Chapter 5
Korvak
The human coward's head rolled to a stop at her feet, its dead eyes staring up at her.
For a moment, she just knelt there, a small, fierce thing made of mud and blood, her chest rising and falling in ragged breaths.
I expected a cry of horror, a scream, perhaps even a defiant spit in the direction of the corpse.
Instead, she simply folded.
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 recognized mate and threat.
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 a furious, 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 in the 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 of extinction 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 saw their 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.
“I am not the monster your priests speak of,” I continued, my voice dropping to a lower, more dangerous register. “I am not here to slaughter you for sport. I am here to reclaim what was stolen from my people. But your fate is now tied to mine. And so, I offer you a choice.”
I paused, letting them absorb the word. Choice. It was not something a conquered people expected.
“You may remain here. You may live in your homes, work your trades. You will become subjects of the Orc nation. You will follow our laws, pay our taxes, and you will be protected under my rule. You will live.”
A ripple of shock went through the crowd. I could see the flicker of desperate hope in their eyes.
“Or,” I said, my voice turning to ice, “you can refuse. Those who refuse will be taken as prisoners of war. We will offer to trade you back to your human kingdoms. But I will tell you now… your Magistrate did not value you enough to stay and fight for you. I doubt he will value you enough to trade for you.”
The hope in their eyes died, replaced by a new, colder terror. They understood. To be a prisoner was to be worthless. To be forgotten.
“That is the choice for the men, the families, the elders,” I said, letting my gaze sweep over them. “But there is another decree. A Blood Decree.”
I looked toward the huddled group of unmarried women. Young women, widows, all now without husbands or fathers or brothers to provide for them. They flinched under my gaze.
“My people are dying,” I stated, the words raw and true.
“The poisons your people bled into our soil have left most of our females barren. We need new blood. Any unmarried woman who chooses to stay… will be chosen as a bride by one of my warriors. You will be bound to them. You will bear their children. You will help us forge a new future for both our peoples.”
This time, the reaction was not shock. It was pure horror. Women shrieked, mothers clutched their children, pulling them close. The man I had left alive, the baker, stepped in front of his wife and daughter, his unarmed body a futile shield.
It was in this moment of chaos that the girl beside me spoke.
Her voice was not loud, but it cut through the noise with the clarity of a ringing bell. “What are the terms?”
I looked down at her. She was staring up at me, her stormy eyes narrowed, devoid of hysteria. Her question was calm. Practical. It was the question of a soldier, a strategist.
“Explain the rules for the brides,” she said, her voice steady despite the trembling I could see in her hands. “Will you force them? And what of the children?” Her eyes flickered to a young girl, no older than twelve, who was sobbing in her mother’s arms. “Will you take them as well?”
The crowd fell silent, all eyes turning to this one small woman who had dared to question the conquering general. My warriors growled, offended by her audacity. I held up a hand, silencing them.
Her courage was a thing of stark, stunning beauty. She was not pleading for her own life. She was negotiating for the lives of others.
A grimace, a true and involuntary expression, touched my lips.
She was asking about a line I had already drawn in my own mind.
“No girl who has not seen her eighteenth winter will be chosen,” I declared, my voice resonating with the conviction of my own law.
“That is a barbarism I will not allow. The women who are chosen will be treated with the honor due to the mate of a warrior. They will be fed, housed, and protected. Their children will be heirs to our nation, not slaves. It will be a hard life. But it will be a life. That is more than your own leaders were willing to offer you.”
I looked back down at her. Her face was pale, but her expression was resolute. I could see the gears turning in her mind. She weighed my words, judged my sincerity, and calculated the odds.
And then she made her choice.
She took a shaky breath, lifted her chin, and spoke the words that would seal her fate. “I will do it.” Her voice was quiet, but it echoed across the silent square. “I will stay.”
A jolt, powerful and electric, shot through me. The beast in my blood, the one I had kept chained and starved, broke free. It roared in triumph. Mine. It was not a thought. It was a certainty, a truth that settled into my very bones.
My decision was instant. The general, the strategist, the nation-builder—they all vanished. There was only the male, claiming his mate.
I stepped down from the crate, my full height and presence dwarfing her. I looked down into her stormy, defiant eyes. My voice, when I spoke, was cold, flat, and absolute. The voice of a general making a decree. It was a mask for the roaring fire inside me.
“Then the choice is made.” I reached out and laid my hand on her shoulder. Her skin was warm, even through the thin fabric of her tunic. I felt a tremor go through her, but she did not flinch away. “You. You will be mine.”