Page 8 of Agor

“Is it always like this here?” I couldn’t help asking. “Everyone just screws each other whenever they want?”

“Oh, to be young again.” Granny Magra sighed wistfully. “That’s just young folks having fun. Why not? We have a celebration here today.”

“What are you celebrating?”

“Folks from another keep came over with a visit. It’s not every day we get to see them. They came all the way from the other side of the wetlands, the one that borders the marsh and the ocean.”

“Did Urug come with them, by chance?” I figured the lack of grief at the news of his death must be because Urug and his men were outsiders.

“No. Those were Farod’s traitors.” The old woman spat on the ground in disdain. “They had been lurking on our lands for some time now. Probably spying. Two days ago, they killed one from our keep and had to be hunted down.”

“It looks like I did you a favor then by killing him.”

“It looks like you did.” She glanced at me.

The only gratitude I’d received for that favor so far was that I hadn’t been killed outright. Whether that was a blessing or a curse, remained to be seen, however.

Granny Magra rounded another building, then stopped in front of a big house, bigger than I’d seen in a while. Two orcs played cards on the wide front porch in the light of a copper lantern placed on the floor between them.

“Hey, boys,” Granny Magra greeted them. “The chief told me to lock his new plaything inside.”

The two gave me a measuring stare.

“A human,” one of them commented, making a face. “She won’t last long.”

The other one tsked, looking doubtful too. “I’d better tell Violette not to go to bed tonight. The chief will need her soon enough.”

I hugged myself, shaking in my damp clothes. “If he has so many willing women, what does he needmefor?”

The first orc shrugged. “There is always room for something new and different.”

Granny Magra gave me a shove toward the door. “Come, frog legs, get inside, warm up a bit. When the chief comes home, he’ll make you sweat. But it may take him a while. He has some things to discuss with Grat first, after his absence.”

“Who’s Grat?” I asked, entering the chief’s house.

The familiar scent of mint filled the warm air inside, along with something that smelled incredibly delicious.

The minty aroma came from the teapot, I assumed. It stood in the middle of a sturdy solid-wood table. Apparently, the chief of fearsome orcs drank mint tea. He also owned a fuzzy knitted teapot cozy that set over the clay teapot, keeping the tea warm for him. Of all the things I’d seen in the orcs’ keep, the orange cozy struck me as one of the most incredible.

The mouth-watering smell of baked goods drifted from a large platter covered with a kitchen towel. My stomach spasmed at the aroma. It’d been years since my people had used the last of our flour. I hadn’t had a single slice of bread since then. If Granny Magra didn’t offer me some of whatever deliciousness was hiding under the towel, I decided I’d help myself after she’d left and before I ran away.

“Grat is Chief Agor’s second in command,” she replied. “Not that you need to know that, unless the chief gifts you to him once he’s had his fun with you. Well, let’s get you situated here, shall we?” The old crone led me to the far-right corner.

Tearing my attention away from the table with food, I quickly took in the rest of the room.

The large open space was divided into two sections by a curtain, with a massive bed visible in the smaller part of the room.

Fire burned high in the massive river-rock fireplace in the larger area. A thick grass-woven rug covered most of the wooden floor here. The rug was painted with a pretty design in cheerful colors—another thing I did not expect to find in a brutal orc’s dwelling.

A few things in the corner where Granny Magra took me, however, seem to fit right in with the image of a brutal orc in my mind. A massive workbench stood in the corner with an anvil on it. A thick chain hung suspended through a ring in the ceiling. The large, rusty hook on its end swayed with a screech at my chest level. The other end of the chain was attached to a hook in the wall.

I dreaded to think what orwhomthe chief might hang in here. I also tried not to speculate about what the faint stains on the bare floor under the hook might be from.

Before I could react, the old woman slapped a manacle around my ankle and turned the key in its lock.

“The chief said you’re a runner,” she chuckled. “Well, no running for you anymore. And once the chief is through with you, you won’t even be able to walk on those frog legs of yours for a while.” She gave me a crooked one-tusk grin. “As much as I’d love to keep you company until the chief shows up, I love grilled muskrat more, and they were just putting some on the fire when you showed up.” She headed for the door. “Have a fun, sweaty night, frog legs.”

Fear vibrated in me and disappointment settled heavily in my chest as I stared at the chain. So much for my escape plans.

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