Year of the Gods 578

Aramoren squinted as he looked at the bloody heavens. The sky was painted red blood. It dripped on the clouds like rain, smearing the entire heavens in death. The sun’s boiling rays bore down on his body. His armor steamed in the heat. Still his eyes could not be parted from the rumbling, clashing clouds above.

He was supposed to be at Drensent Castle, taking it back from Revender the Bad who stole it from his king, Rey Hatim Sundena of Orthilio. Revender should’ve know better than to cross paths with the Orthilioans, but greed made men foolhardy.

Aramoren had heard Revender’s lust for power knew no bounds. Fleeing Meerdorans said that through brute force and trickery, the warlord stole over half of Castre, crushing it under the grip of his mighty army. That Revender left the dead impaled on spikes, their twisted bodies looking skyward for a savior. But the gods who were supposed to help were too busy in their own battle for control.

Revender claimed he was trying to bring clans together, to establish equality and shared prosperity. The idea was ludicrous. It’s hard to bring people together into a common good after they’re dead.

Aramoren shook his head.

Revender.

The man was a plague worse than disease, for disease at least let people live disfigured. Revender just killed. He slaughtered all who opposed him. And he started with the fae.

The Willow faeries of Hernan forest never saw it coming. They believed Revender when he said he came for peace. But Revender trapped them in unescapable iron cages and forced Hernan, the fae king, to his knees. Then Revender took their magic.

Aramoren gnashed his teeth, looking skyward as the egocentric gods fought over power and ignored the mortal mad man below who was devastating Castre. He spat at the ground and headed back to his tent. Aramoren felt frustrated and helpless.

Ripping the tent flap open, he flipped over the table to the right of the entrance. How could anyone believe to rely on the gods for help? It was insane! Positively the dumbest thing he could ever think someone could do. Abyss, even family was just as horrendously unreliable and fickle.

Aramoren certainly couldn’t even rely on his own family. That bastard half-brother of his, Earh was supposed to be protecting Drensent Castle, and utterly abandoned it when Revender showed up at the gates. The rampaging Meerdoran hadn’t even shot a single arrow before his brother had fled the castle in dishonor and allowed its people trapped inside to rot. Now Aramoren needed to get the fortress back from the greatest warlord Castre had ever seen.

Aramoren ran a hand over his face as he paced the inside of his tent. Not wanting to be inside, he stormed out, taking in a darkening sky and the gods throwing blows at each other; he rolled his eyes.

Lightening flashed followed by a harsh clap of thunder. Aramoren stared up at the bloodied clouds as Joximbus, the father of the gods, struggled against his son, Qorreg, the god of war. If Qorreg were to get control, he would force his siblings and father to bow down to him and recognize him as the sole deity. Then Qorreg would consume their powers as his own.

With the god of war in control, the entire world would be plunged into chaos. Knowing this, the other gods attempted to thwart their brother. Aramoren shrugged, in a sense, the gods were protecting the mortals now, but not so much leading up to the destruction Revender had been able to cause. The gods had months to intervene and did nothing. Now, they squabbled as it seemed they did more often than not.

Joximbus hurled a spear at his son. Thunder clapped as Qorreg knocked it out of the air with his sword. The god of war threw his head back and laughed manically.

Aramoren rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. Centuries before, Qorreg had tried to take the essence of his mother, Borcallia. The mother goddess knew the evil her son had in his heart, so she transformed herself into the land of Castre. Borcallia became the rivers, the trees, the land, the entirety of the nation. No human or immortal could steal her essence as it was sown deep into the land.

Upon seeing this, and knowing her brother’s dark heart, Vorumma also took her powers and spread them like a blanket all over Castre. Where her power collected, it formed the faeries and other magical creatures. With her last gasp, Vorumma fell from the heavens and turned herself into the first willow tree where her faeries resided—that is, until Revender trapped them.

The clouds above Aramoren swirled into a vortex. The gods’ shouting rained down on their ears, bringing people to their knees with the intensity. Joximbus tried his best to get his wayward son to listen, but Qorreg kept fighting, screaming at the other gods to give him their powers or else. The other gods begged Qorreg to stop. The goddess of love, Corwaithe, tried to reason him out of his vengeful wrath. But the mighty god of war only laughed at her futile attempts.

“Qorreg, cease your madness!” Corwaithe screamed. Her shrill voice brought more people to their knees.

Yeah, screaming will certainly do the trick, Aramoren thought. He touched the side of his head. Blood trickled down from his ears. Usually it’s nagging that hurts the ears. Aramoren snorted. Oh Corwaithe, do everyone a favor and shut up.

Metal weapons and bolts of lightning collided in the sky. Qorreg hurled his ax at the goddess Tellorfi. The goddess of creatures hardly had time to dodge the quick and precise attack, shouting back at her brother to stop.

Thunder roared. Lightening lit up the sky brighter than the sunlight. Aramoren blinked the black dots behind his eyes away. Rocking back on his heels, he kept a level gaze at the heavens, wondering how all this stupidity would play out.

“Aramoren,” one of his comrades said, coming beside him, “what will become of us?”

Aramoren glanced down at his feet, watching grits of sand whirl around his boots. He too questioned the outcome. All the gods fought to overpower Qorreg, but he was powerful. No god or goddess could seem to gain the upper hand. It had been like this for a while and today, it felt like everything would be coming to a head.

Lightening flashed through the long echoing screams of the gods. Aramoren closed his eyes to the piercing sound, while it brought his people to their knees again. Women cried at the pain in their heads while trying to protect their children’s ears. All throughout Castre, there was no escape from the gods and their bickering.

Once the piercing screams stopped, Aramoren turned to his friend, “Joximbus will be victorious,” Aramoren said, while his thoughts went back to his duty.

He was supposed to be taking back his Rey’s castle. He was supposed to be battling Revender, rescuing the faeries, and ending the massacre of Revender’s army was causing. But he could not tear his eyes away from the heavens.

Qorreg threw another weapon at the unsuspecting goddess Tellorfi, hitting her in the middle of her head. The beautiful goddess staggered backward, body limp. Tellorfi fell, dead. Her giant body plummeted from the sky. When the goddess hit the earth, the impact left a cavern in the ground. A dark amethyst powder billowed and blanketed the Orthilioan desert. The goddess of all living creatures was dead.

Then the powder rose out of the ground, spinning rapidly in a small cyclone. Her essence was waiting for a victor. Joximbus bellowed with grief at the loss of his daughter. Weeping and calling her name as if the goddess was powerful enough to be brought back.

In the gods’s grief, Qorreg snuck behind Hermallia and slit her throat. Hermallia’s body slammed into the same cavern as Tellorfi’s. The goddess of the sun, moon, and stars rained into shimmering silver pebbles. Hermallia’s silver essence added to her sister’s.

Aramoren closed his eyes, wondering who else will fall from the heavens.

