The Tenth Hand

Chapter 9 - Under The Emerald Boughs

As the orcs marched through the forest, they marvelled at it. It was a bright and pleasant place. Chirping birds flew overhead and the sunlight beamed through the canopy, flooding the floor with green light. Huge oaks grew intertwining, as far as the eye could see in every direction and the floor was littered with colourful plants and grasses. Vines wound their way up the thick trunks and hung draping over their heads from the lower branches.

It felt incredibly old, and the more interested orcs wondered this aloud.

"Elcania Forest is ancient," Duromar told them. "One of the oldest parts of the North. Birthplace of the gods, some say..." he trailed off, lost in thought and wonder.

They followed no path. It hadn't been long after they first entered, that their scouts had reported no usable roads or paths nearby. Instead, they had chosen a course roughly east and kept to it as best they could.

Occasionally, one of the younger brothers, Raek or Thaaek, would climb a tree to check the sun's position in the sky and keep them on track. Each time they climbed down, they had reported seeing nothing in any direction but a sea of trees.

Morale amongst the orcs was low. The constant unchanging environment around them and the lack of anything interesting happening, was weighing heavily on everyone, including the officers.

Malak and Soran had to be regularly separated in order to avoid their constant arguments escalating into full blown brawls.

Drak wasn't surprised. They had been walking for most of the day with nothing to show for it and he himself was annoyed at the lack of progress. "When do you think we should camp?" he asked Freyella.

"I don't know," she told him, stepping over a fallen tree trunk. "There isn't exactly anywhere to make camp. And if we do, I don't think we should be lighting any fires."

"Great," sighed Drak. "And we traded all our furs. What if-"

Cries broke out at the front of the uni, cutting off Drak's trailing thought.

"Movement!"

"Movement here!"

"And here!"

"Defensive circle!" boomed Drak, rushing forward as the orcs formed a tight circle, with shields facing outward in all directions. "What is it? What do you see?" He turned slowly, trying to watch everywhere at once.

"Treeline movement," said one orc to his left.

"Bushes, but the other side," said another.

The tension in the air was almost palpable as the orcs waited to see what happened.

A sharp intake of breath behind Drak caused him to spin around, while the orcs on that side of the circle braced in preparation.

From behind a tree, they saw a tall plant quiver gently as something brushed against it. The fronds parted and out stepped an enormous stag, silver-furred and steaming in the chilly evening air. It was breathing heavily, as if having ran far and fast, its breath adding to the steam from its body.

"Hold," whispered Drak.

The stag was just standing there, staring at them, frozen by its prey instincts.

"Look how big..." began Gommash in wonder, but he was silenced by Drak's upheld hand.

Gommash was right, and for the gargantuan troll to point it out, made the fact all the more impressive. The stag's shoulders stood head high for the orcs, by far the largest stag any of them had ever seen. It's silver fur glittered in the evening light, which added a slight golden tint to the magnificent creature. Combined with the sprawling many-branched antlers it bore, the stag looked positively otherworldly.