Page 19 of The War God's Woman

I recall Ragzuk’s parting words, the subtle hint that mortal meddling is at play. “Do you have any leads?” I ask softly.

His gaze darkens. “Not yet. But I suspect some among my clan with reason to resent me, or resent the peace I’m trying to build. I’ll need time—and a careful eye on everyone who might gain from sowing chaos.”

My pulse pounds at the gravity of his task. “I’ll help however I can,” I offer, voice barely above a whisper.

He appears taken aback for a fleeting instant, but then a flicker of something—a grateful acceptance, maybe—lights his eyes. “I appreciate that.”

We linger there, the hush thick with possibility. Outside, an orc barks orders at a worker hauling crates, jolting me from the moment. I clear my throat, stepping back. “I… should clean up,” I say, gesturing to the bits of leaves and soil on my hands.

He nods, tension easing from his shoulders. “I’ll ensure no one disturbs you.” Then, more softly, “If you find yourself threatened, come to me or Karzug. Don’t trust anyone else’s protection.”

Though his words are brusque, a note of genuine concern underpins them. I offer a small smile. “I understand.”

With that, he moves toward the doorway and steps aside so I can pass. As I slip by, the proximity of his large frame makes me acutely aware of his physical presence—warm, solid, a potent reminder of how easily he outmatches me. Yet somehow, in that moment, it doesn’t feel terrifying; it feels… safe.

My heart flutters, confusion and gratitude warring within me. I have to remind myself that this is the same orc who, days ago, demanded a human bride as part of a peace bargain. And now, here he stands, ensuring I find my footing, figuratively and literally, within his clan.

I continue outside into the courtyard. The midday sun feels brighter than ever, and I squint against it. Even so, a small smile lingers on my lips, an ember of hope flickering in my chest. Maybe orcs aren’t all monsters. Maybe Ghorzag, stoic as he is, truly wants unity.

As I head back toward my tent, my mind swirling with the events of the day—I can’t help noticing that some passing orcs give me narrower glares than usual. The rumor mill will churn, no doubt, whispering about how I aided in healing a wounded warrior. Perhaps that tiny shift in perception will grow, one saved life at a time, one conversation at a time.

And in that swirl of hope, I realize something: I want them to accept me—not just to keep me alive or spare my village, but because a part of me believes that bridging our worlds might be possible. If He is not cursing us, if sabotage lies behind these “omens,” then maybe the dark gulf between orcs and humans can shrink enough for something genuine to form.

Including, perhaps, a deeper bond with the fierce, complicated chieftain who caught me before I could fall.

6

GHORZAG

Istand at one of those windows, leaning on the rough sill as I survey the courtyard below. Orc warriors move in steady rhythms—some returning from night patrol, others stoking fires in preparation for the day’s meals. A low hum of voices mingles with the crackling of torches.

Yet my gaze drifts, unbidden, to the far side of the courtyard where the tent row begins, just beyond the main hall. That is where Lirienne sleeps—where she has been given quarters close enough for watchful orc eyes, yet distinct enough to remind her (and the clan) that she is not truly one of us.

A pang of unease gnaws at me. Only yesterday, she worked tirelessly alongside Ragzuk, gathering herbs and treating an infected wound. She proved herself resourceful and calm under pressure. Some orcs took note of her efforts, curious enough to withhold further judgment. Others still harbored suspicion or resentment, convinced that every rotted crop and suspicious flood traced back to her presence.

We stand at a crossroads, I remind myself, echoing the High Priest’s cryptic words. The War God’s omens—whether true or manufactured—still loom over us all. And yet, I can’thelp recalling how she looked at me, eyes bright with unspoken determination, after we saved that warrior’s leg. There was a sincerity there, a willingness to help my people in ways neither side expected.

I exhale, pushing away from the window. Time for the day to begin.

In the central hearth chamber, the clan gathers for breakfast. Long wooden tables stretch across the hall, laden with chunks of seared meat, loaves of coarse bread, and steaming bowls of grain porridge. Typically, this is a lively affair—orc voices booming in conversation, utensils clanging against metal plates. But as I step in, an undercurrent of tension flickers through the crowd. Conversations dip in volume, eyes darting my way with a mixture of respect and unease.

I ignore the hush that follows me and claim my usual seat at the head of a table near the hearth. Karzug, sits to my right, picking at a hunk of roast with methodical bites. Across from me, two older warriors murmur in low tones, pausing when I arrive. I offer them a curt nod, and they incline their heads in return—acknowledgment, but not warmth.

A moment later, the crowd parts near the entrance, and Lirienne appears. She wears the same practical orc leathers we provided days ago, now dusted with faint streaks of earth from her herb-gathering exploits. As soon as she enters, the hall’s noise dips further, nearly to silence. She stands uncertainly, glancing around, as if unsure where to seat herself.

A handful of orc children crane their necks to see her better, one youngling whispering something to his mother. Some warriors openly glower, while others show grudging neutrality. My jaw tightens. I can’t have her shunned at every meal.

So I raise a hand, beckoning. “Lirienne. Sit here,” I say, my voice carrying over the hushed hall.

She hesitates only a heartbeat, then moves toward me. The clan’s stares weigh heavily on us both—like a tangible presence pressing on my shoulders—but I keep my expression neutral. A chieftain doesn’t cower before disapproval, I learned that lesson early.

She takes the seat beside me, offering a polite inclination of her head to Karzug, who returns it with a terse nod. “Good morning,” she says quietly, her voice swallowed by the hall’s looming silence.

I tear off a chunk of bread and hand it to her. “Eat,” I say. “You’ll need your strength today.”

Karzug clears his throat, making a show of focusing on his own meal. “We have training exercises scheduled this morning,” he says, glancing my way. “The younger warriors are honing their axe technique.”

“Good.” I seize on the opportunity. “Lirienne should see them. Better she learn how we fight.”

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