“Please,” he caught himself whispering, staring at Joximbus.

Joximbus’s cries reached his ears as another daughter died. The old god was beside himself in grief, wailing like only a parent could at the loss of a child. Aramoren put a hand on his chest, wanting to rub at his heart but blocked by armor.

Thunder clapped overhead. Lightning struck the ground all around them. The old god rose to his feet, staggering forward to face his wrathful son. Qorreg sneered, lifting his broadsword to his father.

Joximbus had created the gods and goddesses, the heavens, and everything below. Joximbus gave life to Castre, to his wife, whom he loved by creating people and animals. And now everything that was Castre was in an anxious battle.

Qorreg’s broadsword collided with the old god’s staff. The powerful blow broke the wooden stick in half. Qorreg laughed, throwing insults to the god.

Joximbus battled back, pulling knives out of the clouds and throwing them at Qorreg. The god of war grabbed each one by the blade, smiling as he flung them back. Joximbus could not deflect the blows for he was slow with his age and magic.

Aramoren closed his eyes, knowing this was the end.

Joximbus fell backward, holding up his broken staff as his son strolled over to the fallen god. Qorreg took his sword and with one swipe beheaded his father. Joximbus tumbled from the sky, disappearing altogether before his body ever reached the ground.

People gasped. Women wept. Terror and uncertainty lingered behind wary eyes.

Joximbus’s powers joined the twisting whirlwind. The powers of the gods swirled in a colorful vortex, their powers clashed and collided with each other. Thunderous booms echoed off the cyclone, shaking the ground with their power. The powers of the gods were waiting to be consumed by the god who won.

Aramoren closed his eyes as everyone around him held their breath, waiting to see which god would win. Only Qorreg and Corwaithe remained.

Qorreg roared, furiously striking at his sister. Corwaithe had no choice but to defend herself, calling out to her brother to stop. Qorreg laughed, begging her to strike back at him.

Corwaithe, the goddess of love, was small compared to Qorreg. Corwaithe was rational, trying to get others to see reason. Even when she meddled in the affairs of the mortals she governed, she was petite, nonthreatening and always rational. She was no match for the god of war. Corwaithe struck back feebly with her spear, not wanting to truly hurt her brother.

Qorreg went to land a fatal blow but was stopped by the tip of her spear. Her screams pierced the fading sunlight as she struck Qorreg in the chest. Again, Corwaithe asked Qorreg to stop, but the god of war only laughed.

Throwing her full weight behind the thrust, Corwaithe jabbed her spear at her brother. Qorreg parried the blow and swung his sword high. While Corwaithe was busy looking at his sword, Qorreg took his foot and swept her legs out from underneath her. As Corwaithe hit the ground, Qorreg leapt on top of her, ready to land a fatal blow.

Corwaithe raised her spear just as Qorreg was about to bring down his sword and pierced Qorreg in the heart. She turned the metal, yelling loudly as he fell, “You will not rule our people with your hatred and devastation!”

Qorreg crashed to Castre, filling the cavern once again, this time with his own blood dust. The vortex of powers went swirling up to the heavens and into Corwaithe’s chest, knocking her back a few steps. Her eyes glowed, changing color to all the deities who were once alive. Everyone let out a deep breath of relief. Since Corwaithe was now the victor, there was no chance Qorreg would ever come back. His powers were now inside the goddess of love.

When Aramoren opened his eyes again, Corwaithe was descending from the heavens. Her silver hair billowed out around her like it was in its own wind tunnel. Her dark pink eyes flashed, impaling even the most steadfast of souls. The sheer white fabric she wore whipped around her body.

Sparks danced off her fingertips as she tried to control her new powers. She glowed vibrantly in various hues of her favorite color pink. Corwaithe landed in front of him, her pink eyes blazing, lightening crackling across her skin.

“I am Castre,” her voice rang out. “I will rule this land with equality, love, and a just hand.”

Aramoren did not bow to her. He would never recognize her as the ruler of Castre. His people got down on one knee, but he would not.

It wasn’t because she was a woman. It wasn’t because of any reason other men would conjure as an excuse not to bow down. It was because, even though Corwaithe stated that love was love no matter what, she refused to give Aramoren her blessing so he could marry his cherished one. Time and time again when he asked, she never responded. So, no, he would never bow to her.

Corwaithe was the cause of his unhappiness. She was the reason he and Bledig were fighting. She was the cause for all their relationship problems. Corwaithe was a deceptive liar.

“You dare defy me, Aramoren Portelai?”

Aramoren smirked, planting his feet firm in the sand.

Lightening filtered out of her fingertips, dancing across the ground and scorching the sand in its path. His people shrank back from the goddess; the sole ruler of Castre.

Aramoren stared at the powers of the gods swirling behind her eyes; it crawled in sparks on her skin. She was a meek goddess before, only interfering when she felt necessary. Now she had trouble containing all the power within her.

A woman came forward, collapsing to the blood-soaked ground on her knees. She extended her arms over her head. “Holy goddess,” she said, “what is your will?”

“Rise, Nascha,” Corwaithe boomed.

Corwaithe floated above them all. Her pink eyes swirling with darkness. The clouds in the heavens became dark pink as they crackled with lightening and boomed with thunder.

Corwaithe began ticking off her rules for Castre, beginning with the most fundamental: love. As the people listened, the landscape began to change. The vast desert shrank. Trees, flowers, and a variety of vegetation began sprouting under Aramoren’s feet. Faeries who had escaped Revender fluttered overhead, dusting the plants and trees with faerie magic to make them grow taller and faster. One faerie giggled at a creature that looked part-pig and part-rabbit; calling the oddly cute deformity a broeshilak.

Aramoren scowled. The sand peeled back like a scab and grass poked out above his boot.

He walked away angry.

Aramoren stormed back to his tent to begin planning the siege on Drensent Castle. Aramoren needed to get the holding back from Revender and free the fae. He approached a table with a map on top. He held little wooden pawn pieces in his hand, trying to decide the best angle of attack the clever warlord.

The sands of Orthilio butted up against the castle he wanted to crumble. Aramoren planned on tearing the dark gray structure to the ground so no other could have it ever again. But Rey Hatim Sundena wanted the castle claimed. The castle had magical creations within its stone walls the Meerdorans did not know about.

Aramoren slammed his fists against the table. “Damn that blasted witch!” he cursed.

A popping noise sounded in his tent. A man patted Aramoren on the shoulder before taking a seat on the table across from him. Rey Hatim leaned back in the chair, crossing his feet over. The man, dressed always in a light blue silk shirt and dark beige trews, laced his fingers together and stared at him.

“I want that castle back,” Sundena stated.

Aramoren fixed a pointed glare at his liege. Hatim was not only a king but also a magicker who could transport himself wherever he so pleased. Dating back to the beginning of time, every descendent of royalty in Orthilio had magic. It annoyed Aramoren to no end that some were born with the magical gift and some were not, like him.

