The Tenth Hand

Chapter 3 - The Tenth Hand

Gommash woke with a start. Kneading his temples, his lips dry and smacking, he pushed himself to a sitting position. He was in the main hall.

Must have fallen asleep, he thought to himself. "Ow!" he moaned slowly, now holding his head with both of his huge hands.

All around him the signs of the previous night's festivities were being cleared away. Teetering, Gommash got to his feet and left the hall. He loped to the well and drew up the bucket. Dropping the miniscule ladle on the floor he threw the bucket load of water over his face. He gasped; it was colder than he'd expected. He lowered the bucket back down the well and drew it up again, this time gulping down the water greedily.

Blinking into the bright sunlight, Gommash wondered how much of the day he had slept through. He looked back into the village, slowly deciding his next move. A loud, deep rumbling settled his mind and he strolled off in search of food, patting his belly.

Wandering between the huts and tents, Gommash found himself at the main hall again. He pulled aside the cloth and peered inside but before he had time to enter, a voice behind him called his name.

"Gomm, there you are."

Gommash turned around to see Soran, one of Drak's trusted, trotting toward him.

"I've been looking for you everywhere! Come with me, there was a visitor last night and Drak has some announcement to make. He wants you there."

Gommash straightened up. He took any request from Drak as if it were given by the gods themselves. Forgetting his hunger, he lumbered after Soran and followed him to Drak's home. He didn't go inside, knowing from experience that there wouldn't be much room for anyone else if he did, but Soran pulled back the cloth and pinned it to the doorframe.

Gommash could see well enough inside from the entrance and waited eagerly to see what happened.

Drak had woken to the sounds of busy hands tidying away the mess from the previous night. On seeing him stir, the nearby orcs apologised for waking him but he only smiled and waved off their apologies. He straightened some benches and helped sweep detritus into a pile. An adolescent brought him a mug of water, which he gladly accepted.

"Thank you, young one," he said, handing it back empty.

Gommash was still fast asleep in the corner, so Drak left the main hall and returned to the hill at the edge of the village. The morning sun was still low and a thin mist clung to the ground.

Standing on the hill, Drak focused his thoughts on the information Ethalsten had brought him the previous night. He had a vague memory of a dream in which he had heard screams and laughter. The stormcrow had filled the sky.

"So be it," he said to himself, the statuette once more in his hand. He rolled it in his hand for a moment before replacing it in his pouch and leaving the hill.

He walked with a purpose, his long strides powering him through the village until he found what he was looking for. Stopping in front of a small hut he knocked on the door. There was no response so he struck the door again, harder and with the flat of his palm. He was rewarded this time with the sound of a heavy mass hitting the ground and a grunt from inside the hut.

Slow footsteps dragged toward the door and a voice grumbled, "This better be good! Waking me up this early..." The door opened to reveal Soran, looking worse for wear. Evidently he had joined the festivities late in the night, after he finished as sentry with Arndir. His eyes widened as he saw Drak at his door and his back snapped straight. "S-Sorry, I didn't know i-"

Drak cut him off with an upheld hand. "Nothing to apologise for Soran. I need your help."

"Of course!" snapped Soran.