Page 1 of Owned By the Orc Warlord
1
ZAHRA
The ceremonial blade gleams silver in the torchlight, its edge honed to perfection for the sacred work ahead. I force my breathing to remain steady, even as my wrists burn against the iron shackles binding me to the obsidian altar. The stone beneath my back radiates cold that seeps through the thin sacrificial gown they've dressed me in—white silk that will soon be stained crimson for The Serpent's pleasure.
King Kres Ennarmis stands before me, his eyes reflecting the dancing flames that surround the temple's perimeter. His skin seems to glow in the firelight, and the cruel smile playing at his lips promises agony beyond imagination. Behind him, dozens of dark elves chant in their ancient tongue, their voices rising and falling in a hypnotic rhythm that makes my stomach churn.
"Tonight, little human, your blood will feed our god," Kres murmurs, his voice carrying the silk-wrapped steel that all dark elf nobles possess. "The Serpent hungers, and you will sate his appetite."
I meet his gaze without flinching, though terror claws at my throat. "Fuck your serpent."
The words slip out before I can stop them, and several gasps echo through the temple. A lesser human would already be dead for such blasphemy, but they need me alive for the ritual. Kres's smile widens, revealing teeth too sharp to be entirely natural.
"Such fire," he purrs, trailing one long finger down my cheek. His skin feels like ice against mine. "The Serpent will savor every drop."
The chanting grows louder, and I feel the magic building in the air like pressure before a storm. My mother once told me that humans with the old blood could sense such things—apparently, she was right. The power crackles against my skin, raising goosebumps along my arms despite the ritual fires blazing around us.
Kres raises the blade high, and I close my eyes, sending a silent prayer to whatever gods might listen to the desperate pleas of a slave girl. The metal whistles through the air toward my heart.
An explosion rocks the temple, sending chunks of stone raining down on the assembled dark elves. The blade goes wide, slicing across my ribs instead of piercing my heart. Pain flares, but it's nothing compared to the surge of hope that fills my chest as screams erupt throughout the chamber.
"Attack! We're under attack!" someone shouts in elvish.
Chaos erupts as more explosions shake the foundation. The iron restraints around my wrists have loosened in the impact, and I wrench my arms free with a strength born of desperation. Blood streams from the gash along my side, but I ignore it as I roll off the altar and hit the stone floor hard.
Dark elves rush past me toward the temple entrance, their elegant robes billowing as they prepare for battle. Magic crackles in the air—chaos magic, elemental force, and divine power all mixing into a deadly cocktail that makes my teeth ache. I crawlbehind a fallen pillar, using the shadows to hide as I assess my situation.
King Kres has vanished, likely teleported to safety the moment the attack began. Coward. The other nobles follow suit, abandoning their ceremony to protect their own worthless hides. Only the lower-caste soldiers remain, and they're too focused on the threat outside to notice one escaped sacrifice.
My bare feet slap against the cold stone as I sprint toward the rear of the temple. The servant's entrance—it has to be unlocked. The staff would have fled at the first sign of trouble. I slam into the heavy wooden door, my shoulder screaming in protest, but it gives way.
Cool night air hits my face like a benediction. I'm free.
The city of Liiandor spreads before me, its towering spires and bridges shrouded in darkness. Fires burn in the distance where the attack continues, and the screams of the dying echo off the canyon walls that surround this cursed place. I need to reach the outer walls before the dark elves finish dealing with their attackers—whoever they are, I owe them my life.
My feet are already bleeding by the time I reach the first residential district. The cobblestones are slick with moisture and sharp enough to cut skin, but I don't dare slow down. Behind me, the sounds of battle grow fainter, which means the attack is likely over. Soon, they'll discover my absence.
"You there! Stop!"
The shout comes from my left, and I see a pair of miou warriors in their distinctive black leather armor rushing toward me. Their eyes gleam in the darkness, and the chaos magic crackling around their hands promises a painful recapture.
I dart down a narrow alley between two crumbling tenements, my heart hammering against my ribs. The wound in my ribs throbs with each step, leaving a trail of blood that anycompetent tracker could follow. I need to find a way to throw them off my scent.
The alley opens onto one of Liiandor's many bridges, this one spanning a particularly deep chasm. Far below, I can hear the rush of underground rivers that honeycomb the mountains beneath the city. The bridge sways slightly in the wind, and with growing horror that it's my only way forward—the miou have blocked the alley behind me.
"Nowhere to run, little sacrifice," one of them calls out in accented common tongue. "Come back quietly, and King Kres might allow you a swift death instead of the prolonged agony your escape has earned."
I step onto the bridge, feeling the ancient wood groan under my weight. The rope railings are frayed and rotting, but they're all that stands between me and a very long fall. The dark elves follow, moving with the predatory grace of their kind.
"I'd rather take my chances with the chasm," I call back, surprised by how steady my voice sounds.
They laugh, a sound like breaking glass. "Then you're a fool as well as a coward."
Perhaps. But I've been called worse things by better people.
I reach the bridge's center and turn to face them, backing toward the far side one step at a time. The ropes creak ominously with each movement, and I can feel several strands beginning to snap under the stress. An idea forms—desperate and likely suicidal, but it's the only chance I have.
"You want me?" I shout, grabbing the rope railing with both hands. "Come and take me!"