“Why?” Aramoren grumbled.

“So, you can have it.”

Aramoren wanted to laugh but groused instead. “That castle means nothing now.”

Hatim snapped, “You idiot, a castle means everything. It means control. It means coin. It means strength and more.” Hatim leaned back in his chair, regaining his composure. “Earh left it defenseless and you took care of him for it. The people within Drensent’s walls ran. Revender took it over in a clean sweep.”

Aramoren nodded.

“It has been defenseless a week since Earh left it and Revender took it over.”

“Yes, but Drensent is no longer part of Orthilio,” Aramoren replied. “Corwaithe took care of that.”

Hatim scowled, leaning forward and jabbing a finger at him. “I want the castle, Aramoren.”

Aramoren snorted.

“I want that castle, Aramoren.”

Aramoren nodded. “Yes, Rey.”

Hatim leaned back in his chair, looking at the map intently. Aramoren walked around the table, looking at his pawn pieces. Drensent once had desert sands on one side but now that bitch of a goddess was changing everything. Aramoren couldn’t bear to look outside just yet to behold what she had transformed.

The edge of the sands was one of the reasons why the Orthilioans built Drensent. Since it was on the edge of their lands, it marked the border, keeping pesky outsiders on the outside. It kept their magic away from the rest of Castre.

But now Corwaithe, like Revender, was taking over everything. She was changing the landscape. She was taking his home! That woman was making Orthilio pay with land and for what? They had done nothing where Revender was out invading and slaughtering everyone in Castre.

Aramoren grabbed the tent flap and, with a deep breath, he stepped out. “What the freaking abyss is this shit?!”

The sands of Orthilio had now receded to his tent. The once small desert trees were now tall as his six-foot frame and growing. He walked out of his tent, heading to the hill that went down into the long valley reaching Drensent.

The ground softly rumbled under his feet, rocking gently as if to put a babe to sleep. But in its wake, small mountains rose and streams gushed. Rocks rose up, crashing to the ground to create craggy backdrops. Drensent rose steadily on top of the boulders, standing tall and proud. Fir and cedar trees shot up like giant spears surrounding Drensent Castle.

Corwaithe floated on the clouds in the heavens, laying leisurely on her side as she swirled a focused finger upon the landscape. Aramoren’s mouth dropped open in awe. Rolling hills and small valleys bloomed before his eyes. It was impressive. The beauty she was so carefully creating was a sight to behold. However, Corwaithe was still ransacking his homeland. She deepened his misery with each blade of green grass she created.

The sands receded back so far, the line where his beloved homeland began was almost invisible. Then Corwaithe’s slender hand reached out, pulling rocks out of the ground gently so the land didn’t quake. Orthilio now had a borderland of boulders to stop the outsiders.

“Some border,” Aramoren grumbled. “Those rocks probably don’t even come up to my chest! What does she think she’s doing? The desert was fine before.”

Hatim smiled, patting Aramoren on the back. “Change is change. It comes however and whenever it likes. Adapt. Corwaithe cannot be so horrible. She’s better than Qorreg ever would have been.”

Aramoren snorted. “Change sounds wonderful!”

Hatim shook his head. “You have been so unhappy as of late, and it’s affecting your normally good judgment.” Hatim clapped him on the shoulder. “Claim the castle, Aramoren,” he said before he popped away, leaving Aramoren to scowl at the changing landscape.

Aramoren sulked in a chair outside his tent as he grumpily waited for night to consume Castre. He’d watched the free fae scamper back to the desert lands, searching for a secure place to settle and not be seen from again. His people would not look for them, take them, enslave them. The crying fae left their homes so Revender could not hurt them any longer.

The last of the fae from Swanshé came fluttering by just as the sun was setting. A little purple-winged faerie landed on his knee. She looked at him with her bright purple eyes. Her skin was bright green like a blade of new fresh grass waking after winter’s slumber. Her dark blue hair was waving, flowing behind her even though there was no breeze.

Aramoren held out his hand and she hopped into it. “Little fae,” he said her.

“Aramoren,” she replied, dipping her head and sniffing. Her purple eyes closed as tears trickled down her small human-like face. “Our home is gone,” she whimpered. “We can no longer return to it.”

Her voice was small, like a child’s whisper, but full of pain and sorrow. Aramoren could feel her heart breaking, and his broke with it. The little faerie crumbled in his hand, pulling her knees to her chest. Aramoren frowned, sorrowing filling his already painful heart.

“Breen.” Another female fae came over and landed in his hand. “It is time to leave.”

The other fae kicked off from his fingertip and fluttered off. Breen stayed behind and looked at him. Her bright purple eyes dimmed as she wiped her eyes.

“Some of us may stay here,” Breen said, sniffling; her tears like tiny pin pricks on his hand. “Will you protect us? Will you stop Revender?”

Aramoren bowed his head. “I will try, Breen.”

Tears streaming down her cheeks, the little faerie fluttered off into the waning sunlight. Aramoren watched her go. It angered him that a man could so callously destroy such small, innocent creatures.

Aramoren leaning forward in his chair and put his head in his hands. He would protect the small creatures. He would try and destroy Revender. He had to; not only for the fae but all of Castre.

With a deep breath, he stood up, grabbed his magicked spy glass, and looked around. He spied the southern tip of the Forgotten Woods. The sand receded to the last tree. Aramoren turned in a slow circle as he followed the jagged rocks that now came in a crooked line across the edge of the sand, marking the border between Orthilio and Euainley. Corwaithe had taken away at least a fifth of their lands if not more. Orthilio was now so small.

It hurt his heart. His once beautiful land was diminished. Animals and birds of all kinds fled either back into the safety of Orthilio or changed colors once they entered Euainley, becoming something new and different.

Tears trickled down his face. His beloved sands were gone. Things were not what they were before. Change was here and happening; there was nothing he could do to stop it. There was nothing he could do to make it right or better; and it left him feeling anxious and helpless to it all.

“Bitch!” he cursed.

Aramoren flung his chair across the ground, watching it splinter apart into kindling. This would never have happened if it were not for Revender.

Revender incited the god of war to rise up and demand control. Revender, in his lust for domination, started a war with everyone around him, which gave power to the hungry war god. Revender enslaved and exterminated the faeries; and people as he pleased. Everyone knew better than to harm a magical creature, but this horrid man did worse by harvesting their powers. Revender, like Corwaithe, brought desolation to them all.

Aramoren tightened his grip on his sword as he stood. He knew his mission now. He needed to take out Revender by whatever means possible. Drensent Castle was no longer their concern. Drensent was no longer a part of Orthilio. And as far as he saw it, the magic inside the castle would be long forgotten and buried inside the stone walls. No one would ever find a damned thing.

