He was about to agree when Mortag came through the door. The old Orc's withered left arm was in a sling, his right holding a gnarled staff.
"So," he began, "you claim to be a master of flame. Step outside, and let us see your craft."
"Do you speak the common tongue?" asked Athgar.
"The common tongue? What an insult to the elder races. Only Humans would refer to their own language as common."
"Call it what you like, but my companion speaks limited Orcish."
Mortag shrugged. "I must confess I know a little. It comes in handy when talking to prisoners such as yourself, but I am here today to test you, not her, and as you speak our tongue, I shall remain using it. Now, come outside, and bring your companion if you wish. No harm will befall either of you. I promise."
He rose, indicating for Natalia to do likewise. They followed the flame wielder outside to where a small crowd had gathered.
"This," began Mortag, "is where apprentices learn to cast their spells." He pointed at a stone obelisk that stood some fifty paces away. "Can you hit that?"
"Most certainly," he replied. "I assume you wish me to use a streak of fire?"
The old Orc nodded. "You may begin when ready."
Athgar stepped forward, clearing his mind and shaking his hands in an effort to relax. Next, he closed his eyes and began concentrating on his inner spark, letting it grow inside of him. Then his eyes opened, and he thrust his hands to the front, sending a streak of flame heading towards the target. It struck the rock dead centre, splashing fire to either side, then vanished, leaving behind a scorched smell.
Mortag nodded in appreciation. "Good, very good. I see you use our methods well. What else can you do?"
"I can start fires," Athgar replied.
The Orc waved his hand, brushing aside the claim. "That is easy, but can you produce flames on a weapon?"
"I can, on axes, swords, and even arrows."
"Smoke?"
"Yes." He wanted to add he'd even seen battle but thought better of it. Orcs were hunters not a warrior race despite their reputation for it.
"What else can you do?" the Orc enquired.
"I can cast warmth, a spell that served us well when we crossed the mountains."
"What of the phoenix?"
"I'm afraid it is beyond my training, though I have seen one in battle."
"You have fought other mages," Mortag declared.
"How did you know?"
"You show no fear in my presence, a most remarkable feat for a Human. Many would tremble at the thought of such power beneath the surface." He glanced at Natalia. "She, also, is unafraid. I sense you have both been through much since your village was destroyed."
Athgar stared back, unsure of how to answer.
"Now," the Orc continued, "we have seen the accuracy of your casting. Let us see you demonstrate your full power."
"Very well, what will you have me do?"
Mortag pointed to where a group of Orcs were stacking wood in preparation for a bonfire. "We will start with that. They are preparing a fire for the morning meal." He waved away the Orcs, then waited as they cleared the area, turning to face Athgar. "You may proceed when ready."
Athgar looked at Natalia, who merely nodded. He took a step forward, thrusting both hands out in a pushing motion. The air around them seemed to shake, and then a giant fire roared to life from beneath the logs, reaching up high into the night sky. The nearby Orcs were caught off guard and could do little but gape in wonder at the display.
Mortag turned to the Therengian, his features noticeably paler than they had been. "Most impressive," he said. "You have learned well from Master Artoch."
Athgar bowed his head. "Thank you. I strive to do him honour."
A smile broke out on the face of the master of flame. "Your coming is fortuitous. The Ancestors must have sent you to help us in our time of need."
"Why? What is it that ails you?"
"That," said Mortag, "is for Kirak to explain."
Urughar led them to the great hut. Though larger in size than that of Ord-Kurgad, it was similar in layout. One end consisted of the chieftain's private rooms, and it was here the Orc hunter led them.
Athgar and Natalia stepped inside to see Kirak seated on a pile of animal skins. Beside him was a female Orc who appeared even taller, though thinner of frame than the great chieftain.
"Come, sit," said Kirak.
Athgar sat, with Natalia beside him.
Kirak offered him a bowl filled with a pale white liquid. "Will you drink the milk of life?"
He accepted the bowl, sipping lightly from its rim, then passing it to Natalia. She took her own sip, then passed it, in turn, to Urughar.
"Now," said Kirak, "let me officially welcome you to the Orcs of the Black Axe. This"— he indicated the female Orc—"is Laghul, our shamaness. It is she who has confirmed your story, reaching out to the Ancestors of the Red Hand."
"Greetings," said Laghul, "and welcome to our tribe. As a member of the Red Hand, you shall be granted all the rights and privileges of our race, including a hut, which you may use at your leisure."
"Thank you," said Athgar. "You do us a great honour."
"Please, tell us of your journey."
"Shaluhk, who is now the Shamaness of the Red Hand, consulted the Ancestors. On their advice, we are travelling north, seeking a city known as Ebenstadt. Do you know of this place?"
Laghul nodded her head. "We do. It lies some distance to the northwest, past the villages of the Torkul, though to my knowledge no Orc has ever set foot there."
"Your master of flame indicated you were having trouble with the Torkul. I assume they are like me? People with grey eyes, that is?"
"They are," said Kirak, "and they have been a thorn in our side of late."
"Can you be more specific?"
