Mercs & Magi

by Jamie Edmundson

  ‘A non-linear narrative is more flamboyant,’ explained the third head.

  ‘More pretentious,’ countered the first.

  ‘It’s also a better stylistic choice for this project,’ continued the third head, warming to the subject, ‘which is based on our recall of our collective memories.’

  The newcomer scrunched his face up at this and shook his head. ‘I don’t know. That approach is going to make it a lot harder for me.’

  The Flayed Testicles looked anxiously from the man’s troubled expression to the ogre’s first head. Anything that made the task harder for the Recorder made their deaths more likely.

  The ogre smiled—a sly, self-satisfied kind of smile.

  ‘Then the middle it is.’

  DARKSPIKE DUNGEON

  Are you Og-Grim-Dog, the three-headed ogre?’ asked the goblin.

  ‘D’ya see any other three-headed ogres round here?’ asked Dog, rather impolitely.

  Grim sighed. There was no need to be rude, and sarcasm was wasted on goblins. It was now looking around the cavern for other three-headed ogres. Dog barked with laughter at the creature’s confusion.

  But there was no-one else in the cavern, and barely any furniture. A wooden chest stood against one wall, a weapons rack on another. In one corner was the ogre’s pile of bones.

  ‘Yes, that’s us,’ said Grim. ‘Gary, isn’t it?’

  The goblin grinned, pleased that Grim knew his name.

  ‘I bring a message from—’

  ‘Wait. Wait a moment,’ interrupted Dog. ‘Your name is Gary? Why, by the twenty-three circles of fiery Gehenna, is your name Gary?’

  Grim felt Og wake from his snooze next to him.

  ‘Stop persecuting Gary!’ Og demanded drowsily.

  ‘Persecuting him? I’m not persecuting him, I’m just asking why he has changed his name. He had a perfectly good name. What was your name, son?’ he asked the goblin.

  ‘Grarviaksrurm,’ the goblin answered promptly.

  ‘Exactly! Perfectly good name,’ said Dog, though Grim detected a hint of doubt in his voice now. ‘A perfectly good goblin name. Gary just sounds ridiculous.’

  ‘He’s changed his name,’ said Og, now fully awake and getting louder, ‘because goblins are discriminated against! The system has forced him to take a human name. Don’t blame the victim!’

  ‘System? Victim? What the—’

  ‘Yes, victim! You’re just perpetuating—’

  ‘SILENCE!’ shouted Grim.

  This always happened when Og and Dog had an argument. They shouted at each other, but since Grim was the middle head, they actually both shouted at him. He was sure he was going deaf as a result.

  ‘Gary says he has a message for us, so I think we should find out what it is.’

  ‘The orcs want to see you. Immediately.’

  ‘The orcs?’ Dog asked, making a face. ‘If the orcs want to see us, why don’t they come ask us themselves?’

  ‘Exactly!’ said Og, as if he had just won their argument.

  ‘Please,’ said Grim, trying to forestall further shouting. ‘Why don’t we just go and see what’s up?’

  * * *

  Og-Grim-Dog followed Gary out of their cavern and up the gently rising stone path that linked their home to the rest of Darkspike Dungeon.

  Most of this part of the dungeon had been formed naturally: the stone walls were rough and untreated, the ceilings damp with water, so that there was a constant dripping noise, whether day or night. It was a lovely part of the world, and Og-Grim-Dog had made sure that no-one else was tempted to share it with them. Indeed, if you ignored the noise from the kobolds upstairs, it was a very peaceful place to live.

  Up they went, to the next level of the dungeon. Here, things were more hectic. It was a densely populated area, full of orcs, goblins and trolls, or ‘green-skins’ as Dog called them. Grim didn’t use the term, since Og insisted it was racist. They did all have green skin, though.

  Gary led them through the dimly lit corridors, past rooms full of goblin warriors, who peered out at them suspiciously. They negotiated the dungeon traps that had been set here and there to catch out unwary trespassers. The smell of blood came on the air: freshly-slaughtered meat. Grim’s mouth watered and the ogre’s stomachs rumbled.

