Mercs & Magi

by Jamie Edmundson

  After a few days of following at a safe distance it became clear where Og-Grim-Dog and his allies were headed. They were going to Mer Khazer, headquarters of the Bureau of Dungeoneering. What they hoped to achieve there was much harder to work out. This region was now totally infested by the undead. It was almost a certainty that the pathetic defences of that town couldn’t withstand them.

  When he got his first sight of the town, he got confirmation that his instincts were correct. Lines of the dead were funnelling through the various entrances to Mer Khazer. The gates had been forced open by an undead horde, drawn by the quantity of living flesh inside. The fact that they continued to pour inside suggested that there was still some flesh yet to be eaten.

  The odd thing was that despite such danger, the Dark Elf observed the ogre charging at one of the entrances into the town, the elf close behind. More through luck than skill they barged their way into Mer Khazer and disappeared down one of the streets.

  Baffling. Nothing would have persuaded the henchman to risk his life as they had just done. It wasn’t that he didn’t comprehend, on a philosophical level, the decision to live a good life. Like all drow, he was far more on board with doing evil. It was a set of values that just came naturally. But he didn’t lack an imagination or recognise that some people had a different moral code. But risking one’s life for others? That was something much more difficult to understand.

  Perhaps, before this mission had begun, the Dark Elf would have left his enemies in Mer Khazer and assumed they would be killed and eaten by the dead; returned to The Dark Lord and confidently assured her of their demise. Perhaps. But recent experience told him to guard against such optimistic assumptions.

  His caution was rewarded when he spotted a party leaving the town via it’s south gate. His quarry had been joined by four others. Assata the Barbarian, he knew well from their mission in Kuthenia. Princess Borte—well, she had been their mission. They had kidnapped her and brought her to The Dark Lord. Now she had become the figurehead for the resistance in Kuthenia. Hassletoff the halfling, Director of the Bureau of Dungeoneering. They had never met, but the henchman knew of him. The fourth figure, a gangly human slung over the ogre’s shoulder, he couldn’t identify.

  So, three had become seven. One could, the Dark Elf acknowledged, see it as a problem. It made his task more difficult. But he was inclined to see the opportunity. Kill this group and the enemy would be finished in one fell swoop.

  * * *

  The Dark Elf followed this enlarged group south. Where they were heading to now, he couldn’t guess. It was likely they didn’t know themselves. Where was there for these people to go? They spent a night in the open, the henchman finding another tree in which to make his own bed. When he checked on them the next morning, they were all there. But how long could they keep this up? The more he thought about it, the more he thought it likely that the undead would—eventually—do his job for him.

  He followed them once they broke camp. More aimless wandering. Then he spied the group standing around the church of a deserted human village. Something had clearly caught their interest. The henchman waited until they had left the village before taking a look himself. A message had been scrawled on the white wall of the building. Find Sanctuary in Babylon. We are safe. Beneath it was an arrow, pointing in the direction that the ogre and his colleagues had taken.

  Babylon? He’d never heard of it and doubted that his quarry had either. But they were desperate enough to follow the sign. Curious, he did likewise.

  It wasn’t long before he got a sight of this settlement called Babylon. He had to admit that whichever humans had made their home there, had done better than he’d expected. A hill had been strengthened with earthworks in a concentric design. At the top, it had been flattened. The henchman could make out a few wooden buildings. Yes, it was basic. But crudely effective for keeping out the dead.

  He observed as his quarry negotiated for entry into the hillfort. It was denied, for some. Three ascended the rope ladder that had been thrown down by the residents: the halfling, the elf and the princess. The remainder waited at the base of the hill, as the night drew in and the dead began to appear with tiresome inevitability. The ogre dispatched them with an almost absent-minded swing of his mace.

  At first, the Dark Elf had trouble understanding what was happening. Then, when he saw them repeatedly tending to the gangly human, he worked it out. He’d been bitten, probably back in Mer Khazer. Why they hadn’t ended his life immediately, it was impossible to say. And why they stood about waiting for him to die and turn into one of the creatures was equally confusing. But that’s what they did. Only then did the barbarian use her sword. That was followed by a staggering waste of time and energy as they dug a hole in the ground in which they placed the body, before filling it in.

