Duncaster would no longer welcome them.

On the way back to Brook Hold, Azazel made sure he and his companions gave the town a wide berth. The Knight of Thorns’ condor strutted up to Azazel’s side, and the knight asked Azazel, “Why are we not taking the most direct route back to Brook Hold, your majesty?”

Azazel sighed. He dare not lie to the knight, lest the crown upon his brow turn on him. “The short answer is… what I did outside your castle is not the first mistake I’ve made on this trip.”

The Knight of Thorns said nothing. He lightly pulled on his condor’s reins until the bird had fallen behind Azazel’s horse again. Azazel glanced over his shoulder, silently praying he would not see the knight drawing his sword. But the knight’s gauntlets never left his condor’s reins, and it was impossible to tell if he was staring at Azazel, or merely at the road before them.

Neji, on the other hand, was staring at Azazel. When he looked back on her, he could tell those dark eyes of hers had been roaming up and down his body. She noticed him looking back at her and gazed into his eyes with that same hunter’s stare that she’d had the other night. Azazel shuddered and looked away.

The detour they took brought them between two green pastures. On the north side a herd of sheep grazed, and on the south a herd of cows. Beside the road stood wooden fences, just high enough to keep the cattle in their respective fields.

Further along the road, Azazel heard the raised voices of two men, both of whom sounded enraged enough to start a brawl. As he crested the hill, the angel saw the two of them arguing.

One of the two men had gray hair, an underbite and large chin, and the sandpapery hints of a beard growing back from his last shave. He held in his hand a wooden stave with a hook on the end, and wore a blue coat and cap. At first, it looked like a sheep stood by his side, until the animal growled and barked at the other man.

The other man looked a few decades younger, had a bushy mustache hanging over his lip, and a long, crooked nose which looked like it had been broken a few times before. He wore a wide-brimmed hat and a long duster. His hand hovered over a revolver in his belt as he and the shepherd exchanged shouts and insults.

The two men were so embroiled in their argument that their words strung together over the top of each other, and Azazel simply could not make sense of them. “What’s going on here?” Azazel demanded. The two men continued their argument unhindered, as if they were the only two beings capable of speech in all the world. Spit flew from their angry mouths, along with words far more disgusting. “Hey!” Azazel said, a little louder this time.

The Knight of Thorns rode forward and bellowed, “Peace!”

The shepherd and rancher stopped and looked at the group approaching. Both men’s eyes widened, and they stood at attention with their backs straight and shoulders back. “The Knight of Thorns!” both said in unison.

Curious at this reaction, Azazel ruffled his own wings a little to see if they would react to the obvious angel in their presence. The two men stood transfixed on the Knight of Thorns.

“It looks to me,” said the Knight of Thorns, “like you two are in the midst of a dispute.”

“Yes, sir,” said both men.

Even the shepherd’s dog bowed his head to the Knight of Thorns.

The knight gestured to Azazel with his gauntlet. “This is King Ozz, to whom I have sworn my allegiance. Explain to him the problem, and he will settle your dispute with wisdom.”

I will? Azazel was caught off guard, but he did not allow his face or posture to betray his surprise. “Yes, I’ll settle this…” He turned to the rancher. “Why don’t we start with you? Why are you so upset?”

The rancher pointed an accusing finger at the shepherd. “This old cur’s sheep keep coming into my field and eating my cattle’s grass! He says he fixed his fence, but both his fence and mine keep conveniently breaking right next to each other.”

Azazel rolled his eyes. “You can’t share something as trivial as grass?”

The shepherd chuckled and curled his smug nose at the rancher.

“Trivial?” the rancher snapped. He glanced over to the Knight of Thorns and his look softened when he returned his gaze to Azazel. “Forgive me, your majesty. Maybe I need to explain things better. When cows graze, they merely eat the tops of the grass, cutting the stalks shorter. The grass grows back. Sheep, however, tear grass up by the roots. They destroy the fields completely!” The rancher pointed to the shepherd’s field. “See those patches of dirt showing through? That’s where the sheep have destroyed everything! If his flock keeps grazing on my land my herd will starve!”

Azazel turned to the shepherd. “What do you have to say to that? Why can’t you keep your sheep on your own land?”

The shepherd shrugged. “The fence keeps breaking. I try to fix it, but… look at the wood here.” The shepherd walked over and tapped the fence with his stave. “It’s old and rotted. Were I a younger man with more money to spend, I might be able to replace all this old wood.” He pointed to the gray hair under his cap. “But, as you can see, I’m not as young as I used to be. I can only do so much.”

The rancher snorted. “Then maybe it’s time you passed on your land to someone else!”

