Page 7 of Faeling (Monstrous World #4)

Vallek had barely taken his throne before the delegation from Kaldebrak was led into Ninevar’s Basilica. Punctual, as always. He expected nothing less from Chieftain Kennum’s people.

The second-largest of all the orcish cities, Kaldebrak was another marvel of orcish engineering. Built straight into its mountain, the city was a trove of iron ore, copper, and silver. The smiths of Kaldebrak rivaled those of Balmirra, tooling exquisite filigree and forging mighty blades.

That Kennum had allied with him without a single crossbow bolt being fired Vallek considered one of the most important achievements of his reign. If anyone could have opposed Vallek and his vision, it was Kennum in Kaldebrak.

The two united cities, occupying the northern and southern orcish territories, made a compelling argument for all in between to join their ranks.

The Balmirran court had gathered to see the delegation from Kaldebrak, most of the empty space between the thick red limestone pillars crowded with finely dressed orcs.

The wealth of the city was on display, every paladin dripping in fine silks and silvers, expertly tooled gorgets and torques round their necks declaring house and rank, and there were hardly any earlobes to be seen, every ear studded with golden hoops announcing achievement and position.

Although he found the whole display a tad pompous, Vallek himself rarely standing on ceremony outside of official functions, the sight of the court still stirred his pride.

They were rich and content, and it wasn’t just the nobles and officials who benefitted from Balmirra’s prosperity.

Even in the lowest quarters of the city, Vallek’s people were cared for.

Everyone was clothed and had shelter, all had access to water and food.

Those who needed it were given work through the city’s many industries; those who required it were given medical aid in any one of over a dozen healing houses.

His people paid him with their loyalty and hard work. He repaid them with his care. They wanted for nothing.

That was what the delegation from Kaldebrak saw as they entered the basilica—a prosperous city, full of successful orc-kin. And at the very top of it all was him, Vallek Far-Sight, ready to welcome all to take part in the success. The price was loyalty—not an unreasonable fee, in his opinion.

Three officials sent by Kennum walked at the head of a retinue of Kaldebraker warriors. Several of them carried boxes and baskets, no doubt full of gifts, and one official had a set of scrolls tucked under her arm.

The party halted at the foot of the steps leading up to his throne, and as one the group bowed low to him. Vallek nodded, acknowledging their deference.

“I welcome you to Balmirra, my lords and ladies. I trust your journey was swift.”

Straightening, the frontmost and eldest of the officials, an orc Vallek knew as Rulf said, “Indeed, my king. Our chieftain sent us off with fine weather, and we bring it with us to you.”

“Much obliged. The people will thank you for the break in thunderstorms; we’re all sick of the hail.”

Rulf and his underlings made the appropriate noises of commiseration, and a few more pleasantries were exchanged before the old orc waved for the boxes and baskets to be brought forward.

“Please accept these gifts from our chieftain, a token of our cities’ continued friendship.”

Five warriors brought their loads and placed them on the dais steps.

Lids were lifted to reveal the glitter of gold, gems, and breathtaking metalwork.

Vallek leaned down to inspect, lifting a particularly large sapphire from a box.

Cut and polished, it took up most of his palm, and holding it up to the light rendered the red banners of his hall a deep plum.

“Exquisite. Please write to your lord conveying my thanks. These will be the treasure of Balmirra.”

Like most gifts he received, some would be added to the citadel’s coffers, while the rest would be given to the people. He would be sure to tell the officials who passed out the wealth to inform the people of the gift from Chieftain Kennum.

Fostering good relations between not only him and Kennum but also their people was vital.

They were all orcs. Kin.

“I most certainly will, my king. Thank you.” Holding out his hand to the assistant on his right, one of the scrolls she carried was placed in Rulf’s waiting palm. Unfurling it, he said, “Our chieftain wishes to offer one more gift, if it would please you, my king.”

“Indeed. He’s already been far too magnanimous.” With a nod, he invited the official to speak.

“Our chieftain has been blessed many times over with the gift of his seven daughters. As a sign of our friendship and alliance, Kennum Green-Fist offers you the hand of one of his four unmated daughters to take as your queen.”

