When the group halted, Orcs gathered around in fascination. Urughar prodded Athgar with his spear, forcing him forward as the other villagers watched.
Athgar could discern little beyond the fire, his night vision blinded by the light, but the murmuring quieted as someone made their way towards them.
The crowd parted to reveal an impressive figure, tall even by Orc standards, and fully a head taller than any man Athgar had ever seen. His dark green skin was marked by lighter scars that ran across his face as if he had been clawed by some great creature in years past. The chainmail shirt he wore reflected the light of the fire as he advanced to halt before them.
Athgar quickly glanced over his shoulder to see Natalia, held in place by the threat of a spear. The great Orc bent slightly, peering into Athgar's eyes.
"What have we here?" said the Orc, his voice low and menacing. "Is this a Torkul I see before me?"
"I'm a Therengian, if that's what you mean."
Athgar's reply elicited a cry of surprise from the crowd.
"How is it," the Orc chieftain continued, "you speak our language?"
"I claim kinship with the Orcs of the Red Hand."
"Ridiculous. No Human has ever earned that honour, let alone a Torkul."
"And yet you have allies who are Human."
"What nonsense is this?"
Athgar pressed his case. "It's true. I swear it. Consult with your shamans, and you will see. Ask them about your brethren in the Netherwood."
The great Orc turned, looking behind him, searching for a face in the crowd. "Mortag," he beckoned, "come here. I would seek your wisdom."
An Orc, bent with age, stepped forward. He cradled his left arm, which hung, withered and frail. "You called, mighty Kirak?"
"Tell us what you know of the Netherwood."
"It is a land far to the west," Mortag replied, "where dwell a tribe of our people. It is said a Human named Redblade came to their assistance in their time of need. If you wish to know more, you will have to consult with Laghul, for she is the mistress of the spirits, while I am merely a master of flame."
Kirak laughed, a deep rumbling sound that reminded Athgar of Kargen. "Hardly," the Orc continued. "You are the most powerful flame wielder this tribe has ever known."
The chieftain turned his attention back to Athgar once more. "It seems you speak the truth, Human. Tell me, what is your name?"
"I am Athgar of Athelwald, master of flame."
His statement brought another gasp from the crowd. Mortag moved closer, peering into his eyes. "I see no sign of deception. Can this be true?"
"Free my hands, and I will show you."
Kirak ignored the outburst, looking instead at Mortag. "Is this even possible? Do the Torkul have shamans of their own?"
"No, my chieftain, they do not, though it is said their Ancestors did many generations ago."
He looked at Urughar. "Release his bonds. Mortag, watch this Human closely. If he attempts to escape, burn him."
"Yes, mighty Kirak."
Athgar turned as Urughar pulled a wicked-looking knife. The Orc smiled, then began sawing away at the bindings.
Natalia struggled, but Ogda held her arms in an iron grip.
The Therengian rubbed his wrists, feeling the tingling sensation as the blood returned to his fingers. He slowly raised his hands to his neck and withdrew the torc.
"Here," he said. "This was a gift from Kargen of the Red Hand. Take it if you must."
Kirak leaned forward, taking the end of the torc in his massive hand. It was carved of gold made to look like rope, and the ends were capped with miniature Orc heads, red stones set in their mouths.
"Fine work," said the Orc chieftain, releasing the torc, "and obviously of Orcish origin. You must have been welcome indeed to receive such a gift. How is it one of your race came to live amongst our people?"
"I lived amongst my own people in the village of Athelwald, in a region to the south of the Grey Spire Mountains. I was a maker of bows and traded with your brethren in Ord-Kurgad. All of that changed when my village was destroyed, and I was left for dead. I was found by Kargen, an Orc hunter, and taken back to his village."
"An interesting tale," noted Mortag, "and yet it doesn't explain how you came to be a master of flame."
"I was taught by Artoch," explained Athgar. "He said I had the spark."
The shaman turned to his chieftain. "He speaks the truth, noble leader. I am familiar with Artoch, and I, too, see the spark within him."
"How can this be?" mused Kirak. "The Torkul here give us nothing but trouble. How can this individual be so different?"
"Can not the tribes of Orcs differ?" asked Athgar. "Humans are no different."
"You have given me much food for thought," the chieftain continued. "I must consult with my advisors before we take a vote. You will go with Mortag, Athgar of Athelwald, and he shall test the depths of your knowledge."
"And what of my companion?"
Kirak's gaze swivelled to Natalia. "She is of no consequence to us. She may accompany you."
Athgar was about to protest the Orc's callous disregard for her but thought better of it. Better to not let them know that possibly the most powerful Water Mage on the Continent was amongst them.
They were led to a hut where Urughar untied Natalia. He ordered them to remain, then left with a promise of food.
Athgar looked at Natalia, concern written on his features. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," she replied. "I managed to pick up on a little of the conversation, but I'm afraid my Orcish is not very good."
"Their master of flame is going to test me, likely to see how powerful I am."
"And then what?"
"I'm not sure. I also thought it best to not reveal your magical abilities. I hope you don't mind?"
"Not at
