It hadn’t been easy for Og-Grim-Dog to learn how to fight: often, painfully frustrating. Coordinating movement and weapon striking between the three of them had taken years to perfect. Now, though, they were able to use their unique physique as an advantage. All Grim had to think about was movement. He kept his balance, kept his feet moving, turning this way and that. This made it very difficult for an opponent to sneak up from behind, since Og and Dog were looking out from both sides. All his brothers had to do was land an accurate hit. All they had to worry about was one arm and one weapon. Individually, there wasn’t the kind of skill that would impress a weapons master. But together, they could be brutally effective.
Four goblins were trying to harry the ogre, staying out of range of Og’s pike, looking for an opening where they could get past the defences and get a strike in. An arrow caught one of them in the chest, and Grim decided it was time to go on the offensive. He launched themselves towards one of the goblins, reducing the distance to allow Dog to reach it with his mace. Meanwhile, Og would be using his pike to keep the other two at bay. Dog’s bark of triumph signalled success. Quickly, Grim moved for the next one. He saw Dog’s mace come down on its head, turning it to a pulpy mess. The last goblin panicked, turning away and running. But it got too close to the barbarian, and Assata ran it through with her sword.
‘Watch out!’ cried Sandon, backing away from the door they had come through. More goblins poured into the room, no doubt arriving from the guardroom opposite this one, alerted by the noise of fighting. ‘Don’t worry,’ he continued, ‘I have just the spell. The witches of the ice realm of Fjordlund were the first to learn how to take the water from the air and turn it into ice. I will bring forth a wall of ice and encase the enemy inside!’
The wizard began his incantation.
Raya released an arrow, sending the nearest goblin to the floor.
‘Come on!’ shouted Dog, and Grim found himself charging at the goblins with a great roar. Assata came with him on one side and Gurin on the other, and the two forces crashed into one another.
Dog was especially fond of fighting and he began to bark loudly. It was a terrifying noise to the enemy, but few realised that he was actually laughing. Every time he hit a goblin, or a strike from Gurin’s axe sprayed gore into his face, he found it all the more amusing, and the barking got louder.
Og, on the other hand, failed to take pleasure in combat—Grim had known him to simply stop without warning in the middle of a fight before, declaring himself bored. Fortunately, he didn’t pull that this time, but his pike thrusts were beginning to look distinctly lacklustre. It was enough, though, since Assata fought by his side and was able to pick up the slack.
Grim watched as she demonstrated her skills. She moved with grace and power, each strike of her sword beginning with her powerful legs, strong enough to knock aside the swings of the enemy. At other times she let the goblins come to her, fooling them into thinking they had found a way through her defences, before a wristy twist of the hilt sent her blade towards them from an unexpected direction, faster than they had allowed for.
Despite having been outnumbered, they tore through the goblins until not one was left alive. Looking about the room, Grim thought at least twenty of the creatures lay dead.
Sandon stopped his incantation. ‘Ah, well done everyone!’ he enthused. ‘You finished the job before I got a chance to get through my spell. Still, no matter, that means I still have all my energy for later. Some magic users call it mana, others power; but either way, my ability to use magic is limited and the more I cast, the less I can use until I have recovered. There are ways to boost mana—certain items, for example—’
Grim quickly stopped listening to the wizard’s boring speech. How odd that he had decided to start talking like that. Elsewhere, Gurin had taken a seat on a table and was being tended to by Brother Kane. It looked like he had received a knock from a blunt weapon on the forearm. The cleric rubbed a salve into the affected area, muttering a prayer as he did so. Assata and Raya, meanwhile, were searching the room.
‘You don’t expect to find treasure here, do you?’ Og asked them.
‘Not treasure, no,’ said Assata. ‘But there may be other items of use.’
‘Such as this,’ said Raya, holding up a metal key she had found in a desk.
Grim did sometimes wonder why goblins had desks in their rooms. He had never, ever—not once—met one who could read, let alone write.
Raya’s face fell somewhat. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked, looking at Dog.
