Page 9 of The War God's Woman

Her dark gaze flicks around the tent, then returns to me. “Survive. That’s what you must do. Show them you’re not weak, that you won’t be easily broken. If His divine favor remains, the truth might surface eventually.”

If, I repeat inwardly, the uncertainty stinging.If.

With a final nod, Nagra turns to leave. “I’ll bring you food later, if no one else does. I can’t promise it’ll be good, but it’ll keep you alive.”

I muster a small smile. “I’d appreciate that.”

As she slips out, the hide flap falls back into place, leaving me alone in the dim light. Her visit is a kindness I haven’t expected; the flicker of compassion in her eyes reminds me that orcs aren’t mindless beasts or identical in their hatred. There’s nuance here—factions within the clan that might side with or at least pity me. But will that pity be enough to save my life if the War God’s priests condemn me?

I set my satchel in a corner and crawl onto the wooden bed frame, settling onto the scratchy furs. Each hair prickles against my ankles. The tent feels claustrophobic, but it’s better than being marched through a corridor of hostile stares.

Debate. That’s the word flitting through my mind, that quiet voice urging me to weigh my options. I came here willingly for the sake of my village, but the magnitude of the clan’s anger makes me reconsider.Was I truly saving anyone, or had I simply delayed the inevitable?If these omens continue, if the God of War is as wrathful as they believe, Ghorzag might lose control over his own people. Then nothing would stop them from pillaging my village out of spite.

I press my palms against my eyes, trying to block out the swirl of negative thoughts.Could I escape?My practical side quickly shuts down the idea. The fortress walls are high, the surrounding lands teeming with orc scouts. Even if I did slip away, how many hours would I survive on foot before they tracked me down or a wild beast found me? And what of the promise I made to my village, the people who count on me to maintain this precarious peace?

That vow weighs heavy on my conscience, reminding me of why I’m here: to prevent bloodshed. If I flee, the orcs couldvery well retaliate by sending an even larger war band to exact revenge. My escape might buy me a few hours of freedom, but it would likely cost my village countless lives.

Outside, I hear the clang of metal and gruff voices—perhaps a guard changing shift. The muffled stomping of boots on dirt reminds me that I’m surrounded. Truly trapped.

I force my mind back to Ghorzag’s words in the Great Hall. He stood by me, at least nominally, claiming that we need a new path for the clan’s survival. He seems so certain, so unyielding in his stance—even with all those hateful glares turned on him. A kernel of unexpected admiration flickers in my chest. Is he risking his own position and reputation by not denouncing me the moment the crowd clamors for blood? If so, what does that say about him?

He must have a reason. Orcish culture is built on strength, on dominance; so forging an alliance with a weaker, smaller race seems the opposite of typical orc behavior. Yet, Ghorzag does it anyway. Perhaps he believes deeply that a break in the cycle of violence is possible. Or perhaps he sees me as a pawn for some grander scheme. I don’t know him well enough to parse out his true motives.

Torn between my duty and the fear gnawing at me, I close my eyes and let my thoughts drift to the what I left behind: wide fields of barley, neat little cottages. My sister smiling at me from our front porch, her hair braided in twin plaits. If I endure the clan’s hostility—if I find a way to survive these suspicious rituals—maybe, just maybe, I can spare everyone that next raid. Maybe Ghorzag and I can form some sort of real understanding.

But the images in my mind blur, replaced by the memory of orcs roaring in condemnation, Gorath spitting at my feet, and the sneer of that silver-haired warrior who escorted me here. Reality weighs too heavily, overshadowing any naive illusions.

A voice outside the tent startles me. “Human.” It’s a deep male tone, older and raspy around the edges. “Awake, are you?”

I sit up, heart thumping. “Yes?”

The flap lifts, revealing a stooped orc with lines creasing his brow. He wears a tattered brown robe belted at the waist, and a single bone amulet dangles from his neck. “I am Ragzuk,” he says. “Shaman’s apprentice to the apprentice, you might say.” A rueful smile tugs at his lips. “Nagra mentioned you might need extra blankets for tonight. The wind can cut through these tents like a blade.”

I blink, startled by the second visitor in one morning. “I’d appreciate that.”

He shuffles inside and hands me a folded length of wool. “Not the best quality, but it will keep the cold at bay.” He pauses, eyeing me curiously. “You’re smaller up close than I realized.”

Heat pinches at my cheeks. “I suppose I am.”

He grunts, crossing his arms. “Our clan is on edge, in case it isn’t obvious. You’ve heard the talk of curses. The War God is at the forefront of every orc’s mind, especially now that Ghorzag has brought you here.”

My teeth worry at my lower lip. “You disapprove?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he lowers himself onto a small wooden stool near the brazier, like his old bones need the rest. “It is not my place to disapprove or approve. My place is to read the signs, interpret the War God’s will, and guide the clan in spiritual matters. But the environment is rife with fear. Fear drives orcs to do ugly things.”

I pull the wool blanket over my lap, the scratchy texture grazing my fingers. “Nagra said something similar. That if the warrior deity is angry, many here will believe I’m to blame.”

He stares at me with tired eyes. “She’s correct. Truth rarely matters once the clan fixates on a scapegoat.” Ragzuk drums his fingers on his knee. “But not everyone is convinced. Ghorzag, forone, believes we must uncover the real cause of these disasters, whether they’re divine or man-made. If it is indeed the War God’s wrath, we will see it in the upcoming rites.”

I feel a wave of unease roll through me. “These rites… what happens if they declare me cursed?”

His wrinkled face tightens. “Best not dwell on that just yet. Often, such rites are inconclusive, or at least open to multiple interpretations. Druzh, our High Priest, might push for a definitive outcome, but the War God can be subtle—or contradictory. That said, if too many ill omens appear, the clan could demand your banishment… or sacrifice.”

My breath stills, terror lancing through me. “Sacrifice?”

Ragzuk stares at me. “Do not mistake me, Ghorzag isn’t keen on harming you, or we’d not be having this conversation at all. But if the clan unites in their belief that your presence is dooming us, they might override his will.”

The possibility sends my thoughts spinning in all directions.Is it worth staying if I’m in danger of a sacrifice? Could Ghorzag truly protect me?

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