The Tenth Hand

Chapter 5 - Mountain's Prelude

"What do we do?"

"How many are there?"

"Get your arse behind that wheel!"

The men were worried and restless, casting scared looks over the edge of the upturned wagon.

"Why are they just standing there?"

"How the fuck do I know we just have to - lower that weapon, now!"

The man at the end of the wagon relaxed his bowstring and lowered his bow sheepishly.

"Are you trying to get us killed?!"

"Gods, man, they're orcs, we're dead either way!"

"Shh here they come!"

"We should attack," suggested Malak.

"We're going to try and talk to them first," Drak told him. "How many do you see, Golar?"

"I counted nearly twenty before they took cover, so maybe more."

"So if anything goes wrong we will outnumber them and, by the looks of them, outmatch them easily. But that doesn't mean we will come out of it without casualties. They are well covered and they have archers. That," Drak said looking at Malak, "is why we will not attack and if you do anything stupid that gets any of my orcs killed, Malak... by the gods I will skin you alive. Do you understand?"

"Yes," spat Malak.

"Yes what?!"

"Yes, Captain."

"Frey, come with me. Where is Duromar? Duromar!"

The silver-haired orc strode up to Drak proudly. "Yes, Drak?"

"You come also, you have a good way with words. Bring the standard."

Duromar's chest swelled as he walked away to fetch the warpack's flag.

"Gomm, you too."

"Don't you think he will be a little intimidating?" Freyella asked carefully.

"I'm counting on it," Drak said. "Stay behind us, Gomm, and don't say or do anything. If we are attacked, or if I order it, I want you to take that wagon apart immediately. Malak, Soran, stay here with the pack. Only move to attack if we are engaged. Otherwise do nothing until we return. Understood?"

Soran nodded.

"Malak?"

He sneered, nodding slowly.

"Let's go."

Drak, Freyella and Duromar continued slowly along the track, leaving the orcpack gathered in a tight group behind them. If they were attacked, the pack would have to charge under fire from the humans' archers, covering themselves as best they could with their shields. Hopefully, Gomm's assault on the wagon would buy them enough time to close the distance.

If it comes to that, thought Drak.

Duromar carried with him now a tall wooden pole which he held upright with both hands. The top was capped with a heavy sharpened bone, to which was affixed the orcs' war standard, rippling in the gentle breeze. The flag was a long black cloth, embroidered with words of protection around the edges, the center of which bore a stylised emblem of ten white interlocking hands.

Gommash pushed it out of his face and dropped back another pace so it wouldn't bother him anymore. He followed the three orcs, scrutinising the wagon ahead of them. As soon as Drak gave the word, he thought to himself, he would run at it, knocking the defenders behind it away, and then smash it to pieces while the other orcs charged forward. He just hoped he could act fast enough to protect Drak.