Og-Grim-Dog and the Dark Lord

by Jamie Edmundson

  ‘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.

  Most of those in the room were humans of a certain age, dressed in the simple robes of priests. That only served to make Mistress Lilith, for Grim was certain it must be her, stand out all the more. She wore a blood red dress that exposed her flesh in all the right places, while her lustrous black hair was allowed to fall to her bare shoulders. She paced slowly about the office, a presence that perhaps explained the diligent attitude of her staff. When she noticed the arrival of the elf and the ogre, her dark eyes flicked up and gazed at them. It was a gaze that spoke of power and the ability to see more than mere mortals. For while Lilith presented as a human, Grim was sure that she was, in fact, something else entirely.

  ‘You’re back,’ she said to the dark elf, understandably choosing not to use his name. ‘And you’ve brought someone—is that the right word? —else.’

  ‘Aye. Found them on the road to Fell Towers, all ready to meet the Dark Lord and sign up as a henchman.’

  ‘A henchman?’ Lilith repeated, turning her attention to Og-Grim-Dog. ‘Well, you look the part, that’s for sure.’ She shifted her gaze back to Simba. ‘Let me hear your report first, and then I will talk to your new friend.’

  Lilith led Simba to a private room in the office, leaving Og-Grim-Dog to wait amongst the priests. Grim detected a slight change to the atmosphere in the room, a barely perceptible relaxing of tension now that their mistress was no longer hovering over them—though they still appeared to be working hard at whatever it was they were doing. Og peered surreptitiously over the shoulder of one of the priests, eyeing the scrawling lines of text on the page. Dog clutched at his belly. ‘I hope they’re going to feed us, whatever else they decide,’ he whispered loudly.

  It wasn’t such a long wait b
efore Simba exited Lilith’s room and told Og-Grim-Dog it was their turn.

  ‘It’s like being back at school,’ said Og, a nostalgic tone to his voice.

  ‘You went to school?’ asked the dark elf, a surprised look on his face.

  ‘Of course,’ said Og with a frown, before Grim entered Lilith’s room.

  ‘Shut the door,’ she instructed from behind her desk. ‘Take a seat,’ she added, gesturing to a leather chair large enough to take the ogre’s weight.

  Grim manoeuvred himself into the chair, although Lilith remained standing on the other side of the desk.

  She eyed the ogre for a while. ‘So, you’ve come to serve the Dark Lord?’

  ‘Yes. As a henchman,’ Dog specified.

  ‘Your name?’

  ‘Og-Grim-Dog. A name for each of our heads, if you get my meaning.’

  Lilith gave a barely perceptible nod. ‘Why do you want to serve him? And how did you hear of our work here?’

  ‘Well,’ said Grim, ‘in truth, the idea was suggested to us, by one of the Dark Lord’s servants. Brother Kane, of Mer Khazer.’

  ‘Brother Kane?’ Lilith repeated, sounding intrigued. ‘What, he found you in a dungeon?’

  ‘We went dungeoneering with him,’ Grim answered.

  ‘You went dungeoneering with him?’ She seemed fond of repeating what someone else had just said. ‘I didn’t know ogres were allowed to go dungeoneering.’

  ‘We’re not, anymore.’

  ‘I see. Did you mention Brother Kane’s name to the dark elf?’

  ‘No,’ said Grim. ‘He said he was under cover, so we thought it best not to mention it to Simba.’

  ‘Simba?’

  ‘That’s what I decided to call the dark elf,’ Dog explained.

  Lilith gave Dog a smile. ‘Well, aren’t you the clever one?’

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed, going a little red.

  ‘The fact that you didn’t reveal Kane’s name to…Simba, is a good sign. I asked the dark elf to wait for us. He’ll take you downstairs to get dinner. When the Dark Lord is ready, he will ask to speak to you. Of course, he has the final say on recruitment.’

  Grim got to his feet.

  ‘Thank you,’ Dog gushed. Grim wasn’t sure if it was simply down to the offer of food, or whether his brother had taken a bit of a shine to the Dark Lord’s adviser.

  Lilith held out a hand and awkwardly, since it required the co-operation of his brothers, Dog bent over, took her hand in his, and gave it a kiss. They left the room. Sure enough, Simba was leaning against a wall, waiting for them. The dark elf pushed himself upright and led them off, back down the curving stairs of the keep to the lower level, and then through to the refectory.

  It was a large and busy place. Rows of tables and benches filled the centre of the room, while around the sides were serving counters. It was full of menials. Menials sat and ate; menials queued, waiting to be served; menials dished out the food. Grim began to get a sense of just how many servants lived and worked here.

  Simba led them to the queue, from where he grabbed a tray for himself and one for Og-Grim-Dog, which Dog quickly grabbed. Og beckoned with a finger. Understanding, Simba passed him a second tray.

  ‘Come on,’ said the dark elf. ‘We have pushing in rights.’

  It is not really exaggerating to describe the refectory of Fell Towers as heaven for Og-Grim-Dog. At every service counter, they were allowed to ask for whatever, and as much, as they liked. They piled their trays with cuisine from every part of Gal’azu and beyond: roast dinners from the Free Cities; dwarven cold cuts; spiced curries from the Barbarian east; halfling one-pots; pastas and breads from the Kuthenian Empire; seafood from the Pirate Isles. Og even considered trying elven salad.

  When their trays were so precariously balanced that they feared dropping what they had gathered, they joined Simba at one of the tables. His eyes bulged somewhat at the sight of their dinner.

  ‘So, tell us about your recent mission,’ Grim prompted the dark elf. That way, Simba could do all the talking and they could concentrate on the eating. That would mean better odds of his brothers shovelling some of the food his way.

