Page 109 of Storm of Shadows

As the orc captain speaks, the guards untie the blindfold from around my eyes. The sudden light makes me squeeze my eyes shut, and I blink until my vision adjusts.

We stand inside a hall, braziers casting fiery light all around us. An iron throne stands opposite us, framed by two enormous tusks from creatures I’m unfamiliar with. An orc sits on the throne, red paint smeared across his murky face, forming foreign symbols which are likely of the same language as the runes marking the standing stones in the Ring of Thunder. His head is bald except for the white-beard sprouting from his jaw. Most of his hair is woven into braids and secured by iron beads. His tusks gleam in the amber light, making them look as if they’re forged from gold. He’s also clad in heavier armor than the captain. Perhaps orcs show off their social status by wearing as much armor as they can. I imagine it’s even less comfortable than a corset.

“Lhorok,” Agzol begins, his narrowed eyes on the orc captain who escorted us. The Orc King’s voice reminds me of the grinding of metal. Though his words are slow, they carried an unfathomable weight. “Who do you bring before me?”

Lhorok pays his king a deep bow before answering the question. “These humans arrived at our gates and demanded to speak with you.”

The Orc King rises from his throne, chain-mail clinking as he does, and his movement is measured yet deliberate, reminding me of a river. Mighty, unhurried, and ancient. As he stands at his full height, I realize how tall Agzol is. Though Lhorok is far from short, the Orc King is a giant in comparison. It’s no wonder he can wear three times the amount of armor as his captain.

“They asked to see me, and you accepted their request?” Agzol doesn’t roar these words, but they’re nonetheless terrifying. “Tell me, should I carve off your head from where you stand? Are you worthy of the rank I have bestowed on you?”

“Apologies, my lord,” Lhorok replies, dipping his head in reverence to his king. “I cannot deny their suspicious nature. Normally I would not entertain such foolishness, but their claims were bold. They warned of a great threat to our city, and I could not risk inaction.”

Agzol gives a slow hum, the sound reverberating off the hall’s stone walls. He scans across us more carefully, lingering on both Taria and Natharius. I suppose I look less formidable than the priestess and the Void Prince. Even Juron and Caya receive more attention than me. Maybe the Orc King doesn’t recognize what my purple robes stand for. Or maybe he doesn’t care.

“Lhorok, you are mistaken,” Agzol finally says, his eyes fixed on Natharius. “We have four humans and one demon.”

Lhorok frowns. “A demon?”

The Orc King inhales deeply, his nostrils flaring. “A powerful demon of the Abyss. Can you not sense the great darkness within him?”

“No, my lord, I did not until now.”

The Orc King turns to us, though his attention is mostly directed at Natharius. “Why have you come here?”

With a deep breath, I take a step forward. Somehow I persuaded Lhorok to allow us into the city, though it seemed impossible. In the same way, I will convince the Orc King the threat to his city is real. I have no choice but to succeed.

“King Agzol,” I begin, bowing my head, “we’ve traveled here to warn you of the grave threat your kingdom faces.”

He strokes his white beard. “And what threat would this be? From Selynis? Tirith? Or from our orcish neighbors in Dromgar?”

“None of them,” I reply. “A group of necromancers of all races march on this city. They could already be here, plotting their assault.”

“How many necromancers?” Agzol demands.

“Twelve—”

“Twelve necromancers?” Agzol barks out a rumbling laugh, which echoes through the hall. “You call twelve necromancers a grave threat? Do you humans really think that little of us orcs?”

I tighten my fists. “Twelve necromancers and hundreds—no, thousands—of their undead minions. Enough to raze an entire city to the ground, no matter how well-defended it might be.”

“Thousands of undead you say?”

“All hungering to consume the living.”

“Where are these thousands of undead?” the Orc King says. “Why are my scouts yet to report an army so large marching on this city?”

“I don’t know where the undead are right now,” I admit. “But I do know the necromancers themselves are headed here. They can summon their undead through death gates, portals channeled through dark magic.”

“The defenses of this city are more than capable of preventing the opening of portals. Though our magic is different to yours, mage, that does not mean it is inferior.”

“It doesn’t matter how strong orcish magic is. The necromancers will find a way to bypass your defenses. That’s how they destroyed Nolderan.”

“Nolderan? Defeated? Your story becomes even more absurd by the minute, human!”

I grit my teeth. “Yes. Nolderan was defeated. The necromancers forced my father to deactivate the Aether Tower, rendering every magical ward in the city useless. Then they unleashed their hordes of undead on us and obliterated the streets.”

“Your father?”

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