The Dark Lord’s henchman received two surprises at once; one good, one bad. First, his quarry left the safety of the farm’s enclosure—alone—only a few days after they had entered. Second, the wizard was still alive. Both his lower legs had been amputated. He was strapped to the ogre’s back in a carrying device. But his survival was unwelcome. The henchman feared no-one and nothing in combat—indeed, welcomed the clash of blades. But magic introduced too much that was unknown for him to feel secure about the outcome.

Still, the Dark Elf could deploy patience if it was necessary. His master wanted their enemies dead. Far better to take his time and fulfil her orders than to do anything hasty and fail. No. Wro’Kuburni’-Dy-Hrath’Simbowa didn’t do failure. So he followed his quarry north and west, prepared to wait for his opportunity to act.

They moved from abandoned farmstead to abandoned village. The Dark Elf observed them searching for food that the humans hadn’t been able to take with them. When they were done, he was forced to scrummage for anything they’d missed or rejected. Drow could go for days without eating if necessary. But even he needed to eat something. If he had to pick up the last of the seeds from the dirt of a granary floor, so be it. Hardship didn’t frighten him.

After a few days of following at a safe distance it became clear where Og-Grim-Dog and his allies were headed. They were going to Mer Khazer, headquarters of the Bureau of Dungeoneering. What they hoped to achieve there was much harder to work out. This region was now totally infested by the undead. It was almost a certainty that the pathetic defences of that town couldn’t withstand them.

When he got his first sight of the town, he got confirmation that his instincts were correct. Lines of the dead were funnelling through the various entrances to Mer Khazer. The gates had been forced open by an undead horde, drawn by the quantity of living flesh inside. The fact that they continued to pour inside suggested that there was still some flesh yet to be eaten.

The odd thing was that despite such danger, the Dark Elf observed the ogre charging at one of the entrances into the town, the elf close behind. More through luck than skill they barged their way into Mer Khazer and disappeared down one of the streets.

Baffling. Nothing would have persuaded the henchman to risk his life as they had just done. It wasn’t that he didn’t comprehend, on a philosophical level, the decision to live a good life. Like all drow, he was far more on board with doing evil. It was a set of values that just came naturally. But he didn’t lack an imagination or recognise that some people had a different moral code. But risking one’s life for others? That was something much more difficult to understand.

Perhaps, before this mission had begun, the Dark Elf would have left his enemies in Mer Khazer and assumed they would be killed and eaten by the dead; returned to The Dark Lord and confidently assured her of their demise. Perhaps. But recent experience told him to guard against such optimistic assumptions.

His caution was rewarded when he spotted a party leaving the town via its south gate. His quarry had been joined by four others. Assata the Barbarian, he knew well from their mission in Kuthenia. Princess Borte—well, she had been their mission. They had kidnapped her and brought her to The Dark Lord. Now she had become the figurehead for the resistance in Kuthenia. Hassletoff the halfling, Director of the Bureau of Dungeoneering. They had never met, but the henchman knew of him. The fourth figure, a gangly human slung over the ogre’s shoulder, he couldn’t identify.

So, three had become seven. One could, the Dark Elf acknowledged, see it as a problem. It made his task more difficult. But he was inclined to see the opportunity. Kill this group and the enemy would be finished in one fell swoop.

The Dark Elf followed this enlarged group south. Where they were heading to now, he couldn’t guess. It was likely they didn’t know themselves. Where was there for these people to go? They spent a night in the open, the henchman finding another tree in which to make his own bed. When he checked on them the next morning, they were all there. But how long could they keep this up? The more he thought about it, the more he thought it likely that the undead would—eventually—do his job for him.

He followed them once they broke camp. More aimless wandering. Then he spied the group standing around the church of a deserted human village. Something had clearly caught their interest. The henchman waited until they had left the village before taking a look himself. A message had been scrawled on the white wall of the building. Find Sanctuary in Babylon. We are safe. Beneath it was an arrow, pointing in the direction that the ogre and his colleagues had taken.

Babylon? He’d never heard of it and doubted that his quarry had either. But they were desperate enough to follow the sign. Curious, he did likewise.

It wasn’t long before he got a sight of this settlement called Babylon. He had to admit that whichever humans had made their home there, had done better than he’d expected. A hill had been strengthened with earthworks in a concentric design. At the top, it had been flattened. The henchman could make out a few wooden buildings. Yes, it was basic. But crudely effective for keeping out the dead.

He observed as his quarry negotiated for entry into the hillfort. It was denied, for some. Three ascended the rope ladder that had been thrown down by the residents: the halfling, the elf and the princess. The remainder waited at the base of the hill, as the night drew in and the dead began to appear with tiresome inevitability. The ogre dispatched them with an almost absent-minded swing of his mace.

At first, the Dark Elf had trouble understanding what was happening. Then, when he saw them repeatedly tending to the gangly human, he worked it out. He’d been bitten, probably back in Mer Khazer. Why they hadn’t ended his life immediately, it was impossible to say. And why they stood about waiting for him to die and turn into one of the creatures was equally confusing. But that’s what they did. Only then did the barbarian use her sword. That was followed by a staggering waste of time and energy as they dug a hole in the ground in which they placed the body, before filling it in.

Finally, the ogre, barbarian and wizard were allowed to ascend the rope and enter this place they called Babylon. The Dark Elf was left to contemplate not only his next move, but the strange behaviour he had just witnessed.