  They came upon a scene of violence and destruction. Doors had been smashed off hinges, splinters of wood everywhere. The clean-up operation had begun, but many orc bodies still lay sprawled where they had fallen. Elsewhere, ribbons of blood and guts, in shades of red and brown, glistened on the ground where bodies had been dragged away.

  Amidst the carnage, hands on hips, stood Krim, the Orc Queen. Seeing Og-Grim-Dog, she waved them over.

  ‘Thanks, goblin,’ she said to Gary, giving him a little trinket before waving him away.

  She cleared her throat noisily, and for some time, until an orc standard-bearer, flustered looking, rushed over to her side.

  ‘Way to make me look stupid,’ she said sourly. ‘Get on with it, then.’

  ‘Her Exalted Royal Majesty, Sovereign and Despot of the Black Orcs of Darkspike Dungeon, Overlord of the Orc Nation!’ he declared in a powerful voice.

  ‘Really, Krim?’ asked Dog. ‘What’s with all this pompous flimflam?’

  ‘It may be flimflam,’ she conceded. ‘But it is high time we learned a thing or two from the humans. They’ve been giving themselves ludicrous titles for centuries. And now their people just believe it all. And obey. Why shouldn’t I do the same?’

  ‘Why does everyone want to behave like the humans?’ Dog demanded.

  ‘Because they’re winning,’ said Krim. ‘Look around you. Another attack—my soldiers slain, any treasures we had left taken. We orcs are done. There’s not enough of us left to even give them a fight next time it happens. And that means they’ll come after the rest of you. It’s orcs who are dying right now, but don’t think you’ll be spared.’

  ‘Well, leaving your treasure lying around doesn’t help for starters,’ said Dog. ‘You’re inviting trespassers down here.’

  ‘You’ve done it again!’ Og shouted, into Grim’s ear. ‘Blaming the victims. That’s twice in a matter of minutes!’

  ‘But that’s just it,’ said Krim, mercifully cutting off another argument. ‘There was nothing left to take. I haven’t had enough fit and healthy warriors to go out raiding for months. The humans must have known that. They took all we had left the last time they attacked. They didn’t come down here to win treasure. They came to kill us.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Grim. ‘Trespassing down here to find treasure we stole from them is one thing. But coming with the sole purpose of murder is quite another. But what should we do about it? More traps and stronger defences aren’t doing the trick.’

  ‘Someone needs to go up there,’ said Krim. ‘Find out what is going on, who’s behind it, and why. I’d try myself, but I’m up to my neck in it here. Besides, the humans kill orcs on sight now. Quite frankly, it needs to be you. You’re the only other person in this dungeon with the brains to do it.’

  Ogres are stubborn, bull-headed creatures. Abduct their mother, threaten her with all kinds of torture and they’ll offer to do it themselves, just so no-one thinks they’re a pushover.

  But flattery. That works every time.

  BONUS 2: INTERVIEW WITH THE DARK ELF

  Interview With The Dark Elf is a companion story to the Me Three series. It was originally published in 2020 in the villain anthology From The Shadows.

  It can be read independently but chronologically comes after/alongside book three, Og-Grim-Dog and The War of The Dead. Readers looking for a totally spoiler-free experience may want to read the first three books before this.

  INTERVIEW WITH THE DARK ELF

  The ranks of menials marched ineptly through the gates of the Kuthenian city of Jiezhou. Lilith, Dark Lord of Fell Towers, had led her army here, in support of her ally, Emperor Tugh. The truth was, however, that the mastermind behind the march south w
as none other than Wro’Kuburni’-Dy-Hrath’Simbowa, most loyal and able of The Dark Lord’s henchmen.

  The advantage of the menials was their numbers. There were thousands of them. This was offset by their incompetence. It took someone with the logistical brilliance of this aforementioned henchman to get them to their destination in one piece.

  Arriving in Jiezhou, however, turned out to be an anti-climax.

  ‘The League armies are gone,’ the imperial officer informed them, once the henchman had helped his Mistress from her mount. ‘We drove them from our lands.’ He eyed the army of The Dark Lord. ‘Without your help.’

  The henchman admired his mistress’s forbearance, in allowing the insolent fool to live.

