't tell me you didn't remove the spell? The ogres put a...”

  “Sire! Sire! The ogres are attacking! Everywhere!”

  “You idiot!” snarled Oscar, picking up his blade. “Sound the alarm! All troops to defensive positions!” He turned to Dreth. “First though...”

  Herbert ran into the chamber shouting, cutting off the king mid-flow. “Sire! Sire! We’re under attack!”

  “I know that fool! The ogres want their...”

  “No, not the ogres! Something big! It's killed a dozen warriors already, and it's heading here! It asked about them!” He pointed at the undead.

  “Us?” asked Cuthbert, looking from side to side nervously.

  Dreth turned to the king. “What’s inside it?” He asked.

  “What?” Oscar was momentarily confused. “Ah, the box! Ha! Wouldn't you like to know?”

  “That's why I asked.”

  King Oscar smirked, despite the chaos as Orcs ran back and forth about the cavern. “As you will. Inside here is the key to the Central chambers! Hahahahaha!” He slapped at his leg in mirth. “That's right! You just handed over the only way in to the treasure. How smart do you look now?”

  “I see.” Dreth drew his black sword slowly. “Then you should give it back.”

  “Come get it!” Oscar raised his giant blade, beckoning with one hand.

  The human ran at him, and Oscar swung high, bringing his weapon around in a powerful sweep. The undead guardian brought his blade up and blocked it with a screech of metal on metal. Sparks flew as both stepped back. The king was surprised. The human was stronger than he looked. Never mind! He smiled and thrust forward suddenly, moving far faster than he had before. The sword caught Dreth in the middle of the chest, penetrating his flesh and protruding out of his back.

  Oscar grinned widely as the human looked down at the weapon embedded in his body. His grin faded as Dreth looked up again, his face set in an expression of anger.

  “You will pay for that.” Slowly the human pushed forward, up the king's sword, the blade sliding through his body, pushing further and further out of his back as he made his way closer to the hilt.

  Oscar stepped back, but this merely pulled Dreth closer to him. He looked into the guardian's black eyes, and for the first time in his life knew fear.

  “My turn,” whispered Dreth.

  The cold kiss of metal entered the kings' abdomen, sliding through his organs with a burning, yet icy, touch. Oscar opened his mouth, but no sound emerged. The heat in his body seemed to be sucked away, drawn into the black sword.

  The last thing he knew was the sound of laughter. “Awake!” Came a voice inside his head, “awake at last!”

  ~ * ~

  Dreth pulled at the sword, trying to free it from the body of the dead King. It moved slowly, as if resisting his efforts. Keenly aware of an urgent need to not be there, he pulled harder, finally succeeding in wrenching the blade out of the corpse with a wet sucking sound.

  The weapon dripped with green Orc blood, but under that it seemed to throb with dark power. A low moan emanated from it. “Bllllooood,” it said, black energy crackling up its length. “Feeeed meee.”

  Dreth had no time to wonder at this sudden awakening. Quickly grabbing the box, he turned around to face the others. The king's sword was still sticking out of his body, front and back, but he didn't have time to remove it just now.

  “I don't wish to rush you, but half an army of ogres are after that thing,” said Cuthbert, indicating the rune-box.

  “Let's get out of here then,” said Dreth. He started heading towards the way they had come in, only to stop as a giant figure stepped into the cavern.

  Red eyes scanned the crowd, finally settling on him.

  The enormous stone Golem stepped forward, batting away an Orc who was too slow or foolish to get out of its path. “Dreth, Guardian of the Undead Way. The Management has sent me. You are charged with deserting your post.”

  “Oh futtocks,” said Percy. “That's a Guardian Golem. They’re practically indestructible! We’re screwed.”

  The Golem stepped forward, massive arms reaching out for them.

  Dreth stepped away and raised his sword, which seemed to be trying to pull him forward. This monster was not something to be trifled with though. He risked a quick look around. Behind him came the sound of battle, as ogres and Orcs fought for dominance. Another exit to one side was crowded with Orcs trying to get away, and the only other way out was behind the Golem.

  “This is going to be tricky,” he said. “Look,” he said, stepping backwards and pulling the dead king's sword out of his body at the same time, “let's see if we can't come to some sort of arrangement hey? I mean, surely we’re all on the same side, right?”

