Page 2 of Faeling (Monstrous World #4)

Three Years Later

Vallek Far-Sight of the Broad-Back clan had earned his moniker in recent years for his vision of the future. Of a united orc kingdom, strong in the face of incursion and outside threat. Too long had the clans squabbled and skirmished amongst themselves, weakening what they could be strengthening.

While the other chieftains, of clans great and small, fought over scraps of territory, the growing Pyrrossi Empire encroached from the east, the dragons grew bolder in the south, and the tentacles of the faelands crept across the waters of Dyfan Bay.

The orcs had sailed to their lands long ago, claimed the high peaks and steppes of the Griegen Mountains when none other had the courage.

Yet, at this rate, they would be thrown back into the sea if something wasn’t done.

Vallek understood that. He saw what the others refused to see.

Strong as they were, bigger and more intimidating than all the other races except perhaps dragons, with their towering mountain cities of stone and steel, the orcs were nevertheless weak: Should any of their neighbors ally together to strike a killing blow, there was little the orcs could do to stop it.

That was why, in his eighteen years as the chieftain of Balmirra, the strongest, most ancient of the orcish cities, he’d run across the territories hundreds of times, feet pounding across thousands of leagues.

Most recently, it’d been to quell a border dispute with a growing Pyrrossi mining colony on the southern Shanago River.

With that headache taken care of, Vallek returned to his city with no small amount of relief, the familiar spires, towers, and peaks spearing the sky.

The sight always made him proud—his city was the biggest, most impressive of the orcish cities, where the ancestors had first dug their roots into these mountains.

Dusty and sweaty from the run, Vallek slowed to an easy trot as the city crested along the horizon.

His men behind him, an elite unit of warriors specially selected for their skills and loyalty, gave a great cheer to see home.

Known as the berserkers, his men fought hard and deserved all the awe and privilege their rank afforded them.

Vallek turned to his left, but he needn’t have bothered. Mattias, captain of his berserkers, was already pulling his horn from his belt. Putting his lips to the horn, Mattias blew, announcing their return.

A moment later, an answering trumpeting thundered across the plain before the mighty walls of the city. The berserkers gave an answering roar, and their pace picked up again, closing the last distance to the city wall.

Their feet pounded across the drawbridge overhanging the wide moat, through the tunnel of stone into the four-tiered curtain walls. The five portcullises rose before them one after the other, metal teeth disappearing into the stone curve of the tunnel as they passed.

The cool of the tunnel quickly gave way to the burning afternoon sun, the column of berserkers pouring into the city streets.

A crowd quickly gathered, applause following them as the column began to climb the mountain higher, to the citadel.

Orc-kin called out warm welcomes, clapping and hooting as the impressive force ran by.

They didn’t slow until they finally met the walls of the citadel itself.

The main limestone promenade of Balmirra switched back and forth, climbing to the citadel at the very top.

A cluster of towers, spires, and great halls, the citadel had been the house of government and home to Balmirra’s chieftain since the very first ancestors.

As sacred as it was ancient, Vallek felt the weight of his forebearers as he passed beneath the final portcullis, entering the wide, lush courtyard of the citadel.

Late apple blossoms sweetened the air, loose white petals releasing their perfume as they were crushed underfoot on the flagstones.

Flowering rhododendrons and manicured junipers lined the white limestone walls, offering some shade from the summer sun.

Vallek eased into a walk as he came to the steps leading up to the great double doors of Ninevar’s Basilica, the first building constructed on the citadel.

Mounting the first three steps, he turned to face his men.

The last of the two-hundred elite warriors came jogging through the gate, leading the unit’s small herd of takin.

The hearty goats were perfect for the rugged terrain of the territories, and their wool was spun into all manner of cloth throughout the cities.

Although tired from the days of running, their wide chests heaving beneath their dusty breastplates, his men all looked to him.

Grinning, Vallek unhooked his double-bladed axe Hormhím and raised it high above his head.

Every chieftain of Balmirra helped forge their own axe, a symbol of their reign that lasted as long as they kept their throne.

From start until end, the axe was their emblem; it could be repaired but never replaced.

Its strength and craftsmanship foretold the new chieftain’s resolve, and so Vallek had poured himself into the blades, and eighteen years later, he still hefted the weapon high with pride.

