It took them six days to reach the Temple of Britrona. Of course, a town had built up around the temple precincts. But it was not so big as Grim had imagined. There was little in this remote spot to provide people with a living, save for those businesses that served the visitors to the Temple. Even here, the Temple attracted a steady stream of travellers rather than huge numbers all at once. So only three inns were needed to lodge most of the visitors to the town. All the other stores you might expect to find in a moderately sized town were there, including an industrial workshop that housed the craftsmen who worked with metal, wood and leather.
But the town was only of passing interest to Og-Grim-Dog. For they were headed straight for the Temple.
It felt strange, to Grim, to be looking out from the Temple at the people of Varena gathered below. He felt like he should be with them: an outsider—an onlooker to the goings on at the temple. Yet here he was.
A crowd of visitors stood ready to hear the Oracle’s pronouncement, townsfolk and visitors alike, all mixing together into one crowd beneath the balcony on which she stood. The Oracle’s public statements came at irregular intervals, so that when she was ready to speak, everyone stopped what they were doing to listen. They gazed up at her, emotion plain to see on many faces, as they took in the figure of the greatest seer in all of Gal’azu. Grim made sure that he kept to the shadows—that he and his brothers remained unseen.
The Oracle raised her hands and a silence fell over the crowd, fearful lest they missed a word of her utterance. She was framed by tall, white marble pillars. Her red hair and white chiton blew in the wind. The clothing emphasised her purity; her proximity to the divine.
‘The gods have spoken to me,’ she shouted, her voice passionate, ecstatic, not far removed from sounding frenzied. ‘Hear their words through me. Britrona declares that a chosen one will not come among us. The gods have not selected a hero to rise up and lead us. The Dark Lord will reign forever. Resistance is futile. That is all.’
The Oracle turned away from her listeners and left the balcony, returning to the confines of the Temple. The priests closed the doors behind her. She approached Og-Grim-Dog, her face a mask of detachment, though Grim could guess at the anger and anguish lying beneath the surface.
‘You did well,’ said Dog, patting the handle of his giant mace, a not so subtle reminder of the threat of violence. ‘Now, we want the identities of every individual who has come to you in a vision. Be careful not to miss a single one out.’
Og-Grim-Dog studied their first target. It looked like the hamlet had been carved out of the forest not that long ago. In the half-light of dusk, the tiny wooden homes sat in the shadows of the tall trees. Grim thought it wouldn’t take much for the forest to get its revenge and reclaim the land that had been taken from it.
‘Do we really need to do this?’ Og asked, as they waited for the sun to fully set.
‘We weren’t welcome in Mer Khazer,’ Dog reminded them. ‘Grim wanted to leave our cavern in Darkspike Dungeon. We were lost and lonely in that swamp. So, yes. This is the price we pay for our free room and full board at Fell Towers.’
Neither Og nor Grim could argue with that.
They approached the homes under the cover of darkness. Less chance of being seen—more chance that everyone was at home.
Once the killing started, they wasted no time, moving quickly from house to house, not giving the humans a chance to gather their wits and put up a fight. It was a family they were after—one that moved from place to place in the wilds of Varena. In particular, a young boy, said to have been born with incredible magical powers. His parents had done their best to protect him, but their luck had run out this night.
Grim was an ogre. He wasn’t squeamish when it came to the slaying of enemies. Nonetheless, the murder of children, even human ones, wasn’t his favourite pastime, and he was glad that it was Dog who did the work that night rather than him. The mace finished them quickly enough. Og had his pike in hand, but he took no part in the killings either, insisting that his role was to defend them from any surprise attacks.
‘That must be them,’ Og said when Dog was done.
‘Looked very much like the Oracle’s description,’ Grim agreed.
‘Probably,’ said Dog, ‘but we need to make sure.’
‘Come on, Dog,’ Og argued. ‘We’re better off leaving now.’