He entered his tent and looked around for anything he might have overlooked. Grabbing his bow, quiver, and a belt of knives, he strode out of his tent into the now starry night. Aramoren looked at the bright pink moon, symbolizing the takeover of the deities and marking Corwaithe as Ruler of All. He shook his head as he approached his group of men.

“Get ready,” he spoke low, tightening the belt around his lanky frame. “We are going to destroy Revender.”

“What about Rey Hatim?” Bledig asked.

Aramoren glared at Bledig. Why worry about Drensent? The hot sands were gone. The animals had disappeared back into the desert. Everything Orthilio once was, was now gone forever. Drensent was never coming back to Orthilio. So much had changed and could never be put to right again. Aramoren gripped the hilt of one of his knives.

“I don’t care,” Aramoren told him.

Bledig shook his head. “My love, you must stop this anger. It does nothing. You’re letting it control you and cloud your judgment.”

Aramoren snorted. “Maybe if you said yes, none of this would have happened.”

Bledig stood, hands on his hips. “Would it have truly made you happy?”

“Yes.”

“And then what?”

Aramoren stared at his lover. “We would be happy.”

“But I am happy, no matter the circumstances. Why can’t you be too?” Bledig shook his head and walked away.

Aramoren sighed. He wasn’t letting anything rule his judgment. He was furious that Castre was changing so dramatically it was hard to keep up. That everything was being taken away. It wasn’t right. The land wasn’t supposed to change, only the passing of one power to the other. It didn’t include things he held dear to him.

His beloved Orthilioan sands were gone. The love of his life was angry with him. The fae were enslaved. And yes, it made him unhappy. Yes, it made him angry. But it wasn’t controlling him.

I’m not that emotional, Aramoren grumbled, watching Bledig’s figure stomp off into the dark night.

“Let’s go!” Aramoren yelled.

His men assembled in moments. The magenta moon was glowing brightly overhead. Even the stars were pink with Corwaithe’s power.

Some of his people were magickers, gifted the magic by Joximbus who felt certain people should be more special than others. The people who had the magic could create whatever they desired using blue-white fire that spewed from their fingertips or out of a small, polished stick for more accurate control.

After one magicker decided to destroy the people Joximbus created, the god took some of his magic back, only allowing his people to use it for good instead of harm. No one could outright kill with their magic, only maim; and maim severely to the point of horrific disfiguration but even then, it didn’t kill

Aramoren looked around at his men. People with magic had silver eyes, while the rest had blue. He had ten magickers with him in his group of eighty men. It wasn’t a lot of people, but it was enough for him. Revender wouldn’t be expecting them. And even if he was, that wouldn’t stop Aramoren.

“Listen up!” he shouted.

His men gathered around. Bledig stood in the back. Aramoren quirked him a smile, but Bledig only shook his head and looked away. Aramoren’s heart constricted at the dismissal. Putting on his business face and setting his jaw, he stared at his men to ensure he had their attention.

Aramoren glanced over at everyone watching. “Revender,” he paused, his fists clenched, “we will destroy him.”

It took them only an hour to reach Evermoor thanks to the help of the mages. They could only transport so many people and goods at a given moment, but that suited Aramoren just fine. He had spent the night watching Evermoor’s guards change their shifts. The carelessness they exuded made the Orthilioan smile.

Aramoren and his men camped out on a knoll overlooking the Meerdoran base and the valley below. Aramoren sent out a mage with a group of eight non-magickers to wrap around the back of the castle and see if they could sneak inside. If they could, the mage was to fly a red magic bird into the air to signal they were in position.

Aramoren waited for sunrise and for the signal.

From the hilltop, he spied the sixty-foot stone wall that was now surrounding Evermoor, Revender’s mountain castle. The castle itself was all one level, butted up to the Double Back mountains. As the sun broke over the mountaintop, Aramoren signaled for the men to cloak themselves in magic to make them invisible and get in position around the castle.

Aramoren brought up his spyglass, staring inside and waiting for the signal from the contingent he sent in. Nothing came and Aramoren glowered.

With his small group, Aramoren went invisible and walked right up to the castle doors. Gleipnif opened the heavy wooden door. In the courtyard were hundreds of fae trapped in small iron cages with wooden bottoms. For a fae, to touch iron was to convulse in pain, wither, and die. Their wings drooped in sorrow. Their once bright colors were lackluster, turning a shade of deathly gray. The shimmering speckles that normally dusted the air around them were gone. The faeries were withering away.

Aramoren clenched his fists, knuckles turning white. “Gleipnif,” he whispered, “can you free the faeries?”

The man shook his head. “Not without uncovering us.”

“How fast can you free them once we’re uncloaked?”

Gleipnif grinned. “Faster than you can untie your boots.”

“After you unveil us, free the fae, then send the signal to the others and fight.”

“Yes.”

Aramoren looked at his other warriors. “Until we meet again.”

His men nodded, responding in unison, “Upon the gates of Corwaithe’s heaven.”

Gleipnif dropped their cloak of magic. Pointing his hand at the caged fae, he snapped his fingers, releasing them all and the fluttering creatures scattered; rising high into the heavens to disappear. Aramoren sent the signal to the rest of his men.

Roars of the Orthilioans split the morning air. Their cries of vengeance against the Meerdorans caught the sleepy lot of the enemy unaware. Orthilioan curved swords slit open unsuspecting necks.

Aramoren looked around at the stunned and unprepared faces within the castle walls. Aramoren drew his sword from the sheath on his side, barreling into the castle grounds, and began attacking the unsuspecting Meerdorans; killing the first two successfully. The third one, a larger man was difficult and took a while. But the Meerdorans were like flies—nasty, infesting pests who swarmed their group but were easily dealt with.

Revender came out of a corridor off to the right; shirtless, sword in hand. A frightened woman clung to his arm. Aramoren made a straight line for him but was swiftly cut off by another Meerdoran.

Aramoren quickly ended the man, looking around for the magicker in his party.

Spying the man not free from him, Aramoren called, “Gleipnif.”

“Yes?”

Aramoren took a quick glance over his shoulder to his comrade who was fighting off a Meerdoran with one hand and trying to magically reattach the fingers of a fallen and screaming comrade.

“I want you to tell all the other mages to blast ice at the Meerdorans,” Aramoren quickly said.

“All of them?”

Aramoren rolled his eyes, shoving off his opponent to the ground. “No, I want you to do it at the birds,” he quipped. “Joximbus took away our ability to kill with magic, so pepper them with ice. Knock them down! Maim the piss out of them!”

The mage nodded.

Meerdorans poured out of the inside of castle, shouting, “Take out the silvers! Kill all the bloody silvers!”

“We have names, you know,” Aramoren replied before cutting him down.

Revender came into the fray, charging at him head on. Aramoren parried his blow, testing him for a weakness. Revender wouldn’t allow it. The Meerdoran lunged and struck a heavy blow Aramoren barely deflected in time.

