Samantha was fuming. How could she have been so careless? She''d been overconfident, that''s how. Lazing away the night in bed with some male idiot, enjoying herself whilst still on a mission. Her supervisor would have her flayed for such lax behaviour, if she was lucky.

    Sliding off her horse, she pulled the black throwing knife from the body of the traveller that had been unlucky enough to whistle at her as she rode past. People tended to die easily around Sam, especially when she was in a bad mood, and right now she was furious.

    Bending down, she examined the ground. Yes, the tracks were fresher now, she was closing in.

    Stopping only briefly to rifle through the belongings of the new corpse, waste not want not, she climbed nimbly back onto her mount and was about to set off again when a low chime came from her saddle bag.

    "Not now!" she swore. "Please Zzrif*, not now." The chime repeated though, and, after a moment to compose herself, she reached into the pack and pulled out a small leather pouch. Opening it, she tipped out the portable crystal inside and muttered the activation word.

    Immediately the face of none other than the Den mother appeared in the stone.

    "Mistress!" she gasped.

    "Samantha," the image replied, the voice was tiny, but the steel was evident even so. "I have another task for you."

    "Mistress," Samantha dipped her head slightly. "I haven''t yet brought in the package from my last ?ssignment." She crossed her fingers, hoping the other woman wouldn''t ask to see it.

    Luck was with her. "Never mind that for now, our client can wait a little longer. I need to you store that in a safe place whilst you perform an urgent task for me. You''ll need to travel north quickly."

    "Yes mistress," Sam concealed her joy. This would give her extra time to recover her mission! "How may I serve you?"

    The Den mistress leaned forward and smiled, sending a shiver down Sam''s spine.

    "The mission is one of utmost priority. Whatever you do, you will not fail, and you will report only to me. Do you understand?"

    "Of course Den mother."

    "Excellent. Now, here''s what I need of you…"

    * Zzrif – Deity of murder and other dark deeds.

    ~ * ~

    "What a magnificent mount!" Horace said from his cradle in the arms of Lucy zombie, who trotted alongside Urt on the dusty road.

    "If you say that one more time I''m going to bury you in a hole and leave you there." Urt scowled down at his minions and kicked the donkey in the sides as it tried to head towards a weed.

    The beast brayed loudly in complaint, but returned to the original course, which was eastwards, towards the fabled city of Groan.

    Yanking the rope that was acting in place of reigns, Urt wondered if it wouldn''t be easier walking. The beast required constant kicking and guiding as it veered from one side of the track to the other, trying to eat any small amount of greenery that presented itself. He was sweating from the effort, and his rear end was aching from the bouncing. The villagers, he had to admit, had made best effort, but Mudrut was a poor place, and the donkey, with a makeshift blanket saddle, was the only form of transport available on such short notice. Urt hadn''t wanted to risk hanging about and bumping into the Warden, who was still lurking about somewhere a villager had informed him, so he''d taken it, a bag of dried fruit and a canister of thin wine, and left town as fast as the donkey would carry him.

    At least the pace of the beast was reasonable, it moved ahead at a decent clip. It was a good job zombies didn''t get tired, as the girl had to trot to keep up. He''d considered letting the undead ride, but his mount wasn''t large, and the dead did smell. Anyway, it wasn''t a good thing to give minions ideas above their station.

    "I must say, it''s nice to get out and see new places," Horace said, eyes straining left and right.

    Taking in the almost uniform straggly greenery that lined both sides of the road, Urt understood the head''s meaning at least. Despite the lack of interesting sights, the shrubbery was different. Plus it didn''t smell of methane. In fact the air was quite fresh. Urt felt slightly guilty as he realized he was rather enjoying it. A necromancer should surely feel at home in the darkest of places, not on a relatively clean track in bright sunlight.

    "It''s not a very busy thoroughfare is it?" Horace asked, apparently determined to make conversation.

    "I doubt anyone really wants to go to Mudrut," Urt replied. "And we''ve heard the opinion of the people there about ''foreign parts''. No doubt anyone with a slight interest in travelling has long gone."

    "Well, I''m happy to visit new places," Horace said. "I always liked to travel when I was alive. Probably."

    "Probably?"

    "I can''t remember."

    "I thought you had a good memory?" Urt asked, interest piqued, despite himself.

    "You know it''s the zombie curse, other than the rotting skin and such I mean. We can''t remember anything about our time as the living. It''s said if we do find out, we can rise again. So it is said anyway."

    "Oh. Mangle said something about this once, but I thought it sounded unlikely."

    "Well, it''s not."

    "You sure?"

    "I didn''t make the rules up," the zombie said. "It''s just how it is."

    Urt made a face and steered the donkey away from a branch that was overhanging the road.

    "Considering I''m supposed to be a powerful necromancer, I don''t really know a great deal."

    "Old Mangle hadn''t finished your training," Horace said.

    "I wonder what happened to him?" Urt had spent many a night wondering this.

    "Why don''t you cast some magic? Try and summon his spirit," the zombie head suggested.

    Kicking the donkey in the sides again, Urt nodded. "I''ve tried before, but it''s never worked. Maybe I''ll try again now we''re travelling, it could be there''s a range issue." He nodded again, agreeing with himself. "I''ll try it when we camp, if I have the energy," he said, wrenching his mount back on course again.

    "Perhaps we should consider looking for a spot now." Horace swivelled his eyes skywards. "It will be dark soon."

    Urt looked up to discover the zombie head was right. Had it been a day already? Well, perhaps. What with everything in the village he probably hadn''t set off until halfway to midday. He began scanning the brush on the sides of the road, looking for a suitable area to set up camp.

    ~ * ~

    "Finally!" Horace said, as Urt slumped down on a makeshift bed. "I''d be exhausted if I was still alive."

    "Well I am exhausted," Urt said, yawning. He looked around his little camp with a modicum of satisfaction. Considering he''d never travelled anywhere outside the swamp, he thought he was doing quite well.

    Laying back Urt considered casting a spell to seek out Mangle''s ghost, but he was too tired. His hand touched the letter in his pocket, but it was too dark to read it now, even by the flickering illumination of his low campfire.

    "You two keep watch," he said. "Wake me if there''s any…" He was asleep before he finished the sentence.

    ~ * ~

    "Master! Wake up! You, girl, poke him."

    Urt was roused from an appealing dream with the hag, who had been dancing around inside a giant pot n?k?d, by a prod from Lucy zombie.

    "Wurt Snrglz," he said, and woke up. "This better be good," he hissed at the head of Horace, which was sitting on the ground next to him.

    "There''s someone, or something, out there!" Horace swivelled his eyes to the right.

    Creeping forward, he peered through the brambles. "I can''t see anything," he hissed to Horace. "Are you sure?"

    "Of course I am," the head replied. "Heightened senses remember? Plus we zombies can see well in the dark. Another of our superior qualities."

    Ignoring the bragging, Urt hefted his branch and tried to think of a quick, offensive spell. It was undignified waving a wooden stick about when he was should be casting death magics.

    A moment later a movement in the brush distracted him. A low growl and two points of red at waist height hinted at something unfriendly with sharp teeth.

    "Uh oh, this doesn''t look good," said Urt.