Chapter 2
There’s nothing like the hunt, especially when the moon is bright.
I dismount my black steed, a big fucker I call Phantom. The horse never fails to startle strangers like he’s a damn ghost, despite his size. It wasn’t always the horse’s name, but it stuck and now the stubborn ass refuses to respond to anything else.
My armor clinks together when my feet hit the dirt. The tailored hide is stained a deep red to match the shade of dried blood.
I pet the horse’s nose—the only creature I show any affection for—and make my way through the outpost of Talon’s Perch, running a hand through my chin-length black hair, smoothing it out of my face.
The outpost has dirt roads, wooden buildings, and gets bigger every year; soon they’ll have cobbled streets. Braziers light up the main strip, windows glowing orange from the candles inside.
I ignore the myriad of reactions to my presence: most of the onlookers flee, some look at me with opportunity glinting in their gaze, and a few slender things latch their wide eyes on me, no doubt hoping I’ll make their bellies swell so their sons can be attributed to a father named Soren.
As much as I enjoy fucking women outside of Skull’s Row—thriving with the challenge of making even the primmest princesses buckle at her knees, willing to do the most impure acts just to please me—I have to ignore them tonight.
There’s a woman to catch, a hunt that requires my full attention. I’ve been eager to meet whoever holds the Council of Zenith’s interest so easily.
I don’t know her name—neither do they—but I’ve got a description of her, and a location. I also don’t know why the fuck they want her, but I do know that if they’re going to be vague about her summons, then it’s something that makes her important.
Been a while since we had a woman cause this much of a stir.
Hopefully, she’ll live up to the commotion surrounding her.
I shoulder open the wooden door of a large brick building, the energy inside filling the quiet streets with sounds of laughter, yelling, and wooden cups hitting the tables. I enter the place called Ern’s Pub where there’s said to be a petite little thing that gets into frequent bar fights. I don’t immediately see anyone that matches the description of the woman I’m looking for.
The pungent smell of tobacco fills the air. I can feel the tension in the air as the occupants fall silent in my presence. Ern’s Pub is bright with candlelight, casting harsh shadows, and elongating the concerned faces of those who recognize me. The rest remain quiet, no doubt because it’s uncommon to witness a man as large and built as I—clad in expensive armor—without assuming I’m related to some part of Skull’s Row.
If I had my black skull mask visible, no one would question what part of our world I belong to.
Ern, the middle-aged bartender with a braided black beard, focuses on me when our eyes meet. Placing a wooden mug on the counter, Ern stands up straight and cautiously says, “Soren, what pleasure do we owe the likes of you?”
I may be an improper bastard of the war lording kind, but I’m not a fucking idiot. It’s important to make friends with the bartenders and innkeepers. They have the best eyes and ears for gossip, which is quite necessary for tasks such as this.
I near the wooden counter, the metal pieces of my armored shoulders clinking with every step. I ignore the enveloping silence—save for a few whispers that reach my ears—all while everyone watches. “Small woman, mid-twenties. Long, auburn hair. I’m here for her.”
Ern’s long nose flares as his beady eyes widen. He scans the room as if wondering what in the hells this is about before asking, “It can’t be because of that git, can it?”
He motions to a man in the corner who has a woman applying a steak to his face.
I frown, looking the man over. “No. Although it looks like I’m close, whoever she is.”
She’s an active little fiend.
“Please, my liege. She’s a good person.”
My liege. He’s already calling me by whatever fucking proper titles I’m owed as a Zenith myself; an excellent cue for when someone seeks my favor. Ern already wants to protect her, and I make note of that.
I lean my head in his direction. “It’s not for me. The Council wants her. Before you bother asking, I don’t know why. They’re being quiet about it.”
Even the whispers hush, the flickering shadows more haunting than the silence. Ern lowers his head but maintains his anxious gaze on me. If I wasn’t so keen on finding this mystery woman, I’d investigate the way he seems to cover a hundred expressions. “The Council... at Skull’s Row?”
“Little lady has attracted quite the audience,” I casually reply. The man closest to me ever so slowly creates distance between us.
Can’t blame the bastard, especially if he knows who I am. It’s never a good idea to be within arm’s reach of a Zenith—the individual men that make up the entirety of the Council; we’re a limited collection of the worst mercenaries and the most skilled at rampage and murder.
