Page 24 of Agor

He laughed. “The old man wasn’t exactly a friendly type. I’ve been the High Chief for three years now, and I have to keep telling them every day that I’m not my father.”

“Did your father kill orcs?”

“Of course he did. One couldn’t possibly remain the High Chief without defending his position. He killed thousands.”

“How many haveyoukilled?”

He shrugged. “Hundreds?”

“Yeaaah,” I stretched the word sarcastically. “I can see how it can be difficult for you to convince people you aren’t him.”

“Everyone kills,” he argued. “The stronger ones do. The weaker ones end up dying.”

I had no high moral ground to judge him. I’d taken quite a few lives myself, both orcs’ and humans’. Except that since my people had long lost everything, the only thing I had to defend had been our lives. I killed to survive.

We walked in silence for a while, each having their own concerns to ponder.

“How bad are the things between you and your opposition?” I finally asked. “Will there be a war?”

“Likely.” He nodded.

A war meant nothing good for ordinary folks. Regardless of which king, or general, or chief won, all people suffered death, abuse, and starvation. I could only hope that with the orcs fighting each other, the humans would be left alone, but I feared we might get caught in the middle.

“A war is never good,” I said. “I really hoped we’d left it all behind by coming here.”

He gave me a curious glance.

“Is that why you came to the wetlands? You were running?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I should’ve known. No one comes here on their own accord. Who did you run away from?”

“Everyone,” I sighed. “There is a never-ending clan war among the orcs. The ongoing hostility between humans too. Not to mention the constant run-ins between the orcs and humans. The raids...” I sighed again, but it did nothing to lift the weight pressing on my chest. “It’s hard to keep orcs from takingwhatever they want. We left the foothills, then moved deeper and deeper into the valley until we crossed it and ended up here. I’ve been living in my wagon since I was a teen, moving with the caravan to a new place every few years or even every few months, looking for a safer place.”

“Well, wetlands definitely aren’t a safe place. Especially now.”

“I know. We all know it. But we just have nowhere else to run anymore.”

He waited for a moment, as if trying to gauge my reaction before offering, “I can keep you safe.”

I laughed so hard, I hiccupped.

“Safe? How? By bringing me into the very pit of the orcs’ world? By chaining me to your bed? To subject me to everything I’ve been running away from all my life? Agor, you’re the kind I’ve been fighting for almost two decades now, ever since my father took me to our elders when I was a kid. He begged them to let me use weapons because he knew I wouldn’t be any good with pots and pans in the kitchen. I was twelve when I started to train in earnest to fight and kill the likes of you.”

He cleared his throat but said nothing. My laughing, along with my newest rejection—the third rejection of his advances by now—likely offended him. I considered apologizing, simply because I didn’t like him sulking. I didn’t want him hurt, even if it was just his feelings that suffered. But I could only apologize for my tone, not for my words. I meant what I said.

He might save me from any future attacks by bog hydras by chaining me to his bed and making me his sex slave. But then, who would save me from him?

With my mood subdued, weighed down by my thoughts, I walked in silence. Agor strolled just as quietly alongside me. Even without a conversation, the way back seemed shorter than the way to the keep, despite the bog hydra adventure.

A glint of metal from a pile of fallen leaves in our path caught my attention.

“Ha! There is my sword.” I grabbed the weapon I’d dropped here several hours earlier.

It struck me that it’d only been several hours. Back then, I would’ve absolutely killed Agor if given a chance. Now, here I was, casually strolling with the orc through the forest, almost hand-in-hand.

“So,” he spoke again. “Who do you have waiting for you in your wagon that you’re so eager to get back to? I know you don’t have a husband.”

“How do you know that?”

“You said so yourself. You’re too old to get married.”

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