The Meerdoran smiled. Aramoren shoved him off, their swords clashing, ringing inside the large mountain hall. Revender was a large man, towering well over him. Aramoren himself was six feet tall, but Revender was taller, his frame broader than his own. Yet they were equally matched in skill. Sneering, Revender was relentless in his attack, charging forward with his sword like the bear he was and parrying every blow Aramoren tried to land.

Aramoren circled the large mountain of a man. He’d heard rumors of Revender being tall like a bear and broad shouldered to match. He put no stock in them until this moment. The Meerdoran man was a bear – big, hairy, dirty and mean.

Revender roared, charging at him with a sword in his left and a dagger in his right. The Meerdoran warlord lunged his sword at him and countered with the dagger, using both weapons to land heavy blows and catch him off balance.

“Not today,” Aramoren quipped, locking up with Revender.

Aramoren head butted Revender, making the man stagger back and nurse a bleeding nose.

“Ye should no’ have done that!” Revender yelled as Aramoren charged.

Aramoren deflected his counterstrike. “You have no right to enslave the fae.”

Revender growled, charging at him. The man threw his dagger, catching Aramoren in the right shoulder. Ignoring the wound, Aramoren pressed forward with his curved sword meeting blows against Revender’s cumbersome broadsword.

Aramoren’s men each took on their own opponent. Some of his men fell. The ones who had magic tried to heal the fallen as they battled, but it was futile. More of Revender’s men came rushing in, overpowering the Orthilioans four to one.

His magickers were being struck down quicker than he’d anticipated. Still, his small force carried on, trying to defeat the enemy who stole the precious magic of the Willow Tree faeries. Aramoren slashed and kicked, knocking Revender backward but not off his feet.

Aramoren let his anger swell and build inside of him. He used his frustration to be brash, take chances he normally wouldn’t against the Meerdoran man. Revender needed to be stopped at all costs.

Revender stopped, looking around at the battle and laughed. His men then followed suit. Aramoren looked around. His group of eighty men had dwindled to about thirty. Only two magickers still stood.

The fight was long lost, but at least the fae were free. Drensent wasn’t worth saving but the faeries were worth every drop of Orthilioan blood.

“The fae deserved it, the wee liars.” Revender snapped.

“No one deserves enslavement,” Aramoren replied.

“They promised to help build Meerdora then went back on their word.”

Aramoren strode forward, standing toe to toe with the man. “Still gives you no right to enslave them.”

Revender smiled. “Ye would have done better against me if yer emotions didn’t rule yer head.”

Aramoren growled.

“Stand down,” Revender told his men with a laugh. “This wee man is mine.”

Aramoren snorted. “No, thanks. I’m not interested.”

Their swords locked together. They slashed, parried, thrusted, and maneuvered around each other’s blows while the rest of the warriors watched them battle.

Try as he might, Aramoren could not seem to knock Revender off his feet. For such a large man, and with a cumbersome blade, he was quick with his jabs and parries. Aramoren tried even more quickly to get a good shot, but each time, found himself blocked.

Aramoren dodged around Revender, ducking through his legs, then shooting back up to kick Revender in the chest. Revender fell backward. Aramoren pounced on the warlord, hacking down with his sword. Revender caught the sword between his gauntleted hands. With an enormous heave, he pushed back, knocking Aramoren to the ground. Revender got on top, his sword angling toward Aramoren’s neck.

Lightening crashed around them, digging into the ground. Revender backed away. Aramoren got up, peering at the heavens. He rolled his eyes. Corwaithe came floating down on her puffy pink cloud with her spear in her left hand. Her silver hair billowed behind her.

Aramoren crossed his arms, muttering under his breath. Revender got down on both knees in the dirt, his head bowed. All of Revender’s men followed suit. Then the Orthilioans kneeled. Aramoren scoffed at them all for being idiots.

Corwaithe floated in front of his face. Her dark pink eyes flashed with lightening. Her hair flew wildly around her in straight swirls that never tangled.

“You do not kneel?” she asked.

“No, I do not,” Aramoren replied.

“Why not?”

“The lesser of two evils rules a great nation. Why must I bow and be thrilled about your reign?”

Corwaithe’s eyes darkened. The spear in her hand shone bright silver, lighting up the entire cavern. Lightening crackled around her fingers.

Aramoren continued, “You only help on your terms, if and when you feel like it. You don’t care about us.”

“If I did not care, then I would not be here, Aramoren.”

Aramoren’s eyes narrowed.

“I am Ruler of All. I am Castre. Whether you like it or not, you will accept it. Bow down to me.”

Aramoren stood his ground. He wouldn’t ever bow to her. Corwaithe was a deviant, a liar. Her one statement was: Love is equal. Love knows no status nor class. Yet her rule betrayed her. She would not allow him to love the man he loved. She changed everything he loved. She brought darkness in her wake, convincing everyone it was light. Everything Corwaithe said or did was madness.

“You will bow down to me!” Corwaithe demanded.

“No.”

“Aramoren Portelai, this is your final chance. I will force you to change.”

Aramoren laughed. “I’ll pass.”

With a snap of her fingers, he’d changed from a man into a giant gray wolfhound. Aramoren tried to stand, but he couldn’t. His senses changed. He could see farther, smell more intensely. He could hear the wind rustling the grass from eighty yards away. He was closer to the ground. He looked down at his feet and his eyes widened. They were no longer feet but paws.

“You are mine, Aramoren,” Corwaithe growled. “I have no qualms with you loving Bledig. And you never needed my blessing to begin with. You have to find happiness within yourself instead of blaming me or others for your unhappiness.”

Aramoren snorted.

“Aramoren,” she said, bending down to him. She took his dog face in the palm of her hand. “Find happiness inside of yourself. Change yourself. Shift your perspective of the world.”

Aramoren turned around.

Corwaithe’s pink magic lifted him off the ground, spinning him in a circle until he faced her again. His snarled, jaws snapping. Corwaithe put him on the ground, snapping her fingers and he took a somewhat human form.

“Shifter,” she decreed.

Aramoren looked around seeing about ten of his people left standing. Corwaithe snapped her fingers, changing all of his people into shifters.

“You all have the ability to change from this current animal into a humanoid form.”

With another snap of her fingers, his men all took on a different animal form. They were silent, staring at the goddess as she walked around them with a smile.

Aramoren growled at her trickery.

Corwaithe smirked. “Immortality,” she said, gesturing to them all. “You and I shall live forever, Aramoren.” She patted him on the head. “We shall become great friends.”

Aramoren remained silent.

“No words from you?”

He sniffed. “And why would I be friends with you?”

Aramoren’s eyes widened. His accent was gone. His Orthilioan language was forgotten. His bronze human skin wasn’t skin anymore but an odd combination of skin and dog fur. Corwaithe had changed him completely. Furious that he was now a dog, immortal, and at the goddess’s command, Aramoren went to say something but found his mouth magicked shut.