  Of course, the truth is always more complex than army grunts are cognizant of. The henchman’s status meant that he was privy to the subsequent meeting of the most powerful leaders in all of Gal’azu. The emperor, his generals and his advisers. But most important of all, Mistress Lilith and Master Samael. For all the pretence that Tugh was in charge here, the henchman knew better.

  ‘The threat from the armies of the League has been replaced by a much greater one,’ Samael explained. ‘An army of the undead now roams Kuthenia. It is so dangerous that we must divert all our resources into dealing with it—Kuthenian military and menials of Fell Towers alike.’

  The henchman had nothing but disdain for the raised eyebrows of the Kuthenian nobility. They would soon learn what all drow knew: creatures that survived death were very much real.

  ‘What of our enemies in the League?’ pressed The Dark Lord, disappointed—as the henchman was—to learn that some other enemy had displaced them in Samael’s thoughts. ‘They may have retreated, but they are not yet defeated.’

  Samael gestured at the Dark Elf. ‘Send your henchman to deal with them.’

  Heads swivelled to stare at Wro’Kuburni’-Dy-Hrath’Simbowa, but his expression of cold disdain remained, even if he did feel some pride in the suggestion. Now these Kuthenians were beginning to understand his importance—how he, singlehandedly, could be trusted to deal with an enemy their armies had spent months fighting.

  ‘Very well,’ agreed The Dark Lord. She turned to her most trusted henchman. ‘And why not lead some of these undead into the lands of our enemies while you’re at it?’

  The Dark Elf nodded, a grisly smile on his face.

  Samael nodded, the same grisly smile appearing on his face.

  The Dark Lord nodded, and the henchman assumed the same grisly smile would be present beneath her helmet.

  Emperor Tugh nodded as a grisly smile appeared on his face.

  One of the emperor’s officers put an arm up in the air and yelled ‘Oh! That will be sweet!’

  ‘That’s just going too far,’ said The Dark Lord.

  * * *

  The Dark Elf had assumed that Mer Khazer would be where he would find the ogre and the rest of the Dark Lord’s enemies. But while the Bureau of Dungeoneering was still operational, the ogre was gone. And it was Og-Grim-Dog whom his master most wanted dead.

  It took effort and considerable skill to track the ogre’s movements to Avolo. Og-Grim-Dog was in the company of a human wizard and a wretched Light Elf, travelling south down the river Auster. The henchman followed where they had gone, entering the great city at night and then mingling with its amorphous citizenry. If there was one place in Gal’azu that one of his kind could move with relative freedom it was in that great cosmopolitan city. Surely, he would soon be able to complete his task.

  But the trail went cold. It was beyond strange that a three-headed ogre could just disappear, seemingly without trace. It was the kind of situation where an individual without the fortitude of Wro’Kuburni’-Dy-Hrath’Simbowa would give up.

  And then his quarry was back, as mysteriously as they had gone. The Dark Elf watched them in conversation with the Avoluese general, Caborna, and watched them as they left the city via the West Gate. Just the three of them, alone in the countryside.

  He followed them, wary of getting too close. The Light Elf was suspicious, always on the lookout for danger. Who knew what magics the wizard could deploy? And the ogre, the henchman had learned, while ungainly in its movements, could finish an opponent with a single blow. He would have to pick his time to act with care.

  It didn’t help that the undead were now abroad in these lands, drawn to his beating heart and his pumping blood as much as any other living thing. He was forced to take his rests out of reach—high up in strong trees, while beneath him the creatures scraped their fingers bloody on the trunk. Ever moaning with their insatiable hunger, never tired, it made proper sleep hard to come by. When he awoke, the henchman would draw his twin swords and send however many of the creatures that had gathered below him back to Gehenna.

  It was not until they reached the farm that the Dark Elf could grab an opportunity. Sent to sleep in some lowly human barn by the farmers, it left his quarry vulnerable. The henchman waited, deep into the night. This time, when the undead came for him, he didn’t send them to Gehenna. He captured them, tying them up, until he had a dozen of the creatures roped together.