  Finally, the ogre, barbarian and wizard were allowed to ascend the rope and enter this place they called Babylon. The Dark Elf was left to contemplate not only his next move, but the strange behaviour he had just witnessed.

  The new residents of Babylon began to go about their business, still unaware that a Dark Elf had been following their every move. He spied on them from his new home up a tree. The hillfort afforded his quarry the best protection they had enjoyed since he first found them in the city of Avolo. But maybe it provided him with an opportunity, too. He gave himself time to develop a plan, convinced that the adventurers of Mer Khazer would not be leaving their refuge in a hurry.

  Once his decision was made, the henchman got to work. It was a variation on his attack on the barn at the farm. He began collecting any undead who passed his way, lashing them to the lower branches of his tree. This time, he covered their faces with cloth, muffling the moans and groans they emitted.

  Once he had harvested sufficient undead, he had to carry out the hard part of his plan. Getting them up to the top of the hillfort.

  He waited, a whole day, then another, for the right moment. Finally, he took his chance. This was risky: climbing the earthworks of the settlement, trusting that the darkness would shield him from any lookouts at the top of the fort.

  The henchman scarpered up the steep slopes, agile and powerful, fast-moving but silent. The defences were good enough to keep out the dead, but not an athlete such as he. The last, most dangerous part was leaping up to the palisade of wooden stakes that surrounded the flat top of the hill. He gripped it with both hands, then pulled himself up and over the palisade.

  He allowed himself a few moments to catch his breath and wait to see if he had been spotted. It remained quiet. The people of the fort slept. Then he crept to where the rope ladder was stashed, threw it over the edge and climbed down.

  Next, he returned to his tree and retrieved his collection of silenced dead. He roped the first two to the lower rungs of the ladder—two would be heavy enough, even though their decaying bodies were lighter than living ones—climbed past them and back up to the top of the fort. Then came the physically demanding task of hauling the ladder back up with the two creatures attached. Once he had got them up, he released them. At first, of course, their instinct was to eat him. But by once more throwing down the ladder and beginning his descent, they turned instead to the many bodies tucked away inside the wooden homes of the fort.

  Again, and again, and again, the Dark Elf did this, not stopping to rest his tired muscles, stretch out his back or soothe his raw hands. He pushed himself to exhaustion. But each time he did it, another pair of undead warriors shuffled their way slowly towards the sleeping residents of Babylon. Eventually, bloodcurdling screams began to issue from the settlement as the Babylonians awoke to find the risen dead had entered their homes; were scratching and biting and chewing them. None had the presence of mind, at first, to come and check the rope ladder. The henchman completed his work. Once he heard the sounds of fighting and of organised resistance to his invasion, he retreated. Plan implemented, he retired to his tree and let his scheme play out.

  * * *

  The
Babylonians defended themselves from the Dark Elf’s surprise night time undead attack better than he’d expected them to. A significant number of corpses were buried at the bottom of the hill the next morning. But only one that really mattered to the henchman. The wizard was finally dead.

  He crept towards the gathering where the enemy performed their rites. When it was the wizard’s turn to get buried, the three-headed ogre spoke to the assembly.

  ‘I feel that we are partly responsible for the death of Sandon,’ said the head called Dog.

  The Dark Elf could see the ogre’s fellow adventurers raise an eyebrow or roll their eyes at this statement. How amusing. Somehow, they blamed the ogre for the wizard’s death. Then, first one, then all three ogre heads began to leak water out of their eyes. They sniffled, as if they had suddenly caught a sickness.

  ‘Sandon was a very good friend to us,’ said the head called Og, in a strange, husky voice. It then appeared that the ogre had completely lost the power of speech. In the end, the Light Elf walked over, gave the ogre a gentle pat, and took over the rest of the speech for him.

  At first, the Dark Elf thought that the ogre might be coming down with the undead sickness. But then, he realised that his afflictions were caused by sadness. He was most surprised to see such emotion on the face of a former henchman of The Dark Lord. Not least one who had done such terrible things as Og-Grim-Dog.