Corwaithe smiled and laughed delicately, “You are immortal. So is Bledig. You are a great wolfhound. So is Bledig. You refused me and defied me. But I want to give you an eternity to find your happiness.” She turned to his people, the same ones she shifted to be punished like himself. “And I give to you, warrior men and women immortality as well. Not as punishment but as a gift for being brave and righteous. It is my hope, you will help heal the land and make it wholesome.”

Aramoren deflated as he looked over at the man he loved. Bledig was also like him, except his fur was bright white. They were now the same, immortal to boot.

Bledig eyes met his. Aramoren hung his head, dolefully gazing at Bledig who had turned his head. Sighing, Aramoren turned to the goddess.

“Thank you,” Aramoren said, though he hated to say it.

Corwaithe smiled back. “You’re welcome.”

Corwaithe floated over to Revender. She reached above his head, plucking out a long strand out of his hair. She wrapped the strand around a finger on her right hand.

Revender bowed to his goddess. As his large frame bent over in absolute submission, Corwaithe went over the new rules of the land again. She reprimanded Revender, telling the man his soul would not be allowed entry until he righted all the wrongs he could.

“One,” Corwaithe began, turning Revender’s strand of hair over in her fingers. “Like a breath of a newborn babe, one breath, one action, has consequence or happiness. It is like throwing a pebble into a lake. The ripple effects the surface but do you know what happens below? The lake is forever changed. And all it took, was one tiny pebble.”

The goddess let the strand fall from her.

Revender placed his sword at the goddess’s feet.

“Rise, Revender,” Corwaithe commanded.

Revender rose, his cheeks rosy and his eyes shining.

“Aramoren here,” Corwaithe began, “is going to help you heal this land and usher it into the new era. You have done some horrid things, but you have done some remarkable ones as well.”

Aramoren went to open his mouth. Corwaithe snapped her fingers. Aramoren’s mouth couldn’t open. She smiled.

“Revender,” the Goddess said, lifting Revender’s face to greet her eyes. “You tried to heal a nation, but you also made it bleed. You allowed the hatred of Qorreg inside your mind to rule. Love triumphs over hate. Always.”

“I’m sorry, my goddess.”

Corwaithe put her right hand on his head. “So, you made this land bleed, so you shall mend it. When you have satisfied me with your restitution, the moon shall glow red and I shall release you from my binding spell.”

“Where do I even begin?” Revender asked.

“That is for you to figure out,” Corwaithe said as she floated back up to the heavens.

Aramoren and Revender stared at each other for a long time. Aramoren shifted into his dog form, trotting over to Bledig. Aramoren nuzzled his lover’s head, waiting patiently for him to say something.

Bledig looked at him sadly and trotted away.

Aramoren trotted angrily along with Revender’s party, heading back to the castle Revender created for his love, Razabeth. Flowermoss was a castle built into a cave. Aramoren thought it odd a castle for the love of this idiotic man’s life would be built into a cave with a waterfall in front. It was beautiful but not very practical.

Along the way, Revender called for the eight leaders of the clans he had conquered to meet him at Flowermoss. Aramoren had Gleipnif tell the other shifters to spread the word as Bledig still wasn’t speaking with him.

Aramoren sniffed. Bledig was angry with him. Bledig had been happy with the way their relationship was. Married or no, Bledig was happy. But Aramoren wanted to make their bond official, to make it forever. So instead of just being happy, he allowed his misery to rule him.

He missed his best friend. He missed the way he spoke, the levelheadedness he brought forth. Aramoren missed his kisses, his touch. Aramoren was so miserable, he hadn’t spoken a word in days.

Corwaithe told him to find happiness within himself, but he wasn’t happy, not without Bledig. That man made his soul catch fire. Bledig made the world seem right, helped it make a little more sense.

Corwaithe was right. He had to find his own happiness inside of himself. But if he did, would that mean he would lose Bledig? And if he lost Bledig, would he still be able to find happiness elsewhere?

His new life as a dog shifter further added to his misery. Everyone stared at him because of his bright golden eyes. He itched in places he couldn’t scratch. And no amount of bathing could take away the wet dog smell. The only upside was having a lot of instantaneous magic at his disposal. However, he couldn’t use it to kill. He had to hunt dinner the old-fashioned way.

Revender led the way on his large palomino horse that came from Formelk. Aramoren highly doubted the backwoods Formelkans even knew of Corwaithe’s coup. The people of Formelk worshipped the land and nature, and claimed to make portals to other dimensions. Aramoren shook his canine head. And he would have to go there too unfortunately.

They approached a roaring waterfall with a white stone pathway that led behind it.

“Are ye ready to help me, Aramoren?” Revender asked with a smirk.

The shifter sat, licking his paw indifferently. “Yes.”

“How do I woo a lady whose home and clan I may have destroyed?”

Aramoren raised a wolfish eyebrow, patiently waiting for the idiot to continue. Then he noticed something strange happening to him. A golden mist fogged his brain as he looked at Revender the Bad. Aramoren could see into his heart, hear what the man was thinking, see down into his soul to the person that he once was, and that man was now changing. There was no thirst for blood. There was a sadness about him, a regret and penitence for the atrocities he’d caused. In his efforts to heal the land, Revender had inadvertently made things worse.

And in this moment, they were the same. They felt the same.

I can sense what he desires, what he has done, he thought.

And you will help him, Corwaithe spoke to him inside his mind. That is your destiny. Help bring this land together. Protect the creatures of magic.

“So, what exactly did you do?” Aramoren asked Revender.

For the next few minutes, Revender told him the whole story. Revender confessed he went to the Willow Tree faeries and asked for their help in creating a castle to unify Meerdora. In return for helping Revender, the faeries wanted him to swear fealty to the Fae King Hernan. If someone were to hurt the fae, Revender would protect them. Revender agreed.

But the fae went back on their word. They never created the castle. Hernan, using his magic, captured Revender’s soul, holding it for ransom against the warlord. If Revender were to die, the gods would not recognize him to allowed him entry into their heavens.

Upon hearing what the Fae King had done, Revender stormed into the tree where the faeries lived and captured Hernan, along with most of the faeries. The beautiful woman, Razabeth, who lived with the fae, tried to stop Revender. But he threw her out of the tree, burning it with torches. The tree shrunk and shrunk, until it was the size of a normal willow tree. And with its destruction, the willow tree lost its magic. The fae holes sealed up and became nothing.

In her grief, Razabeth fled to Euainley. Revender searched long for the beauty of Castre. He finally found her far in the north, deep in the Guarded Forest. He begged Razabeth to come with him, for he had made her something magical. Razabeth left, returning with Revender to the last magical place in Meerdora. She named the castle and the fae forest around it Flowermoss. Razabeth shut herself inside the castle cave, never to come out for years. Until now.

