Page 33 of The War God's Woman

But as I round a corner, I nearly collide with a pair of warriors engaged in heated conversation.

“—Chieftain’s lost his mind—” one snarls.

“—should exile the human—” the other snaps, voice thick with rage. “War God or not, she’s trouble.”

I freeze behind a stack of crates, holding my breath so they won’t see me. My heart hammers. They have no idea I’m here, eavesdropping from mere steps away.

“She’s undermining us,” the first warrior continues, voice echoing in the corridor. “She pretends to help in the kitchens, but I bet she’s stirring curses into our food.”

The other lets out a derisive laugh. “And Ghorzag? She’s twisted him around her finger. She needs to be cast out, or better yet—” He trails off with a vicious grin, letting the implication hang.

My blood runs cold. They want me gone, by force if necessary. My mind races. Exile is one thing; a sentence to wander the wilds until I starve or am hunted by orcs or worse. Death, meanwhile, is a permanent solution. If enough warriors demand it, how would Ghorzag stop them? The clan reveres strength and tradition, and if they believe I’m truly cursed, they might challenge Ghorzag’s leadership.

Suddenly, a third voice—familiar, arrogant—cuts through the tension like a blade. “Patience. We’ll handle this carefully. The Chieftain’s cousin stands with us.”

I peer around the crates to see that the newcomer is an orc clad in armor bearing faint familial markings—similar to Ghorzag’s, but stylized differently. His cousin, I realize with a jolt. So there is a rival commander among Ghorzag’s own blood. He’s tall, with braided hair laced with small iron beads, a cunning glint in his eyes.

His tone turns conspiratorial. “If Ghorzag keeps ignoring the War God’s displeasure, we’ll unite the dissenters. Claim the clan demands her removal. He won’t be able to stand against us all.”

A chill ripples through me. So they plan a coordinated push to oust me. Possibly a direct challenge to Ghorzag’s authority. My throat constricts.He’s your own kin, Ghorzag, and he’s plotting to undermine you.

The trio moves off, their footsteps fading down the corridor. I stay hidden until I’m certain they’re gone, heart pounding with a mix of fear and betrayal. If the Chieftain’s cousin is orchestrating the clan’s hostility, that spells deeper trouble than random sabotage.

I move steadily to Ragzuk’s workshop, shaken. My every footstep feels heavier than the last, my mind replaying those chilling words: Exile. Possibly kill her. Twist Ghorzag around her finger. Fear throbs at my temples like a headache I can’t shake.

I push open the workshop door to find Ragzuk hunched over a table of herbs, carefully sorting dried leaves into neat piles. He glances up, watery eyes narrowing. “Ah, Lirienne,” he says softly, voice raspy with age. “You look… unsettled.”

I draw a shaky breath, shutting the door behind me. “You could say that. Where’s Nagra?”

“Out gathering supplies,” Ragzuk replies, gesturing me forward. “But you’re trembling. Sit.”

I sink onto a low stool, resisting the urge to bury my face in my hands. If I tell Ragzuk everything, will that place him at risk? He’s been relatively sympathetic to me, but is he loyal enough to stand against Ghorzag’s cousin if it comes to confrontation?

He must read the turmoil on my face. “I may be old, but I’m not blind,” he says, setting aside his herbs. “What’s happened?”

I force my voice to steady. “Some of the warriors are calling for my exile. They think I’m… using witchcraft to control Ghorzag. I overheard them plotting with someone claiming to be Ghorzag’s cousin.”

A flicker of alarm crosses Ragzuk’s features. “His cousin. That would be Gaurbod. Ambitious orc, always jockeying for position.” He drums his bony fingers on the table. “He’s never openly challenged Ghorzag, but if the clan truly believes the War God’s wrath is upon us, Gaurbod might see an opportunity to unseat him.”

My chest constricts. “And it’s all pinned on me.” A wave of hopelessness swells. “If Ghorzag can’t protect me—if the clan storms my tent—they’ll kill me, Ragzuk. I won’t even have a chance to defend myself.”

He shakes his head, eyes grave. “Ghorzag is strong. He’ll stand against them. But the clan’s fear is a powerful weapon. Gaurbod’s cunning enough to exploit it.”

My heart twists at the memory of last night’s intimacy with Ghorzag, the sense that we’d forged a bond transcending orc-human boundaries. Now, that bond is being used as evidence of my manipulation. “So what do I do?” I whisper.

Ragzuk sighs. “You have few choices. You can try to flee, but that would confirm their suspicion that you’re guilty of something. Or you can trust Ghorzag to shield you while we keep searching for proof of sabotage—something that convinces the clan it’s not the War God’s wrath.”

I hesitate, tears burning the backs of my eyes. “What if the sabotage continues? They’ll only see more omens, more reason to blame me.”

A haunted look crosses his face. “Then we must hope we catch the saboteur soon, or the clan will inevitably turn on you.” His blunt words sting, but I appreciate his honesty.

I spend the next hour helping Ragzuk with minor tasks, though my mind is elsewhere. The hum of the fortress beyond the workshop’s walls is a constant reminder of the rising hostility. My trust in Ghorzag—once so resolute—is wobbling. Not because he’s abandoned me, but because the forces arrayed against him are so formidable.

Can he truly protect me from his own cousin, from a good chunk of the clan?The question gnaws at my insides. Part of me flares with a stubborn faith in him. Another part whispers that I might be condemning both of us to ruin if I stay.

Eventually, I can’t stand the workshop’s walls any longer. The cloying scent of herbs makes me dizzy. Bidding Ragzuk a subdued farewell, I leave, hoping to gather my courage and find Ghorzag to discuss what I’ve overheard.He needs to know about Gaurbod’s plotting.

I find him in the main hall, standing near a cluster of warriors who pore over maps of the fortress’s water supply. They speak in low tones, expressions grim. My pulse quickens at the sight of him—tall, muscular, tattoos swirling across his green skin. Memories of last night’s heated embrace flicker, but I shove them aside in the face of urgent danger.

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