The Blood Moons

Chapter One

“Was that all you have?” Cyla mocked as she watched the man back away from the tree. He’d just head-butted it and was swaying slightly as he shook his head. “You really are all talk.” His head snapped to look at her, eyes dark and jaw clenched tight.

“Why you!” he bellowed, charging at her again. With just as much ease as the first time, she side-stepped at the last second, this time slapping him on the back of the head.

“I thought you were supposed to be Bryant the Bad.” She c****d her head to the side and considered the stumbling giant before her. “Perhaps we should be calling you Bryant the Sad.” This time Bryant’s roar was wordless as he ran at her. Mentally she rolled her eyes. When is he going to learn that isn’t going to work? She started to step out of the way when Bryant suddenly changed course and she found herself flying backwards. Lifting herself up onto her elbows, she rubbed where his shoulder had connected with her chest. Apparently, he’s going to learn now, she thought, wincing slightly as she stood up. That’s going to leave a bruise.

“I told you, little girl,” Bryant sneered from the other side of the small clearing, “I’m not going back to that town and a puny little thing like you is definitely not going to be the one to change that.” Cyla narrowed her eyes and glowered at him. She never did like being called “little”. She was rather tall for a woman of Vera. But she supposed that when the man is as big as Bryant is, everyone seemed little. Still, she wasn’t going to forgive him for calling her “puny”.

The sides of her mouth started to tug into a devious grin. Noticing this, Bryant’s choking-sounding laugh started to die away. She could almost smell the unease starting to build in him. “Did you just call me ‘puny little thing’?” she asked slowly, taking a step forward. Bryant's gulp was audible even to her. She shook her head slightly. “Nobody calls me ‘puny’.” Like a striking viper, she leapt at him, nimble legs carrying her easily across the gap to the wanted man. Faster than he could react, she threw a set of punches at his stomach and another at his head.

This attack rewarded Cyla with his groan of pain. She aimed another fist at the side of his head, but found it pinned under his arm. He tugged her closer to him, his other arm raising and aiming for her own head. Before his punch could even land though, she kicked the inside of his knee. Falling heavily to his knees he released her. She wasted no time in launching a barrage of punches at his boulder-like head. He attempted to shield his head from her, but she simply batted his arms away and continued her assault. Bryant’s eyes started rolling to the back of his head while his arms fell slack at his side. She grabbed both side of his head and brought his nose down on her knee. With a loud crunch he fell backwards, blood pouring down his face.

She knelt on top of him, knee pressing firmly into his groin. Her dagger point pressed lightly against his neck as she watched his eyes slowly came back into focus. His eyes went wide as he started to put the pieces together. “I trust you will yield now,” she stated. She raised a brow as the fear in his eyes was replaced with anger.

“I’ll never yield! I’m Bryant the Bad! I’ll never be defeated, especially by a little, puny—” Cyla, growing weary of the same drivel, slammed the pommel of her dagger on the top of his head. In a second, he was out, unconscious on the forest floor beneath her.

“i***t,” she murmured, climbing off him. She returned her dagger to its scabbard tied to her thigh. “Even The Goddess wouldn’t have the patience to hear that insult twice.” She brushed her hands together and tossed her curls over her shoulder. She considered the unconscious man before her and frowned slightly. “Now how do I get you back to town?”

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Cyla sat on the log in front of the small fire, a rabbit sizzling as it roasted. The noonday sun was beating down mercilessly, making her glad that she had found some shade before having to make the last leg of the journey. For the better part of the last day, she’d been traveling with Bryant in tow towards Hawthorn’s Paw. There she would turn him over to the captain, retrieve her coins, and be on her way to the next hunt. She poked the rabbit with her knife, the juices snapping into the fire. Carefully she cut a piece and chewed it slowly. While chewing, she looked to the side where Bryant sat with his back against a tree and his arms and chest tired with rope. Long ago she had gagged him in order to stop the constant revolutions of threats and baby blubbering.