  “Not really,” replied the Golem, advancing. “Don't get me wrong, it's nothing personal, but I have my orders. You must be made an example of.” It lunged forward.

  Dreth skipped back and brought his sword up to block the blow. The blade met the fist with a loud clang.

  “Aaarrrgg!” said the weapon, “that hurt!”

  The Golem smiled a stony grin. “Magic swords don't scare me little man. Now, stand still and take your punishment like a guardian.”

  “Not bloody likely!” said Dreth, and dodged to one side to avoid another swing. “Wizard, cast some sort of spell! Stop him!”

  Redthorne, who had retreated to a safer distance, scratched his head. “Tough one, these Golem types are usually fairly proof against magic. Still, give me a minute and I’ll see what I have.” He made a gesture and a large book appeared in his hand, which he started leafing through.

  “I don't have a minute you useless... urg!” Dreth tumbled across the floor as the huge fist managed to finally connect. The runebox went flying.

  “E... F... G... Gas... Giants... Gnomes... no, not that, Gold... mmm, thought I’d lost that spell.” Redthorne thumbed through his book muttering to himself.

  Dreth picked himself up, then quickly dived to one side to avoid being squashed by the Golem's foot. “Read faster blast you!” he shouted, performing a series of really quite amazing maneuvers, trying to stay out of the creatures’ reach.

  Sprat, meanwhile, had picked up the runebox. The little zombie looked at the marauding animation, and then at the seething mass of Orcs and ogres, still fighting in the main entrance. He waddled up to the mage, who was mumbling under his breath, and tapped him on the leg.

  Redthorne looked down, placing a finger on the page so he wouldn't lose his place. “What?” he asked.

  The small zombie pointed at the box and said something to wizard.

  Dreth jumped onto the dead king's throne, and then did a somersault over the back of it. Percy and Cuthbert applauded and shouted encouragement.

  “I hope you’re not distracting Mr. Wizard, you short assemblage of spare parts!” he shouted, ducking. The Golem's fist smashed into the wall next to him, dislodging rock and leaving a large crater.

  Dreth just about managed to get a glimpse of Redthorne casting some sort of quick spell before he was hit again. He was sent flying through the air to land at the feet of Cuthbert and Percy,
who were standing out of the way and watching the action.

  “Good one boss!” said Percy.

  “Nearly had him there!” said Cuthbert, giving a thumbs up sign.

  “Don't put yourselves out or anything,” said Dreth, staggering to his feet. “I think I’ve broken a rib.” He looked around just in time to see the Golem throw the throne at him.

  “Let's get out of here!” shouted Percy, as the chair smashed into the cavern floor beside them, exploding in a mass of stone shrapnel.

  “What's Sprat up to?” asked Cuthbert, lurching away at speed as the giant creature approached.

  Dreth spared a quick glance at the small undead as he jogged in a wide circle around the cave. The zombie had the runebox in his hand and was walking with a determined gait up to the Golem. As he watched, the little zombie took aim and threw the box at the Stone Guardian. It hit and stuck to its leg. The Golem took no notice, intent on pursuing its prey.

  Dreth looked wildly from side to side. The ogres were pushing forward, having nearly overwhelmed the Orcs, and the other entrance was still crowded with refugees from the fight. He skipped left, but the Golem darted forward, cutting him off and trapping him in a corner.

  “Look, you don't have to do this, really,” said Dreth. “Throw off the shackles of oppression brother! Rise up and fight the overlords!” He raised his fist in a salute, in a desperate attempt at false camaraderie.

  “But I like my job,” said the Golem, closing in. “It is annoying being summoned from the Sleep sometimes, but the hours are good, and you get to see places and meet interesting people. If only briefly.”

  “I don't suppose you would take a bribe?” Dreth asked, scraping the bottom of the 'options' barrel. His back was now against the wall, in several senses.

  The guardian shook its head as he loomed closer, towering above the half-dead. He raised a fist. “Time to be very, very sorry,” it said.

  Dreth closed his eyes. There was a slight pause followed by an enormous crash, then silence. His head remained unflattened. He opened his eyes again.