Vallek could feel Eydis’s gaze fall on him from where she stood to the side of the dais, but he didn’t meet it. More than a few gasps and murmurs fluttered through the court, although Vallek found it hard to believe anyone was truly surprised by the news. He certainly wasn’t.

With so many unmated daughters, it was only a matter of time before the old fox positioned one of them to rule alongside Vallek.

He and Eydis had talked many times over this very scenario, predicting that it was likely why Kennum had been so amenable to an alliance in the first place. Installing one of his daughters as queen would ensure Kaldebrak’s continued influence throughout the territories.

In all their discussions, Vallek had never found himself entirely opposed to the idea. Surely, he could find at least one tolerable.

He’d never come close to mating or marrying, but as he continued to rally more clans and banners to his side, the question of who would sit beside him on the throne only grew.

Eydis had warned him he would soon need to choose.

Kennum’s offer was a good one. A smart one.

However, Vallek anticipated a similar offer to come from Chieftain Hrothgar of Innrinhom any time now.

Well, perhaps it was little more than wishful thinking, but Vallek was willing to give the old battleaxe a bit more time to pull his gray head out of his arse.

Innrinhom was the most serious threat to Vallek’s unification, its chieftain a sly old soldier who never bowed to anyone. Vallek wasn’t the first chieftain of Balmirra to seek unification of the clans, but Innrinhom always proved a holdout.

Though not as large as Balmirra or Kaldebrak, Innrinhom was still formidable and occupied an important strategic territory near the Shanago River.

Built atop a steep escarpment overlooking the river plain below, it was sheltered deep within an ancient forest. Innrinhom had the unique distinction amongst orcish cities of never having been sacked, by orc nor any other race.

Hrothgar’s line traced itself all the way back to the ancestors who first stepped from the ships, unbroken through the centuries as it ably ruled the eastern territories.

The Innrini were proud and stubborn. Vallek didn’t relish the thought of trying to take that which had never been seized by force. He’d much rather find a diplomatic solution, and if that meant taking an Innrini bride, he was at least open to the idea.

An Innrini bride and queen would mean that none of Kennum’s daughters sat on the throne, though.

There had been those chieftains who took multiple spouses, of course. And it wasn’t rare to find bonded mates of three or even four. Still, he doubted Kennum or Hrothgar would appreciate his rationale.

Rubbing his jaw, Vallek said, “I know Chieftain Kennum is fond of all his daughters—to offer to part with even one is more than generous. I will consider it with the gravity it deserves.”

He could almost hear Eydis’s sigh of relief. They needed to discuss this and form a plan of action. Prevarication wasn’t Vallek’s preferred strategy, but he had far too much to lose now. He wouldn’t risk unification and all his work on the wrong bride.

Another evening, another goblet of mead, and another bout of talfon with his soothsayer.

Vallek enjoyed his meads and sweet wines, but a king needed his wits about him, and so only indulged in one cup a night, once all the day’s business had been sorted.

He let the honeyed liquid rest on his tongue a moment, savoring the lush richness of its buttery base and notes of elderflower, before swallowing it down.

He was savoring the game, too. He wasn’t sure when exactly he’d begun his bouts with the soothsayer; something in him had recognized the sharp mind and wit she hid beneath that thick cloak of hers.

Vallek admired boldness, and it required heaps of such nerve to have marched into his camp demanding a position in his court.

He still couldn’t say precisely what had convinced him.

Her little predictions that night in the camp could have easily been parlor tricks.

Ulrich certainly had been in favor of leaving her tied to the nearest tree as they decamped the next day, and Vallek rarely if ever broke with Ulrich.

They had been of one mind since they were young warriors, training together under the tyranny of Mordis.

Cantankerous as he could be, Ulrich was loyal, and that was what counted to Vallek.

Still, he couldn’t deny the allure of a soothsayer.

Halfway through their journey back to Balmirra, she proved her worth, predicting an attack from a band of outlaws.

The human bandits quickly turned tail and ran when they saw how great a force Vallek had at his back—he never traveled anywhere with less than a hundred of his berserkers.

So while they may never have been in danger from a roving band of human buffoons, the soothsayer had proven her skills.