Aramoren looked around, watching the men that followed Revender dismount and wait. It took everything in him not to roll his eyes or snort.

Hurt a woman and give her a cave, he glowered. Who knew that’s all it took?

He knew they were here for her, to right a wrong done by Revender. This was the first step in what Corwaithe wanted Revender to do, along with numerous more.

Aramoren leaned against the giant horse in his humanoid form. “Apologize.”

Revender scoffed. “Really, that is yer advice?”

“Take it or leave it. Being sorry admits wrongdoing and you, my simple man, did wrong. Then after you admit you’re a moron, show her you’re sorry by being and doing better.”

Revender hung his head. “Aye.”

“And you’re what—a laird now? Act like one.”

Revender grimaced.

Aramoren sensed his remorse at forcing Razabeth from her home. Giving her a bigger castle would never replace the one she lost. Aramoren could also sense his guilt for having taken over the clans. Revender was truly a horrid man. He had been ruthless in his attacks against those who defied him, cunning in his plotting, and gruesome his executions. Corwaithe was right when she said Qorreg had ruled his mind. Aramoren could trace the mind-scars from when Qorreg had forced his way inside. Aramoren winced to see the pain, but his growing pity didn’t mean he had to like the man.

“You did horrible things,” Aramoren continued. “Executions, warfare. Caused more deaths than a plague.”

“I regret that deeply, Aramoren.”

“Oh, I know,” he said, shifting back. “I can see it.”

Revender sighed. “But I love her.”

Aramoren rolled his eyes. “Then tell her that. Apologize. Start righting the wrongs by doing something. That will prove your love. Saying it repeatedly is dumb.”

Razabeth came out of the Flowermoss cave with a little bird in her delicate hands. She gave the little beast a kiss on the head and smiled as it flew off into a tree. Aramoren walked forward, his head down, sniffing the air. Razabeth was a righteous soul. There wasn’t a callous bone in her body. She held no ill will toward anyone, not even a person as ruthless as Revender.

Aramoren stared at her in wonder. Razabeth looked angelic. Her long blonde hair shone in the fading light. Her bright blue eyes glistened against the back dropping of the waterfall. In all, she was a rare beauty, more glorious than the goddess herself.

Razabeth neared Revender. The mountain of a man dropped to one knee, a hand over his heart. Razabeth smiled wanly at him but kept her distance.

Before Revender opened his mouth, Aramoren came forward. “Seriously, I get assigned to you for this?” he grumbled.

Revender glared.

Razabeth bent down, patting Aramoren on the head. Her touch was gentle and warm. She smiled, standing back up. “People are here to see you, Revender. Come,” she said, taking his arm.

Aramoren rolled his eyes and followed Razabeth. “Change is coming,” Aramoren said to Revender. “Are you ready?”

Aramoren lay on the cool stone floor next to the greatest warlord of their time. He yawned as he waited for anything to be said, but these mortals refused to speak. Why bother traveling all this way just to sit around and be bitter?

Of course, they had every right to be angry. What Revender had done was heinous. But instead of covering over his wrongs, the man was trying to put them to right. Revender was trying to make an attempt to do good.

His attempt to unify Meerdora and Castre for that matter wasn’t entirely unnoble. The idea was a grand one. The execution was… well execution. Revender went from a leader to an infamous killer.

Aramoren sighed, watching the man wriggle in his seat. Since Corwaithe, it was like watching Revender find himself again. Often time he was at a loss for words, looking confused and forlorn, like a piece of him was missing and he couldn’t find what.

Aramoren felt that way. Since Corwaithe changed him, he had more feelings, more depth to what things were. It was odd, like this deeper understanding filled his head yet there weren’t words to describe it all.

He watched the warlord open his mouth to say something yet snapped it shut. Aramoren sighed again.

Razabeth sat next to Revender and held his burly hand with her small one. The sweet woman who had lost all because of Revender was consoling the man.

And I got summoned to do this, he glowered, shaking his head.

Aramoren stood up on his paws. “All right,” he said, annoyed. “Speak up already!”

One man slowly got up. He was a medium-sized man, shorter than Aramoren. His long brown hair was braided at the sides and his clothes still had bloodstains on them.

Aramoren perked a brow.

“We all know ye canna control all of Meerdora from one castle,” the man began. “Give us each a castle with which to rule our people ye destroyed.”

Revender chuckled. “If I destroyed all yer people, then why d’ye need a castle to govern them?”

Aramoren snapped his fingers, shifting from dog to human. A sheet of paper hung in midair with two headings at the top: Revender and Others. A tally mark appeared under Revender’s name.

The people at the table looked up, astonished.

Aramoren chuckled.

“Compromise,” Razabeth said. “Rev, we all here have experienced your greatness and your malice first hand.” She dipped her head. “Give back to the people you took from.”

Revender crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair. “What is yer name?” he asked the man.

“Harq Wendren.”

Revender nodded. “I give ye the Castle of Faith. The fifth castle I created. Where I learned to have faith in the goddess and cast out Qorreg from me mind.” Revender squeezed Razabeth’s hand as he looked at her. “Where I learned I loved ye.”

Razabeth squeezed his hand back.

Another man stood, laughing. He was a short man and bore scars all over his face. “Revender the Bad, turning soft?” he mocked.

“A man who has learned to love, for love conquers all,” Revender replied.

The other man crossed his arms. “Does this mean yer done starting wars?”

Revender looked at Razabeth and smiled. “Aye, it does.”

“No more?”

Revender nodded. “No more wars. No more spilt blood. No more fighting. I hang up my sword for good.”

“Why did his kind invite us here,” one man said, pointing at Aramoren, “if yer just going to sit there feeling sorry?”

Aramoren snorted.

“Ye were asked to come here because we need to divide up the castles. We need to stand united for our peoples and as a nation o’ equality.” Revender stood up. “We need to strike an accord that we all can agree to and adhere to.”

“Agreed,” Aramoren stated. “You all are here because you all want better for your clan.”

Aramoren walked over to the man who spoke. “So, Lawson Hernan of Hernan Forest,” he began, “care to strike an accord?”

“For me people, aye,” Lawson said. He leaned forward, hand out.

Revender took Lawson’s forearm and shook it. “Then, Lawson, I give ye the First Castle, Hernan Castle.”

Aramoren sat in a chair as the men discussed the castles and their people. Revender divided up the castles, along with the lands. They spoke for hours about what Revender had done. And the mighty man apologized to each and every laird, asking for their forgiveness and writing down what he could do to help alleviate the pain he’d caused.

Before everyone dispersed for the night, Aramoren suggested a yearly meeting of the lairds to discuss commerce, defense, land improvements, and whatever else pertained to the unity and safety of the clans. The eight Meerdoran lairds, nine including Revender, readily agreed, choosing Rowanoake Castle as the place where all meetings would be held.

