Page 25 of Owned By the Orc Warlord
We follow him to where the tunnel opens into a larger chamber, one of the main excavation sites from when thiscomplex was active. What we find there explains both the ambush and the enemies' determination to eliminate our patrol.
The chamber has been converted into a staging area for what can only be described as a military invasion. Supplies stack along the walls—weapons, armor, magical focuses, and rations for hundreds of fighters. Maps cover makeshift tables, showing detailed intelligence about Stormfang territory and defensive positions.
But it's the cages along the far wall that make my blood run cold.
Prisoners. Human prisoners, bearing the distinctive scars and brands that mark them as escaped slaves from various dark elf territories. Men and women who've found freedom somewhere in the wastelands, now captured and awaiting transport back to their former masters.
Among them, I recognize faces from the refugee camps that exist in the borderlands—people who've risked everything for the chance at liberty, now facing return to torments that would make death seem merciful.
"This is why they set the ambush," I realize. "They're not just hunting our patrol. They're eliminating anyone who might discover this operation."
"Slave recovery mission," Grimna growls, his scarred face twisted with disgust. "Rounding up escapees for transport back to the cities."
"More than that." I study the maps and supply manifests scattered across the tables. "This is preparation for a major offensive. They're using slave recovery as cover for positioning forces throughout the territory."
The implications hit like physical blows. While the Stormfang have focused on defending their immediate territory, dark elf forces have been establishing supply caches and staging areas throughout the region. The coming assault won't be asingle massive attack—it will be a coordinated campaign to crush all resistance in the borderlands.
"We have to warn the clan," Thresh says.
"We have to survive first," Grimna corrects. "And that means?—"
The explosion cuts off his words as magical force tears through the chamber entrance. Dark elf assault troops pour through the breach, their weapons crackling with eldritch energy. The trap has finally closed, but now we're trapped among evidence that could change the entire strategic situation.
"Cover!" I shout, diving behind a stack of supply crates as chaos magic turns the air into sheets of deadly force.
The battle that follows tests every skill I've learned over the past weeks. Confined spaces favor close combat, but dark elf magic creates devastating area effects that make cover meaningless. Only constant movement and aggressive tactics keep us alive as enemy numbers press against our defensive positions.
Grimna fights like the veteran he is, his war axe carving through enemy formations with mechanical precision. But even his skills can't overcome the mathematical reality of our situation. We're outnumbered, outgunned, and trapped in terrain that offers no hope of escape.
That's when I see the dark elf commander moving to flank Grimna's position, chaos magic gathering around his hands in preparation for a killing strike. The seasoned warrior is focused on the enemies in front of him, unaware of the threat materializing from his blind spot.
Time slows as tactical options flash through my mind. Shout a warning—too slow, and it might distract Grimna at a critical moment. Throw a knife—uncertain accuracy at this distance, and failure means watching my friend die. Rush the commanderdirectly—suicide, but it might disrupt his spell long enough for Grimna to respond.
I choose suicide.
My charge carries me across open ground faster than thought, the curved saber cutting through the air toward the commander's exposed throat. His violet eyes widen with surprise as he realizes the danger, but momentum and desperation drive my blade home before he can complete his casting.
The chaos magic releases in an uncontrolled burst, tearing through the chamber like a hurricane of raw force. I'm thrown against the stone wall hard enough to crack ribs, my vision exploding into stars and darkness.
But Grimna lives. And sometimes, that's victory enough.
10
ROGAR
The emergency war horn's deep bellow cuts through the evening air like a blade through silk, its urgent rhythm spelling disaster in a language every warrior understands. I'm out of my tent and armed before the third blast fades, my war axe catching starlight as I sprint toward the settlement's eastern watchtower.
Khela reaches the post simultaneously, her scarred face grim in the torchlight. "Survivors incoming," she reports, pointing toward distant figures stumbling through the canyon approaches. "Three of them, badly wounded."
My blood turns to ice as I count the approaching forms. Grimna's patrol numbered eight warriors—where are the other five? The tactical implications hit like physical blows as I recognize the survivors' identities. Vex supports Thresh, both bearing wounds that speak of desperate combat. Behind them, Grimna limps forward with Zahra's unconscious form cradled in his massive arms.
"Medical station, now!" I command, rushing to meet them. "What happened?"
"Ambush," Grimna gasps, his scarred face pale with blood loss and exhaustion. "Staged operation, dozens of dark elves positioned along our route. They knew exactly where we'd be."
The words hit like hammer blows. Our patrol routes are classified information, shared only among senior leadership and the warriors involved. Either our security has been compromised at the highest levels, or dark elf intelligence gathering has reached terrifying sophistication.
"Zahra?" I reach for her still form, noting the blood matting her dark hair and the unnatural angle of her left arm.
