Og-Grim-Dog and the Dark Lord Read online

  Og-Grim-Dog and The Dark Lord

  Jamie Edmundson

  Og-Grim-Dog and The Dark Lord

  Book 2 of Me Three

  Copyright © 2020 by Jamie Edmundson.

  All rights reserved.

  First Edition: 2020

  Author website jamieedmundson.com

  Cover Artwork: Andrey Vasilchenko

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  For Ben

  Contents

  Newsletter/Maps

  A Dark Tale

  Stuck in the Mud

  A Way Out

  Fell Towers

  A Job Interview with The Dark Lord

  Training Precis

  An Ogre in Varena

  A Bite to Eat at the Pressed Apples

  Food for Thought

  Old Acquaintances

  East

  Infiltration of the Empire Precis

  Pengshui

  The Imperial Palace

  Princess Borte

  Good News and Bad News

  A Warning

  The Dark Lord’s Bane

  A Face in the Flames

  Wedding Crashers

  The Yellow Wedding

  A Score to Settle

  The Director

  A Parting

  End Credits

  Jamie’s Series Information

  Newsletter/Maps

  Sign up to Jamie’s newsletter to get the FREE prequel story to The Weapon Takers Saga, Striking Out

  MAPS

  CONSULT THE MAPS OF OG-GRIM-DOG’S WORLD HERE

  A Dark Tale

  It was the second night at the Flayed Testicles. And it was story time.

  Not very much had changed since the night before. There was the Landlord, at the bar, preparing himself for tonight’s instalment. In between pulling pints and serving food, he could be heard doing vocal exercises, ensuring his voice was in good condition for the performance.

  Close by sat the Recorder at his table. He wore the same clothes, in the same poor condition, as yesterday. It seemed that any money the Recorder earned (and let’s be honest, humble writers make ever so little), he had spent on the tools of his trade. A fresh pile of parchment sat waiting to be written on, and his quill rested in a bottle of ink.

  The same old regulars of the Testicles were in attendance, seated in their usual places. But more customers had come tonight. Word had spread around town about last night’s revelations and no-one wanted to miss out on the sequel. Even some out-of-towners had arrived, from the nearby farmsteads and hamlets. In the quiet and peaceable backwater that was Magidu, tonight’s storytelling was box office.

  Finally, everyone settled down and a hush descended on the inn. All attention was on the ogre standing at the bar and the figure at the table in front of him, quill now in hand, ready to adorn his pages with inky black text.

  ‘It is a dark tale we have come to tell tonight,’ intoned the ogre’s first head. The customers of the Testicles looked at one another with excitement, more than one commenting that they had goosebumps. There was something intensely satisfying about dark tales told late at night.

  ‘Interesting,’ commented the Recorder.

  The ogre’s eyes narrowed suspiciously at the comment.

  ‘Why is that interesting?’

  ‘Well, it’s just that the last story ended on a positive note. You had decided to leave the safety of your cavern in Darkspike Dungeon and strike out, looking for adventure.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed the second head, slightly appeased. ‘But remember also, we had tried to become heroes and weren’t accepted. The Bureau of Dungeoneering banned ogres from adventuring and ordered us to leave Mer Khazer. Is it any wonder that we took a darker path?’

  ‘I suppose not,’ conceded the Recorder. ‘But that wasn’t your intention when you left your dungeon? I’m just trying to get your motivation right.’

  The ogre shrugged. ‘Good intentions are one thing. Habits are another. Two steps forward and one step back. Do you think because we decided to change our ways, stop hiding from the world and embrace it, that it simply just happened? Life is never so easy, is it?’

  ‘Oh, that’s good,’ said the Recorder, enthused. ‘Let me just write that down,’ he added, and his quill scratched along the parchment. ‘You know, I really think that’s something we could improve on from last night’s story. No offence intended. Just make the whole thing a bit more original, and really try to say something, you know?’

  ‘I was saying the exact same thing before, wasn’t I?’ said the third head, looking across at his brothers. They said nothing in reply, but each looked a little glum. ‘This time, originality and creativity are the buzzwords. If this story comes across as corny, cheap imitation; or pastiche in any way—I really want you to say so. That goes for you lot as well,’ he added, addressing the rest of the Testicles. ‘We won’t be offended in the slightest. The last thing we want is for this to sound like some kind of lazy parody or rip-off.’

  Stuck in the Mud

  What are you doing in my swamp?’ Dog shouted at the goblin.

  Grim sighed. It was very rude. And anyway, why was it Dog’s swamp? He was always so possessive.

  ‘I’ve come to deliver a letter,’ said the goblin, fishing it out of the sack that hung around his shoulder.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ said Grim. ‘It’s Gary, isn’t it?’