  The henchman reflected on this. He had seen sadness before. Not even once in the harsh realm of Cly’ath Denori’Kilith Tu’an. But many times, since leaving his homeland. After killing his victims’ family members; or indeed their pets; he had seen humans—and other races—express sadness. He couldn’t recall seeing it after killing their colleagues, or allies. Though the ogre hadn’t called this wizard Sandon an ally. He had called him a ‘friend’.

  The Dark Elf began to speculate what that word might mean. An ally who you would be sad to see die, he supposed. That led him on to ask himself the question, would anyone be sad if he were to die? Would The Dark Lord mourn him, as the ogre had mourned the wizard? He didn’t think so. She would wish he wasn’t dead, because he was her most valuable henchman. But he supposed, in the end, she would just shrug her shoulders and find a replacement.

  Once the Babylonians had completed their rites, and returned to their fort, the Dark Elf found it hard to shake off this new line of thought.

  * * *

  The henchman had to admit that he was beginning to change his mind on a number of things. Not least, he had decided that despite his initial pride at being asked to complete his task alone, he did, after all, need some allies. Allies were not easy to find in a post-apocalyptic world such as this. The goblins who dwelled in Strong Club would have to do.

  Their leader, who went by the—frankly ridiculous—name of Grarviaksrurm, was easily persuaded to intervene in the settlement of Babylon.

  ‘You have many more soldiers than they do,’ The Dark Elf assured him, aware that goblins were a weak and cowardly race at the best of times.

  Grarviaksrurm smiled at this. The henchman found the goblin a little bit disturbing. Hard to read. Altogether too clever for a goblin.

  ‘I’m inclined to make Babylon the first conquest of my new empire,’ the goblin leader said.

  ‘Well, do what you wish, as long as those individuals I have specified are killed. Do not underestimate that ogre, either.’

  Grarviaksrurm waved away his concerns. ‘I happen to have an ogre of my own. We can deal with Og-Grim-Dog.’

  A goblin with an ogre. This was most unusual. But these were certainly unusual times. ‘Succeed in this and my masters will reward you most handsomely. Your empire might spread wider than you can imagine.’

  The goblin beamed at the thought of his shitty little empire. Who really knew what Lilith and Samael intended to do with this part of Gal’azu? Indeed, all of Gal’azu? The Dark Elf suspected that a post-apocalyptic world such as this might be remembered as the good old days once they were done with it.

  He turned and left Strong Club; left Grarviaksrurm to his plans and dreams. This mission had lasted long enough. It was time to return to his masters. Time to serve them in some other way.

  The Recorder scratched the final words of the chapter onto his parchment, then rubbed his aching wrist.

  ‘So, that was it?’ he dared to ask. ‘You returned to The Dark Lord with the job half done? Did you tell her the truth?’

  The Dark Elf shrugged with indifference. ‘I’d had enough of that mission. I left the rest of it to the goblins. But of course, I told The Dark Lord the truth. Only a fool would do otherwise.’

  The Recorder allowed that answer to sink in for a while, before more questions surfaced. ‘Did Grarviaksrurm attempt to complete your mission? What did The Dark Lord say when you returned? What did she have you do next?’

  But the Dark Elf appeared to have gone elsewhere. His eyes had a distant look to them, as if he were reliving some moment from his past. The Recorder shuffled his stack of parchment aggressively, but his interviewee didn’t notice. Just as he was thinking about standing up and leaving the private room of Wro’Kuburni’-Dy-Hrath’Simbowa—indeed, as he was thinking that leaving alive should be classed as a victory in itself—the drow’s attention snapped back to him.

  ‘All questions that can be answered another day. Suffice to say, it wasn’t the last time I saw the infamous ogre, Og-Grim-Dog.’

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks to all the individuals involved in putting together Beyond The Shadows, From The Shadows & Grimdark Magazine including Stefan Nardi, Bethany Hoeflich, Angel Haze, Adrian Collins & Mike Myers.

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  Beta readers: Michael Evan, Lisa Maughan, Lana Turner, Marcus Nilsson, Ian Edmundson, Jonathan Daniels.

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  ME THREE

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  THE WEAPON TAKERS SAGA