"Your men?" I ask.
"Some escaped. Others didn't." She has no particular emotion about either outcome. "Occupational hazard."
Cold. But honest.
"Mine scattered when the walls came down. Standard protocol for structural collapse in hostile territory."
"Smart protocol."
We stand in the settling dust, breathing hard and evaluating our changed circumstances. The standoff that defined our relationship thirty minutes ago feels distant now, overwhelmed by shared survival and mutual dependence.
Enemies who cooperated. Rivals who saved each other's lives.
Complicated.
But the underlying conflict hasn't disappeared. Just been temporarily shelved by necessity.
"Your prisoner is still my prisoner," I inform her.
"He's still my asset," she counters.
"Asset?"
"He knows things I need to know. About my sister. About Bloodfang territory. About why they took her."
Sister.
The word hits with unexpected force. Personal stakes. Family bonds. The kind of motivation that drives people to desperate choices and dangerous alliances.
She's not just running weapons to enemies. She's trying to save family.
Changes everything. Changes nothing.
"Tell me about your sister."
"Why?"
"Because I need to understand why you're arming our enemies."
She considers this for a long moment, weighing the value of information against the cost of revelation.
"Lyanna Vaelmark. Seventeen years old. Captured by Bloodfang raiders two weeks ago during an attack on our family's border holdings."
"Ransom demand?"
"No. They took her for other reasons."
Other reasons.
In orc culture, young noblewomen serve specific purposes beyond simple ransom. Marriage alliances. Breeding stock for strengthening bloodlines. Sacrificial victims for religious ceremonies.
None of them pleasant.
"And you think armed negotiation will secure her release?"
"I think armed negotiation is the only thing Bloodfang orcs understand."
She's probably right about that.