  The goblin grinned, pleased that Grim remembered him.

  ‘Yes. I’ve been branching out into the delivery service. ‘Goblin Post: we go where others fear to tread.’ It’s becoming quite lucrative.’

  ‘How wonderful,’ said Dog sarcastically.

  ‘Og!’ Grim said to Og, his other brother. ‘Look who’s here, with a letter.’

  Og woke with a snort. ‘What? Who?’

  ‘It’s Gary, from Darkspike Dungeon.’

  Og’s eyes slowly focused on the goblin. He frowned. ‘I don’t recall a Gary from Darkspike Dungeon.’

  Grim sighed. ‘Well, just read the letter, will you?’

  Og took the letter from the goblin and gave him a coin.

  ‘Good luck with the business, Gary,’ Grim offered.

  ‘Thanks. Good luck with the…swamp,’ said Gary, before heading back the way he had come.

  Grim walked off in the opposite direction, deeper into the swamp. In a clearing, underneath the stump of a long dead giant mallorn tree, was the home they had made. Grim got to his knees and his brothers helped him to crawl underneath into their house. Once they were seated by their window, Og and Dog took the letter from its envelope, and Og began to read.

  Written at the Bruised Bollocks

  Dear Og-Grim-Dog,

  I hope you are enjoying your new home.

  Things are no different here. Amid the adventuring, the political games continue. I fear that Director Barclay is planning a move against elves and halflings next. Sandon and I are trying to organise an opposition, but some adventurers seem to think they will benefit from our expulsion.

  I have heard nothing more of Gurin Fuckaxe. I would love to come and visit you some time, when things have calmed down. However, someone was asking after you, and told me they intended on paying you a call! Brother Kan
e! Do look out for him, he may not be as competent at navigating a swamp as you are.

  Well, that’s it from me for now,

  Love Raya

  Grim sighed. No-one spoke for a while.

  ‘How did we end up here?’ asked Og at last.

  They had wandered aimlessly around Gal’azu for weeks. They had not been able to decide on a goal and had found nowhere hospitable enough to settle. They had found some peace in the swamp, but that was only because it was so wretched here that no-one else wanted it.

  ‘Because there’s no place in this world for a three-headed ogre,’ answered Dog bitterly. ‘In the civilized lands, the humans want to kill us; in the wilds, the trolls want to kill us. We were kicked out of the Bureau of Dungeoneering. Maybe we should just go back to our cavern.’

  ‘Oh no, please,’ said Grim. ‘Give it a bit more time.’

  ‘There’s no time for us,’ continued Dog morosely. ‘There’s no place for us.’

  ‘Going back there would be like giving up on life,’ Grim argued. ‘Something will turn up. Raya said Brother Kane is coming to visit us. Let’s at least wait here until then. You never know, he might be able to help us.’

  Dog gave him a sceptical look. ‘You’re a fool if you trust that one. He’s hiding something. I can smell it on him.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Dog,’ said Grim, trying not to get irritated with him.

  ‘Quiet a second,’ said Og. ‘I thought I heard something.’

  Og-Grim-Dog stayed silent, three pairs of ears listening to the sounds of the swamp.

  ‘Is that…singing?’ Grim asked at last.

  ‘Sounds like it,’ Dog agreed.

  ‘Maybe Brother Kane has arrived?’ Og suggested. ‘It probably wouldn’t take him much longer to walk here as it does for the goblins to deliver Raya’s letter.’

  ‘Have you ever known Brother Kane to sing?’ Grim asked him. ‘Come on, let’s investigate.’

  The ogre crawled back out of their house and began to search for the origin of the singing. Sound could carry strangely in the swamp and it took them a good while to locate the direction it came from. But in the end Grim found himself trudging through a cypress wood, the singing getting louder as he did so. He had got used to wading through water in the last few weeks. His feet weren’t in great shape: the wet and mud had taken their toll and he now insisted that Og and Dog carefully dry them every time they returned to their house, to keep away infection.

  ‘There,’ said Dog, pointing.

  Ahead, following a winding path across a patch of land that poked out of the water, was an animal. To be precise, a donkey. It was singing a cheerful tune. Singing it very badly.

  ‘Well,’ said Og after a while. ‘Have you ever heard of a magical talking donkey before?’

  ‘Can’t say that I have,’ said Dog. ‘Come on, Grim. Let’s catch up to the little fellow.’

  Back at their house under the tree stump, Og-Grim-Dog felt a little better about life. A warm fire and a hot meal can cheer most people up, ogres included.

  ‘Here ya go, Grim,’ Dog said, offering him a spitted chunk of chargrilled meat. ‘Donkeys are usually quite tough, but that little fellow turned out to be very tasty. Must be the magical talking part of him that adds the flavour.’