Ern hesitates before giving a single nod. “I can’t imagine why you’d want Jane. Or did she finally break the ego of the wrong man?”
I narrow my eyes on hearing her name. Such a common name. I was expecting something grand or dramatic, based on who was calling for her.
Inhaling, my reply rests on my tongue when the man sitting in the corner croaks out, “Nah, fuck that whore. Gave me a black eye.”
Raising my brows as I face him, a few strands of hair fall into my gaze. The man is a larger bloke with one hand resting on a gut hardened by years of ale, and the other hand holds the steak on his round face as the woman tending to him backs away. His nose is grossly swollen, and his voice is stuffy when he speaks.
“She’s supposed to be petite, mate. How the fuck did she manage so much damage?” I ask.
“She’s a fucking asshole! This shit will never heal straight.”
I can’t help but snort, although my mind is already racing and trying to piece together every detail. I glance down at my hands and then at my leather bracers while I try to uncover whoever the fuck this Jane is. That’s a mighty blow she delivered, even for a normal-sized man. I face Ern, giving him a nod. “If she was here recently, then I need to act. Where does she live? Don’t bother trying to protect her, Ern. She’s on our list now. No one can save her, so don’t get caught in her wake.”
“She lives in a village called Coalfell,” he regretfully says, exhaling as he presses his lips together. He cleans the glass in his hand with more rigor.
“Who is she, exactly? Why does she get into bar fights? Any family in Coalfell?”
Ern shrugs. “Don’t know much about her, honestly. This is a big traveler’s outpost, so she’s always in here to see the fresh faces and gets a little feisty when they roll in. Don’t think she’s got family in Coalfell. She’s got sad eyes, sometimes—”
“Sad my fucking ass,” the one in the corner grunts, the tavern still dead silent.
The first time, the interruption was entertaining.
This time, it just annoys me.
I languidly look at the man, not sure what I want to do with him. I didn’t come here to listen to a bastard’s whining, but I also can’t believe a smaller woman could give such a large man a shiner as ugly as that. A few that are near the fat man take even larger steps away, his one good eye opening with concern.
“Why’d she hit you?” I calmly ask.
His wet eye looks me over like he wonders if he should keep speaking. Finally, he grumbles out, “Cause she’s a jealous cunt.”
The fire in the hearth pops with embers, but I remain as still as a large cat watching its prey. Again, the titles mean little to me, but lately, the Zenith have been keeping to their fortress in Skull’s Row a little too often, and many of the commoners outside of our home are forgetting their proper manners.
Unlike Ern, here.
I’ve got nothing but impatience for people not giving me proper respect. Even if the titles feel decorative, the use of them indicates obedience. Without that, it’s how it always falls apart; can’t respect a captain that is unable to control the entire ship.
As I weigh my options, contemplating what to do, a woman’s voice cuts through my thoughts from where she sits in the lap of a man across the room. I slice my gaze in her direction. She’s a mousy thing, her light voice breaking up the tension as she says, “He was being rude, my liege. Jane doesn’t like when men are rude to other women.” She scrunches her nose. “I think she looks for the assholes, honestly.”
“Why you —” the annoying one begins, but he silences as I raise my hand.
I can‘t deny I‘m enjoying the reputation that this Jane is creating for herself. I always love roses with the thickest, most plentiful thorns. Maybe she can make life interesting for the week it’ll take to return to Skull’s Row.
“She‘ll fucking love me, then.“ I look back at Ern, ignoring the fat bastard for now. “A swig of your golden, and then I‘ll chase after her.
The man in the corner takes the meat off of his eye, sits up straight, and says, “When you find her, punch that whore—”
I shift my entire head in his direction, his eyes widening as we stare each other down. Many men of my caliber have developed their own ways of sending out subtle messages. Mine is always in my expressions.
I’m cognizant that my scowl is making him nervous for the first time tonight. Possibly the first time in a while.
A small glass filled with golden liquid slides my way, and without taking my glare off of this man, I down the burning alcohol, slapping the empty glass on the table before standing from my leaning position. The man with a viciously swollen, blackened eye straightens his back.
Slowly, I articulate, “Don’t interrupt me again, or you won’t have a nose to bitch about.”
I head toward the door, not bothering to see the reactions. I purposefully keep my attention ahead of me as I exit, breathing in the cooler, clean air as I leave the musty old tavern.
