Chapter Forty-Seven: Tracking
It was several days before they caught their first signs of orcs.
They had been heading north east, moving slowly. Tom was unsure of which direction they’d run in during the night of the attack by the village-killer swarm, but he knew they’d eventually ended up a lot more north than they were now.
Tom sent Sere images of the orcs he had seen and fought, so that she would recognise them, and even sent impressions of the scents he vaguely remembered to Sesame, just in case. Most of the smells he remembered were vague, raw, unwashed, and animalistic, but he distinctly remembered the smell of an orc’s breath as it blasted into his face as he fought them at the last.
Sesame assured him it was good information, and that he should be able to recognise the smell. He also thought it somewhat unnecessary; the bear felt like he would be able to recognise them by deduction too, orcs probably not smelling much like anything else in the Deep.
They were just about to wander into a clearing that Sere had relayed back to them, one which the brief images she sent Tom seemed almost familiar, when Sesame pricked to attention.
His great nose worked the breeze, and he began sending rapid thoughts to Tom through their bond.
Orcs. Sure of it. Faint, though. Very faint.
Tom relayed the information to Val. He felt her alertness ratchet up a notch.
Good job, bud, he told Sesame, giving him a brief scratch and sending positivity to him. The bear revelled in the attention for a moment, then sent another thought.
This way. He led them off through the clearing at a tangent.
The first day or so they lost the trail a few times, but always picked it back up within an hour. After that, it began to grow gradually stronger until, two days later, Sesame once again perked up.
Another trail, he sent. It crosses the first. Smells stronger. Should we follow?
Tom once again told Val, and she gave the go ahead. Sesame led them off, following the new trail he’d found.
The next day, they arrived at a river. They carefully followed the trail west down the riverbank, and it grew stronger and stronger. Sere suddenly began to send images to him in a deluge, and Tom called Val to a stop through their wisps. She moved back beside him.
“Up ahead,” he said, speaking low. “Rafts. Must be how they’re crossing the river. From the images Sere sent it’s where…” he trailed off, pained, then gathered himself again. “It’s where I managed to escape. Doesn’t look like there’s anyone there, at the moment, at least.”
Val gave him a brief squeeze on the arm, concern evident in her eyes. She thought for a moment.
“We cross here. Too risky using one of their rafts. We’ve got no idea how often they use the crossing. Maybe send Sere across, make sure there’s no surprises waiting. Get ready to swim.”
She handed him her bag, her sword, and her bow. Tom promptly stowed them in his storage, then stored his axe as well. He called Sesame over, and subbed him. He was sure the bear could easily make the crossing, but he was worried he would be conspicuous while doing so, and the extra strength would help him cross over himself, anyway. Val quickly subbed Scorn and Smitten too. Sere reported back the all clear from the other side, and they were ready to go.
They waded out into the water, and began to swim. It was cold, but not icy, now that winter was drawing to a close. Their Idealist constitutions meant it was even rather pleasant. Before he knew it, his feet were kicking the gravelly bottom, and then they were across.
They moved into the woods a little way before stopping to swap into dry clothes from Tom’s storage, redistributed their gear and weapons, resummoned their familiars, and then followed after Sesame again.
There were multiple trails now, strong, and they figured the raft crossing must be one of the main places the orcs were using to ford the river. All of the trails pointed north, to where the Nails loomed in the distance, enormous and imposing, glimpsed like hulking giants through gaps in the canopy.
A day later, just before noon, they were halted by a flurry of messages from Sere.
Orcs! Bad! Orcs! Came the frantic sending. Even more worrying, it was coming from behind.
Tom had taken to keeping four or five sparrows spread out behind them as well. The ones in front had plenty enough bodies to provide coverage, especially when combined with Hunter-Gatherer, and Tom felt safer knowing if anything was approaching from their rear.
It turned out to be a fortuitous tactic. The wind was blowing the wrong way, and Sesame, focused on following the trail ahead of them, couldn’t smell those approaching from behind.
Sere sent glimpses of images: orcs, about twelve of them, moving in a loose column, straight towards them.
Tom hissed at Val and hurriedly whispered the news to her. She immediately subbed Smitten, saying but a single word to him, “Climb!”
She suited her words to her actions, and began working her way up a large oak.
Tom quickly subbed Sesame as well, and then rushed to climb the sturdy tree next to it.
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Tom had hidden in sparser trees than these while on the run from the orcs before, and had gone unnoticed. Still, his heart hammered in his chest as he listened to the sound of the pack working their way through the forest towards them.
Finally, the sounds grew louder, and then all of a sudden the orcs were tramping through the brush below them.
He watched the creatures from antiquity with wide eyes, breath locked in his throat. Even Sere was quiet, obviously feeling the gravity of the situation, only occasionally hopping from one branch to another with a single sparrow.
They were just as he remembered them. All feral energy, dark red skin straining over twitching muscle. Mismatched arms and armour, some dressed in bloodied, rotting hide, others with tanned leather or pieces of mail draped over shoulder or tied about their waists.
A few carried Wayrest-made spears, and one carried a worn-looking sword. Some had sturdy branches with rocks wedged and tied into their ends to make crude maces or axes, and some carried nothing at all.
