With eyes set on the horizon, Ronan McDougall watched the sunset’s orange glow highlight the town directly in front of him. Observing the village from afar, he could gather it greatly benefited from the wealthy landowners near by. Within the village he noticed stone cottages equipped with chimneys indicating that the hearth was located inside the home. Compared to the round huts in Ronan’s settlement, the households in Tipperary lived lavishly. But the warlock knew their bountiful lifestyle came with a drawback. The village occupants were the main source of food for the vampires living in the castle on the mountaintop. A price tag too steep for Ronan to accept.

Scrutinizing the town’s backdrop, he saw the shadows of the rising mountain with the Golden Oracle castle situated near the peak. Due to the cloud cover, Ronan could not see the castle, but he heard enough tales about the occupants to make his blood curdle. Times were bleak with a vampire being on the throne as he favoured his fellow bloodsuckers leaving scraps for the Malagi and the Vilkros. Gone were the peaceful days of King Lucas ensuring all species received equal protection against the mortals. Ronan had to contend daily with hunters, witchcraft trials and scavenging for enough food.

The worst atrocity of this new king’s regime was their cruel treatment of his female counterparts in his religion of witchcraft. Before his journey, Ronan had taken extraordinary measures to hide his father and his younger sister, Catherine deep in the woodlands. He could not risk their safety as the family had suffered enough heartbreaking loss with the death of his mother and older sister, Elizabeth. Younger and older witches were being silently slaughtered around the countryside with zero answers of who or what group was responsible. And then the callous decision by the Golden Oracle Council demanding Malagi to produce an heir within the year. They treatment of his fellow witches as objects or slaves disgusted Ronan’s good sense.

As his horse trudged closer towards the village of Tipperary, Ronan noticed several other men on horseback in the meadows. Holding the reins in one hand, he looked around him to confirm the number of riders possibly heading to the castle with the same purpose. He would not be surprised if this competition were a ploy to capture all the warlocks in one location. Ronan had several reasons for attending the games as he had no intention to collect a prize at the end. He thought this would be an opportune time to collect information on this monarchy. There is no better way of achieving his goals than to enter the hornet’s nest and discover how to dismantle it.

Ronan told himself he would attend the competitions for a chance to radicalize the other warlocks against the Dulra monarchy. What he did not care to disclose even to himself is that he was out for revenge for the murders of his mother and sister. Hopefully, he could pick up more intel on those who could possibly be responsible for their senseless murders. And when Ronan finds the perpetrators, he would take great pleasure in drawing their blood. Just as they had done to his mother and sister. When he found their bodies, the two women were drenched in their own blood as their throats had been ripped clear open.

Coming close to the outskirts of the town, Ronan got down off his horse, held the reins and walked his steed into the village. Passersby barely noticed him as they strode across the path in front of him. He needed to find the local blacksmith to sharpen his sword and a place to care for his horse before making the journey up the mountain. He asked an older man carrying a chicken as he walked the dirt path in front of him. “Excuse me sir, could you point me in the direction of your blacksmith.” The older man wordlessly pointed up ahead to which Ronan could see an open hut with sparks of fire. “Thank you.” He stated as he continued ahead.

As he approached the hut with the Blacksmith, Ronan saw a tall thin young man speaking with a rounder robust man. He recognized the thin framed man as a family friend, Daniel Flynn, a fellow Malagi from neighboring lands. Ronan called out to the man. “Daniel, my boy, you made the trip as well.” The young man smiled clasping Ronan’s hand and they patted backs in a friendly embrace. “Ronan, I never expected you to be here.” Releasing hands, Ronan faced the bigger robust man as he began hitting a thin piece of metal on top of an anvil. He answered his friend with a laugh. “I could not miss an opportunity to check out the enemy’s lair.”

Checking behind him, Ronan observed a small stable where other horses were standing. He led his brown steed to the stables and noticed a young lad of twelve brushing down a horse. Ronan reached into his pocket, pulled a silver coin, held it up and asked the young boy. “Lad, could you provide some food and water.” The young lad quickly took the coin and smiled up at him. “Yes sir.” Ronan patted his shoulder and handed him the reins to his horse. Striding back towards the Blacksmith, he casually asked his friend waiting as the robust man worked. “How is the family Daniel?” The thin young man with curled blonde locks answered. “Good. They are good. Hoping I can come back with a wife.”

Ronan inwardly scoffed as he knew the prize of the competition was the wife of the King. “Friend, I do not think you will be finding a wife this time.” The Blacksmith finished working, dipped the sword into a barrel of water releasing steam and handed it back to Daniel. Ronan reached over his shoulder and pulled his sword from its sheath. His younger companion remained by his side as Ronan held out a coin asking for his sword to be sharpened. They stood in silence watching the capable man work. Daniel exclaimed to him. “That is quite the sword you have. Compared to yours, mine is quite flimsy.” Ronan crossing his arms in front of his chest, rubbed his hand against his chin. “It is my fathers. Been in his family for a long time. He finally decided I was worthy enough for it.”

“You boys here for the Warlock competition?” The Blacksmith asked the two men as he continued to work with his attention focused on sharpening the sword. Daniel answered for them. “Yes sir, we are trying to win the hand of the Queen.” Ronan noticed the robust man shook his head in disgust and heard the angry tone in his voice when he spoke. “Well, the Queen wants nothing to do with your sort. A couple weeks ago when the Council made its decision, she about killed herself trying to escape down the mountaintop.” Ronan absent-mindedly took his hand and rubbed the stubble upon his chin.

Ronan was disgusted thinking about an innocent young witch being terrified and risking her life trying to escape her fate. He could not imagine the fear she must be facing because of this competition. The Blacksmith finished and instead of holding it up for him to take dropped it and left it on the anvil. “It’s done. We are all finished now take your things and leave. We do not want your kind here.” Ronan picked up his sword and reached up to return it into its sheath. “Thank you sir.” He answered him and noticed the shocked expression on his companion’s face. Ronan pulled the young man by his shoulder and stated. “Daniel, it is time to leave.”

The two men strode back towards the stables as Daniel exclaimed. “We did not do anything. It was the Council’s decision. Hell, it was the King’s decision to have the competitions in the first place.” Ronan heard him as he scrutinized the crowd glaring at them as they passed by. He hoped during their time at the castle that Ronan could open the minds of as many Warlocks as possible. “Do not be angry with them. It is apparent that the people love their Queen. But I hope you can see how they are trying to turn witches against warlocks – to cause a division within the Malagi.” Ronan grabbed the reins of his horse as Daniel did the same.

Daniel began to get up on his horse when Ronan stopped him. “Walk your horse out. Do not give them any more reasons to hate us.” He figured the young man must be sheltered as Ronan has several times dealt with the hate that the current kingdom must be sowing. As they walked their steeds out of town, Daniel and Ronan got astride their horses and began the dirt path up the mountainside. “Daniel, we are in a battle for our own existence. Our women are disappearing and the witches that remain are being treated as chattel. As Warlocks, we need to unite before our kind is wiped off the map for good.”