Grim turned his head. Dog was munching on a goblin arm.
‘Sorry,’ Dog said, picking up from the look on the elf’s face that he had done something wrong, even if he wasn’t sure what it was. ‘But fighting a pack of goblins is hungry work.’
Assata looked ready to be sick.
‘Why are you eating that?’ asked the barbarian. ‘I packed your bag full of provisions.’
‘And we ate those on the way.’
‘Ate them all? They were meant to last you the whole trip!’
Three ogre heads focused on the barbarian. Dog barked with laughter. ‘Ha-ha! Good one, Assata! Last us the whole trip, she says!’
DEEPWOOD DUNGEON: LEVEL TWO
They carried out a brief search of the second guardroom, but found nothing of interest, and everyone agreed that it was best to keep moving. They continued down the corridor in the same formation as before, Assata and Gurin leading the way. The adrenaline of battle still pumped around Og-Grim-Dog’s body and it wasn’t easy for Grim to revert to being stealthy. He did his best.
It wasn’t far until the corridor came to an end at a set of marble steps. They spiralled down into a heavier darkness—an underground darkness. Grim could smell the dampness of the dungeon proper.
Forced into single file by the narrow steps, Gurin led them down. Og-Grim-Dog went third, behind Assata. At the back of the group was Raya, ready in case the denizens of the dungeon came at them through a secret door or similar ruse. All was quiet as they descended, however. It seemed that the commotion they had made in the guard rooms had not disturbed those that dwelled in the lower levels.
The stairs ended in an open area plenty large enough for them to gather together. Grim saw that this level was constructed from stone rather than marble. But it still bore the hallmarks of design rather than a natural space. The floor and the walls were smooth and followed straight lines. Two corridors ran off from the stairs, at right angles to one another. Peering as far as he could along each, Grim saw nothing that might indicate which was the better route.
Gurin held his arms up horizontally so that each followed one of the corridors.
‘Assuming these continue to run straight,’ he said, his voice so quiet that Grim had to strain to hear him, ‘which it appears they do, they carve out a rectangular shape to this floor. I would guess that we want to head towards the centre of the rectangle.’
‘So which way?’ Grim asked.
The dwarf shrugged. He took a coin from his pocket.
‘Heads left,’ said Assata.
Gurin flipped the coin and slapped it down onto his hand. He squinted in the darkness. ‘Right,’ he said.
It was the right corridor they took. They crept along, and as they went, they heard noises echoing in the dungeon, their origin hard to place. Bangs and crashes and raised voices.
‘Orcs,’ Grim warned the others.
Doors appeared in both walls of the corridor ahead of them—some with light leaking through, others dark and ominous looking. If the plan was to head to the centre of this level, they should take one in the left-hand wall. But which? Gurin led them past the first. A thought crossed Grim’s mind then, and he found it odd that it hadn’t before. Had the dwarf been here before? The way Gurin talked, he had many years of adventuring behind him. Was it possible that he had never in all those years come to this dungeon? Even if it had been a long time ago, wouldn’t he remember the basic layout?
; The dwarf stopped next to one of the doors that had light behind it. He gestured at it, making a fist. The unmistakeable sound of orcs could be heard behind it. It was fighting time again.
Gurin gripped the handle and pushed. The door held firm. Locked.
Raya pushed her way to the door. She took the key she had found from her pocket and placed it into the keyhole. She twisted it and they all heard the unmistakeable click of the locking mechanism. Replacing the key, she took her bow in hand and fitted an arrow to it. She nodded to Assata.
The barbarian opened the door and Raya went through, drawing her bow. The others followed her in. The room looked like a typical living quarter for orcs: they slept and ate in the same place. There was a row of pallets on the floor and a cauldron simmered on top of a smoky fire. Two fat candles burned on the floor next to it. No orcs, though. On the other side of the room a door was wide open and Grim could see that it led out into a large space.
