Page 23 of Agor

“Did they come from your keep?”

“No.” He spat through his teeth. “My men know better than to stupidly wander into a bog like that. These two were Farod’s scouts. They came from his keep and clearly didn’t know this area that well.”

Farod.

I remembered hearing this name once already, from Granny Magra.

“Is Farod planning to hunt humans?” I asked cautiously. “The two back there seemed way too happy to run into me.”

“Humans are rarely found in the wetlands. I’m sure they got curious about you.”

Curiouswas a nice way of putting it. The two orcs’ intentions were certainly far more sinister than mere curiosity. But I didn’t correct him. It wasn’t about me. What worried me the most was the safety of our settlement. With my people now living so close to the bog orcs, whatever happened among them might be affecting us too.

“Urug and his orcs were from Farod’s keep, too, weren’t they?” I asked. “Granny Magra said they were his people.”

He gave me a sideway glance.

“The old crone should know to keep her mouth shut with outsiders.”

“Well, we aren’t exactly outsiders anymore. My people are kind of part of the wetlands too now, whether you want it or not. There is nowhere else for us to go. There is nothing but marsh and ocean past this forest. I need to know what we’re up against here. What is happening and what should we expect in the future? Please tell me about Farod.”

He heaved a breath.

“Fine. It’s not like you’ll run to his keep to offer your services as a spy, will you?”

“Trust me, I’m intending to stay as far away as possible from all orcs’ keeps.”

He nodded. “Farod is the chief of another keep, the biggest one west from here.”

“Do you not get along? What are the two of you fighting about?”

“The High Chief’s mace.” He lovingly patted the handle of his weapon strapped to his belt.

“What’s so special about this mace?”

He flattened his lips, giving me an unimpressed look.

“What?” I spread my arms out. “I don’t know much about bog orcs. You guys keep to yourselves. My people came from far away, where we only heard rumors about your kind.”

“That’s true. You don’t know us,” he agreed. “Well, we have many tribes, many keeps that are governed by many chiefs. But there is only one High Chief. He’s above them all.” He crossed his arms over his chest and declared proudly, “I’m not just a chief, little newt. I am the High Chief of all the wetlands.”

“Oh.” I glanced at him with a new appreciation. “It must be a big honor to be selected into that position.”

He smirked. “I wasn’t selected. I fought for it. And I won. Only not all the chiefs wish to accept it.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged. “Some say I’m too young to rule. Others claim that my father’s mistakes would somehow prevent me from leading the orcs honorably, even if I won the High Chief’s mace in a fair fight after my father’s death.”

“Does Farod think he’s better suited to wield that mace then?”

At the sound of his rival’s name, Agor winced. “He sure does. But the problem isn’t in whathethinks. He’s convinced quite a few others to join him in the fight against me.”

“What did your father do that turned those orcs against you?”

“As the High Chief before me, my father ruled harshly for several decades. That was a long time to make a lot of enemies.”

“I take it he didn’t use any of that time to make a few friends, too, did he?”

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