  Now to act. Leading his new recruits to the barn, he carefully removed several planks of wood, avoiding any sudden sounds that might alert those inside. Once the gap he had made was large enough, he released his captives, quickly moving away to a safe distance. The undead were drawn towards the nearest living creature. Rather than following the disappearing Dark Elf, they made their way inside the barn.

  Wro’Kuburni’-Dy-Hrath’Simbowa allowed himself a satisfied smile as he waited, crouching behind a tree, for the undead to do their work. Their groans were shortly joined by startled shouts. Then, a sudden blast of pale blue light. The wizard. Doubt crept its way into the drow’s thoughts. The door of the barn burst open. Out came the ogre, Og-Grim-Dog. He was carrying the wizard, the elf running by his side. It all happened so fast that the henchman was left in his crouch, unsure what to do.

  Follow them, he told himself.

  For all his speed, he thought he’d lost them. Then, he saw them up ahead. They’d stopped. The wizard had pulled his robe up and they were talking amongst themselves.

  Not a total disaster, then, the henchman told himself. The wizard’s been bitten. One down, two to go.

  The Dark Elf stalked the group. It was no good coming from behind, with their anxious glances back to the barn and the undead. Instead, he circled around to the side, using the dark of night as cover, his twin swords sheathed for now, lest the cold iron reflect the moonlight and give him away. As he neared, he began to overhear their conversation.

  ‘…wasn’t deliberate,’ he caught the wizard saying.

  ‘…Please come to the farm with us. If there’s a chance—’ said one of the ogre’s heads.

  ‘Alright, Og,’ replied the wizard.

  The henchman mouthed the words of a foul drow curse. Before he had reached them, his prey was on the move again, heading for the tall wooden enclosure of the farm—the only reason these humans had survived the undead apocalypse this long.

  He followed them, still keeping his distance. Not to worry, he told himself. These humans aren’t about to sacrifice their families’ safety by opening up their defences to an ogre.

  The ogre was banging on the wooden wall. Just as the Dark Elf was calculating a surprise attack, he heard the moan of an undead from behind him. At the same time as he turned to face the threat his twin swords were in his hands. Holding his left-hand blade in front of him, he swung his right blade in a huge arc. He had used plenty enough force for the sword to pierce through skull and lodge in the brain of the creature.

  Another one returned to Gehenna, he told himself as it collapsed to the ground and he yanked his weapon free.

  A burst of light then sent him scurrying away. That damned wizard again.

  He looked over. No! The panels of the farmers’ wall were being removed and there went his quarry, welcomed into the farmstead. A doz
en options swirled through the henchman’s mind, but none of them were viable. They had escaped him.

  As the last panel of the fortified settlement was shoved back in place and fastened tight, the Dark Elf found himself outside; alone.

  The shuffle of feet could be heard as the undead, attracted by the ogre’s noise, lurched their way towards him.

  The henchman was quick to shake off the disappointment. He left the scene, but he wasn’t going far. The wizard would soon succumb to his injuries and that would remove a major obstacle. A wooden enclosure wasn’t going to prevent him finding a way into the settlement.

  The elf and the ogre would be next.

  The Dark Lord’s henchman received two surprises at once; one good, one bad. First, his quarry left the safety of the farm’s enclosure—alone—only a few days after they had entered. Second, the wizard was still alive. Both his lower legs had been amputated. He was strapped to the ogre’s back in a carrying device. But his survival was unwelcome. The henchman feared no-one and nothing in combat—indeed, welcomed the clash of blades. But magic introduced too much that was unknown for him to feel secure about the outcome.

  Still, the Dark Elf could deploy patience if it was necessary. His master wanted their enemies dead. Far better to take his time and fulfil her orders than to do anything hasty and fail. No. Wro’Kuburni’-Dy-Hrath’Simbowa didn’t do failure. So he followed his quarry north and west, prepared to wait for his opportunity to act.

  They moved from abandoned farmstead to abandoned village. The Dark Elf observed them searching for food that the humans hadn’t been able to take with them. When they were done, he was forced to scrummage for anything they’d missed or rejected. Drow could go for days without eating if necessary. But even he needed to eat something. If he had to pick up the last of the seeds from the dirt of a granary floor, so be it. Hardship didn’t frighten him.