  ‘I was sent to make contact with the Barbarian Resistance. I managed to establish a relationship with a cell in the town of Mer Khazer.’

  Grim, Og and Dog looked at one another. Their friend Assata was a member of that cell. If their mouths hadn’t been so full, one of them might have said something they perhaps shouldn’t.

  Grim swallowed his mouthful of shrimp, roast beef, curried lamb, tuna pasta, cold chicken and pork casserole. ‘Why does the Dark Lord wish to help the Resistance?’ he asked carefully.

  Simba shrugged. ‘They could help to destabilise the Kuthenian Empire.’ He looked at three uncomprehending ogre faces. ‘The Kuthenians have the most powerful realm in Gal’azu. If the Dark Lord is going to take over the world, he’ll need to destroy the Empire.’

  Og-Grim-Dog relaxed. That made sense. They finished the rest of their dinner in peace. They had just begun to discuss seconds when a menial approached their table.

  ‘Yes?’ Simba asked the helmeted figure.

  ‘A message from the Dark Lord for Og-Grim-Dog. He is ready to see you.’

  A Job Interview with The Dark Lord

  Og-Grim-Dog followed the menial out of the refectory. Instead of heading to the main gates of the stronghold, the menial led them to an alternative exit to the fortress. A postern gate at the rear of Fell Towers opened onto sheer cliffs, from where Grim could see and smell the ocean, and hear the waves crashing down below. He found it surprising that the Dark Lord allowed them to see this secret entrance into his stronghold. Perhaps it signified that he trusted them. Or perhaps, the Dark Lord was extremely cavalier about his security.

  Grim followed the menial along the edge of the cliff. Not far ahead, he saw a figure that must be the Dark Lord. He was tall, for a human, enclosed in a heavy black cloak. He turned towards them. A horned helmet completely hid his facial features.

  ‘The ogre, Og-Grim-Dog,’ said the menial.

  ‘Good,’ said the Dark Lord, his voice rich and deep. ‘Return to your duties.’

  The menial left them alone with the Dark Lord. There was no doubt that he was an imposing figure, with a certain aura about him. The helmeted figure kept his face turned to them for a while, as if he was studying them, though all Grim could see behind the helmet was shadow. Eventually, the Dark Lord looked out to sea.

  ‘I like to come out here alone,’ he said at last. ‘It helps me to collect my thoughts.’

  Grim could think of nothing to say.

  ‘You must need some thinking time,’ said Dog. ‘To plan all your evil deeds.’

  Grim was pretty sure he would have come up with something better than that.

  ‘Lilith tells me Brother Kane sent you here. You want to become one of my henchmen?’

  ‘That’s correct,’ said Dog. ‘I think we’d be very good at it.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said the Dark Lord as he turned to face them again, a noise that could have meant any number of things, or nothing. ‘I tell you what. I will give you a test to complete before I accept you into my inner circle. It’s simple enough. Perform one evil deed. Tell me about it, provide some proof or whatever, and you are in. You will likely find me here. If you can’t find me, go through Lilith. Is that acceptable?’

  ‘Of course,’ Dog agreed. ‘No problem. Well…we’ll see you soon.’

  ‘Very well,’ said the Dark Lord. He waved a hand to dismiss them and returned his gaze to the sea.

  Grim retraced their path along the cliff to the postern gate in the wall of the stronghold. He gave it a push and it swung open. ‘Not even locked,’ he muttered.

  ‘Well,’ said Og, an odd tone to his voice as they re-entered Fell Towers. ‘Perform an evil deed, he says.’

  ‘Shouldn’t be a problem,’ Dog said. ‘Oi, you,’ he called out to a menial walking past. ‘Come over here.’

  The menial duti
fully changed direction and approached them.

  Before Grim realised what was happening, Dog was clattering the menial over the head with his mace. As it lay sprawled out on the floor, Dog hit it one last time to make sure it was dead.

  ‘Here we go,’ he said cheerfully, returning his weapon to his belt. ‘Let’s take this to the Dark Lord.’

  Dog picked up the corpse of the menial, and Grim dutifully turned around and returned to the postern gate, exited the stronghold and made his way back along the cliff path.

  ‘I didn’t expect you back so soon,’ said the Dark Lord at their approach. His helmeted visage turned to look at the body of his dead menial, which Dog unceremoniously dumped on the ground in front of him. ‘What is this?’ he asked.

  ‘An evil deed,’ said Dog proudly, gesturing at the misshapen helmet of his victim, crushed inwards where his mace had struck it.

  ‘You’ve killed one of my menials?’ said the Dark Lord angrily. ‘How is that supposed to help me?’

  ‘You did ask for an evil deed,’ Grim reminded him.

  ‘Yes. Evil. Randomly killing someone isn’t evil. It’s psychopathic.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Dog, sounding disappointed.

  ‘Well,’ said Og, ‘maybe you need to define evil a bit more clearly. Some would say it’s an artificial construct anyway.’

  ‘What nonsense,’ said the Dark Lord. ‘Everyone knows what evil means. The opposite of good. As the Dark Lord, it’s my job to spread evil across Gal’azu.’

  ‘So what you actually meant,’ said Og, an edge to his voice, ‘was to perform a deed that helps you with your goal to take over the world.’

  ‘Yes. After all, the menials work for me—increase my power. I’m really surprised that you interpreted what I said in this way,’ he said, gesturing at the dead body on the ground.

  ‘So you’re a megalomaniac?’ Og asked.

  Everyone looked at Og blankly.

  ‘You’re interested in power, conquering Gal’azu. That kind of thing.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said the Dark Lord. ‘I am pleased that we understand each other now.’