‘What if a witness to this slaughter turns against the Dark Lord?’ Dog countered. ‘Or spreads the word to others? No, we need to complete our task. ‘If in doubt, wipe them out’. Remember?’
Dog had his way and there was little left of the homes when they were done. The forest would soon swallow the rest up; and it would be like the hamlet and the people who had lived there had never existed.
A Bite to Eat at the Pressed Apples
After the attack on the hamlet, Og-Grim-Dog travelled south-west. They had topped up their supplies from their victims’ food stores, but nonetheless, it was hard going for Grim.
Then it got worse.
It was on the third day that he smelt them.
‘Trolls,’ he warned his brothers.
Even Og woke up alert at that warning. His brothers sniffed the air as Grim quickened his pace.
‘I reckon three of them. Probably all males,’ said Dog.
‘Agreed,’ said Og. ‘And not that far behind us. Now they have our scent, they’ll not give up the hunt unless we leave their territory.’
‘I’ll never outrun them,’ said Grim. ‘And we don’t know the area well enough to get to safety.’
‘Then we don’t have long to make a plan,’ said Dog.
Og-Grim-Dog stood in the forest glade. It was a pretty enough spot, covered in pine needles and crunchy brown leaves. Not a bad place for them to meet their pursuers. Dog had his mace ready and Og his pike. At the very least, they would see them coming.
They came into sight at last. They were unhurried, making their way through the trees. Three young males, not the kind of group to give up the chase or turn away from a fight. Each carried the huge wooden clubs favoured by their kind. With their long, powerful arms, a single strike from such a weapon would disable their enemy.
They entered the ogre’s glade and the smell of them came with them. There was little emotion on their faces—Grim saw no pleasure that their quarry had been chased down, or excitement at the prospect of a fight. The lead troll made a snarl, which at least livened up his flat, brute of a face. The other two—his brothers, most likely—spread out a little on either side of him. They knew that they had the advantage. Three clubs striking from three different angles would prove to be too much for one ogre in the end. They would have to take care that Og or Dog didn’t get in an early blow; but otherwise, everything was in their favour.
Og-Grim-Dog didn’t move. They didn’t speak. They just waited as, slowly and deliberately, the three trolls closed in.
Then the one on the right disappeared. His front foot had gone down on one of their traps, concealed by fallen leaves, and it was too clumsy to prevent its forward momentum from carrying it down into the pit. A bellow of pain was a welcome confirmation that it had landed on a spike or two down there.
That shifted the odds nicely. Two trolls against one ogre wasn’t such an easy win. And they now had an injured third who they might want to help. The remaining two looked at Og-Grim-Dog. A tiny flash of anger crossed their faces, but their dull expressions soon returned. They knew they had lost their quarry this time. There would be others.
‘So long,’ Og offered them cheerily, before Grim turned away.
‘At last, a road of sorts,’ commented Grim, as he cut onto a muddy path.
Days of walking through the wilderness had taken their toll, though mercifully they had faced no more trolls, or other enemies.
‘Will it lead us to the town, do you think?’ Dog asked.
‘I hope so.’
‘What was it called again?’
‘Yeggton. A town of thieves, rogue
s and other criminals, by all accounts.’
‘A thieves’ town? Ridiculous.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, how can you have a town of thieves? Are they all constantly stealing from one another? Where does the food come from to feed a town of thieves? If you were a farmer, would you sell your produce at a town full of thieves? Are there no shopkeepers, craftsmen and the like? It just doesn’t make any sense.’
‘You always have to ruin everything, don’t you Dog?’
Even if Yeggton wasn’t inhabited solely by thieves, The Pressed Apples was as rough a watering hole as you might find in all of Gal’azu. Mean looking men, and meaner looking women, stared at one another in between swilling down the piss-flavoured excuse of a brew, waiting for an excuse to begin larruping one another.
When Dog accidentally on purpose knocked someone’s pint, it all kicked off. Soon chairs were flying across the room and drinks were smashing over heads. By that point, Og-Grim-Dog had already identified their target by his tattoos.