After the clansmen left, Revender, Razabeth, and Aramoren lingered in the meeting hall.

“Brilliant idea, shifter,” Revender praised.

“You did good today too, Meerdoran.”

Revender smiled, leaning back in his chair.

Aramoren waited for him to speak. Already the shifter could sense a powerful change in the man. He hadn’t become softer, exactly. He had become enlightened. He recognized what he’d done and felt remorse over it. But instead of allowing his guilt to cripple him, he’d decided to set things to right.

The man sat down in his seat, head bowed, shaking. “I’m so very sorry,” he told Razabeth.

Razabeth placed a hand over his. “I forgive you.”

“Ye make me a better man.”

“You were always a good man, Rev. You just forgot your true path.”

Aramoren interjected, “And you never needed my help.”

Revender smiled, sticking out his hand. Aramoren returned his grin, taking the laird’s forearm. Revender got up from his seat. The chair screeched against the stone floor and he dropped to one knee.

“Razabeth,” he began, “would ye do me the greatest honor and become my wife? I know I have a lot to change. I have a lot to make better. Would ye help me unite the clans that I tore asunder?”

Razabeth smiled, placing her hands in his. “I will.”

Revender embraced her, a smile splitting his rugged face. Using his golden-eyed sight, Aramoren watched Corwaithe bind their souls together. Razabeth’s purity and peacefulness were what Revender’s restless soul needed.

“Will you be there, Aramoren?” Razabeth asked.

The shifter smiled. “Wouldn’t miss my great accomplishment.”

Year of Corwaithe 579

Aramoren watched from a distance as all eight lairds from the other eight Meerdoran castles entered Rowanoake Castle throughout the morning. This castle stood above the Lonely Trio Mountains, at the tail end of the Lost Warrior River. The man who occupied this castle was Buford Bonteva.

Since the God War, things around Castre had changed. There were more created creatures, like the red holleristo deer, which were built like a donkey, had antlers like an elk, and were meaner than a hibernating bear. Or the groewindel: a giant bird with colorful plumage and dumber than a duck. The humans thought they were magical, but in fact they were just a gussied-up turkey.

Society also had changed. People of different backgrounds and classes could marry and live happily all throughout the land. Swanshé to the south was more cooperative. The castle dividing Swanshé from the north, Clouneder, was at peace. Its fortifications were no longer needed and the gates remained open.

Aramoren sighed as he watched people go in and out. Corwaithe wasn’t as terrible of a ruler as he’d once assumed. She was a generous one, patient and kind. She gave back to her people, and sent him or others like him to solve disputes and help in clans meaningful ways. Corwaithe created happiness. And for the first time in his life, he was content.

Aramoren had to admit his life was forever changed because of Corwaithe, and it wasn’t all for the worse. Was he ready for the change? Absolutely not. Change came no matter what, but he needed to find happiness inside of himself and adapt. It was best to embrace the life he was given, immortality and all. So, he built himself a cozy little home in the Forgotten Woods along with an inn in Jasmiqut. He had homes hidden away all over Castre. Even if he could never wander back to Orthilio, he could get close enough to it.

Aramoren sat stoically in front of the large portcullis. He was waiting for someone to show. He was growing slightly impatient, but they would be here soon.

A golden-eyed white wolfhound trotted up to him, sitting beside him. “Hello, Aramoren,” Bledig said.

“Hello, Bledig,” Aramoren replied, laying back down in the grass.

Bledig curled up next to him. “I’ve missed you.”

Aramoren lifted his wolfish head and draped it over Bledig’s neck. He breathed out contentedly with a smile. “I’ve missed you too.”

“Are you happy?”

Aramoren stretched. “Yes, I am.”

Bledig licked his snout and head. “As am I.”

“What does this mean for us?”

“It means I’ll need to know this house of yours we’ll be staying in.”

Aramoren kissed him, smiling a wide, wolfish grin. He stretched out in the spring grass with his love by his side. He hadn’t heard from Bledig since the God War, since Corwaithe changed them all into shifters. Now he had forever with the one man he loved more than life.

A huge owl flew overhead. Both wolfhounds sat up, grinning in the afternoon sun.

“Hello, Nascha,” Bledig greeted.

The great horned owl ruffled her feathers as she sat on a nearby rock. Her beak snapped as she shook her head.

“That’s better,” she began. “Revender will be here soon, Aramoren.”

“How soon is soon?” Aramoren asked.

“A half hour.”

Aramoren grumbled. “That is not soon.”

Nascha ruffled her feathers again. “It’s soon enough, just wait.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing?”

Nascha took that as an invitation to list off what she had been doing. Aramoren and Bledig did the same. They were the only three shifters to cross paths in Castre. The others either went far north into the Guarded Forest, east into the Forgotten Woods, and southeast into Wendren Forest by Crosser’s Sea. Then they disappeared altogether. They wanted to live their immortal lives in peace, protecting the few magical creatures that remained in Castre outside of Orthilio.

But Aramoren happened to like where he was. He enjoyed interfering in the lives of mortals when he pleased. Besides, the people here were so short-sighted and malleable. They looked at him and only saw a mangy dog. Like he told Revender months before, people would believe any history told to them as true, so long as you say it often enough or write it down.

Bards came and went, singing new songs about Revender. They sang the praises of the warlord and his love, the fair Razabeth. The people loved to hear the story of how, with a single tear, one small woman brought a powerful warlord to his knees in the midst of a furious battle. Scribes were already creating a book about it. History was being changed and Aramoren knew it would be told for years to come, even if it was far from the truth.

Bledig snuggled closer to Aramoren, sighing contentedly. Aramoren smiled, completely happy. They had spoken a lot over the course of the beautiful spring afternoon, sorting through the hurt and coming to an understanding. Neither one wanted to be without the other.

Aramoren smiled. “I love you.”

Bledig rubbed his head against Aramoren’s. “I love you too.”

Aramoren studied the happy faces milling about the castle courtyard. He sat up, glanced at his love, gave him a kiss, and trotted off to the castle.

Aramoren wandered through the crowd, going inside the keep. He went up the stairs to the second floor where he knew Revender and Razabeth would be.

The keep of Rowanoake was well made—by the faeries, of course. Built three stories high, its windows were tall and wide, taking in light from all different directions. It was a magnificent castle and his favorite if he were to be biased.

He went into the last door on the right; nudging the door open with his nose and waited for the man to arrive.

Revender came into the room with a smile across his face. The man was utterly oblivious to his presence. Aramoren didn’t know how since he was a giant gray dog laying on a rug in the middle of the damn floor.

Revender finally saw him. “Aramoren?”

Aramoren stretched. “Yes, Your Obliviousness.”

Revender exhaled. “Aren’t ye snarky as ever.”

“It’s my personality,” he yawned. “You get what you get and you don’t pitch a fit.”

Revender rolled his eyes, smirking. “What d’ye want?”