Just as he was looking in that direction, a single orc entered through the door. Perhaps she had come to tend the cauldron. The orc did a double take when it saw the trespassers in its room. Then, it collapsed to the floor with a thud, an elven arrow protruding from its head.
Everyone froze, sure that the noise would have been heard. But no shouts of alarm came. Tentatively, the group began to look about the room. Gurin made his way to the far door, carefully peering out. Grim approached the bubbling cauldron. Dog stirred the contents with a big metal serving spoon before withdrawing it. Politely, he let Og and Grim take a sip before bringing it to his own mouth. The soup tasted of the bones and fat of some creature, hard to say what.
‘Not bad,’ suggested Og.
Gurin waved them over. ‘Not many creatures about,’ he said. ‘We may have struck lucky and come when the orcs of this dungeon are out raiding. That said, the stairs leading down to the next level are in the middle of this square,’ he said, gesturing through the door at the large, open plaza, surrounded by stone-built rooms that opened onto it. ‘Everything on this level will see us when we head for them.’
‘Then perhaps now is my time to contribute,’ said Sandon. ‘In the deserts of Karak-Tar the mystics of the sand tribes developed a form of mind control that protected their people from the giant Slaath worms. They sent a signal from their minds that convinced the worms that all they saw was sand. A psychic camouflage, if you will. I studied in Karak-Tar for three years, learning their ways, perfecting their techniques; but not only that. I developed a method that would allow me to use this form of mind control on other creatures, in different environments. When I am done, we will be able to walk out of here to the stairs without being seen.’
‘That sounds perfect, Sandon,’ enthused Raya.
Sandon touched each side of his head with two fingers, dropped his chin to his chest, and closed his eyes.
‘Dawada, afeaa,’ he chanted. ‘Dawada! Afeaa!’ Louder now.
‘What in Gehenna is that noise?’ came a voice. An orc appeared at the doorway. ‘Trespassers!’ he got out, before Assata clobbered him across the head with her sword, sending him to the floor. But it was too late. Shouts began to erupt around the square.
‘Come on,’ said Gurin. ‘We’ll have to go.’ He was the first through the door.
‘Dawada?’ Sandon uttered. Og put his hand around the wizard’s arm and dragged him out of the room.
They ran for the centre of the square, where a set of stone steps led down. From all around the square, orcs appeared. They shouted; drew weapons; gave chase. Perhaps Gurin was correct, and many were out raiding. But there were still plenty of them. Grim knew they had to make it to the stairs before they were surrounded and overwhelmed. Dog squealed with delight at the chase, smashing away with his mace at any orc that got within range.
Grim made it to the steps. ‘We’ll keep them at bay,’ he shouted, as Og encouraged Sandon to begin the descent. Gurin and Assata were already descending the stone steps. Raya and Brother Kane ran past Grim and took the stairs at pace. Grim moved across, blocking the entrance, his back to the stairs, facing a mob of angry orcs. Surely not many fewer than a hundred.
Og held his pike out and the orcs looked warily at the weapon, only too aware that it could take out the first of them to attack. Carefully, Grim felt with his left foot, moving it backwards until it was off the ground. He reached down until he found the first step and was confident enough to put his weight on it. Down he went, while Og and Dog waved their weapons menacingly at the orcs that surrounded them. The creatures spat and threatened but still didn’t attack. Down the next step Grim took them, then again, finding the manoeuvre a little more comfortable each time. An orc threw a spear at them, but Dog knocked it aside with his mace and barked ferociously.
Another step down, then another. The orcs remained at the top of the stairs.
‘They’re not going to follow us,’ said Og.
‘It would seem not,’ said Grim, gingerly turning around on the stairs until at last he could see where he was going. ‘Which is both good and bad news.’
‘How is it bad?’ Og demanded.
‘Because it suggests they’re too scared of whatever inhabits the next level of the dungeon.’
DEEPWOOD DUNGEON: LEVEL THREE
Before they even got to the bottom of the stairs, Og-Grim-Dog knew what inhabited the next level.
