One moment she was a rigid pillar of defiance, the next, all the strength went out of her limbs. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she collapsed sideways onto the cold flagstones with a soft, boneless thud. She lay there, a tangle of limbs in a dirty uniform, the vibrant flame of her red hair stark against the gray stone.
My first thought was one of cold, tactical annoyance.A liability.She was useless to me unconscious.
But a second, deeper instinct flared to life, hot and sharp. It was the scent. Her scent. With the fresh, coppery stench of blood now tainting the air, her unique fragrance of heather and iron was a clarion call to the most ancient part of my brain. The part that did not care for strategy or conquest. The part that only recognizedmateandthreat.
Seeing her lying there, so still and vulnerable, registered as a threat.
“Pathetic,”Ghorza grunted beside me, his lip curled in a sneer at the unconscious female.“Humans are soft. The sight of true justice breaks them.”
A low growl rumbled in my chest before I could stop it. Ghorza’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. I masked my reaction with a sharp command.
“She is not to be left on the floor like a sack of grain,”I snapped, my voice harsher than necessary. “She fought with more spirit than any ten of her male counterparts. She has earned better than this.” It was a logical, defensible excuse. One a general could make. It had the pleasing veneer of warrior’s honor. It was also a complete lie. The truth was, the sight of her lying there, exposed and helpless on the cold stone, ignited afurious, protective fire in my gut that I did not understand and certainly did not trust.
I gestured to the two guards who had brought her in.“Take her to the antechamber. Put her on the cot. And stay with her. She is not to be disturbed. Or touched.”I let my gaze linger on them, a silent promise of what would happen if my order was disobeyed. They understood. They scooped her up, one warrior taking her shoulders, the other her legs. She was so small in their grasp, her head lolling to the side, her red hair brushing against a slab of Orcish bicep. The sight sent another irrational jolt of possessiveness through me. I turned away, forcing my attention to the more pressing matters of war. The beast in my blood would be chained. I was a general first.
I left the girl to her slumber and convened my war council in the main strategy room. The stench of human cowardice and spilled blood was already being scrubbed away by the pragmatic efficiency of my legions. My captains and chieftains gathered around the great oak map table, their rugged faces grim but lit with the fires of victory. For the first time in generations, we stood on land that had been stolen from our ancestors.
“The pass is ours, General,” Ghorza reported, his fist thumping against the map. “The southern watchtowers are taken. We have reclaimed the Grayfangs.”
“Reclaimed a foothold,” I corrected, my voice low. I traced a line on the map with a gauntleted finger, a line that followed the river down from the mountains, through the fertile plains the humans had farmed for a century. “This was the gateway. The real prize is the valley. The Ashewood. Our ancient hunting grounds, now reduced to human timber farms and strip mines.”
A murmur of agreement went through the assembled commanders. They were old enough, as was I, to have heard the stories from their grandsires. Stories of a green, vibrant world, before the humans came with their endless hunger, their poison that soured the earth and sterilized our females. We were a dying race. This war wasn't just about land; it was about survival.
“The humans will retaliate,” said Urzog, a grizzled old chieftain whose clan held the eastern peaks. “Their Magistrate will send a legion.”
“Let them come,” I rumbled. “They will break themselves against these mountains, just as they did inthe old wars. Their leaders are soft. They value gold over blood. We saw it today. They abandoned their own city to save their own skins.” My contempt was a bitter taste in my mouth. “Which brings us to the matter of the survivors.”
Ghorza scowled.“Prisoners. We kill the fighting men and take the rest as chattel. It is the old way.”
“The old ways were for a different time,” I countered, my voice sharp. We were not savages, no matter what the human priests preached. “We are not a horde of raiders. We are an army of reclamation. We are building a nation, not a butcher’s yard.”
I looked around the table at the faces of my commanders. They were hard Orcs, born and bred for war. But they understood the future I was trying to forge. One where our people did more than just survive.
“The humans left in this city are now our subjects,” I declared. “Or they are our prisoners. They will be given a choice. A choice is a weapon more powerful than any axe. It fosters loyalty where a blade only fosters resentment.”
They listened, their brutish features thoughtful. They trusted me. I had led them from the brink ofextinction to this, our greatest victory in a hundred years. My word was law.
We spent the next several hours laying the groundwork for our new reality. Patrol routes, supply lines, the disposition of captured goods. All the while, in the back of my mind, a small, persistent part of my consciousness was aware of the sleeping female in the next room. I could almost feel her presence through the stone wall. I could still smell her on the air.Honey and iron.It was a distraction. A dangerous one.
Finally, one of the guards from the antechamber entered and gave me a curt nod. “She is awake, General.”
A strange tension coiled in my gut. I dismissed my council and strode into the antechamber.
She was sitting on the edge of the simple rope-spring cot, her back ramrod straight. Someone had washed the blood and grime from her face, revealing pale skin, a splattering of freckles across her nose, and eyes the color of a stormy sky. They were wary, intelligent eyes. They tracked my every movement as I entered the room. Her armor was gone, leaving her in the drab, shapeless undertunic of a common soldier.Without the leather and steel, she looked even smaller, more fragile. But there was nothing fragile in her gaze.
“Get up,” I commanded in the common tongue. My voice was a harsh rasp. “You will come with me.”
She didn’t speak. She simply rose to her feet, her movements stiff but steady. Her chin was lifted in that same infuriating, admirable expression of defiance. She was my prisoner, completely at my mercy, yet she refused to show a single crack in her armor.
I led her back down the spiral staircase and out into the square. The sun was setting, casting long, bloody shadows across the cobblestones. The remaining human population, a few hundred souls, were huddled under armed guard. They were a pathetic sight, their faces etched with despair. They had lost everything, and they knew their fate now rested in my hands.
My warriors shoved a crate forward for me to stand on. I stepped up onto it, my shadow falling over the assembled humans. The girl stood at the foot of the crate, her arms held loosely by one of my guards, a silent testament to her status as the first captive.
I let the silence hang in the air, a heavy blanket of dread. I looked over the faces of the conquered. I sawtheir fear, their hatred, their despair. Good. They needed to understand the gravity of their situation.
“You are the people of Grayfang Pass,” I began, my voice booming across the square, amplified by the stone walls. “Your leaders have abandoned you. Your soldiers are dead. Your city… is now mine.”
A woman in the crowd began to weep openly, a raw, keening sound of grief.
