Page 28 of The War God's Woman

My jaw clenches. “Someone poured something into our cistern.” Fury coils in my chest. We already had floods in the orchard, livestock dying mysteriously, missing seeds from the granary. Now, this. The saboteur’s boldness grows every day.

We test the water using a long ladle. The foul, oily substance clings to the metal. One whiff confirms it’s rancid enough to sicken anyone who drinks it. I turn to the others. “Seal this cistern. No one uses it until we purge whatever’s in here.”

Karzug snaps to attention. “We’ll do so immediately. The question is how quickly we can clean it—and how long before rumors spread that we’re cursed.”

“Rumors are likely already spreading,” I say grimly.

From the side, I see the scout from earlier shuffle nervously. “Chieftain,” he ventures, “some orcs are claiming it’s yet another sign that the War God condemns the human’s presence.”

A growl rumbles in my throat. “Enough. This is no divine act. We have a traitor or an infiltrator undermining us.” I force the words out, though part of me realizes how few orcs want to hear it. Blaming Lirienne—the convenient outsider—is so much simpler.

Karzug lays a hand on me. “We’ll do our best to contain the panic,” he says quietly, “but you know how they are. They’ll talk.”

I nod. “Let them talk. I’ll handle it.”

But how, I wonder, when every sign of calamity is pinned on her?

I leave Karzug to organize a cleanup crew, trusting him to keep the clan calm for a few hours. My own mood is a storm of frustration and concern as I climb out of the underground cistern tunnels and step into the torchlit courtyard. The fresh air does little to quell the heat in my blood.

I need to warn Lirienne, is my first thought. She has a right to know this new sabotage will likely raise suspicions against her yet again. Part of me hates that her name might be linkedto every misfortune. Another part boils with resentment at the possibility that her presence truly brings a curse upon us.No, I admonish myself. I can’t waver now. I’ve seen enough evidence to suspect mortal interference, not divine wrath.

Her tent is dark. Only a faint glow seeps through the flap—a single lantern, perhaps. I hesitate at the threshold, mind swimming with the memory of how I pinned an aggressive orc to the corridor wall just a day ago, stopping him from harming her. She is still not entirely safe here. A protective impulse flares, tangling with something deeper, more complicated.

I raise a hand and rap softly on the wooden post. “Lirienne.”

After a moment, her muffled voice answers. “Come in.”

Inside, the lantern casts gentle shadows across her tent’s canvas walls, revealing her kneeling by a small table strewn with plants and bandages. She looks up, eyes widening at my grim expression. Concern flashes in her gaze. “Ghorzag? You look—what happened?”

I step forward, the enclosed space feeling smaller than ever. “Our eastern cistern has been fouled. Tainted with some rancid substance. Could be poison.”

Her eyes widen. “Poison?” She rises, the faint rustle of her clothes underscoring her alarm. “Are orcs sick?”

“None yet,” I say, raking a hand through my hair. My beads clink softly. “But if word spreads that our water is unsafe, panic will follow. That cowardly saboteur has struck again.”

She exhales shakily. “But why poison the water? That affects everyone here, including the saboteur.”

I laugh humorlessly. “Some might not care if it weakens us. Or they might have an antidote prepared for themselves. All I know is this will feed the clan’s fears that you are behind it.” The words land heavier than I intend, but frustration ripples through me. I refuse to blame her, yet I can already hear the rumors.

Her posture stiffens. “And do you believe them?” she asks in a quiet, hurt tone.

A flash of guilt pricks my chest. “No,” I say, voice strained. “But the clan does. Or at least a sizable portion that’s swayed by superstition.”

She shakes her head, hair catching the lantern’s glow. “I’m doing everything in my power to help—treating wounds, assisting in the kitchens. It’s never enough.”

My temper, already frayed, ignites. “No matter what you do, they see only an outsider,” I reply, not meaning to sound accusatory. “Every day, I fight to keep them from turning on you. But each new disaster—” I break off, fists clenching at my sides.

She squares her shoulders, eyes flashing. “I never asked you to protect me if it’s such a burden, Ghorzag.” The tremor in her voice betrays how deeply the situation cuts.

A growl builds in my throat. “You think this is easy for me? Leading a clan that fears the War God’s anger, trying to prove sabotage, all while you?—”

“While I what?” she demands, stepping closer, indignation flaring. “Live at the mercy of orcs who might kill me at any moment? Try to be useful while half the clan hisses curses behind my back?”

Our gazes lock, tension crackling in the confined air. Torchlight flickers across her features, highlighting the defiance in her wide eyes. My anger wars with an overwhelming surge of protectiveness. She’s braver than most orcs I know, daring to stand up for herself even when she’s dwarfed by orcish power.

She is not the enemy, I remind myself, but frustration batters me from every side. The sabotage. The clan’s suspicion. My own inability to end this crisis swiftly. My chest tightens as I struggle to form words.

Our raised voices fill the tent, the argument swirling from sabotage to the deeper undercurrents of mistrust and fear. Atone point, my tusks bare in anger, but she doesn’t back down. Instead, she glares at me, chin tilted high in a show of stubborn resilience.

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