‘Trolls,’ Dog warned the party.
Troll dung was the foulest odour in all the lands and this part of the dungeon reeked of it. There was never an ogre who had any time for trolls. It was an enmity that stretched back for as long as the two races had co-existed. Goblins and orcs rarely bothered ogres: respecting their strength, they were more inclined to befriend and cooperate with them, though generally gave them a wide berth. Trolls, though. Maybe they were too similar—competing for the same resources. An ogre was more than a match for any single troll. Two trolls, though, were able to turn the tables. And trolls tended to live in groups of three to six, whereas ogres were solitary. It meant that trolls almost always had the upper hand. When they came across the scent of ogre, they would hunt, until their quarry was dead or had escaped from the trolls’ territory. It made them the biggest threat to their kind, and Og-Grim-Dog shared every ogre’s hatred for them.
Grim had to sense, as much as see, that their friends waited for them where the steps ended.
‘I suggest we play this carefully,’ Gurin’s voice came to them through the darkness.
Good, thought Grim. The dwarf didn’t need telling how dangerous trolls could be.
‘I’m going to pass you my rope. When everyone has a grip on it, I’m going to move off. If at all possible, we want to find the treasure hoard without alerting the creatures to our presence.’
When they were ready, Gurin inched forwards and the rest followed him. They were even more reliant on the dwarf’s eyes now, and Grim wondered once more whether he was partly working from memory. Grim was at the back, behind Raya, and he left a decent space ahead of himself so that he didn’t accidentally tread on her. Again, it was his other senses rather than his vision, that told him they were walking down a corridor. The ground underfoot felt like packed dirt and the walls and ceiling had the smell of earth and rot. Ahead, he heard the squeak of a door.
‘Stop!’ his friends whispered ahead of him and they waited while the dwarf inspected a room.
Waiting in the pitch black is never fun. Your senses can play tricks on you. Grim’s mind told him he could hear trolls, but it was just the breathing of his brothers, and the nervous fidgeting of one of his friends up ahead. Although it had felt like a long time, when he felt a pull on the rope, he knew that Gurin’s inspection had been brief, and that there must have been little of interest in the room.
They moved on, guiding each other around a corner, and continued along an equally dark corridor. Og-Grim-Dog were the first to hear it—more attuned, perhaps, to the sound of trolls. The dull thud of clumsy feet; the animal grunts; the sound of clubs being dragged along t
he ground.
‘They’re coming, from behind us,’ Grim whispered hoarsely, hoping it was loud enough to carry to his friends.
A few strangled swear words from the darkness ahead indicated that they did. They moved faster. It was hard to tell in the echoey underground how close the trolls were, or whether they were gaining on them.
‘In here,’ Gurin hissed.
Grim followed the dwarf’s voice and found himself being ushered through a door into a dungeon room.
‘I’m going to lead them away,’ Gurin told them. ‘When they’ve gone, keep searching for the treasure. Take it straight back to the stairs we came down. Don’t try to find me. I’ll find you.’
With that, he shut the door on them. If it was dark in the corridor, it was darker here. Grim felt the closeness of his friends, surmising that it was only a small room. The intense aroma of innards hung heavily in the air. He was positioned by the door and he could hear the thud of the trolls getting louder as they drew near. There were many feet.
‘I guess five,’ Og whispered, clearly thinking along the same lines.
They heard Gurin’s full-blooded war cry.
‘Come and get fucked by my axe, you shits!’
Then they heard the trolls running past their door after him, the anger in their animal grunts all too clear.
They waited in the darkness for a while, until they were sure that the coast was clear. Grim heard a rustling noise and then a flicker of light appeared as Assata lit her oil lamp. It revealed the room to them. It was indeed small: a storeroom, with foodstuffs packed on shelves and against walls. A wooden barrel was positioned in one corner and Grim could tell that the smell of the room emanated from there. The room suggested more organisational ability than Grim was willing to allow mindless trolls.
Og-Grim-Dog- the Three-Headed Ogre Page 5