There’s no need to make a more direct threat. It’s a dangerous practice to sling words around with little action to support them, and I don’t have time to discipline the ugly man.
And as much as it might be fucking hilarious that a woman said to be much smaller than him delivered so much damage, it also shows she’s got claws I’ll need to be cautious of. I couldn’t even see his actual eye from the swelling, but I bet the whites are properly bloodied. That nose will never recover, not with how crooked it already seemed to be.
Someone taught Miss Jane how to hit. How to hit real fucking hard. I’d be amazed if her fist wasn’t damaged after a serious hit like that.
Most fathers don’t teach their daughters that, not out in these villages.
A father of Skull’s Row , however, would.
Is she from there, then? Is that why they want her? Has she pissed off the wrong man from a decade ago and they finally found her?
No... that doesn’t quite feel right. Pieces are missing. If she pissed off the wrong man, she wouldn’t settle in a village only a week’s ride from Skull’s Row. And Coalfell is a pacifist’s village, one that splits up their labor between mining coal, and the other on farms. Why would a woman with a healthy dose of violence in her heart choose to reside here? She clearly misses the fight.
I stride to the border of the outpost and into the dark of night, approaching the stables. Someone is near Phantom, and I hear him mumble, “You’re a big fucker. Who in the hells rode on you?”
He nearly squeaks when he spots me. With thinned patience, I backhand the man so hard he flies backward and hits the ground out cold.
Hopefully, he’ll remind the people here to also not touch the war horses of Zeniths.
I mount Phantom, and my company of men are waiting for me just outside the outpost. It’s a clear-cut team I use for swift traveling and specialized missions. Trotting off, I leave the unconscious man in the dirt. Someone will either find him, or they won’t.
He’s not my fucking problem right now.
No, Miss Jane is my problem.
Being out here is also how I know Jane has baggage that not even a mule could carry. A Zenith doing this work is only reserved for serious infractions, and I’ll even don the black skull mask if needed. Aside from the message it sends, the powers it grants me might prove necessary.
I’ll find out, either way.
I give one curt nod to the thirty riders who wait in the shadows of night as we head toward Coalfell. I could always go in alone, in case Jane’s the fleeing type. But if she’s shrewd, even a whisper of someone looking like me entering her village will tell her she’s been found.
Might as well have thirty men with me when that happens.
I’m not sure how much time has passed since I left the tavern, but I grip the reins tighter when I notice the billowing of smoke in the distance that looks entirely too much like a village on fire.
Holding a hand up, I pull Phantom to a halt, my heart racing for the first time that night.
The stampeding of horse hooves of my flanking men silence as they stop next to me, neighing and huffing.
As a mercenary—and a warlord—I’m used to the site of burning homes. I clench my jaw when a tower of spinning fire spirals high into the night.
Fires don’t do that on their own.
Riding up next to me is my right hand, Bones. He’s a dangerous bastard with a proclivity for slicing flesh. He wears a necklace made of his enemy’s finger bones like they’re damn seashells. His tanned skin darkens easily in the sun, making his one blue eye stand out, especially with the other being brown.
And whereas I don leather stained in red, Bones wears the darkest colors known to man because he likes how the necklace stands out against an ebony backdrop.
Bones‘ gruff, raspy voice grates next to me. “That‘s more than a village fire. That‘s a fucking barbecue.”
On my other side, Anya approaches, a woman so pale she‘s easy to see in the dark. Her short, black hair is greased back, that long nose of hers smelling the air, no doubt breathing in the smoke. “That‘s a poor decision. Isn‘t Coalfell a part of Belstead‘s supply chain? One that supports us ?”
I nod. “Which means if someone’s burning it down, they don’t fear what comes after them. Could be a local issue gone too dark, or a mercenary from over the oceans who doesn’t know Coalfell and that burning it down is going to piss off the wrong people.”
That’s also the damn village that Miss Jane is supposedly in...
Won’t do us any good to collect her charred bones.
I narrow my eyes. Could this all be related to her? But who in the hells would she have pissed off so much that not only the Council of Zenith is after her, but now people are burning down her village just to get to her?
And how the fuck have I never heard of this broad? No one has bitched about an auburn-haired woman by the name of Jane, nor about anyone in this region.
I concentrate on my surroundings, seeking any information I can gather before I say, “Find Jane. She’s the priority. Leave whoever did this to me if we find them. But we find Jane first.”