Page 13 of Owned By the Orc Warlord
Outside, the wind carries new scents—metal and leather, the musk of unwashed bodies, the acrid bite of dark elf magic. My blood turns to ice as recognition hits.
Patrol. They've found the settlement.
I slip from my bedroll silently, my bare feet making no sound on the stone floor as I creep toward the chamber's opening. The warriors around me sleep on, unaware that danger approaches their sanctuary.
Through the narrow window, I can see lights moving in the distance—the cold blue glow of dark elf illumination spells cutting through the desert darkness. Too many lights. Too organized. This isn't a random search party.
This is an army.
And they're here because of me.
The realization lands like a physical blow. My escape, my brief taste of freedom, has brought destruction down on the only people who've shown me kindness in years. The Stormfang Clan faces annihilation because their chieftain chose mercy over wisdom.
I could leave. Slip away into the night, draw the pursuit away from innocent people who never asked to be part of my war. It would be the honorable thing to do, the choice that prioritizes their safety over my own survival.
But it would also be abandoning the first real chance I've had at something approaching a life worth living.
The debate wages war in my chest as I watch those lights grow closer. Run and preserve what safety I can for the Stormfang. Stay and fight for the possibility of belonging somewhere, of becoming someone who matters.
Either choice carries a price I'm not sure I'm prepared to pay.
The lights grow brighter, and I realize time for deliberation has run out. Whatever decision I make now will echo through every remaining day of my life—however many or few those might be.
I close my eyes and let instinct choose for me.
Then I run toward the chieftain's quarters to wake Rogar before the dark elves destroy everything he's built.
6
ROGAR
The war council gathers in the main assembly cave, its stone walls carved with the chronicles of battles won and warriors fallen. Torchlight flickers across the faces of my most trusted advisors—Grimna's scarred features set in grim determination, Khela's amber eyes burning with anticipation of combat, and the younger warriors whose courage will be tested before dawn breaks.
But it's the small human figure standing beside me that draws every gaze in the chamber.
Zahra has armed herself with weapons borrowed from our stores—a curved saber at her hip, throwing knives strapped to her thighs, and a short bow across her back. The leather armor Khela provided fits her like a second skin, emphasizing the lean muscle she's developed through years of surviving impossible circumstances. She looks every inch a warrior despite her diminutive stature.
She also looks like she belongs here, and that realization sends something possessive and fierce surging through my chest.
"The dark elf force has established three primary camps," I begin, pointing to the rough map scratched into the cave floor. "Here, here, and here. They're confident enough in their superiority to spread their forces thin, believing we'll cower behind our walls until they're ready to attack."
"How many at each position?" asks Vex, one of my senior warriors. His tusks gleam yellow in the torchlight, filed to razor points that speak of countless battles.
"Zahra estimates twenty fighters per camp, with magical support and siege equipment." I glance at her, noting how she stands straighter under the weight of their attention. "She's also identified their most vulnerable points."
"The human has tactical knowledge?" Karg's voice drips skepticism. The older warrior leans forward, his scarred face twisted into a sneer. "Or is she simply telling us what we want to hear to save her worthless hide?"
The insult hangs in the space around us. Several warriors shift uncomfortably, while others nod agreement with Karg's assessment. The division within my own war council threatens to undermine any strategy before we've even begun planning.
"Careful, Karg," I say, my voice carrying the low rumble that precedes violence. "You're questioning my judgment as much as hers."
"Your judgment has been compromised since you brought her here." Karg rises to his full height, his hand moving instinctively toward his weapon. "We should have turned her over to the dark elves the moment they appeared. Better to sacrifice one human than risk the entire clan."
Murmurs ripple through the assembled warriors—some supporting Karg's pragmatic brutality, others maintaining loyalty to my leadership. The schism I've feared since bringing Zahra to the settlement finally erupts into open conflict.
"You would trade honor for safety?" Khela's voice cuts through the tension like a blade. "Since when do Stormfang warriors bow to dark elf demands?"
"Since our chieftain decided to think with his cock instead of his brain," Karg snarls.
