Page 28 of Owned By the Orc Warlord
Time to show them what happens when their assumptions prove wrong.
Time to prove that even overwhelming force can be overcome by determination, intelligence, and the willingness to fight for something worth protecting.
The war is coming whether we're ready or not. But maybe, just maybe, we can make them regret starting it.
11
ZAHRA
Consciousness returns like water through cracked stone—slowly, painfully, carrying with it the bitter taste of chaos magic and the dull ache of bones that remember violence. My left arm throbs with each heartbeat, secured in wooden splints that speak of careful medical attention. The healing furs beneath me smell of mountain herbs and warrior's blood, familiar scents that ground me in the reality of survival.
"About time," Khela's voice cuts through the fog clouding my thoughts. "You've been unconscious for two days. We were beginning to wonder if the chaos magic had scrambled your brains permanently."
I try to sit up, immediately regretting the decision as my ribs remind me of their recent encounter with stone walls. "Grimna?"
"Alive, thanks to your suicidal heroics." She moves into my field of vision, her scarred face bearing uncharacteristic concern. "Though I'm told the experience has made him insufferably grateful. He's been hovering around the medical station like a mother hen."
Relief floods through me despite the pain. The memory of that moment—seeing the dark elf commander's chaos magicgathering, knowing Grimna couldn't see the threat—had driven me to act without thought for consequences. That my desperate charge succeeded feels like a minor miracle.
"The intelligence we gathered?"
"Rogar's been studying those documents obsessively. The situation is... complicated." Khela's expression darkens. "The dark elves aren't just planning raids anymore. This is a full-scale pacification campaign, meant to destroy all resistance in the borderlands."
The confirmation of my worst fears sends ice through my veins. I'd recognized the signs in that underground staging area—the systematic preparation, the detailed maps, the cages full of recaptured slaves. This isn't about recovering escaped property. This is about establishing permanent control over territory the dark elves consider rightfully theirs.
"Timeline?"
"Unknown, but accelerated. Your discovery of their operation means they can't maintain operational security. They'll move before we can organize effective resistance."
I force myself upright despite my body's protests, noting how the movement sends fresh waves of pain radiating from my healing ribs. "Where's Rogar?"
"Alliance negotiations with the other clans. Trying to convince warriors who've feuded for generations to stand together against common enemies." Khela's bark of laughter holds no humor. "About as easy as teaching a batlaz to sing lullabies."
The image of Rogar attempting diplomacy with hostile clan leaders makes me worry. He's a brilliant tactician and inspiring war leader, but subtle negotiation has never been his strongest skill. Too much honesty, too little patience for political maneuvering.
"Any success?"
"Some. The Ironjaw Clan sent representatives to discuss terms. Bloodfang warriors are at least listening to proposals. But the Stormbreak elders..." She shakes her head. "They're demanding concessions that would cripple our defensive capabilities in exchange for minimal support."
Political complications layered on top of tactical impossibilities. Even if Rogar manages to forge temporary alliances, coordinating multiple clan forces against a sophisticated enemy requires time we don't have. The dark elves hold every advantage except local knowledge and desperate motivation.
Movement near the medical station's entrance draws my attention. Thresh appears, his young face bearing worry that makes him seem even more boyish than usual. Behind him, I catch glimpses of other warriors lingering near the entrance—visitors waiting for permission to approach.
"Lady Zahra," Thresh says, using the formal address with careful precision. "How do you feel?"
"Like I was hit by a magical hurricane." The honest answer draws surprised smiles from the gathered warriors. "But alive, which counts as victory under the circumstances."
"Grimna wants to see you when you're ready. Says he owes you a debt that can't be repaid." Thresh's expression grows serious. "The whole clan knows what you did. Throwing yourself at that commander to save his life... that's the kind of action that becomes legend."
Heat floods my cheeks at the praise. I didn't act from calculated heroism or desire for recognition—I simply couldn't watch someone I cared about die when action might prevent it. The idea that my desperate gamble has become a story worth telling feels surreal.
"Where is he?"
"Command post, analyzing patrol reports with the other senior warriors." Thresh pauses, something troubled flickering across his features. "Lady Zahra, there's something else. Something Rogar discovered during the security investigation."
The gravity in his voice makes my stomach clench with foreboding. "What kind of something?"
"The kind that explains how the dark elves knew exactly where to set their ambush."