“Warriors!” he called through the courtyard. “I thank you for your company—and fast pace.” A rumble of laughter went through the ranks. “I know we’re all looking forward to our cups and a real bed. Be off with you, then!”

“Hear, hear,” the men cheered, knocking spears and hilts into their breastplates to create a deafening din.

The orderly lines of their ranks began to dissolve as the men disbanded. From the front, Mattias, Vallek’s second Ulrich, and the four guardsmen who followed him everywhere split from the group to head with him into the basilica.

The great cedar doors opened on a silent whoosh , their metal plating glinting almost gold. The door bearers bowed their heads as Vallek crossed the threshold, and waiting just inside was his trusted steward—his elder sister Eydis.

Bobbing her head just enough to be respectful, she greeted him with a brilliant smile. “Welcome home, breddah, ” she said.

Little brother, she called him. No matter that he hadn’t been littler than her in some thirty years. To Eydis, he would always be breddah . Which was good; it kept him humble—according to Eydis.

“It’s good to be home,” he sighed, leaning down for Eydis to kiss his cheeks.

Discreetly wiping her mouth with a kerchief, she muttered, “You’ve brought half the road in with you.”

When she held out her fist, Vallek offered his open palm.

In it she placed the ceremonial key to the citadel, bestowing him with mastery of his domain once more.

Hooking the damn clunky thing onto his belt, Vallek offered his sister his arm.

She took it—once she’d given his vambrace a quick pass of her kerchief.

Vallek chuckled, in no doubt that he was filthy. “I’m bound for a bath,” he assured her.

“That’s what you think,” Eydis laughed.

He groaned. “They’ve—?”

“Oh yes, Lady Silvia has seen to that.”

Vallek sighed again—and steeled himself to be greeted by his court. He walked arm-in-arm with his sister out of the vestibule into the basilica to the resounding echo of applause.

It thankfully wasn’t the whole court; not even Lady Silvia, the niece of the previous chieftain, could organize so many people in the time it took to run from the east gate to the citadel.

Still, at least three dozen finely dressed paladins awaited him, their fine leathers and furs and silver filigree catching in the warm amber light of the basilica.

They formed a gauntlet for him to run, standing on either side of the aisle between massive red limestone columns. When Eydis slowed to stay a half-step behind him, he trapped her hand in the crook of his elbow.

“Oh, no,” he warned, “we face them together.”

Eydis snorted.

The first to greet them was Lady Silvia herself, of course, her eyes artfully lined in kohl and the neckline of her silk tunic plunging.

She bowed to him in a way that neither broke eye contact nor let him ignore the swells of her breasts, generous for an orcess.

Lovely as always in the deep burgundy and gold of the Broad-Back clan, she fluttered her lashes as she straightened.

“The gods bless us to have you home so soon, my king.”

Vallek inclined his head at her welcome.

The epithet of king was a new thing, one he’d introduced himself.

Orcs had rarely had kings in their long history, the few who’d claimed the title rising to unite the territories into one kingdom of orcs.

There were over a dozen chieftains throughout the territories, some of whom still hadn’t pledged him their fealty, but Vallek meant to unite them all under one banner and one cause.

Whether they wanted it or not. They would thank him one day, when the Pyrrossi incursion ceased and the dragons went back to their islands.

Lady Silvia had been one of the first to use the new title as he began amassing oaths of fealty from the other chieftains. It was a clever move for her, since she wanted to be a queen.

“It is a blessing to see your loveliness,” Vallek replied, speaking a little louder over the sound of Eydis gagging.

Lady Silvia blushed prettily, stepping closer to lay gentle fingers on his free arm.

A dozen rings glinted on her fingers, and a matching set of dangling headdress, earrings, and necklace glittered with silver and diamonds, encasing her in sparkle.

A sign to all that though her family had been ousted from the throne, she still possessed wealth and influence.

“You must be tired from your journey,” she said, voice dropping to an intimate tone. “Perhaps I can—”

“ Breddah! ”

To his immense relief, Lady Silvia had to sidestep out of the way before catching an armored elbow to the tit. Asta, his younger sister, bounced on the balls of her feet, smiling impishly up at him.