‘That would be wonderful,’ said Dog.
‘Naturally,’ began the Dark Lord, once they had descended to the rocky floor of his basement, ‘I have given over much of the basement to dungeon cells.’ He began to stroll along, past the iron bars of the first cell. It was large, big enough to hold twenty or more prisoners, but no-one was in there now.
Grim followed, keeping a respectable distance behind him, as all good henchmen do.
They passed a second cell, just as large and just as empty. ‘Now,’ said the Dark Lord, ‘one of my favourite rooms.’
He stopped at a door. No simple bars here, it was a thick-looking slab of metal, with bolts pulled across it. The Dark Lord produced a set of keys and, squinting to find the correct one, unlocked the door.
‘If you would do the honours?’ he asked, stepping back.
Og and Dog slid aside the heavy bolts and opened the door. Grim followed the Dark Lord into the cell.
Inside was a single prisoner. He was chained by the ankles to one of the walls of his small cell. He was tall, which somehow made his gaunt appearance look even worse. He raised his head, squinting at the introduction of light into his cell.
‘Is that you, Jonty?’ the prisoner demanded.
The Dark Lord emitted an odd sounding giggle. ‘Yes. I’m just showing you to one of my new henchmen.’
‘Jonty?’ Dog repeated.
‘Yes. But make sure you never call me that. Refer to me as ‘lord’.’
‘Jonty, you sad little loser, let me out of here!’ demanded the prisoner, with an exhausted kind of anger.
There was an unpleasant smell in the room. Grim felt sorry for the man. He had lank, long brown hair and a grimy looking beard. He looked to be in a bad way, with red sores on his skin, as well as his generally emaciated condition. But his pale blue eyes fixed on the Dark Lord with an intensity that contrasted with his physical condition.
‘You’re the one chained up in my cell, Fraser, so that makes you the loser,’ retorted the Dark Lord with a giggle. ‘Come on,’ he said to Og-Grim-Dog. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
They left the cell, the Dark Lord locking the door and Og and Dog sliding back the bolts.
‘My stupid older brother,’ said the Dark Lord by way of explanation. ‘Always such a precious goody-goody. Well, look at him now.’
‘How long has he been in there?’ Grim asked.
‘A few years. At first, I thought I might have him killed, but actually it’s much more fun just keeping him alive. Come on, there’s something else down here I need to show you.’
Grim followed on. Dog didn’t seem the least bit bothered by the Dark Lord’s revelation, but he could tell that Og hadn’t liked it one bit. A dark frown was fixed on his brother’s face.
‘I designed the pit myself,’ said the Dark Lord, as they approached a wooden barrier that stopped as high as Grim’s thighs. The barrier continued round in a roughly circular shape, surrounding the Dark Lord’s pit. Peering over it, Og-Grim-Dog could tell that it was deep, but it was too dark to see the bottom.
The menial who had walked on ahead was busy lighting torches that were attached to the barrier.
‘By the twenty-three circles of fiery Gehenna,’ let out Dog. ‘There’s something down there. Something very large.’
Grim took a look. The torches did enough to illuminate a huge creature, wrapped about itself at the bottom of the pit.
‘It’s a Giant Worm from the Deserts of Karak-Tar,’ said Og. ‘How did you get it here?’
‘Watch this!’ said the Dark Lord. He grabbed a roughly forged length of metal, too crude to be called a sword, even by an ogre. He banged it against the barrier, the sound echoing around the basement. ‘Come on Evie!’ he called.
The worm began to move, uncoiling itself at the bottom of the pit and rising up towards the sound. It was fat as well as long—it looked far better fed than the Dark Lord’s brother. Its head came into view, a giant maw of sharp teeth. As it reached them, Grim heard a strange, whistling noise coming from its mouth.
‘Evie!’ encouraged the Dark Lord. His pet came towards him. He then let loose with his length of metal, smashing it into the worm, once then twice, laughing as he did so. The worm’s whistling became more high-pitched, before it changed course, returning to the bottom of its pit.
The Dark Lord dropped his tool to the floor as his laughter echoed around the basement—he doubled over as he tried to suck in air amid his hysterics. ‘She always falls for that one,’ he said, as if it was the funniest thing in the world. Tears streamed down his face. ‘I told you it was exciting down here. Come on, we’ll finish off the tour on the top floor.’
The Dark Lord strode off and Grim followed behind.
‘This guy is a real jerk,’ Og whispered into Grim’s ear.
‘I know,’ Grim agreed. ‘But Dog really likes it here.’
Og-Grim-Dog followed the Dark Lord to the top floor of his keep; the place that Simba the dark elf had described as the nexus of his empire.
‘We’ll end our tour with Lilith,’ the Dark Lord said. ‘But first, I have one final room to show you.’
They took one of the exits from the landing. Grim found himself walking down a richly decorated corridor: tapestries, paintings, silver candelabra, porcelain from the Kuthenian Empire. They passed doors on either side of the corridor, but the Dark Lord was heading for the room at the end, guarded by two of his menials. They saluted at his approach, and then stepped aside. Once again, the Dark Lord produced his set of keys, selecting the correct one for this door. Unlocking it, he strode in, Grim following behind.
This was a strange room. It was completely empty, save for a stand in the centre, made from figured maple wood. Grim walked over to take a look. On the stand rested a sword. Not very large, certainly by ogre standards. What made it distinctive was the material it was made from.
‘Glass?’ asked Dog.
‘Not quite,’ said the Dark Lord. ‘It is made from crystal. The Sword of Samir Durg. My bane.’
‘What do you mean?’ Grim asked.
‘The Oracle of Britrona has foretold that I cannot be killed—save by this weapon. My first instinct, once I had it in my possession, was to destroy it; bury it; send it far away. But far safer to have it here, in my possession. Under my control.’
‘Is it wise to tell people about it?’
‘You are my henchman now. You have my full trust. And, oughtn’t you to know about the one thing that can kill me, so as to prevent my death?’
‘I suppose so. You are the only one with a key to this room?’
‘Indeed. Now you know the secrets of Fell Towers, it is time to put you to good use. Let us speak with Lilith. She tends to know best about which jobs best suit which individual. It liberates me—allows me to formulate my plans and ideas, without worrying about the details.’
The Dark Lord made sure that he locked the room behind them, before heading to the open plan office, where Lilith ruled over the administrators of his evil empire. Wordlessly, she led them into her private office.
‘I agree with your assessment,’ the Dark Lord told her. ‘I have taken our newest recruit on a tour of Fell Towers.’