Page 62 of The War God's Woman

“Gaurbod Stormborn,” I pronounce, letting my voice ring out. “For sabotage, illusions, the murder of Rakan, attemptson Lirienne’s life, and betrayal of the War God’s trust, you are sentenced to death.”

He sneers, battered pride flaring. “You were always too soft, Ghorzag. The War God?—”

“The War God spared Lirienne and struck down your betrayal,” I interrupt, anger cresting. “Your lies end now.”

Ragzuk approaches, staff tapping softly, eyes lowered in a final prayer. Orc tradition dictates a chance for last words, but Gaurbod only glares, silent. Ragzuk murmurs a brief incantation, calling on the War God to witness the clan’s justice.

“Proceed,” I say, voice taut.

Karzug gives a short nod, stepping behind Gaurbod with sword in hand. The hush is absolute, every orc holding breath. Lirienne presses a trembling hand to her mouth, though she makes no protest. She understands this is our law.

With a single, swift motion, Karzug swings the blade. Steel flashes in the dying sunlight, the blow landing clean. Gaurbod’s body crumples to the stones. The entire courtyard seems to exhale, tension unraveling into stunned finality.

For a moment, none speak. Then, as if on cue, watchers sag with relief, some letting out pained groans. A chunk of sorrow presses on me—I lose a cousin, but it is his own doing. My father’s line was tarnished by Gaurbod’s ambition, and now it ends on these stones.

I swallow hard, turning to face the clan. “It’s done,” I declare, voice echoing. “The conspirator who nearly destroyed us has paid with his life. Let our clan be united once more, trusting the War God’s sign and each other.”

A wave of agreement, weapons clashing on armor. Some orcs close their eyes in relief and sorrow, but none challenges the verdict. A few approach me, heads bowed, apologizing for mistrusting my leadership or Lirienne. I accept their words with weary acknowledgment— the clan needs unity, not grudges.

Drahn, the lead priest, steps forward. “Chieftain Ghorzag,” he says, voice trembling with earnest devotion. “We stand behind you. Let this day mark the end of sabotage and the birth of a new era.”

A faint, grateful smile tugs at my lips. At last, the clan acknowledges me fully— free of Gaurbod’s manipulations. I exhale, scanning the courtyard where orcs murmur, comforting each other, or praising the War God’s guidance. This is the hardest test of my leadership. Now, the War God himself vindicates our cause.

Lirienne catches my eye. She stands beside Karzug, her expression touched by sorrow at Gaurbod’s body but also a certain peace. We survive illusions, sabotage, and near-mutiny. She’s free from suspicion forever. She offers me a small nod, as if to say,I’m here, and so are you.My chest warms with gratitude.

As dusk settles into true night, orcs light torches around the courtyard, forming pockets of light against the gloom. Despite the somber finality of Gaurbod’s execution, the tension that once plagued us feels lifted— replaced by a cautious optimism for the future. Some orcs even embrace each other, sharing tearful stories of illusions or sabotage they endured.

“Gather again in the great hall,” I announce. “We’ll feast tomorrow, not tonight— tonight we rest, bury our dead, honor Rakan’s memory, and reaffirm our loyalty to each other.” A subdued murmur of agreement follows.

I turn to Harzug. “Clear Gaurbod’s remains with respect to tradition,” I instruct, voice low. Even traitors in orc tradition deserve a certain ritual in death, albeit stripped of honors. Harzug nods, leading a few warriors to handle the grim task.

Karzug approaches, wiping his blade on a rag. His eyes shine with relief. “It’s over, Chieftain,” he says softly. “Truly over.”

I give him a weary grin. “We’ll have to rebuild, quell any lingering hostility. But yes. The sabotage is ended, and theWar God’s sign stands.” My gaze drifts to Lirienne again, heart swelling. She’s truly part of this clan now.

That night, the fortress feels both subdued and serene. Orcs light braziers in the great hall, offering silent prayers for the lost. Some huddle around small fires in the courtyard, mourning Rakan, reminiscing about simpler times. Yet in every conversation, I hear mention of Lirienne’s vindication, of Gaurbod’s betrayal, of the War God’s undeniable sign. Rumors can no longer brand her a curse.

In the flickering glow, I navigate the main hall, checking on wounded warriors. They nod at me, no trace of suspicion in their stares. The burden of fear has lifted. Now, we face a future unclouded by illusions or sabotage.

At the far side, I find Lirienne speaking softly with a few orc women, likely recounting how she used her healing knowledge. The older orcs listen intently, not sneering, but impressed. How we’ve changed in so short a time.

“Chieftain,” one woman addresses me, turning from Lirienne. “We’re telling her about how we plan to replant the orchard. Some seeds might still be salvaged. With her knowledge of herbs, maybe she can advise us.”

Surprise ripples through me. They want her input? They who once spat at her feet? A grin tugs my lips. “I’m sure she’s more than willing. Her knowledge saved many of us on the pilgrimage.”

Lirienne’s cheeks color, a modest smile forming. The orc women nod, exchanging ideas about soil and water. My chest grows warm at the sight of genuine collaboration. This is the orc-human unity I once dreamed of, now made real by the War God’s testament.

Later, Drahn and a circle of priests catch me near the arched corridor leading to my quarters. They bow, staff ornaments clattering. “Chieftain Ghorzag,” Drahn says, voice solemn, “werequest permission to hold a ceremony in Lirienne’s honor— to officially welcome her under the War God’s aegis.”

My brows lift. “A ceremony?”

Drahn nods. “Yes. She endured so much suspicion. We, the priests, wish to publicly declare her accepted in the clan’s spiritual sphere, ensuring no one questions her place again.”

A thrill of gratitude surges. “I’d be honored,” I reply. “Speak with her about the details. Let it be a day of celebration, not fear.”

He smiles, relief etched in his features. “May the War God guide us.” The priests depart, staff taps echoing on stone, already discussing how to prepare a ritual that might merge orcish traditions and allow Lirienne to partake.

At last, I slip into the private council chamber— the seat of my authority as chieftain. The large stone throne at the far end stands empty, runic inscriptions winding across its rough surface. Once, I felt burdened by that seat, a reminder of my father’s flawed legacy, but now I see it differently. The War God’s verdict overshadows our past failings.

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