Tired of Death by Neil Hartley (ereader that reads to you txt) 📕

off and feed it to the nearest Orc.”
“Name's Sprat,” mumbled the invisible zombie, but stumbled off towards the dark tunnels, his progress marked by his footsteps shuffling along, and the odd movement in the debris strewn floor...

*One he had found on the floor.


~ * ~


Sprat crawled through the passageways, some tight even for him. Around him creatures and things scuttled about in the dark. He was glad uncle Dreth had got that warm human to do the magic thing on him.
He paused a moment, squeezing back against the wall to allow something slimy and green with no legs to slither past. Stopping only to stick a finger in and taste the trail of slime left behind, not very nice, he carried on. The noises he had been hearing for a little while were getting louder.
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