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, rogues 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.