Page 41 of The War God's Woman

Two older orcs, huddled beside a brazier, stop talking the moment I come into view. One spits on the ground near my feet, eyes hard. I clench my fists, hurrying past. A hush accompanies my steps, as though I carry a plague no one wishes to catch.

Eventually, I find myself near the orchard’s edge, where the battered fruit trees stand silhouetted against a moonlit sky. This place has once offered a sense of calm. Now, the orchard bears scars from sabotage: half-flooded rows, broken fences, stunted saplings. A reflection of how my presence has battered the clan’s faith.

I slump against a half-toppled fence post, burying my face in my hands. My thoughts turn to Rakan—an innocent youth, life snuffed out. Whether sabotage or something worse, it lendscredence to the clan’s darkest fears. A shudder wracks me.Maybe leaving is the only way to spare them further tragedy.

Footsteps crunch on the orchard path behind me. I stiffen, turning to see Nagra, Ragzuk’s apprentice, approaching hesitantly. Relief and dread mingle; she’s one of the few orcs who have shown me kindness, yet I can’t bear more bad news.

She comes closer, the torch in her hand illuminating her worried expression. “Lirienne,” she says softly, voice trembling with concern. “I heard what happened. I’m so sorry.”

Tears brim again. “They want me gone. They say Rakan’s death is the final sign. If Ghorzag stands by me, the clan might tear itself apart.”

Nagra’s eyes glisten. “Many are indeed calling for your blood. But some of us—Ragzuk, me, a few others—believe in you. We think sabotage is afoot.” She sets her torch aside, reaching out to gently grip my arm. “Stay strong. Ghorzag’s leading you to the shrine where He waits. That might be your only chance to prove your innocence.”

A sob rises in my throat. “What if the War God remains silent? Or if the saboteur strikes again on the journey?”

She presses her lips together, sadness evident. “Then… the clan may force Ghorzag’s hand. I hate to say it, but you know how orcs can be. Fear drives us to extremes.”

My tears finally escape, sliding hot down my cheeks. “I don’t want more orcs dying because of me, Nagra.”

She pulls me into a clumsy hug, the gesture so unexpectedly comforting that a fresh wave of grief pours out. “Shhh,” she murmurs, stroking my hair. “We’ll find the truth. Don’t give up yet. Ghorzag—he cares for you, more than you know.”

A pang of guilt twists through me.Yes, he does… and I might be dooming him.

With gentle pressure, she releases me, wiping my tears with the corner of her sleeve. “We should get you inside. Dawn comes soon, and you need rest before the journey.”

I nod, letting her guide me away from the broken orchard. My limbs feel leaden, every step a monumental effort.All is lost, the words echo in my head.How can a pilgrimage to some distant temple possibly fix this avalanche of hate?

Returning to my tent, I find it bleakly empty. The small lantern I left flickering casts dancing shadows on the canvas walls, each shape reminding me of the swirling chaos outside. I sink onto my bedroll, heart pounding with the question:Should I run?

If I flee tonight, I can vanish into the wilderness. Perhaps the clan will calm, blame me from afar, but at least they’ll stop demanding Ghorzag fight to protect me. My presence wouldn’t spark further sabotage. Or so I tell myself—though I suspect whoever orchestrated these “omens” would continue to exploit the clan’s fear, with or without me.

Still, the thought of leaving stabs my chest with longing and dread. Leaving means giving up on everything: on forging peace, on trusting Ghorzag, on believing we could change this clan’s future. But staying means risking more orc lives, potentially condemning Ghorzag to a civil war.

I bow my head, tears dripping onto the bedroll. My father’s old crest, a threadbare cloth I keep in my satchel, peeks out.I came here to prevent bloodshed, I remind myself, recalling the vow I made when I left my home. Now, orcs are dying anyway. My noble intentions feel like a cruel joke.

A soft knock on the tent post jars me from my misery. I freeze, wiping my face. “Who is it?”

The tent flap shifts, revealing Ghorzag’s broad form. He steps inside cautiously, his imposing height dwarfing the crampedspace. His expression is guarded, the lines of his face cast into sharp relief by the lantern glow.

We regard each other in silence. My eyes burn from tears, and I sense the turmoil roiling under his stoic facade.

Finally, he speaks, voice hushed. “I check Rakan’s body. The foam at his mouth suggests something akin to the poison used on the livestock.” His fists clench. “It’s sabotage, Lirienne. Someone is orchestrating these deaths, feeding the clan’s hysteria.”

I let out a shuddering breath. “That means it’s not divine retribution,” I say, half-relieved, half-crushed by the knowledge that it won’t change the clan’s mind.

He nods grimly. “But the clan won’t believe that unless we catch the saboteur in the act. They’re whipped into a frenzy, demanding immediate answers.” His gaze flicks to me, softening momentarily. “I won’t let them harm you.”

A bitter laugh escapes my lips, tears threatening again. “How can you stop them when so many believe I’m behind it all? Gaurbod is pushing them to demand my blood. I heard him plotting with some warriors. They’re determined to remove me from the clan by any means necessary.”

Ghorzag’s jaw tightens. “I know. But tomorrow, we leave. Once we reach the War God’s temple, there’ll be no turning back. I’ll need you to stand with me before the priests. We’ll prove this sabotage is mortal, not divine.”

I stare at him, despair welling. “And if the saboteur attacks us on the road, or the War God doesn’t speak, or—or—” My voice cracks, the weight of it all too much. “I don’t want to cause more deaths, Ghorzag. I’m just a human trying to protect my village and your clan. And I keep failing.”

Silence stretches. His eyes dart over my tear-streaked face, and something in his expression breaks. He moves closer, kneeling beside me on the bedroll. The tent’s fabric rustles,the lantern flickering.He’s so close, I think, recalling the fierce intimacy we’ve shared. Now that closeness feels tainted by tragedy.

He lifts a hand, gently cupping my cheek. “You’re not failing,” he murmurs, voice gruff yet tender. “This is bigger than either of us. Sabotage, fear, clan tradition… it’s a war on many fronts. But I’ll stand between you and that war. I promise.”

I exhale, leaning into his touch. “You said that before. But—what if your clan revolts?”

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