Page 4 of The War God’s Woman

Lirienne turns to me, voice hushed. “Ghorzag… is there anything I—” She trails off, uncertainty flickering in her gaze.

The fact she uses my name—without flinching at its guttural sound—surprises me.

A quick hush falls around us as a few onlookers realize she dares speak to me directly.

I tense, prepared to quell another eruption of protest. But the hall has mostly dissolved into pockets of orcs who are too busy complaining among themselves to focus on her.

“Stay in your chambers,” I say quietly, though not unkindly. “Let the priests and me sort this out. If we’re to have peace, you can help more by… ensuring you’re not the target of their fury right now.”

A shadow crosses her features, perhaps disappointment or relief.

Maybe both. She simply nods, her expression unreadable.

Then she allows Karzug to guide her through the parting throng.

As she passes, a few warriors step aside stiffly, their eyes dark with suspicion.

I catch sight of Gorath spitting near her feet again, and anger flares in my chest. One sideways glare from me silences him, though, reminding him that defiance can have dire consequences.

Once Lirienne is out of sight, I face Druzh again. “Speak your mind, Priest. We cannot let fear tear the clan apart.”

His gaze is solemn, but not wholly unkind.

“Times are shifting like desert sands, Ghorzag. The War God’s signs cannot be dismissed.

We have the floods, the rotting crops, the sudden sickness among the livestock…

All these in the span of a few short weeks.

” He lowers his voice. “Our temple watchers claim these are warnings. The God of War doesn’t want our blood mingled with humans’. ”

My tusks grind against each other. “You and I both know the War God values strength. This alliance could strengthen us if it means fewer wasted battles. Or do you think the War God demands endless warfare until our clan is whittled away to nothing?”

“That is not for me to decide,” Druzh retorts. “I only interpret. But many in the clan see the timing of these calamities as no coincidence. The day you announce an alliance with the Marshfield village is the day we find half our eastern pastures flooded. Tell me that doesn’t weigh on your mind.”

I rub at the scar on my chin, remembering old battles with dark elves, the hours I’d spent tending wounded orcs, burying my father’s battered body.

That bitterness still lingers, fueling my desire to spare my clan from more pointless bloodshed.

“It does weigh on me,” I admit quietly. “But I won’t be ruled by superstition alone. ”

Druzh nods slowly, as if he recognizes at least the sincerity of my conviction. He steps back, letting me address the lingering crowd.

“Listen well,” I command. “Prepare for a gathering at dusk. I want the scouts and the shaman present. We will perform a preliminary rite to see if these signs truly reflect the War God’s wrath or if there’s another explanation. If the War God must be appeased, we will find a way.”

A mixture of nods and uncertain growls ripples through the throng. It’s the best I can offer them—a promise not to ignore the looming threat, coupled with an unwavering resolve to keep Lirienne as my mate.

“All of you, return to your duties,” I bark, watching as orcs begin to disperse in uneasy pockets. “Any attempt to harm our guest will be treated as an attack on my authority. Am I understood?”

A tension-laden silence follows, but I see no direct refusals. The clan eventually melts away into the corridor, leaving me standing in the echoing vastness of the Great Hall with only Druzh, a handful of watchers, and the flickering torches for company.

When the hall is nearly empty, I draw a slow breath and ascend the steps to the stone throne at the far end. Each step carries the weight of leadership—a weight I never anticipated inheriting so soon, but one that fate thrust upon me after my father’s demise.

The throne’s surface is cold beneath my palms, carved from the same black stone that forms most of the fortress.

A swirl of runic etchings decorates its back, depicting the War God’s favored symbols: a sword, a raven, a coiled serpent.

The seat is both a reminder of our clan’s might and a burden that often feels too large for any one orc.

Druzh approaches quietly, staff thumping on the stones. His stern face softens a fraction as he regards me. “You have chosen a difficult path. The War God rarely blesses an orc who appears to surrender to humans.”

