"Where we going now boss?" Horace once again piped up, no doubt bored by their wandering.

    "What? Oh, er…" Urt stopped and looked around. He''d been walking aimlessly, lost in his thoughts. Not the best idea considering one wrong step and he''d be hair deep in a muddy hole. The swamp had plenty that specialised in su?k?n? down anything stupid enough to walk into them.

    Getting his bearings, he discovered the area he''d wandered into was close to the trail that led to the only civilization in the area, though to term a village called Mudrut civilization was pushing the boundaries of the definition.

    "Maybe we should go and dig up another corpse," he said.

    "You didn''t bring a shovel," Horace pointed out.

    "There''s usually one lying around," Urt replied, though in truth a bucket would probably serve just as well. Mudrut''s method of disposing of their dead lacked all ceremony. The villagers seemed to believe that the swamp did the best job of getting rid of bodies, though in fact it was usually Urt that performed that duty.

    "May as well go and take a look," he said, taking a wet step forward. "As we''re in the area."

    "That''s it, get back on the horse," Horace encouraged, as the young necromancer squelched his way along the path, towards the huddle mass of rude dwellings that made up Mudrut.

    As he approached the village he slowed, moving with care. The villagers knew there was a dark wizard in the swamp, but they didn''t know what he looked like. Urt wanted to keep it like that, on the vague suspicion they wouldn''t be enlightened enough to treat him with the fear and respect that he deserved, ignorant savages that they were.

    "There''s the burial area," whispered Horace, from Urt''s waist. "Can you see if there''s any new business?"

    "Not yet," Urt replied. He scrambled behind a bush and peered through its slimy leaves, trying to make out if there was the tell-tale lump that indicated a fresh corpse. They didn''t come along very often, and the most recent had only been a few weeks ago, so he was surprised to see not one, but two low mounds.

    "We''re in luck," he whispered. After a final quick look left and right, he dashed forward in a bent over run.

    "Two of them!" said Horace, spotting the graves. "We''ve hit the jackpot!"

    "Hush," Urt said, sticking his head up and looking over at the village. "We should have come back at night."

    "Oh it''s alright. They''re probably getting drunk or whatever the living do these days."

    Urt rolled the sleeves of his robe up, stuck one hand into the mud and groped about until he touched flesh. With some effort he managed to pull the body slowly from its rest, until the wet earth released its hold with a dull plop. T

    "It''s a young one," Horace said. "Practically a baby. What a waste, they''re so tasty fresh."

    "No eating my experiments," Urt scolded, grimacing at the mud on his arms and reaching back down, into the other grave.

    The second one took more effort, and he was covered in mud by the time the cadaver, a girl of maybe seven or eight years old, was freed from the embrace of the cold ground.

    "At least they won''t be hard to carry," Horace pointed out, as Urt viewed his finds with distaste. How was he to build an army with babies and child zombies? It wasn''t fair.

    "Beggars can''t be choosers," he muttered. Putting the baby in the sack he carried for herbs - he had to squash it down a bit to make it fit - he slung it over his back and turned his attention to the girl, only to step back in shock. She was looking at him!

    "What the hell!" he said. "She''s alive! How can they bury a living person?"

    "Dunno," Horace said. "Does this mean I can taste her though? Just a finger, nothing important."

    "No." Urt sidled forward and examined the girl, who blinked and slowly sat up. "You know they go right through you." He directed his attention to the child. "Hello girl, who are you?"

    "Braaains," the girl said, and stood slowly up. She turned to Urt and repeated herself. "Braaaains."

    "Ahhh, isn''t that cute?" said Horace, as the young zombie lurched forward. "She''s trying to eat your brains. That brings back memories, do you remember the time..."

    "Er, hold on a second." Urt took a step back, to avoid a swipe from the girl, and raised a hand. A dark haze spread from his fingers as he said a Word.

    The young zombie stopped at once. "Masster," she said.

