Grim, therefore, would watch the cart trundle off into the distance, while he had to walk through the mud and puddles. Occasionally, he would catch back up with it—Og and Dog would free it from the mire once more—then they’d watch it disappear into the distance again.
This was the way in which the group approached the border of the Kuthenian Empire. As they drew closer and closer, so they began to discuss what their strategy should be once they passed into enemy territory.
‘If barbarians are slaves in the Empire,’ Gurin mused as he prodded at the night fire they sat about with a stick, ‘we could pretend to be slavers, or some such, bringing Assata for sale.’
‘Ha!’ Simba enthused. ‘We could march straight to the capital!’
‘So, we’re slavers,’ said Og, examining the idea, ‘who have come all the way to Kuthenia, with only one slave.’
‘Maybe she escaped, and we’re bounty hunters,’ said the dwarf, amending his plan. He looked around at his campmates. No-one except the dark elf looked impressed. ‘Alright, I’m just thinking out loud here, no need to look like I just broke wind at your mother’s funeral.’
‘The truth is,’ said Assata, ‘that the four of us are simply too conspicuous to go wandering about freely in the Kuthenian Empire. The culture there is a lot more closed than you are used to in the west: there simply aren’t that many foreigners. The only way we are going to get anywhere is to make contact with the Resistance. We have associates all over the country, and most slaves are sympathetic to our cause. We must rely on them to get us to Pengshui.’
‘Excellent!’ declared Simba, equally as sold on the idea as he had been on Gurin’s. ‘And once we get to the capital, the palace slaves could lead us straight to the princess!’
‘So we just approach the first slave we come across?’ Gurin asked doubtfully.
‘Nearly. I approach them.’
‘And what if they give us up to their masters? You may find that your Resistance isn’t as universally loved as you like to think.’
‘I’m aware that there are risks. But we don’t have a better plan.’
True enough, thought Grim.
In a lawless land where no-one rules, the scourge of bandits is as inevitable as flies on freshly laid shit.
More surprising, was that a gang of them chose to rob this particular group. Perhaps, as they approached in the darkness, surrounding the small camp, and outnumbering their victims twenty to four, they believed the odds were firmly in their favour.
As it was, the dark elf had heard their approach well in advance. Og-Grim-Dog’s night vision wasn’t quite in the same league as Simba and Gurin’s, but like his two friends they had an advantage over humans. They waited, Gurin and Simba under the cart, Og-Grim-Dog behind a pile of rocks. Assata sat by the fire, next to three bedrolls, giving the impression that a single enemy was on watch.
When the first scream reached him, Grim knew his friends had left their hiding spot and it was time for him to do the same. Figures loomed in the gloom, some tip-toeing forwards, others rooted to the spot at the sound of a dark elf shouting an incomprehensible, yet sinister, challenge into the night. There was something about the dark elf’s native language that made Grim’s hackles rise, and when it was accompanied by the agonised screams of his victims, he didn’t blame those bandits who hesitated one bit.
Og’s pike was perfect for an encounter such as this. By the time the bandits saw three ogre faces emerge from the dark, eighteen feet of wood and steel was already on its way. While Og was reluctant to carry out the Dark Lord’s dirty work, he didn’t object to purging men such as this, and a handful fell to his polearm in short order.
The bandits broke when they realised how badly their plan had gone awry. Og-Grim-Dog let them go—unlike the dark elf, who followed them into the night, calling to them in the godforsaken language of his people.
Infiltration of the Empire Precis
The Landlord paused his storytelling, and his three heads looked at one another. A particularly observant customer may have noticed these looks and concluded that all three heads looked a little unsure of themselves.
The Recorder ceased his scratching and looked up. ‘What? Another ‘montage’?’
The third head frowned at him. ‘It’s just that it’s hard to tell the story of the next few weeks.’
‘How so?’
‘We entered the Empire,’ the middle head explained, ‘and Assata made contact with the Resistance, just as she had wanted. They were all slaves, working in the fields or houses of their Kuthenian masters. They took us in, gave us shelter, shared their food with us. Then they would take us to the next farm, or the next village, and pass us on to another group of slaves. That was how we were able to travel across Kuthenia, unseen by the authorities.’
‘I see. But why is it hard to tell that story?’
‘Well,’ began the first head, ‘we only ever saw the inside of barns. Assata did all the talking. During the day, we slept. We moved at night, in the dark. We had no idea where we were going—totally reliant on our guides, who knew the land we passed through. They arranged to make the swap at some location—a mound, or a copse of trees—and then we would be taken straight to the next hideout. Days and then weeks went by, and we barely saw a thing or spoke a word to anyone.’
‘Alright then,’ said the Recorder. ‘Another precis. When did this routine end?’
‘It wasn’t until we got to the capital. Pengshui.’
‘I see,’ said the Recorder. He absently stroked the feathered end of his quill on the parchment, while drumming the fingers of his other hand onto the desk.
Three pairs of ogre eyes looked at this display for a while, until they could hold their tongues no longer.
‘Come on, out with it,’ said the Landlord’s first head. ‘I can tell something’s up.’
‘Well—yes. Something’s been bothering me. It’s the matter of the Dark Lord’s test of loyalty, for his new henchmen. Rumours abound of the crimes he demanded of fresh recruits, to prove their commitment to his cause. You told us that Gurin the dwarf would not speak of the price he paid. And yet, when it came to your turn, the Dark Lord apparently let you off.’
The Landlord’s third head frowned at the man. ‘Let us off? That’s not what we said at all. We killed a menial for him. I hope you’re not forgetting things.’
Now it was the Recorder’s turn to look offended. ‘I do not forget things.’ He scanned his piece of parchment. ‘These are the words you gave to the Dark Lord—and I quote. “Don’t worry about it. It was partly my fault for not being clear.” Now that sounds very much like it was letting you off. And, in all honesty, it doesn’t sound very much like the Dark Lord to me.’
‘What are you getting at?’ demanded the middle head angrily. ‘Are you insinuating that we are lying?’
The Recorder sighed. ‘I’m just checking that the story I have is correct. You will recall that I pledged to sift the facts from the fabrications. I don’t fully understand why the Dark Lord would spare you from a monstrous deed, and you alone.’