I snort, draping one arm over the throne’s armrest. “This is hardly surrender. If we can broker a permanent peace, we can direct our strength where it truly matters—against the dark elves, for one. Or in rebuilding our clan’s resources.”

His staff taps once. “And if it proves the War God’s disapproval?”

My muscles tense, a distant ache resonating in my old battle scars. “Then we will learn why. But casting out Lirienne or harming her might bring more wrath upon us. I am no coward who cowers at the first sign of trouble.”

Druzh offers a slow nod. “I will prepare the rite. Expect no illusions—if the God of War truly be displeased, we will know it.”

He turns and makes his way out of the hall. I watch his crimson robes fade into the dim corridor, the candle flames dancing shadows across his back.

Alone for a moment, I allow myself to feel the corners of my mind swirl with questions.

Could the War God truly be punishing us for bringing a human into our midst?

Or is there another force at work? Memories of old alliances and betrayals gnaw at me; sabotage is hardly unheard of among rival clans.

Yet my people have seen tangible signs of calamity.

As chieftain, ignoring them would be foolish.

The lines on my brow deepen, recalling the haggard faces of orc farmers who came to me in recent days, complaining about the withered crops.

Is it truly just random ill luck, or something purposeful meant to sow doubt?

I rub a hand over my mouth, recalling Lirienne’s expression as she stood beside me in front of the entire clan—nervous, yes, but unbroken.

There was a spark in her eyes that belied her vulnerable appearance.

A softness laced with steel, perhaps. The orc in me admires that spark, even if I’ll never admit it aloud.

In truth, I hadn’t expected to feel… anything toward the human.

This is a pact, a coldly calculated strategy to keep us from another pointless raid.

But some quiet corner of my heart warms at the idea that perhaps she isn’t a meek lamb resigned to slaughter.

She walked into the fortress with her head held high, even when older warriors sneered.

A frown tugs at my lips. The memory of Gorath spitting near her feet roils my stomach. Disrespect toward me is one thing—I can handle challenges to my leadership—but humiliating or threatening her for merely existing under our roof is another. If we’re to have peace, she needs to be safe here.

I exhale and rise from the throne. The War God’s effigy carved above me looms in the torchlight, its red eyes an eternal, judging glare. “We shall see,” I mutter, turning away.

Outside in the corridor, I find Karzug waiting. His posture is rigid, a sign of unspent tension. “Chieftain,” he greets quietly.

“How is she?” I ask without preamble.

Karzug’s brow furrows. “As well as one can be, thrown into a den of angered orcs. She’s in her chamber; I posted two guards. No one will get near her without your permission.”

A small nod. “Good. Make sure they rotate at the first sign of fatigue. I don’t need any slip-ups.”

He grunts in acknowledgment. We fall into step, boots echoing on the stone.

Servants pass, carrying crates of supplies or steaming pots from the kitchens.

Every orc we encounter averts their gaze in respect—or possibly fear.

Word travels fast through the fortress. They already know I’m doubling down on this alliance.

As we walk, Karzug lowers his voice. “Are you certain this is wise, Ghorzag?”

I shoot him a sideways glance. We’ve known each other since we were barely old enough to swing wooden swords. If there’s anyone here whose counsel I might trust, it’s him. “You sound like the rest.”

He shakes his head, dark hair rustling against the leather of his armor. “I believe in your leadership. But I see the storm coming. The clan is restless, and that business with the War God’s disfavor… it fuels their fear.”

“I know.” My fingers drag through tangled strands, loosening a few iron beads that clink softly. “Fear can be more dangerous than any blade. If they convince themselves Lirienne is to blame, it won’t matter whether it’s true.”

He nods. “And the sabotage angle? Are you still considering that possibility?”

My mind jumps to the times we saw suspicious damage to our supplies—like fences torn down in the night, seeds rotted before they could sprout, water sources inexplicably fouled.

“I suspect sabotage could be at play,” I say slowly.