An ex-soldier by the name of Karlens Stone, fallen on hard times since the death of his family, he had been drowning his sorrows in his cups for the last five years. But if he ever sobered up, he was just the kind of hard-bitten hero with nothing to lose who might take on the Dark Lord.
Well, that wasn’t going to happen. Amid the chaos of the bar room brawl, he suddenly found his head held in place by an ogre hand. Bleary with beer, he was unable to react before his neck was bitten open by what looked like a giant wolf. By the time his death had been noticed, the ogre who had started the fray was long gone.
In this manner, Og-Grim-Dog toured across Varena, locating and eliminating everyone on the list of potential threats they had extracted from the Oracle. When they were done, autumn was turning into winter, and it was a cold, hard journey back to Fell Towers. Keeping them going was the thought of a visit or two to the refectory.
At last, the thin, finger-like towers of the Dark Lord’s stronghold appeared on the horizon. It was enough to give Grim a final boost of energy. As he dragged them towards the tall gates of Fell Towers, he couldn’t help but notice a new building had been erected a short distance from the gates.
‘Sheev’s?’ he asked out loud.
Sure enough, the new building had a sign out front with the same name as the eatery that Raya the elf had introduced them to in Mer Khazer.
‘Smells like Sheev’s,’ said Dog.
Indeed, the smell of spiced meat was unmistakeably the same.
‘Are we popping in for a chilli burger and fries, then?’ asked Og.
‘Humph.’
‘What is it, Dog?’
‘It’s just that I had my heart set on the refectory in the keep.’
‘Right you are, Dog,’ Grim agreed. ‘We can always visit Sheev’s another time. I wonder what it’s doing here?’
‘It’s obviously popular already,’ Og noted.
A steady stream of menials walked back and forth between Sheev’s and the open gates of Fell Towers.
Grim followed two menials who were making their way back to the stronghold. They each clutched a little wooden figurine, which presumably they had received from Sheev’s.
‘Who did you get?’ one of them asked their companion.
‘Larik the Bludgeoner.’
‘Me too. Already got him. I was really hoping for Reginald Shit-Blood.’
Grim continued, completely unchallenged, through the gates and into the stronghold. It wasn’t until he got to the keep that there was any kind of attempt to police who came and went. Four menials stood by the entrance. As Grim approached, Dog knocked on one of the helmets with his big knuckles.
‘Let us in, menials!’ he demanded.
The door was opened for them and Grim strode through.
‘Food first?’ Dog suggested. ‘Then we can give our report.’
Food for Thought
The Dark Lord wishes to see you in the Throne Room,’ the menial told them.
‘D’ya think we can finish dinner first?’ Dog asked.
It hadn’t taken long to fill their trays up with food. The refectory was much quieter, since many menials now dined at Sheev’s instead.
The menial made a dubious expression which suggested that wasn’t a very good idea.
‘Perhaps we’d better go straight away,’ said Grim. ‘We can always come back after, can’t we?’
Grim got to his feet and they followed the menial out of the refectory and across to the other side of the keep.
‘We’ve never been invited to the Throne Room before,’ Og noted.
More menials guarded the door, but they opened it upon the ogre’s approach. Grim kept walking. The Throne Room was long, meaning he had to walk to the far end of the room, where the Dark Lord was seated upon his throne. Lilith stood next to him, while Grim walked between two rows of menials who stood to attention along the edges of the room.
Grim stopped in front of the Dark Lord. Unsure what to do, he decided to get down on one knee.
‘The Dark Lord wishes to hear your report in person, henchman,’ Lilith informed them.
Between them, the three brothers recounted their exploits in Varena.
‘Well done!’ said the Dark Lord when they were done. ‘I knew you would be a good choice. With Varena and the other regions of Gal’azu subdued, it is finally time for us to go on the offensive!’
‘What will that involve?’ Og dared to ask.
