‘Shut up, Og,’ said Dog angrily. ‘How many roads have you built?’
‘None.’
‘Exactly.’
‘From now on,’ said Grim, ‘I think you two had better put your sacks on.’
Without the road, Grim found the going much slower. Streams heading north to the sea had to be traversed, and Varena was a land of hills, valleys and woods.
They were making for the Temple of Britrona. It was something of a spiritual centre for the people of Varena, since it was the home of the Oracle. Varenians of all backgrounds would visit the Temple at least once in their lifetime, with questions about their health, wealth, loved ones, or a myriad of other topics. Even simply to witness the Oracle at work. As they neared their destination, they found tracks leading to the Temple, and then the tracks became a road. It was well maintained, with other travellers making use of it, coming back and forth in equal numbers.
No doubt their precaution of wearing sacks helped them to walk through Varena without drawing too much unwanted attention. But Grim also got the impression that in the tough, rugged landscape of this region, few folks were actively looking for trouble. Beyond some stares and comments, he found that other travellers were happy to mind their own business.
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.