Page 25

I’ve just finished that tense exchange with the elders when an even more unwelcome figure appears near the main hall’s threshold—Gaurbod, my cousin.

His braided hair glints with iron beads, the same shade as mine, though he’s slightly leaner in build.

A smug half-smile twists his lips as he approaches, flanked by two warriors who share his sly air.

“Well, cousin,” Gaurbod drawls, inclining his head in mocking courtesy. “I hear you finally caved to the elders’ demands. Taking that human to the temple to beg forgiveness?”

I resist the urge to bare my tusks. “I’m doing what’s necessary for the clan. You’d do well to fall in line.”

He clicks his tongue, feigning pity. “You cling to that woman so fiercely. The clan wonders if you’re bewitched. Perhaps you hope the War God’s temple will break her hold on you?”

My rage simmers, but I force a cold smile. “If you truly believed I was under a curse, you’d challenge me openly. Yet here you stand, spouting rumors instead of facing me in honorable combat.”

A tense silence pulses. The two warriors at his side bristle, clearly loyal to him. Gaurbod’s gaze flickers. “Careful, dear cousin. The War God might not appreciate your arrogance. If I do challenge you, it will be when the clan stands fully behind me.”

So that’s his game. He wants a bloodless coup, an entire clan demanding I step down, rather than risk losing a direct fight. I laugh softly—an empty sound. “You won’t get that chance. Once I prove these omens are mortal-made, your conspiracies crumble.”

He shrugs, confidence undiminished. “We’ll see, Ghorzag. Enjoy your pilgrimage—if you return.” With that veiled threat, he pivots on his heel and strides off, entourage in tow.

My hands shake with the urge to seize him by the throat right there.

But doing so would only fuel his claims that I’m unstable.

Calm , I order myself. We need cunning as much as brute force to root out his scheme.

If the War God’s verdict—real or perceived—comes back in Lirienne’s favor, Gaurbod’s propaganda collapses.

By midday, I’ve ordered the fortress guards to prepare a travel detail—picking a select group to accompany me.

Karzug oversees the logistics, ensuring we have enough supplies for a week’s journey.

We agree that only the most trustworthy warriors will come.

Anyone with even a whiff of Gaurbod’s influence is pointedly excluded, though we can’t be certain we’ve weeded out every spy.

At last, I walk to Lirienne’s tent. My chest tightens at the thought of seeing her again. After our furious, desperate night together, everything has changed. But the clan’s suspicion leaves us with little time to explore that new bond.

I find her sitting on a low stool outside the tent, carefully tending to a small herb garden she’s cultivated in wooden boxes. She glances up, tension in her eyes immediately giving way to cautious relief at my presence. “Ghorzag,” she says softly.

“Busy?” I ask, voice gentler than usual.

Her gaze flicks to the half-pruned herb stalks, then back to me. “Just trying to keep my mind off the rumors.” A shadow crosses her face. “They’re getting worse.”

I nod, stepping closer. “We’re leaving soon,” I tell her, keeping my tone firm yet calm. “The War God’s priests demand a sacred pilgrimage to the temple. And you must come with me.”

She stills, fingers tightening around a leaf. “I was afraid you’d say that,” she murmurs. Then, squaring her shoulders, she meets my gaze. “What does that mean for me?”

“It means we walk a hard road,” I admit. “The temple is about a week’s journey through the mountain passes. If the War God truly despises your presence, so the elders say, you’ll face his condemnation.”

Her jaw sets in a mix of resolve and fear. “And if we discover sabotage is behind the clan’s misfortunes? Will that be enough to prove me innocent?”

I exhale. “I hope so. The clan is desperate for a sign. A pilgrimage could either quell their fears or confirm them, in their eyes.”

She rises slowly, the wooden box shifting as she brushes the dirt from her hands. “What if something goes wrong, Ghorzag? If your cousin or his followers sabotage the pilgrimage?”

A muscle in my neck twitches. “We’ll be prepared. I’ve selected orcs who are loyal to me.” I pause, stepping closer, my voice dropping. “I’ll stand between you and every threat. We’ll see this through.”

Her eyes search mine, doubt flickering. Then she nods, a trembling sigh escaping. “All right. When do we leave?”

“The day after tomorrow,” I say, mindful of how short the timeline is. “Pack enough to keep you warm at night. The mountains can be cruel.”

She nods again, turning her gaze to the horizon. She’s afraid, I realize, seeing the tightness in her features. But she’s still standing here, ready to go. I reach out, letting my hand brush hers lightly, a fleeting touch. Her fingers curl against my palm in silent acknowledgment.

Neither of us says anything else. Words feel woefully inadequate to address the swirling chaos we face—Gaurbod’s looming betrayal, the clan’s suspicion, and our own fragile relationship.

After a long moment, she pulls away, returning to her herb box as if organizing something mundane could steady her whirling mind.

“I’ll be ready,” she whispers.

I incline my head. “I trust you.”

With that, I leave, the sense of unstoppable momentum building in my chest. The clan will have its pilgrimage. If the War God doesn’t answer as they hope, or if sabotage rears its head again… everything might come crashing down.

The rest of the day passes in a fevered blur.

Karzug updates me on supply inventories—dried meats, hardtack bread, medicinal herbs, and water skins carefully stored.

