Page 6 of The War God's Woman

“Listen well,” I command. “Prepare for a gathering at dusk. I want the scouts and the shaman present. We will perform a preliminary rite to see if these signs truly reflect the War God’s wrath or if there’s another explanation. If the War God must be appeased, we will find a way.”

A mixture of nods and uncertain growls ripples through the throng. It’s the best I can offer them—a promise not to ignore the looming threat, coupled with an unwavering resolve to keep Lirienne as my mate.

“All of you, return to your duties,” I bark, watching as orcs begin to disperse in uneasy pockets. “Any attempt to harm our guest will be treated as an attack on my authority. Am I understood?”

A tension-laden silence follows, but I see no direct refusals. The clan eventually melts away into the corridor, leaving me standing in the echoing vastness of the Great Hall with only Druzh, a handful of watchers, and the flickering torches for company.

When the hallis nearly empty, I draw a slow breath and ascend the steps to the stone throne at the far end. Each step carries the weight of leadership—a weight I never anticipated inheriting so soon, but one that fate thrust upon me after my father’s demise.

The throne’s surface is cold beneath my palms, carved from the same black stone that forms most of the fortress. A swirl of runic etchings decorates its back, depicting the War God’s favored symbols: a sword, a raven, a coiled serpent. The seat is both a reminder of our clan’s might and a burden that often feels too large for any one orc.

Druzh approaches quietly, staff thumping on the stones. His stern face softens a fraction as he regards me. “You have chosen a difficult path. The War God rarely blesses an orc who appears to surrender to humans.”

I snort, draping one arm over the throne’s armrest. “This is hardly surrender. If we can broker a permanent peace, we can direct our strength where it truly matters—against the dark elves, for one. Or in rebuilding our clan’s resources.”

His staff taps once. “And if it proves the War God’s disapproval?”

My muscles tense, a distant ache resonating in my old battle scars. “Then we will learn why. But casting out Lirienne or harming her might bring more wrath upon us. I am no coward who cowers at the first sign of trouble.”

Druzh offers a slow nod. “I will prepare the rite. Expect no illusions—if the God of War truly be displeased, we will know it.”

He turns and makes his way out of the hall. I watch his crimson robes fade into the dim corridor, the candle flames dancing shadows across his back.

Alone for a moment, I allow myself to feel the corners of my mind swirl with questions. Could the War God truly be punishing us for bringing a human into our midst? Or is there another force at work? Memories of old alliances and betrayals gnaw at me; sabotage is hardly unheard of among rival clans.

Yet my people have seen tangible signs of calamity. As chieftain, ignoring them would be foolish. The lines on my brow deepen, recalling the haggard faces of orc farmers who came tome in recent days, complaining about the withered crops. Is it truly just random ill luck, or something purposeful meant to sow doubt?

I rub a hand over my mouth, recalling Lirienne’s expression as she stood beside me in front of the entire clan—nervous, yes, but unbroken. There was a spark in her eyes that belied her vulnerable appearance. A softness laced with steel, perhaps. The orc in me admires that spark, even if I’ll never admit it aloud.

In truth, I hadn’t expected to feel… anything toward the human. This is a pact, a coldly calculated strategy to keep us from another pointless raid. But some quiet corner of my heart warms at the idea that perhaps she isn’t a meek lamb resigned to slaughter. She walked into the fortress with her head held high, even when older warriors sneered.

A frown tugs at my lips. The memory of Gorath spitting near her feet roils my stomach. Disrespect toward me is one thing—I can handle challenges to my leadership—but humiliating or threatening her for merely existing under our roof is another. If we’re to have peace, she needs to be safe here.

I exhale and rise from the throne. The War God’s effigy carved above me looms in the torchlight, its red eyes an eternal, judging glare. “We shall see,” I mutter, turning away.

Outside in the corridor, I find Karzug waiting. His posture is rigid, a sign of unspent tension. “Chieftain,” he greets quietly.

“How is she?” I ask without preamble.

Karzug’s brow furrows. “As well as one can be, thrown into a den of angered orcs. She’s in her chamber; I posted two guards. No one will get near her without your permission.”

A small nod. “Good. Make sure they rotate at the first sign of fatigue. I don’t need any slip-ups.”

He grunts in acknowledgment. We fall into step, boots echoing on the stone. Servants pass, carrying crates of supplies or steaming pots from the kitchens. Every orc we encounteraverts their gaze in respect—or possibly fear. Word travels fast through the fortress. They already know I’m doubling down on this alliance.

As we walk, Karzug lowers his voice. “Are you certain this is wise, Ghorzag?”

I shoot him a sideways glance. We’ve known each other since we were barely old enough to swing wooden swords. If there’s anyone here whose counsel I might trust, it’s him. “You sound like the rest.”

He shakes his head, dark hair rustling against the leather of his armor. “I believe in your leadership. But I see the storm coming. The clan is restless, and that business with the War God’s disfavor… it fuels their fear.”

“I know.” My fingers drag through tangled strands, loosening a few iron beads that clink softly. “Fear can be more dangerous than any blade. If they convince themselves Lirienne is to blame, it won’t matter whether it’s true.”

He nods. “And the sabotage angle? Are you still considering that possibility?”

My mind jumps to the times we saw suspicious damage to our supplies—like fences torn down in the night, seeds rotted before they could sprout, water sources inexplicably fouled. “I suspect sabotage could be at play,” I say slowly. “But we’ve no proof. And no orc in this clan would dare such a thing openly.”

“Unless they were backed by someone else, or promised something greater,” Karzug murmurs. “Dark elves have long sought to weaken us.”

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