‘Mmm,’ Grim agreed. At this point he was just hoping that the stronghold would come into view. He was tired and their supplies had dwindled down to nothing.
‘I assure you,’ came a voice, ‘the Dark Lord doesn’t need to worry about his safety. He has the most loyal servants working for him.’
From behind a boulder, to the side of the road, a figure appeared. At first sight, it reminded Grim of Raya Sunshine, though this was clearly a male figure. But he had a totally different colouring to Og-Grim-Dog’s elven friend. His skin colour was similar to the ogre’s—if anything, a darker shade of grey; while his long hair, that blew in the wind, was white as snow.
‘Who are you?’ Dog asked him as he removed the sack from his head, blinking at the figure.
‘My name is Wro’Kuburni’-Dy-Hrath’Simbowa. But you can call me Wro’Kuburni’-Dy-Hrath.’
Dog made a face. ‘We’ll call you Simba thank you very much. What do you want?’
‘I am a dark elf, and a servant of—’
‘An elf?’
‘No, not an elf. A dark elf. Very different. My people live—’
Dog puffed out a breath. ‘You’re an elf. The Bull Ogres of the Plains and the Ridged Back Ogres of the Mountains just call themselves ogres. Don’t get pretentious about it.’
Wro’Kuburni’-Dy-Hrath’Simbowa frowned. ‘I must admit I wasn’t aware of the difference between those types of ogres, but I assure you, my people are very different from our elven cousins. For a start, we are much more on board with the whole evil thing than they are. Hence, I serve the Dark Lord.’
‘Oh good,’ said Grim, trying to wrestle the conversation towards something productive. ‘We are on our way to see him, as a matter of fact. Maybe you would be able to take us to his stronghold?’
The dark elf smiled. ‘I guessed as much. This road only leads to Fell Towers. The only people who walk it are those who serve the Dark Lord, those who wish to serve him, or those who have come to do him harm. I thought you might fall into the second category?’
‘That’s right,’ said Grim. Then, feeling that more needed to be said, added ‘We’ve come for the job of henchman.’
‘Ah,’ said the dark elf. ‘Well, that’s my job as it happens. Come, I will accompany you on the last part of your journey and introduce you to the right person when we get there.’
Fell Towers
Fell Towers, stronghold of the Dark Lord, was built on a crag at the edge of the world. Beyond it, waves lashed at the rocks below. The stronghold itself had been constructed with black granite. The thick, compact walls at the base of the building gave way to several thin towers at the top, that reached into the sky like skeletal fingers. In all their travels, Grim didn’t think he had ever seen a single building that covered so much space.
The road they had followed ended at a massive pair of tall, black gates. To Grim’s eyes, the gates were too large to be practical for defence and suggested that their owner was more concerned with appearance.
‘We’re here,’ said Grim, leaning over to Og.
With a groan, Og took the sack from his head. ‘Thank Lord—who in Fiery Gehenna is that?’ he added, gesturing towards the dark elf.
‘My name is Wro’Kuburni’-Dy-Hrath’Simbowa. But your brothers have decided to call me Simba.’
‘Hmm,’ said Og suspiciously. ‘You look like a dark elf to me.’
‘I am.’
‘I thought dark elves were evil.’
‘We are.’
‘Oh yeah, right. I forgot we were doing the whole evil thing,’ Og said with a sigh. Reluctantly, he offered his hand, and the dark elf took it.
Simba then marched over to the gates and kicked at them with his thick boots until a helmeted figure appeared above them. ‘Password?’ it shouted down.
‘Nefarious,’ Simba shouted up.
‘That was last week’s password.’
‘I’ve been away on the Dark Lord’s business for days,’ Simba responded. ‘I’ve just got back.’
‘Oh. Alright then. Give us a moment.’
The ogre and the dark elf waited beneath the stronghold until one of the gates began to move, creaking open. Once it had opened sufficiently wide enough, they strode through. Og-Grim-Dog found themselves in a courtyard open to the elements. At various points along the external walls, stone steps led up to the battlements, where the ogre could see more figures like the one Simba had spoken to. They all looked the same: helmeted, with a black and silver uniform over metal armour.
Four more guarded the entrance into the stronghold’s main keep. If the main gates and the thin towers were partly for show, this squat building was a different kind of affair. It looked like it was well capable of holding off a determined assault. Although, Grim mused, why an army would traipse all the way here wasn’t clear.
Simba gestured over to the keep and led Og-Grim-Dog towards its tunnelled entrance. He approached the four guards without a word and as he did so, he rapped his knuckles on one of the helmets.
‘Menials,’ he commented as he strode into the keep.
‘Menials?’ Grim asked, following behind.
‘They are the minions of the Dark Lord. They serve as guards and common soldiers in his legions. The role of henchman is much more high status. If you can offer the right kind of skillset you could end up as a henchman. If not, it’s a life as a menial for you. Come, I’ll take you straight to the person who will make that decision.’
‘The Dark Lord?’ asked Dog, sounding excited.
Simba made a face, though Grim couldn’t interpret what it meant. Dark elves, he decided, had a different set of expressions to humans.
‘No,’ said Simba. ‘His adviser, Lilith. She has a big say on operational decisions.’
They were standing in a tall hallway, decorated in deep reds and creams, with elaborate candelabra along its walls that shed light on the paintings and tapestries that hung there. Grim could smell the kitchens—almost taste the dinner that wafted on the air. He heard the clink of crockery coming from the refectory. His stomach rumbled with hunger. But he made himself ignore it all and follow Simba to a set of wide stairs that curved their way up to the next floor.
More menials guarded the stairs.
‘I’ve come to see Mistress Lilith,’ Simba announced to them.
‘Who’s that?’ asked one of the helmeted figures, gesturing at Og-Grim-Dog.
‘A new henchman. Possibly.’
‘Oh. I believe Mistress Lilith is in her rooms.’
The guards stood aside and let them climb the stairs.
‘We are about to enter the nexus of the Dark Lord’s empire,’ Simba explained as they ascended to the next floor of the fortress. ‘Not everyone is allowed up here.’
The stairs opened on a landing, from where Grim could look down the twisting staircase and all the way to the hallway below. Simba led them to one of the landing exits and into an open plan office. Here, officials sat at desks surrounded by piles of paper, books, maps and all the other paraphernalia of reading and writing. Some worked in silence, while others whispered in small groups. The room had an atmosphere of purpose and industry, even if Grim couldn’t identify what, exactly, their work involved.