‘Taking on our greatest enemy, of course: The Kuthenian Empire. I have developed the perfect plan.’ The Dark Lord pointed at Og-Grim-Dog. ‘Maybe you thought those cliff walks were a waste of time, eh? Well listen to this. We kidnap the Emperor’s daughter, bring her here, and I marry her. That gives me a claim to the Jade Throne. If the Emperor tries to send an army here to take her back, we crush it. If not, he looks weak, his grip on power starts to crumble, and I assert my claim.’
Dog puffed out his cheeks. ‘Well, that does sound very clever.’
‘Are we going to be involved in this?’ Og asked.
‘You will be sent to the Empire to bring Princess Borte back here.’
Lilith cleared her throat. ‘No offence to Og-Grim-Dog intended. But it is a dangerous assignment you have set him. Should he fail, then what?’
‘I have another henchman lined up if something were to befall the ogre.’
‘And should he fail as well?’
‘Then I have the perfect replacement to send in his stead.’
‘So, just an idea,’ said Lilith. ‘Why not send these henchmen together? Between them, they may have a greater chance of carrying out the plan.’
‘Hmm. Interesting suggestion. She’s not just a pretty face, is she?’ the Dark Lord asked Og-Grim-Dog, jabbing a thumb in Lilith’s direction.
By ogre standards, Lilith wasn’t in the least bit attractive. But Og-Grim-Dog felt obliged to nod along enthusiastically.
‘Well, that’s certainly worth considering,’ the Dark Lord conceded. ‘Any questions, ogre?’
‘I was wondering about Sheev’s,’ said Dog. ‘Why have they moved here now?’
‘Sheev’s have opened a new premises here,’ Lilith explained. ‘They still have their old place in Mer Khazer.’
‘Hmm,’ said Dog, digesting that fact. ‘Two Sheev’s, eh? A bit like Discount Dungeon Supplies.’
‘What do you know about them?’ Lilith asked sharply.
‘They have more than one store, too,’ Dog explained. ‘There’s one in Mer Khazer. And we visited another in Wight’s Hollow.’
‘Yes, well. The reality is, we have to be prepared to work with big suppliers like these,’ said Lilith.
‘What about the refectory?’ Dog asked, worried. ‘I mean, I have nothing against Sheev’s, their chilli burgers are out of this world. But the refectory is special, too.’
‘I agree,’ said the Dark Lord. ‘The refectory gives everyone a healthy and filling square meal, for free. But it seems like the menials would rat
her pay to get a meal from Sheev’s. I want my workers to be happy, and free to spend their wages how they like. But still—’
The Dark Lord sounded a little anguished about the situation.
Lilith sighed. ‘But we also want to raise an army, don’t we? If we are sending thousands of menials against the Kuthenians, we need to pull them out of other occupations. Closing the kitchens would be one way to do that.’
‘No! Don’t say that!’ Dog cried. ‘There must be another way?’
‘We haven’t decided anything yet,’ the Dark Lord said quickly, apparently trying to assuage Dog’s dismay.
Lilith looked cross. ‘That will be all, Og-Grim-Dog. You did well in Varena. But let’s be clear. Operational decisions are not your concern.’
Og-Grim-Dog resisted for as long as they could, but after a few days they found themselves at Sheev’s.
‘We’ll switch back to the refectory tomorrow,’ Grim assured Dog as they took their food to a booth.
He sat them down and his brothers got to work unwrapping their meal.
‘What’s the toy?’ he asked them.
Og picked it up to show him. It was a figurine of an elven archer. Og read the lettering at the base of the figure out loud.
‘Raya Sunshine.’
‘Appropriate, I suppose,’ Grim said, ‘since she was the one who took us to Sheev’s. I do miss her.’
A menial leaned over the partition separating the next booth along.
‘Did I hear you say you got Raya Sunshine? Do you want to swap for Larik the Bludgeoner?’
Dog punched the menial in the head, sending him sprawling back over the partition onto his own table.
‘No.’
Og-Grim-Dog and the Dark Lord Page 4
