Spurred on by the dark shape now approaching, Urt pointed a finger and uttered the shortest incantation he knew, which was a fire starting spell.

    The resulting panic induced mini-fireball was more than satisfactory, and illuminated the fearsome wolf-like creature just before it hit the beast on the neck. With a howl the monster fell to one side, writhing about as fur burned, sending out a foul smell.

    As Urt rushed over to finish the job, the howls changed, becoming far more human cries of pain, and then words.

    "Owowowow! What did you do that for?" the previous-wolf m??n?d, clutching at his neck with two human hands. "I wasn''t going to hurt you! By Growl*, it hurts!"

    "Er…" Urt slowed and stopped, branch still in his hands, as he took in the n?k?d figure squirming around in the grass.

    The man, or youth as it turned out, was painfully skinny, the lack of clothes ensured that was clear. He had thin sandy hair, as best as he could make out in the low light, and several scars were visible on various parts of his body, of which Urt could see far too much of for his taste.

    "Who are you?" Urt waved the branch. In a spark of inspiration, he cast a lower-powered version of his spell at the end of the thing, turning it into a makeshift torch.

    "I''m Reginald, Reg to my friends." The youth rolled over, exposing more of himself than Urt wished to see. "You can call me Reginald. Help me! It hurts!"

    "Well you shouldn''t have been sneaking about in the dark then should you?" Urt replied, unrepentant, and more than a little pleased with his spell casting.

    "I was hunting rabbits!" Reginald, Reg to his friends, said, still clutching at his neck. "I''m hungry." He paused and dabbed at his injured neck, before looking up at his attacker, squinting to see past the light. "You don''t have any food do you?"

    Sniffing, Urt lowered his illumination slightly. The lad, he was probably year or two younger than Urt, was clearly not an immediate threat.

    "If you can catch that rabbit, I''ll share my campfire with you," he said. "I have some supplies and a bit of wine."

    "How about I catch the rabbit tomorrow?" Reginald countered. "It takes energy to shift form, and I''m so hungry I''ll probably get stuck halfway." He sat up, still clutching his neck.

    Rolling his eyes, Urt relented. "You can come in then, but only if you put some clothes on first. I can see your thingy." He gestured in the general direction.

    Reginald looked down briefly. "Sorry, it''s not such a big deal when you''re a wolf."

    "Well, I have my standards," Urt replied, crossing his arms and nearly setting fire to his hair with the torch. "No n?k?d men by my fire, unless it''s me."

    "Fine. Wait here then." The lad turned and staggered away through the woods, his trailed marked by the odd curse as he trod on something sharp.

    Returning to his camp, Urt stuck his torch into the ground and sat down to await his new friends return.

    "Who was it then?" Horace asked.

    "Some kind of starving werewolf, as best as I can make out," Urt answered. "I invited him in for a snack."

    "That was unusually kind of you."

    Ignoring the jibe, Urt nodded. "Strategic thinking is what it was," he said, tapping his temple. "I need a fighter who can hold enemies off long enough for me to loose my spells. This fellow may be just what I need."

    "The first mercenary of your army of terror," Horace said. "Nice one."

    "Glad you approve. Ah, here he comes now."

    "I don''t have much," he warned the youth, whilst opening the bag. "I''ve had some… bad luck lately." He passed a wrinkled apple over.

    "Ha," Horace said.

    "What''s that!?" Reginald asked, starting as he saw the head, though not enough to let go of the fruit.

    "Oh, these are my undead minions. Allow me to introduce Horace the head, and Lucy. They''re both dire creatures of the night."

    "Mmmm." Reginald settled back down again and took a bite of the apple, keeping one eye on the zombies as he munched. "So, you''re a necromancer then? Thought you lot all lived in Banesville."

    "You know where Banesville is?"

    "Sure. Used to work for a blacksmith near there, until he was killed by a rampaging horde of Deadlings. I made a run for it, b?r?ly escaped with my life. Evil place, Banesville." He looked at Urt again. "But I expect you''d be right at home there, wouldn''t you?"

    "I am a Dark Wizard," Urt agreed. "Capable of dire deeds."

    "Yet you''re camping in the woods with only a bag of old fruit and about three quarters of a zombie, in total. Seems you''re down on your luck."

    "As I said, there have been some recent unfortunate events. I am even now on a mission to change my status."

    There was a pause, and Reginald finished the apple, core and all.

    "And?" he said, looking longingly at the food bag.

    Reluctantly, he really didn''t have much food, Urt passed him a rather squashed banana. As he watched the fruit being… wolfed down, he groped about for a way to put his proposal to his new companion.

    "So then, you owe me a rabbit."

    "I suppose." Reginald stuffed the remains of the banana into his mouth and looked at the skin, as if considering eating that as well.

    "I''ve held up my side of the bargain, so you''ll have to hold up yours."

    Reginald nodded.

    "Excellent. However, this means you will have to accompany us on our journey. I hope you won''t slow me down too much."

    "I think I can probably keep up. Especially after such a grand meal." Reginald lay back and curled up into a ball.

    "Very well then," he said, more to himself than anyone else. With renewed instructions to Horace to keep watch, he settled back and soon joined Reginald in slumber.

    *Growl: Lesser god of werewolves and similar creatures. Animal-types tend to be rather literal when it comes to names.

    ~ * ~

    Samantha slid off her horse and examined the ground. The road here was cobbled stone, which made tracking harder. Still, it was heading in roughly the direction she needed to go for her new mission, which was something to be grateful for at least.

    "You! Wench!" She gestured at an enormous peasant girl traipsing in the opposite direction. "Did you see anyone come this way? Maybe dressed in red?"

    "Aye Miss," the wench replied. "Maybe two hours since."

    "Damn it, she''s further away." Not bothering to thank the peasant, Samantha leaped back onto her horse and galloped off.

    The large former barmaid shrugged, adjusted the sack on her back, and made her own way along the road. Neither party thought anything more of the meeting.

    ~ * ~

    "Did you notice that?" Urt stopped suddenly. The donkey, which he''d been leading, bumped into him.

    "What?" Reginald and Horace both asked at the same time.

    "It was a kind of… flash. And I felt… something. Like a freezing cold wind suddenly blew over me."

    "I didn''t feel anything," Horace said.

    "Me neither," Reginald added.

    "Must be these foreign parts that the villagers spoke of," Horace said. "Maybe we''re near some giant ice fields or something. Better watch for snow." His eyes turned skywards.

    Urt scowled. "I''m fairly sure we''re not about to be snowed in."

    "How do you know? We''ve never been to Groan, it could be in the middle of a frozen wasteland."

    "Not last time I was near there," Reginald said.

    "See? It was probably just my imagination, or a premonition or something." Urt started to walk again, yanking the donkey, which had started to graze.

    "So we''re going to be going somewhere cold in the future then?" Horace continued. "You should buy me a hat and scarf then. I''m not fond of the cold, gives me chills."

    "For Dreg''s sake! I''m not getting you a hat! Dead people can''t get ill, they''re well known for not catching colds, or anything else for that matter. Otherwise the physicians would be overrun by zombies with runny noses. Now, be quiet. Reg, help me up here would you?"

    With only a small amount of difficulty, and with Reginald holding the donkey, who went rigid when the lad went near him, Urt mounted his transport. "Forward!" he declared grandly, once aboard.

    With a hard kick to the flanks to spur it on, his mount obeyed. His companions, dead and otherwise, followed behind.