  A Way Out

  Brother Kane arrived in the swamp the next day. There was enough donkey left over to offer him lunch, but the cleric repeatedly explained that he had brought his own provisions with him.

  They sat down to eat and after a while Brother Kane gave Og-Grim-Dog one of his beatific smiles.

  ‘I didn’t come here solely as a social call,’ the cleric explained.

  ‘Oh yeah?’ asked Og, his mouth still full.

  ‘I heard about your situation and I couldn’t help thinking that I could offer you a solution to it.’

  ‘Well, we’re all ears to any thoughts you may have,’ said Grim. ‘Truth is, we’ve got ourselves stuck in a bit of a rut here. Finding it hard to find a path out.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Brother Kane. ‘Now, what I’m about to tell you is between you and me and must stay that way. If you feel unable to keep what I say in confidence, then I will simply stop right here and now, say no more of it, and no offence taken.’

  The brothers shared a look. ‘We can keep a secret, Brother Kane,’ Og said, speaking for them. ‘Don’t worry about that.’

  ‘Excellent. Now, this may come as a bit of a shock. I haven’t been honest, either with you or anyone else in Mer Khazer. The truth is, I am evil. I am under orders to infiltrate the dungeoneering community in Mer Khazer, while posing as a goodly priest.’

  ‘I knew it!’ cried Dog excitedly. ‘What did I tell you?’ he crowed.

  ‘Well,’ said Grim. ‘Dog did guess as much, but you certainly fooled me and Og and everyone else. So, your visits to the orphanage; the old people’s home?’

  ‘Part of my cover. I don’t really like children very much.’

  ‘I see. And whose orders do you follow?’

  ‘Well, this is the point. I work for the Dark Lord, as one of his henchmen. He aims to spread his influence across Gal’azu. And so, to my solution. You, Og-Grim-Dog, would make an excellent henchman. I’m sure a three-headed ogre is just the kind of character that the Dark Lord would welcome with open arms. And precious few others have been welcoming to you. My suggestion is that you travel to the Dark Lord’s stronghold and ask to serve him. I can’t promise anything with complete certainty, but I am sure that if you explain that I sent you, you will be found a place in his service. Here, I have a map that has his secret location on it.’

  The cleric pulled a piece of parchment from his travelling sack and offered it. Dog took it without hesitation.

  ‘I know you will want to think about the idea and discuss it amongst yourselves. Well,’ he added, getting to his feet, ‘if I leave now, I can return to the town before the sun sets. Good luck, whatever you decide to do. Here, let me give you a blessing.’

  Og-Grim-Dog allowed the priest to flick his vial of water into their faces, and then he was gone.

  ‘Well,’ said Grim, feeling the need to say something, though he wasn’t sure what.

  ‘I’m not happy about turning to the dark side,’ Og stated.

  ‘What other options do we have?’ asked Dog, studying the map that Brother Kane had given them. ‘Here’s the stronghold,’ he said, jabbing a thick finger at the map. ‘The least we can do is go and find out what he might offer us.’

  Grim could feel an argument brewing. As usual, he would find himself in the middle of it and have the deciding vote. But this time, he already knew which way he was going to lean. They needed to get out of this swamp, and Brother Kane’s proposition was the only one they had.

  Og-Grim-Dog left the swamp behind them. Grim was pleased that his feet would now be spared further wading through the damp bog. But instead, his legs had to carry them a long way, to the other end of Gal’azu.

  When they travelled in the Great Outside, Og and Dog covered their heads, so that they drew as little attention to themselves as possible. Grim had to be careful about the routes to take. They would be treated with hostility virtually everywhere they went, and they really didn’t want to be diverted into a conflict or chased from one place to the next. So, they moved cross-country, avoiding settlements and well-used paths; when they stopped, they would take turns at keeping watch, moving on if they were the slightest bit concerned that they had been observed.

  The closer they came to their destination, the more remote and wild the land about them became. It was barren and rocky, and Grim increasingly found it hard going. In the end, he decided to take a road that seemed to lead them in exactly the right direction.

  ‘Why is this Dark Lord’s stronghold located as far from anywhere else as possible?’ Dog grumbled from inside his sack on the fourth day. ‘What’s the sense in that?’

  ‘Perhaps he’s thinking about safety?’ Grim suggested. Honestly, he didn’t really care
much about what the reasons might be, but since Og was fast asleep on his other side, he felt obliged to answer his brother’s question. After all, Dog carried the map, and it would be a right pain if he fell into one of his moods.

  ‘You’d have thought,’ Dog responded, ‘that if you were intent on taking over the world, you’d start off in a more convenient location.’

  ‘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?’