“Oh? Like you?” the shepherd spat back.

“Here we go again!”

“You’ve had your eye on my flock for years!”

“Paranoid—”

“Thieving—”

Azazel raised his hands. “Enough of that!” he shouted.

Both men fell silent again.

“How about it?” Azazel asked the shepherd. “Do you have a relative who could inherit the land?”

The shepherd’s eyes grew sad and he looked down at the ground. “No…”

The rancher folded his arms. “He and his son ain’t spoken in years! Ever since he moved to Duncaster.”

“Your son lives in Duncaster?” Azazel asked. “I was just there not long ago! What’s his name? Maybe I met him.”

The shepherd bit the inside of his lower lip and his brow furrowed. “I have no son. He run off and married that woman without telling me. He made it clear he’s no son of mine!”

“Right, this is all his fault,” snorted the rancher.

Azazel pointed a finger at the rancher’s face. “That’s not helping!”

The rancher gave an apologetic look and bowed his head. “Sorry, my liege.”

“Tell me your son’s name,” Azazel commanded.

“…Edwin,” said the shepherd. “But I think he goes by Carver now. Chose a new name for himself so he could say he wasn’t my son no more.”

“Oh, get off your high horse, ya grouchy old bastard!” said the rancher. “We both know why he didn’t tell you he married Hester!”

“And why is that?” Azazel asked.

“Because—” the rancher began.

“No.” Azazel stopped him. “I want him to answer.”

The shepherd sighed and hung his head. “Because the girl he met is an Ithacan.”

“She’s from Ithaca?” Azazel asked. “The land down south of Tir Shazelle? What does that have to do with anything?”

The shepherd slumped down on a nearby tree stump, looking defeated. “My father fought in the Ithacan War when I was a boy. He came back and told me all about how wicked those people are. He told me that the Ithacan soldiers used to keep small boys on hand at the camp…” the shepherd looked up at Azazel, “and what those small boys were for.”

Azazel felt a chill creep up his spine. He’d heard something about this in his history lessons. When it was discovered the Ithacan soldiers engaged in such a practice, Seth had them punished. In fact, now that Azazel thought about it, that was how the war between Tir Shazelle and Ithaca ended.

“So…” the shepherd continued, “I grew up hearing those stories, and I told those same stories to Edwin, along with all of my father’s war stories. My father was a hero, and I stand by that no matter what.”

Azazel nodded. “But, when your son fell in love with a woman from Ithaca, he knew you wouldn’t approve… because you hate Ithacans, am I right?”

“Not Ithacan women!” the shepherd protested. “I never said nothing against Ithacan women. Only their men did the evil things my Pa talked about.”

“But Carver…” Azazel began, “…sorry, Edwin… he thought you wouldn’t accept his bride because she was Ithacan. So, he ran off and got married in secret?”

“Aye,” said the shepherd. “They found a priestess of Ashtoreth and got married, then moved to Duncaster. Never said a word to me. One day he was just gone, an’ it took me days to figure out what had happened. By then he’d changed his name to Carver, and that was that.”

Azazel sighed and rubbed his temples with both fingers. “Then here is my ruling. You have two options. The first is that you can go to Duncaster and speak to your son. Tell him that you’re sorry for spreading your father’s prejudices against his wife’s people all those years. Tell him you forgive him for running off and getting married without telling you, and then tell him that you’d like to give him the family land. All he has to do is repair the fences.”

The shepherd opened his mouth to protest, but Azazel cut him off.

“Or, from this point forward, any sheep which wanders into your neighbor’s land becomes his property.”

The rancher grunted. “I don’t want his sheep! They tear up my fields!”

Azazel rolled his eyes. “Then butcher the sheep for your supper. Once it crosses into your territory of its own accord it becomes yours to do with as you wish.” He returned his gaze to the shepherd. “That’s my solution. Either you make up with your son and he helps you maintain the fences, or any sheep which wanders into your neighbor’s field belongs to him now.” He turned to the rancher again. “But, know this, you too must keep your fence repaired at all times. You cannot expect your older neighbor to keep his fence in good condition if you cannot do the same.”

The rancher raised his hands to make a point, but Azazel silenced him with a glare.

“If any of your cows find their way into his field, they become his cows. And if I hear that you have not repaired the breaks in your fence…” Azazel struggled for a moment to come up with a fitting punishment if the rancher was, indeed, trying to take advantage of his ruling. “…Then I will consider giving part of your lands to your neighbor. Do you understand? You became angry with him because he could not keep his sheep within his own fields, but you’ve hardly done enough to keep them out.”

The rancher swallowed hard. “I understand, sire.”

The shepherd bowed his head. “Thank you, sire.”