CHAPTER ELEVEN

Once back at the Impala, Sam hopefully tried his phone again.
"Stupid ass phone…stupid ass trees! Just gimme a friggin' signal will you? Fucking piece of crap!"
Tossing the object of his growing exasperation onto the passenger seat, Sam pulled a map book out of the Impala's glove compartment.
"Ok…there has to be some point of civilisation where I can get a damn signal somewhere along this Godforsaken route."
With a "hah" of triumph Sam stabbed the map with his finger,
"Got you!"
Sitting behind the wheel, Sam offered up a quick prayer to anyone who might be listening and held his breath as he turned the key in the ignition. He grinned widely as the Impala's engine purred alive and patted the dashboard.
"Good girl. Now, lets go find your boyfriend."

Dean shuffled carefully behind his guide who appeared to have no problem what-so-ever negotiating his way through the dark. To his relief there was nothing pawing at him in the dark this time. Concentrating on feeling for any obstacles with his feet, Dean didn't notice his guide had come to a halt until he collided nose first with the creature's back, breathing in a lung full of his guide's decaying stench,
"Phew! Oh crap. That stink's making my eyes water man. How can you live with it? They've invented this thing called deodorant, you know? You could do with a bucket load of it, really!"

The pitch black darkness was suddenly broken as the creature opened a doorway into a room lit by candlelight. Placing a hand on Dean's back, he propelled Dean into the room before following and turning to close the door after them. Dean stood blinking, giving his eyes time to adjust. Even soft candlelight seemed dazzling after the darkness which now lay outside the room. Getting his bearings, Dean saw that he was in a sizable dining hall, the centre of which was dominated by a highly polished walnut dining table designed to seat twenty. Although there was no sign of windows in the hall, the walls were richly decorated with breathtaking tapestries, all of which appeared to show various hunting scenes. Something about the nearest one to Dean drew his eye. He looked at the fleeing prey, blinked and looked again. The scene showed men on horseback, all bearing swords, and all chasing after a werewolf. A quick glance confirmed that in all the tapestries depicted prey that was a supernatural creature of one kind or another.

Dean switched his focus towards the end of the hall furthest away from himself where he saw a huge stone hearth in which a fire was dancing merrily. In front of the fire stood a figure in silhouette. On the table in front of where the figure stood, there were two places set in apparent readiness for a meal.
"Mr Winchester! Welcome! Such a difference from earlier. They do say that clothes maketh the man and, I must say, you carry that suit extremely well"

Having heard only his own voice for a while, his host's cheery sounding greeting startled Dean and he glared angrily towards the owner of the voice; the voice which he recognised as being the one that had been plaguing both his dreams and his waking hours.
"Quit talking to me like I'm an old friend and lets get down to business. Who the fuck are you? Why've you gone to so much trouble to get me here and, most importantly, what've you done with my brother, shit for brains?"

Dean's host took two steps towards him. When he spoke, the change in the tone of his voice sent a chill down Dean's spine..
"Final warning Sir….I will not have that language used in my presence. Do I make myself very clear?"
Dean smirked.
"And what if I don't give a camel's ass what you will and won't have? What're you gonna do about it? Throw me out, cock sucker?"

Dean couldn't be entirely certain, but right before the pain exploded in his head he thought that he had seen his host's eyes glaze over into pure white, just for an instant. Dean stumbled backwards, and instantly felt strong hands grip both his shoulders, using their hold on him to firmly begin to manoeuvre Dean towards the host, depositing him ungracefully on a dining chair at one of the set places. Once seated, the pain inside his head rapidly began to fade. Dean focused a look of sheer fury at his host as the man sat himself down at the second set place. Pale cold eyes, empty of any emotion, returned Dean's stare impassively.
"Please don't force me to have to do that to you again Mr Winchester…Dean…It gives me no pleasure, none what-so-ever. May I offer you a drink? I hope you like Port, I think you will find this particular one is a tad more fiery than the brands which I imagine you are used to."
The host reached for a decanter full of deep, rich, ruby liquid as he spoke. Dean covered his glass with his hand.
"No thank you. Not my kind of poison…..pun entirely intended."
The host responded with a tight lipped smile,
"As you wish, although you have my word that it is perfectly safe."
"And, of course, your word means so much to me…..Where's my brother?"

Any answer Dean may have been given was suspended by the entrance of two males, each carrying large silver trays loaded with serving bowls, jugs, condiment pots and breads.
"Ah. Dinner. Excellent."
Dean swore internally as his stomach betrayed him, growling in response to the idea of food. He focused his attention on the two men bearing the trays. Aside from being of a much more average height, there were some obvious similarities between them and Dean's guard. Clearly, this pair were also well past their sell by date.
"What is it with you and zombies? It can't be anything to do with their delicate aroma."
To Dean's surprise, his host laughed.
"Dean, my dear. My people are not zombies! They are far beyond being the mere shuffling shell of something that once was. My people are intelligent. They do not need me to give instructions for every step they take. My people retain both intelligent thought and a semblance of autonomy"
"Ok…so what are they then? Cos it's obvious they shouldn't be walking around top side any more.
"My honoured guest, these beings are Lytch. I assume you do know what a Lytch is?"

Dean openly stared at his guard and the two waiters.
"You've gotta be yanking my chain! Lytches…Litchi…whatever; they don't exist. Well, except for in those geeky D&D monster books."
The host watched the two creatures as they began to place food containers on the table in front of himself and Dean.
"Well, the evidence would appear to disagree with that theory…What say you?"
Dean stared at the creatures again, his mind racing, recalling what he could from his limited knowledge of the world of fantasy role play games.
"But….if that's true, then that would make you a…"
"Necromancer. Well done Dean. Very well done. By the way dear boy, do try the stuffed mushrooms, I promise you will simply adore them."

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A.N. Lytch : Old gateway, usually stone, leading into church grounds and through which coffins containing the dead were carried into the church.

Lytch Road : AKA "The way of the dead."