They alternately strode about in hideous parodies of men, or prowled about on all fours. Some seemed almost spider-like, their long limbs rustling through leaves, and long claws clenching into aged roots as they scuttled. Others looked like they could pull a human in half with their bare hands, their massive, corded muscles flexing and shifting as they walked.
There seemed to be roughly equal gender divisions in this pack. The males had tusks, yellowed like old bone, jutting from their jaws and outwards. It seemed the older they were, the longer they grew. One particularly large male’s had reached almost to his cheekbones.
The females lacked tusks, but had vicious sabre teeth in their place. Tom personally felt they were the more intimidating gender. Many of the females’ sabre teeth dropped well past their chins.
Both genders' skulls were narrow at the front and wider at the back, and regardless of tusks or sabre teeth, had mouths full of razor sharp teeth. Their tiny eyes and slitted nostrils had reminded Tom of piranha fish when he had first seen them, and he felt the analogy even more true now.
Just as they were passing directly beneath them, one of the females stopped. She dropped low to the ground, snuffing about in the light deadfall, seemingly looking for a scent.
Tom’s adrenaline spiked. He felt cold wash all over him. They couldn’t risk discovery, not so soon, not before they’d scouted the main encampment, but there was nothing they could do.
The female sniffed some more, turning over rocks and branches and other debris, nostrils flaring. She scurried about, here and there, in jerking, twitching movements, like a lizard seeking a warm place to rest. She stopped at the base of his tree.
Tom loosened his axe at his belt. Their only chance was to kill the orc before she alerted the pack. They were already moving off, the last in line only just visible. If she raised the alarm now, they would surely be discovered.
A harsh bark sounded from ahead through the trees. The female’s head snapped around towards it. She paused, still, for a long moment. Then, with a single rasping cough, she ripped off through the trees towards the pack.
Tom looked over to the tree next to him, where he could just see one side of Val’s face through the branches. It was set in a grim expression, and she had her bow drawn, pointed after the orc. Slowly, she relaxed, settling onto her branch.
Tom pulled his wisp over to him, and, whispering into it, sent Val a message.
“That was close. How long do we wait?”
“Too close. Make sure Sere has eyes on them at all times, if you can. We must be close.”
“Understood.”
With that, Tom settled back onto his branch too. He set some of Sere’s bodies to follow the party of orcs, and sent the others out in a widening spiral from them. They saw no other parties before Val gestured to him that they should go.
He steeled himself, and they began trailing the orcs.
Within a few hours, the sparrows ranging to either side of them had reported more packs, all moving in the same direction. Once, they had to climb a tree again, as another twelve-strong pack of orcs passed nearby them, going the other way. Fortunately, they didn’t pass directly underneath them, and were moving out at a sprint.
They followed the orcs the entire rest of the day, and a few hours after dusk. At that point, it became clear that they would not lose the trail. Sere had spotted several more parties, all moving the same direction: north, towards the Nails.
They climbed a tree for the night, and slept lightly, fitfully. Tom started awake at every single noise. Luckily, his Idealist constitution meant one night’s poor sleep was no issue. The psychological effects of the pervasive fear were a different story though. He felt like he did on his first time in the Deep.
Upon thinking the thought, a smile came to his face. I survived then, and I’ll survive now. One foot in front of the other, Tom.
When dawn’s first fingers of light clawed weakly at the sky above the looming mountains, they stirred, and climbed to the ground. The orcs seemed less active at night; Sere had seen only a single group heading carefully out towards the river. They needed to make as much ground as they could before they started coming and going again.
They hiked on, cautiously, alert, for hours more, and soon, the sun had fully risen and they had plenty of light to see by. Tom picked out signs of orc passage everywhere. With every broken branch, hanging from a bush, or upturned rock, or clawed print left in soft soil, his anxiety grew.
They had to be close now.
He sent Sere out as far as he dared while still without leaving any holes in the net of birds surrounding them that an orc might slip through. They had plenty of warning at each approach, and thrice more that day they had to climb trees to avoid discovery.
Once, the only tree nearby large enough to support their weight had no branches low enough to grab onto to climb, and so they crammed into a tiny nook in its massive root system, the tiny circle of wardpoles they hastily set as the only proof against their detection. That time, they were both a sweaty bundle of nerves when the group of orcs passed.
When night finally fell, they climbed a tree again. Neither felt much like speaking, their nerves worn thin and ragged. It felt like any unnecessary sound, and superfluous action, could see them discovered and captured. They had another fitful sleep.
The next day was even slower progress, and they barely managed to make it as far as Sere had ranged ahead of them the day before. They had to stop and hide almost every few hours, and Tom could see they weren’t going to get much closer.
He began to fret. The orc hive must be massive to support this much activity. It couldn’t be. They needed to see it, had to confirm it with their own eyes, and yet, with the amount of parties coming and going, they could get no closer without being found. He didn’t sleep at all that night, and he was certain Val didn’t either.
As dawn rose on the third day since the river crossing, Tom sent Sere out again to scout ahead of them. The birds sent back a steady stream of images, an orc hunting party leaving, another returning.
And then, something new. Two orcs standing in a pair, both watching through the forest in different directions. One of his sparrows saw, from a nearby tree, the pair giving a snarled greeting to a returning party.
Sentries, he thought, and relayed it to Val.
They had found the camp.