The night patrol doubles as watchers scout for any hint of Gaurbod’s men tampering with gear.

Some of my chosen warriors question why we keep the pilgrimage group small, but I insist that fewer bodies mean fewer potential traitors in our midst.

Ragzuk corners me in the courtyard near dusk, his weathered face pinched with concern.

“The War God’s priests plan to perform a sending-off ritual at dawn,” he informs me.

“They’ll ask for the War God’s guidance on your journey.

No small irony, given half of them blame your bride for these troubles. ”

I snort, exhausted. “Let them do their ritual. So long as it doesn’t impede our departure. We can’t afford delays.”

He nods. “Just be wary. They’ll want Lirienne to bow in supplication—some form of public humility that proves she accepts the War God’s authority.”

My tusks grind together in frustration. “They want her on her knees to appease their pride.” The image sparks a fierce protective impulse. “I won’t force her to humiliate herself.”

Ragzuk grimaces. “That might anger them more.”

I wave him off, a headache pulsing at my temples. “She’s done nothing to deserve humiliation. If they want a sign of humility, I’ll stand with her. But I won’t let them degrade her in front of the clan.”

Ragzuk inclines his head, respect in his eyes. “May the War God guide your steps, Chieftain.”

He turns to go, leaving me alone to wrestle with the knowledge that not only Gaurbod and his minions threaten us, but the priests themselves might push Lirienne into a corner.

One step at a time , I remind myself. Survive the send-off, travel the mountains, reach the temple.

Then hope the War God or common sense reveals the truth.

As the moon rises over the fortress, silvering the stone walls, I stand atop the ramparts, hands gripping the cold merlons.

Torchlight flickers along the battlements, orcs patrolling with tense shoulders.

They’re all afraid , I realize, scanning the yard below.

Fear of curses, fear of sabotage, fear that everything we’ve built might collapse.

My mind drifts to Lirienne. The memory of our night together—raw emotion, unbridled desire—runs like an undercurrent through my every thought.

That intimacy only heightens my determination to protect her, to prove she isn’t the cause of this chaos.

But is that my personal resolve or my chieftain’s duty? The line blurs.

“Ghorzag?” a soft voice calls from behind.

I turn to see Karzug again, concern etched into his features. “All is set for tomorrow’s final errands. We depart at dawn the next day,” he says.

I nod. “Good.”

He hesitates. “Chieftain, are you… sure about bringing Lirienne? If the War God rejects her publicly, or if someone orchestrates an accident…”

“I’m sure,” I growl, sharper than intended. Then I soften my tone. “We have no choice if we want to quell the clan’s suspicions. She must accompany me.”

Karzug nods slowly, scanning the horizon. “The clan’s mood is a tinderbox. One spark could set everything aflame.” He casts me a sidelong glance. “Just… be careful, Ghorzag. We follow you, but if half the clan rebels, we’ll be outnumbered.”

I exhale. “Let them try. We’ll stand for what’s right, or we’ll fall. Better that than letting false fear rule.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at Karzug’s lips. “Spoken like your father, in his younger days.”

My chest constricts at the reminder of my father—once a proud chieftain who led the clan through bloody skirmishes, only to die too soon. “I aim to do better,” I say quietly. “No more pointless bloodshed, if we can help it.”

Karzug sets a hand on my arm in silent solidarity, then turns away, footsteps echoing down the rampart steps.

I remain there a while longer, letting the cold wind whip at my hair.

Tomorrow, the clan will witness the War God’s priests performing their pomp, demanding we embark on a pilgrimage that might prove or disprove Lirienne’s worthiness.

Beneath my frustration, an uneasy flicker of hope stirs.

If this pilgrimage goes well—if we survive the mountains and the War God’s temple doesn’t condemn her—maybe we can finally unify the clan around the truth.

Or, if sabotage intervenes, or the War God remains silent, the clan might tear itself apart.

Gaurbod’s ambitions loom like a stormcloud on the horizon, threatening to overshadow everything.

I find myself unable to sleep that night, pacing the corridors like a restless spirit.

Thoughts of Lirienne’s anxious expression haunt me—her question, “Can you truly protect me?” echoing in my mind.

I can’t guarantee anything in this precarious environment, but I’ll fight tooth and nail to shield her from harm.

Eventually, I make my way to the dimly lit main hall.

A single torch burns near the far wall, illuminating a massive tapestry depicting the War God in stylized battle.

The woven scene shows him wielding a great blade, standing triumphant over monstrous foes.

The sight is meant to inspire strength, reminding orcs that victory comes through courage and unity.

Standing before that tapestry, I let the flicker of flames dance over its threads, thinking of all the times I prayed for the War God’s guidance. Where are you now? I wonder silently. Do you truly demand we cast out Lirienne, or is this chaos born of mortal hatred and fear?

No answer comes, of course. The War God never speaks plainly.

Perhaps that’s the reason for the pilgrimage: orcs need outward signs, rituals, dramatic gestures to quell their doubts.

My hope lies in making it through the journey unscathed, proving sabotage rather than divine wrath behind our misfortunes.

Then maybe the clan can begin to heal , I allow myself to think.

Exhaustion presses in. I leave the hall, returning to my quarters for a few hours of restless sleep, fully aware that the next dawn will herald the official decree: We depart for the War God’s temple—and Lirienne’s fate hangs in the balance.