Page 23 of The War God's Woman

A group of orc women sit across the fire, occasionally glancing our way. One of them, older and thick-armed, gives a slow nod—perhaps acknowledging that Lirienne treated her nephew’s sprained ankle earlier. Small gestures, small cracks in the wall of distrust.

Lirienne’s voice drops. “I noticed the tension today—some orcs still blame me for the floods, don’t they?”

I pause, staring into the dancing flames. “They do. They see you as an easy target, ignoring the evidence that something else might be at play.”

She touches the rim of her bowl, fidgeting. “I keep telling myself if I can show them my sincerity, they’ll accept me. But it’s not that simple, is it?”

“No,” I admit quietly. “Generations of hatred don’t vanish overnight. But you’ve done more than most humans ever have to bridge the gap—treating injuries, learning our ways.”

Her eyes flick to mine, searching. “And you? How do you feel about a human in your midst?”

That question makes my chest tighten. How do I feel? Torn, perhaps, between duty to my clan and a growing admiration for her tenacity. I recall the moment earlier when she tried the practice axe—her refusal to buckle under the warriors’ scorn. She has courage.

“I made this alliance for strategic reasons,” I say, voice deliberately steady. “But… I don’t regret it. At least, not yet.”

A faint smile tugs at the corner of her lips. “High praise, coming from an orc chieftain.”

I feel the corners of my own mouth lift, a wry amusement stirring. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

The crackle of logs and the low murmur of orc voices surround us, creating an almost intimate bubble of conversation. She finishes her stew, setting the bowl aside. “Thank you,” she says suddenly.

“For what?”

“For giving me a chance. For letting me watch the training. For not tossing me to the wolves the moment your clan demanded it.”

A pulse of guilt mingles with pride in my chest. “If you prove an asset to the clan, you deserve a place here. It’s as simple as that.”

She nods, her expression pensive. The conversation lulls, replaced by the crackling of the bonfire and the distant sound of an orc flutist playing a low, haunting melody. The tune tugs at old memories of nights spent in war camps, preparing for battles that cost us too much blood. Am I leading us to a better future now?

Later, when the flames have died down and most orcs have retired to their tents or rooms, I find myself standing near one of the fortress ramparts. The wind carries the faint scent of pine from the forests beyond. Far below, I see the outline of our walls, the watchtowers lit by intermittent torches.

Footsteps sound behind me. Karzug approaches, posture rigid. “Chieftain,” he greets, stopping a pace away. He stares out over the ramparts alongside me, the two of us silent for a moment.

“You disapprove of my letting Lirienne watch the training,” I say, reading the tension in his stance.

He exhales sharply. “I wouldn’t say disapprove, but I’m cautious. Many orcs are complaining that you’re giving her too much leeway. They fear she’ll betray us.”

I grunt. “And yet she’s done nothing but help. If the clan can’t see that?—”

“I understand your perspective,” Karzug cuts in, voice measured. “But you’re pushing them faster than they’re ready for. They need time, reassurance. And the sabotage continues, fueling their fear.”

I drum my fingers on the stone ledge. “Fear can be more dangerous than any real threat. I won’t pander to it.”

Karzug hesitates, then nods. “Just… be mindful, Ghorzag. You’re the chieftain, but a chieftain’s strength also lies in knowing the pulse of his clan. If you lose them by appearing too lenient, that might cause more damage in the long run.”

His words sting, but I recognize the kernel of truth. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He lingers a moment longer, as if wanting to say more, then bows his head and leaves. The hush of night reclaims the ramparts.

I lean against the cool stone, thoughts churning. Scenes from the day replay in my mind: Lirienne’s awkward presence at breakfast, her grit while hefting the practice axe, the way orc children flocked to her with wide-eyed questions. Quiet courage, I muse. She doesn’t have the brawn or aggression typical in orcish life, but she has a resilience I can’t ignore.

Despite the clan’s division, something about her presence feels… right, or at least necessary. Perhaps the War God’s true test is whether we can break old patterns of fear and hatred. A test for both orcs and humans.

Glancing over the battlements, I catch sight of her slight figure crossing the courtyard toward her tent, the torchlight throwing elongated shadows behind her. She pauses once, turning as if sensing my gaze on the ramparts. Even from a distance, I imagine I see the brief reflection of torchlight in her eyes before she slips inside.

A slow exhale escapes my lips. We stand on uncertain ground, I think. The clan’s acceptance of her remains tenuous,sabotage still lurks, and the War God’s supposed omens cast a long shadow. Yet amidst all that, I find myself wanting to see her succeed—wanting to see her earn a place here by more than just my decree.

I push away from the wall, the wind tugging at my hair and the iron beads braided into it. Tomorrow promises more trials: investigating the sabotage, quelling clan unrest, and continuing the fragile process of integrating Lirienne into our daily life.

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