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Unease courses through the caravan. The priests resume frantic chanting, as if to ward off ill omens. Ghorzag swears under his breath.Illusions.My pulse thuds. Someone is complicating our path, feeding the clan’s fear.

The fog persists for nearly an hour, gnawing at our nerves. By the time it finally lifts, the sun has dipped closer to the horizon. We make camp in a small clearing near a trickling stream, exhausted from the slow progress.

As Karzug and a few warriors tend to the horses, I help the priests set up minimal wards against further illusions. My fingers tremble whenever I recall that warrior’s panicked face. If illusions can rattle seasoned orcs, the saboteur is dangerously skilled.

After we build a modest fire, Ghorzag calls a brief counsel. We gather around the crackling flames: me, Karzug, Ragzuk, and two warrior-captains named Harzug and Gurtha. The priests linger at a slight distance, chanting quietly.

Ghorzag’s gaze sweeps the circle. “That fog was unnatural,” he states. “We suspect sabotage, illusions. But we must keep the clan calm. We can’t afford another panic.”

Harzug grimaces. “Many are on edge. The illusions in the fog—some claim it’s the War God testing us, others whisper it’s your bride conjuring more curses.” He glances at me, not unkindly, but worried.

My jaw tightens. “I have no magic,” I say quietly. “I’m as rattled as anyone. This sabotage—these illusions—someone wants us to fail.”

Karzug taps his sword hilt. “I suspect infiltration, possibly allied with dark elves. Magic and illusions are their forte, and they hate orcs enough to meddle in our affairs. If they can discredit Ghorzag by making him appear powerless, they undermine the entire clan.”

A cold chill stabs my spine.Dark elves?I’ve heard they’re cunning and manipulative, known for their magic. If they’re fueling the sabotage, it explains orchard flooding, poisoned water, illusions. And the clan conveniently blames me.

Ghorzag’s fists clench. “We must remain vigilant. We’ll set up double watches tonight. If someone in our party is feeding illusions or signaling dark elf agents, we’ll catch them.”

Gurtha snorts. “And if we don’t? The illusions could get worse, driving us mad.”

I swallow, remembering that terrified warrior. “We have to try,” I murmur, desperation creeping into my voice. I won’t let them destroy Ghorzag’s leadership.

The counsel ends. Orcs scatter to tasks—patrols, camp chores, uneasy attempts at rest. Despite the wards, fear lingers.I doze fitfully, waking at every rustle of wind.Damn illusions, I think. The possibility of them stalking outside our circle keeps me on edge.

Deep into the night, a distinct crunch of gravel jolts me fully awake. I hear it near the supply wagon. Heart hammering, I creep toward the sound. There’s no guard visible there. Footprints lead away from the wagon, deeper into shadows beyond camp. Large, heavy orc prints, possibly in a hurry. My mind races.A traitor? Gaurbod’s agent?

I bite my lip, torn between fetching Ghorzag or investigating. The footprints are fresh—I might lose them if I delay. Clutching a small dagger, I follow the tracks cautiously, weaving between boulders. The further I go, the more uneasy I feel. The moonlit rocks shift in my peripheral vision, shadows lengthening ominously.Stay focused, Lirienne, I remind myself. If this is a trap…

Suddenly, the night air warps. Mocking laughter echoes from behind a boulder—disembodied, malicious. My blood runs cold. Another illusion?

“Who’s there?” I call softly, dagger tight in my grip. No answer. Only the low whistle of wind. I edge forward, determined to see if an orc or something else lurks behind the rock.

Laughter returns, closer, eerie. My heart skips. Dark elf illusions, or a traitor conjuring fear. My knees threaten to buckle.Breathe.

I inch around the boulder, and the world blinks out. A nauseating vertigo slams me. I stand in a corridor of swirling mist, the reek of sulfur in my nostrils. Phantom shapes skid at the edges of sight—tall, red-eyed forms. Terror chokes me.

An icy voice whispers, “You don’t belong here, human.”

It’s not real, I tell myself, chest tight. But the realism is overwhelming. The shapes lunge, and I scream, slashing thedagger in futile arcs. Then the corridor melts away in a surge of color.

Abruptly, I collapse to my knees on rocky ground, panting, sweat cold on my brow. No corridor, no monsters—just open night air. My dagger clatters from my hand.

Blinking in shock, I see a faint figure retreating behind a distant rock. The footsteps are real enough, gravel crunching. That must be the one controlling illusions. My pulse races. A saboteur with dark elf ties—possibly an orc or an outsider trailing us.

“Stop!” I shout, scrambling upright. But the figure vanishes. My knees wobble with leftover terror. I realize I can’t chase them alone. I must warn Ghorzag.

I stagger back to camp, chest heaving. The revelation pounds in my mind: illusions this potent come from dark elf magic or a specialized artifact. And those footprints near our supplies—someone is confirming or tampering with our route. They want to sabotage Ghorzag, discredit him with more “omens.” If illusions worsen, the clan might blame me.

Hot anger burns in my veins. We can’t let them win. Ghorzag is risking everything to defend me, and I won’t let a traitor orchestrate more tragedy.

Reaching camp, I collapse into a cluster of alarmed orcs. Ghorzag rushes to me, eyes flashing. “Lirienne!”

I nearly fall into him, breath ragged. “There’s—someone. A traitor. I followed tracks—illusions ambushed me.” My words pour out. “They fled.”

Ghorzag’s gaze darkens. Karzug, Harzug, and others gather, hearing the commotion. “Show me,” Ghorzag commands, voice tight.

“I lost them,” I admit, voice trembling with fury at my helplessness. “But it’s real. They used illusions to confuse me.They’re creating these signs to discredit you. Possibly dark elves.”