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 the nickname stuck and now the stubborn ass refuses respond to anything else.

The weight of my armor clinks together when I hit the dirt—most of the weight from my leather—which allows for agility. The tailored hide is all stained a deep color of red, so blood blends easier into it.

I pet the horse's nose—the only creature or person 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 just 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 from outside of Skull's Row—enjoying the challenge of making even the primmest princesses buckle at her knees, willing to do the impurest 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 dangerous.

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 near a large brick building, the energy inside filling the quiet streets with sounds of laughter, yelling, and wooden cups hitting the tables. Shouldering the wooden door open into Ern's Pub, I enter where there's said to be a petite little thing that gets into frequent bar fights. I immediately scan the place for what they gave as her description, but fail to see anyone that matches.

The area reeks of tobacco, and the full building nearly silences at my presence. It's bright with candlelight, harsh shadows elongating the concerned faces for those who recognize me. The others, who've never seen me, remain quiet, no doubt because it's not common to see 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, then no one would have to question about what part of our world in which I belong.

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 and a killer of the warlording kind, but I'm not a fucking idiot. It's important to make friends with the bartenders and in-keeps.

They have the best eyes and ears on gossip. And gossip is quite necessary for a hunt like this.

I walk up to the wooden counter, the metal pieces of my armor 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," I say.

Ern's long nose flares as his beady eyes widen. He's crestfallen as he says, "Oh... oh, do you really have to do that? It can't be because of that git, can it?"

He motions to a man in the corner who has a woman standing over him, applying a steak to his face.

I frown, looking the man over. "No. Although looks like I'm close, wherever 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. They mean little to me—my ego is more keen on the way people nearly collapse when they see my black mask—but the title is also an excellent cue for when someone seeks my favor. Ern already wants to protect her, and I make note of that.

I look at him. "It's not for me. The Council wants her. Don't know why, before you bother asking. They're being real quiet about it."

Even the whispers hush, the flickering shadows more haunting than the silence. Ern lowers his head, but keeps his gaze on me. "The council... at Skull's Row?"

"Little lady has attracted quite the audience," I casually reply, leaning on the counter. The man closest to me ever so slowly creates distance between us.

Can't blame the bastard. It's never a good idea to be within arm's reach of a Zenith—the men that make up the entire Council. It might be a boring name, but it commands respect all the same: we're a a limited collection of the worst, and most skilled at rampage and murder.

Ern hesitates before giving a single nod. "Please go easy on Jane. She's got a lot on her plate."

I gently narrow my eyes on getting her name. Such a common name. I was expecting something grand or dramatic, based on who is calling for her.

I inhale, about to reply, when the man sitting in the corner croaks out, "Nah, fuck that whore. Gave me a festering black eye."

I raise my brows, some of my hair falling in my eyes. 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, his voice stuffy when he speaks.

I say, "She's supposed to be petite, mate. How the fuck did she do that?"

"She's a fucking asshole!"

I can't help but snort, although my mind is already racing and trying to piece together every speck of 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 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's in a village called Coalfell," he regretfully says, exhaling as he presses his lips together.

"Who is she, exactly? Why does she get into bar fights? And who is she related to in that village?"

Ern shrugs. "Don't know much about her, honestly. This is a big traveler's outpost, so she frequents it to see all the migrants, and gets a little feisty when new faces 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 croaks up, 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 cock sucker's whinging, but I also still can't believe a woman could give such a large man a shiner as ugly as that. A few that are near the fat bastard take even larger steps away, his one good eye opening to look at me with concern.

"Why'd she hit you?" I ask.

His wet eye looks me over, like he wonders if he should keep speaking. Finally, he grumbles out, "'Cause she's a 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, and many of the commoners outside of our home are forgetting proper manners.

I've got nothing but impatience for people not owing me proper respect. It's how it always falls apart; can't fear a wolf that never uses or bars his fangs.

Feeling this minor slip on the Zenith's command is something I'm obligated to correct.

A woman speaks up that's sitting in a man's lap, just as I'm contemplating what to do. I shoot my gaze at her. She's a young, 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."

I can't deny I'm enjoying the mystery that this Jane is creating for herself. I always love roses with the thickest, most plentiful thorns.

"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, "Punch that cunt—"

I shift my entire head in his direction, his moist eyes widening as we stare each other down. Many men of my caliber have developed their own ways of sending out subtle messages, and mine is in my expressions.

I know whatever look I give him is making him nervous for the first time that night. Possibly in a while.

A small glass filled with golden liquid slides my way, and without taking my scowl off of this man, I down the burning alcohol, slapping it on the table before standing up from my lean. The man with a viciously swollen, blackened eye straightens his back as I face him fully.

Slowly, I articulate, "Don't fucking interrupt me again."

I head towards the door, not bothering to see the reactions. I purposefully keep my focus ahead of me as I shoulder the door, breathing in the cooler, clean air as I leave the 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 fat bastard.

No one gets a threat from me I'm not already planning to act upon. Any of my commands is warning enough. And as much as it might be fucking hilarious that a woman said to be much smaller than that man could hit him so well, that face of his is damaged. I couldn't even see his eye, but I bet the whites are red with blood. That nose will never recover, not with how crooked it seemed to be.

Someone taught Miss Jane how to hit. How to hit real fucking hard.

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 it. There's pieces missing. If she pissed off the wrong man, she wouldn't settle in a village only a few day'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 be out here? She clearly misses the fight.

Is she still in contact with those in Skull's Row? Is that why she's still near?

I stride out of the outpost and into the dark of night, approaching the stables. Someone is trying to near Phantom, and I hear the bastard mumble, "You're a big fucker. Who the hells rode on you?"

With thinned patience, I backhand the man when he looks at me, so hard he flies backwards 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, my company of men 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 knocked out 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.

Me 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.

Mine sits comfortably in my bag. I only pull it out when necessary, because I still like to make sure I command the same fear, with or without out it.

I give one curt nod to the thirty riders that wait in the shadows of night, riding towards Coalfell. I could always go in alone, in case Jane's the fleeing type. But if she's shrewd, just 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 passes since I left the tavern, but I grip the reins tighter when I notice the distinct billowing of smoke in the distance that looks entirely too much like a village on fire. 

I halt my horse, holding a hand up, my heart racing for the first time that night.

The stampeding of horse hooves silences next to me, the horses neighing and huffing.

As a mercenary—and a warlord—I'm used to the site of burning homes. Especially since fire mages are the most common type of offensive magic.

Fires don't spin high like that on their own.

Something about this reeks of arson, and I don't trust this one fucking bit.

Just who is the hells is Jane?

Riding up next to me is my right hand, Bones. He's a dangerous bastard who is extremely good at slicing flesh, wearing a necklace made of the tips of his enemy's finger's like it's a damn seashell necklace. The man has two large scars on his face, both from close run-ins with a blade. His tanned skin darkens easily in the sun, making his one blue eye stand out, especially with the other being brown.

He may not blend in well with a crowd, but if I send him to a job, it'll get done.

And whereas I don leather that's stained red, Bones wears the darkest colors he can find. Says it helps the necklace stand out.

Bones' gruff, raspy voice grates next to me. "That's more than a village fire. That's a fucking barbecue."

On my other side approaches Anya, 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 anger off the wrong people."

That's also the damn village that Miss Jane is 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 is the Council of Zenith is after her, but now people are burning down her village?

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."