    "Nice catch," said Horace.

    "I may currently be having difficulties getting them up, but I''m not totally helpless." Urt addressed his new friend. "What''s your name?"

    "Lucy massster."

    "Yes, I think we can drop the slurred speech as well, that''s just for tourists,"

    "Of course master," she said, in a far more normal voice.

    "Who raised you?" Urt asked.

    The zombie shrugged. "I don''t know."

    "When were you raised?" Horace interjected. "I mean, you still look fresh. It can''t have been long ago."

    "I don''t know," Lucy said. "Why aren''t I sad?"

    "It''s the whole zombie thing," Urt said. "You tend to have a whole different perspective on life, when you''re dead."

    "I see." The young deceased paused. "What''s perspective mean?"

    "It''s…" Urt struggled for the words and gave up. "Never mind."

    "Can we keep her master? Can we? Can we?" Horace licked where his lips used to be excitedly. "It would be nice to have another deceased around the place."

    "Well, maybe," Urt pondered. "I mean it''s not as if you''re good with the cleaning. But why would someone raise a perfectly good zombie and then just go and abandon it?"

    "Maybe she was too small. She''s hardly army of darkness material is she now?" Horace said. "Perhaps they raised her by accident."

    "Great. Here''s me, unable to raise more than a head, and other necromancers are throwing undead away because they have too many. That makes me feel really wonderful, a real morale booster."

    Urt turned to his new Zombie friend and passed her his bag. "Here, carry this. Come with me."

    "Yes master."

    "And don''t fall in any quicksand." In a bad mood once more, Urt turned around and tramped down the path he''d come along, heading back to the small hut he called home.

    ~ * ~

    The following day Urt busied himself with preparations to raise the baby. He was determined to have everything exactly as it should be. He added extra ingredients and drew runes that were supposed to help with the spell, and made sure there was no contamination in the area. He replaced anything that was even slightly old, unless it had to be old, and polished his equipment until it shone.

    During all this Horace was unusually quiet, watching him as he made the preparations. Lucy ran errands, collecting things and helping arrange the raising area.

    Finally Urt could put it off no longer. Everything was as ready as it could be. He''d sent Lucy to find some more ingredients, but he found he didn''t really need them, so he turned to face his project.

    "This is it Horace," he said. He was standing in front of the slab where the baby was laying at rest. The smell of decomposition lingered in the air, but this didn''t bother him. Such was the craft of the necromancer.

    "I''m nodding," replied Horace.

    "Very well."

    He glared at the body as he chanted the incantation, feeling the mana, twisting it to his ends. The dark light washed through him, settling into the corpse exactly as it should, pulsating with energy as he shouted the final words.

    "Rise! Rise and do my bidding! Rise!"

    The baby twitched and its dead eyes opened.

    "Yes! It''s working!" Urt clenched his fist in triumph.

    The tiny zombie opened its mouth, made a croaking sound, and then slumped back. Lifeless, or at least inanimate, once more.

    "Noooooooo!! Noooooooo! Curses! Blast and curses! By the oozing pustules of Dreg noooooo!" Urt fell to his knees and shook his fists at the sky.

    "Oh bravo!" Horace said.

    A red mist descended upon Urt, and he swung around, pointing a finger at the detached zombie. "Quiet you!" He shouted, and a blast of dark energy blew Horace off the bench and into the wall, which he bounced off before hitting the floor and rolling under the bed. A fearful m??ning emanated from under the narrow space.

    "Curse this place!" shrieked Urt. Raising both arms he swept them outwards, sending a wall of power hurtling away, tearing his small hut apart as if it were no more than paper. "I hate this swamp!"

    "Ahhhhh!!" A massive explosion of power emanated from the enraged necromancer, ripping any surviving material out of the ground and sending it, smouldering, into the surrounding swamp.

    When the dust cleared, Urt was on his knees, sobbing in in the centre of a large, muddy crater.