Page 3 of Changelings
Balar and Bettie. It had a nice sort of sound to it.
But theturukwas unmoved.
Still, that didn’t mean the night was lost.
Balar joined his brothers further into the pub, heartily taking an offered tankard. It was time to celebrate.
They had only just arrived back in Granach after spending the day in the Darrowlands capital of Dundúran. Usually when Balar went to the capital, it was to see the heiress, Lady Aislinn, and visit with her husband, the half-orc Hakon. He delighted in seeing the couple together, one of the first human and otherly pairings that had made this region so famous across the human kingdom of Eirea and beyond.
Of course, Hakon was also usually glad to be rid of Balar and his brothers by the end of the day, what with all of them flirting shamelessly with Lady Aislinn, her seneschal Fia, and all the other pretty people at the castle. It couldn’t be helped—Balarand his brothers longed forkigara, mates to love themselves.
For eight years now they’d been gone from the savannahs. Six of those they spent wandering, generally northward, in search of…something. They hunted, traded, learned local ways, but never had they been truly welcomed. Never had they wished to bury their spears in the ground, claiming land as their own.
Not until hearing of the Darrowlands. When the rumors reached them along the southern borderlands, where the human kingdoms of Eirea and Pyrros touched the orcish territories, Balar had felt something stir his wings. Histurukhad perked in interest. Humans willing to take otherly mates? Could that be what they’d been searching for?
As soon as he’d thought it, Balar knew, yes, that’s what they needed.Kigarameant life, home, roots. A place to establish a pride of their own.
Since arriving, that’s exactly what Balar had been doing. Along with about twenty orcs and half-orcs, a small harpy flock, a pair of dragons, and even a fae and his unicorn, Balar and his brothers had established their own town. They themselves owned the land it stood upon—acquired in a deal Balar was more than a little proud of.
Hakon himself had owned the land once, but he traded it to Balar and several others for their loyalty and oath to fight for his mate, Lady Aislinn, against an incursion led by her brother. That was over a year ago now, of course. Lady Aislinn had long since wed her half-orc blacksmith. In fact, over half of the orcs had found mates of their own by now.
What was so alluring about green skin? Honestly, how could anyone find it more fetching than a tawny hide of fur?
He couldn’t account for human women’s tastes, of course. Although, he and his brothers hadn’t exactly been…lonesome while they were here. It’s just that no one had had their wings set to fluttering.
Soon. Yes, soon,he assured himself.
Everything was falling into place.
That very day, he’d secured a charter for the otherly village from Lord Darrow himself. Balar usually dealt with Lady Aislinn, but as the heiress and Hakon were away, it was the liege’s signature he got. Even better. All that was left to do was fill in the town name.
Balar was sure that when he asked the thirty or so residents of their village what they should call themselves, he’d receive thirty answers. No doubt they were in for a long day of debate and blind stone casting.
As the one voted interim mayor, Balar relished the thought.
Raising his tankard, he boomed, “Cheers for the village!”
A volley of hoorays went round, followed by deep pulls from many cups.
Downing the rest of his ale, he smacked it onto the wooden bar. “Another, Bettie,” he said with a wink, “and another round for all my friends!”
An even greater cheer rang out, and some began to chant his name merrily.
Balar grinned. Yes, everything was coming along well. Surely akigarawas soon to follow. A crowning glory on this achievement.
As Balar waited for Bettie to return from handing out fresh tankards, a staid voice at his elbow said, “Not too late tonight,seska. The boy has school in the morning.”
Turning his head, he raised his brows at a sober Soren. His brother stood rigidly at the far end of the bar, a sensible mug of cider in his hand that he’d hardly touched. Kiriken, ever Soren’s shadow, grinned toothily before chugging his own cider.
Huffing a laugh, Balar pawed the boy’s head, sending him off in the direction of Diar and Akila, singing a shanty with several other men loudly and off-key.
Soren watched on, disapproving.
“Don’t make that face,” Balar teased. “The females will think you’ve got your tail in a twist.”
“I don’t care what they think,” Soren muttered. Balar merely rolled his eyes. That was far from the truth, whatever Soren might tell himself.
Always quiet, sometimes surly, their exile and his disfigured face hadn’t improved Soren’s disposition. For the most part, Balar didn’t mind—Soren was who he was and had reasons for it. Not everyone could be a strapping leader like Balar or an affable idiot like Akila. Still, Balar did take issue when Soren’s storm cloud of a personality showed too much in front of potential mates—or got in the way of Kiriken having fun.