“But we’ve no proof. And no orc in this clan would dare such a thing openly. ”

“Unless they were backed by someone else, or promised something greater,” Karzug murmurs. “Dark elves have long sought to weaken us.”

Dark elves. The possibility tastes like poison. They’re cunning, manipulative. If they want to sow discord, making it appear as though the War God himself curses us is a clever way to do it.

My steps quicken. “We’ll keep an eye on those who protest most vehemently. If any sign emerges of outside interference, we clamp down immediately.”

Karzug inclines his head. “Agreed.”

When I reach my private chambers, I dismiss Karzug with a brief wave.

The corridor near my door is quiet except for a single guard standing at rigid attention.

My quarters overlook the fortress courtyard—high windows that let in more natural light than most rooms. I prefer it that way; a small relief from the stone gloom.

I light a fire in the hearth, stirring the coals until they crackle and jump.

The warmth spreads across my skin, reminding me that I’ve been cold for too long.

My father’s old battle-ax hangs on the wall opposite the hearth, its blade nicked and scarred from countless fights.

Sometimes I imagine I can still sense his presence lingering around that weapon.

He would’ve disapproved of this union, no doubt.

My father believed wholeheartedly in brute force and conquest. But his zeal led us into a catastrophic battle with the dark elves—one we only barely survived.

I lost him that day. And I vowed never to sacrifice orc lives so carelessly again.

If forging peace with humans spares even a handful of warriors from an early grave, it might be worth the stigma.

But the War God, am I truly incurring his wrath? My jaw clenches. Orcs have always valued strength, yes, but we are not mindless beasts. The War God might test me, demand that I prove our clan is still fierce, still ready to fight if threatened. Perhaps that test is simply beginning.

I pace before the fire, the tension in my chest refusing to subside.

I recall Lirienne’s pale face and her resolute stance in the Great Hall.

A part of me wants to dismiss her entirely as a naive human.

Another part recognizes a spark of something I didn’t expect to find—an earnest desire for peace, a quiet determination.

A growl escapes me, pressing a hand against the scar on my chest, the one that nearly ended me two winters ago. Could she truly be part of our clan’s salvation? Or am I sowing seeds of deeper disaster?

There’s no easy answer. All I can do is press forward and see that the War God’s supposed wrath is either put to rest or proven false.

My eyes drift to a small shelf where a carved stone idol of the War God sits: a figure with broad shoulders, a conical helm, tusks, and intricately detailed armor. I scoff inwardly. “If you have something to say, War God,” I mutter, “say it clearly.”

Silence. Only the crackle of flames, the whistle of wind through the high window.

Realizing my anger is pointless, I comb frustration through my hair. This is just the beginning of the trials to come. If the clan is unsettled now, they’ll be in full fury once we perform the official rituals to confirm whether our union with a human is truly cursed.

One day at a time. I inhale, letting my spine straighten. In a few hours, I’ll meet with Druzh to plan the evening’s rite. Then I’ll see how Lirienne fares. She must be reeling—thrust into a place where nearly everyone believes she’s a harbinger of doom.

But if she can endure the clan’s scorn, if she truly longs to create peace, then maybe… maybe we have a chance.

I stare into the dancing flames, the memory of her wide eyes flickering in my thoughts. My mind turns over a realization: not once, despite all the glares and threats, did she break down or beg to return home. She stood her ground.

A kernel of reluctant respect settles in my chest. Orcs appreciate displays of fortitude. Perhaps my clan will see that in her, eventually.

For now, I focus on leading them through the War God’s uncertain omens. A chieftain’s duty demands that I stand firm—both for my people and for the woman who’s pinned all her hopes on a tenuous alliance.

“Let the War God cast his judgment,” I say to the empty room, voice echoing off the stone. “I will not be found wanting.”

And with that, I leave to gather the priests, ready to confront whatever is stirring beneath the surface of these so-called dire signs.

Though doubt knots in my gut, I have no choice but to press forward and see whether the War God’s wrath is real—or if something far more sinister lurks in the shadows, determined to sabotage us all.