Page 16

Outside the walls. My pulse kicks. The notion of leaving the fortress, even briefly, both thrills and alarms me. But if it means helping and proving my worth, it’s worth the risk. “All right. I’ll go. Should I—?” I hesitate, glancing around. “I might need a guard or escort, right?”

Ragzuk gives a short nod. “Traditionally, yes. You’re still under scrutiny here. Ghorzag made it clear that no harm should come to you, which means you won’t be permitted to wander alone.” He pauses, eyes flickering with subtle amusement. “But it seems he’s assigned a certain protective detail to you anyway.”

“Protective detail?” I echo, heart thudding.

Ragzuk angles his head toward the door. “Go on out and see.”

Puzzled, I follow his gesture, stepping back into the courtyard. Sure enough, standing by the rough wooden fence of the herb garden is Ghorzag himself, arms folded across his broad chest. He cuts an imposing figure, as always—forest-green skin glinting in the sunlight, the swirling tattoos on his arms partially visible where his leather vest parts. He is speaking in low tones with Karzug, who nods and then strides off, leaving Ghorzag alone.

For a moment, I freeze. We’ve barely exchanged words outside the ritual last night, but my memory conjures thesteadfastness in his gaze when he publicly defended me. The vow that no one would harm me under his watch. A flush of warmth courses through me, swiftly followed by awkward uncertainty. What do I say to the orc chieftain who has effectively claimed me as a bride for political reasons?

Gathering my courage, I approach, carefully skirting a cluster of rowdy orc soldiers who practice with axes near the wall. Ghorzag notices me instantly; his gaze flicks my way, and I sense tension coiled in his posture—like a predator ever ready to pounce. But there is no hostility in his eyes, merely a guarded curiosity.

“You’re out early,” he rumbles, voice low.

I clasp my hands together to keep them from fidgeting. “I came to see Ragzuk. He says there’s an injured scout who needs certain herbs not found in the fortress garden.” I glance over my shoulder at the towering walls. “So it appears I’ll need to venture beyond the gates.”

His brow furrows. “And you’re going alone?”

I shrug, heart hammering. “I was told I shouldn’t wander unescorted, but… I do want to help. This is my chance to prove I’m not just a burden.”

He lets out a slow exhale, eyeing me with a mix of assessment and something else I can’t name. “I’ll take you,” he says at length. “No one else has time or the inclination, and I don’t trust half the clan to keep their tempers in check if you’re out of sight for too long.”

My nerves tighten. He personally wants to escort me? The notion simultaneously comforts and unsettles me. “That’s… fine. Thank you,” I manage, trying not to sound too breathless.

An orc blacksmith hammers at an anvil nearby, sending sparks flying, as if punctuating the tension between us. Ghorzag jerks his head toward the main gate. “We should go now, beforeit gets too hot. The glen’s about half an hour’s hike east if we take the direct path.”

He starts walking, his strides long and confident. I hurry to keep pace, noticing how orcs in the courtyard pause what they’re doing to stare. Some look at us with blatant disapproval, others with faint curiosity. I can practically taste the rumors swirling in the air:The chieftain leading his human bride out of the fortress?

But Ghorzag doesn’t seem to care. He moves through the fortress with single-minded purpose, and orcs part before him like he’s a force of nature. I swallow my nerves, grateful for his commanding presence—at least no one dares harass me with him around.

Crossing the fortress gate feels like stepping into another world. Where the courtyard teems with noise and the pungent smells of orc life, the landscape beyond is a rugged stretch of rolling hills and patches of wind-swept grass. The early sun gilds the horizon, casting the land in warm hues. My chest loosens, as if I can finally breathe without stone walls pressing in.

We descend a sloping trail that winds between rocky outcrops. Ghorzag remains a few paces ahead, silent. The clang of the fortress recedes, replaced by the soft rustle of wind through knee-high grass. In the distance, I see hints of a forest line, where tall pines rise like sentinels.

I pick my way over a small creek, shoes skimming over slick stones. Ghorzag pauses, glancing back to ensure I don’t slip. “You’re sure you know what you’re looking for?” he asks, voice echoing faintly in the hush of open air.

I nod. “Goldenseal or something similar. The leaves are broad, with ridges and a yellowish tinge near the roots. Might grow in moist soil by the water’s edge.”

He grunts, turning to continue. For a while, neither of us speaks. I struggle to read the tension in his shoulders. Is heuncomfortable around me? Or simply cautious? The memory of last night’s rite flickers—how he stood firm against Gorath’s challenge, how he insisted I belonged under his protection. It’s an odd contradiction: I’m not sure he welcomes me personally, but he refuses to cast me out either.

Eventually, the trail opens onto a small glen nestled between two rocky ridges. A thin stream trickles along the edge, feeding clusters of reeds and a patch of thicker vegetation. The scent of wet earth and decaying leaves wafts on the breeze.

“This is the place Ragzuk mentioned,” Ghorzag says, nodding at the lush ground near the stream.

I crouch, scanning for the familiar shape of leaves. Sure enough, a cluster of broad, serrated foliage catches my eye near a rock half-hidden by moss. “There.” I point, excitement creeping into my voice. I move quickly, pushing aside damp ferns to reach the plant. Mud squelches beneath my boots, and a swirl of gnats buzzes around my head, but I press on.

As I carefully dig around the plant, a faint rotting smell stings my nostrils—likely old vegetation. I retrieve a small knife from the belt I borrowed. Ghorzag watches from a few steps away, arms folded. His presence weighs on me, but not unpleasantly.

“Do you truly believe these herbs will help?” he asks after a moment.

I glance up. “I do. If the infection is bacterial or festering, this plant—or something close enough to goldenseal—can help cleanse the wound. In my village, we used it to make a poultice that we’d apply to cuts, especially if they started turning red or swollen.”

He studies me, the vertical lines of his forehead easing slightly, though he doesn’t smile. “We rely on spiritual healing and simpler salves, but… clearly we’re missing something if the infection lingers.”

“It might not always be about missing something,” I say gently, extracting the root with care. “You do have a shaman who can use incantations. But sometimes, good old-fashioned herbs can complement that. Especially if your magic is weaker these days.”

The mention of orc magic—long diminished, I’ve heard—seems to strike a chord. His mouth presses into a line, as if I’ve touched on a sore subject. “Our clan’s magic waned generations ago. The War God’s blessings have mostly turned to spiritual guidance and martial strength.”