“I’m guessing you want something to eat?” she asked rhetorically. Huffing softly, she cut off another chunk. She yanked the gag out of his mouth and began to untie one hand. “One second of funny business from you and I’ll cut an eye out.” She looked him dead in the aforementioned eye, her mouth pulled into a serious line. Bryant gulped loudly before nodding shakily. She finished untying his hand and he quickly took the meat. Satisfied that she had him terrified enough, Cyla returned to her log. Licking the grease off her fingers, her mind wandered.

Ten years had come and gone since that painful day. In those ten years she had gone from a lanky awkward girl to a full-fledged, world-hardened woman. Her mass of curly intense red hair had grown wilder, never growing past her shoulder-blades, merely outwards. Her white skin deepened into a sun-kissed tan from the years of traveling around Vera. She’d lost the pudge of childhood, instead, the years had hardened her body with lean muscles. She glanced down with her amber-colored eyes to see the silver lines of scars that nicked her fingers and lined her forearms.

How many scars did she have over the years? She wasn’t sure. She'd lost count during the years of training alone, never mind afterwards. Too many battles, to many contracts to keep track of them all. Contracts just like Bryant Dram. She eyed him out of the corner of her eye. He sat there so passively, seemingly more like a giant beaten up teddy bear than the big tough guy he was a day ago. Seemed like every man she’d ever tracked down always started and ended that way. Cyla stood, stretching her arms over her head and stifling a groan. It was time to get moving, it was only a few more hours until they would reach Hawthorn’s Paw. And since the hottest time of the day had finally past, she could no longer delay. She ran her fingers through the red curls and sighed, grimacing as the scent from her pit wafted to her nose. She was in desperate need of a bath. The life of a bounty hunter was so glamorous. She kicked the dirt into the fire, grinding the embers with her heel before turning to her guest.

“Come on, Bryant,” she grunted, releasing him from the tree just to bind his hands again behind his back. She led him to a sturdy black horse she had borrowed from a farmer. Bryant began struggling against her, face scrunched up in disgust.

“I won’t go back on,” he stated stiffly. “It stinks.” Cyla arched an eyebrow, amused. She stalked behind him and kicked the back of his knee, just enough to get him to bend. Using all her strength, she shoved her shoulder under his butt and pressed down powerfully with her legs, easing him off the ground.

“Whaaa!” Bryant cried, wide-eyed as he lifted. It was only a second before his only options were to lean forward and lay across the flanks of the horse or to stay straight and end up falling to either side. The second option ending up with him eating a face full of dirt. Disgruntled, he leaned forward, his chest pressing on to the sweaty black haunches. She bent his legs and tied them to his hands.

Cyla stuffed the leftovers of the rabbit in a cloth before putting it in her pack. It should stay good to snack on before she reached Hawthorn. Patting down the butt of her black trousers absently, she mentally declared everything ready to go. Heaving herself into the saddle, she settled in front of Bryant as though she had no care in the world.

“We only got a few hours,” she said with a mischievous grin behind her shoulder to him. Her curls covered one eye, making her look even more playful. “Make yourself comfortable.” Bryant’s moan of lament echoed behind her as she spurred the horse on the road.

True to her word, a few hours later Cyla could see the rooftops of Hawthorn’s Paw in the horizon. Finally, she thought. I can’t stand this much longer. As though to punctuate her words, she rolled her shoulders, trying to lift the material of her black top off her back. It stuck for a moment, the merciless beating of the mid-summer sun causing her to sweat terribly. With travel, hunting down and capturing Bryant, and now traveling back, it had been a long week on the road. Twenty minutes later and she urged the horse towards a large wood building just outside the main town. Pulling slightly on the reins, she sighed before clambering off the horse. Her legs ached slightly from the sheer size, but what could she do? Bryant was a giant of a man needing a giant of a horse to carry them both.

Stretching her arms upwards, she eyed the building in front of her. Plain wooden walls and a simple four-step to the door. A large window was cut into the wall to the right of the door. Warped glass filled the panes, making it difficult to get a good look inside. A simple wood shingle roof topped the building. It wasn’t nearly as ornate as something in Tremena, the capital of Vera, but was certainly sturdier than many of the other small villages that dotted the land. She sauntered over and opened the door.

Inside the building was just as plain as the outside. There was a few desks and chairs and a table pushed to the side with a plant wilting in the summer heat. There were three men in the room, two leaning against the wall in their chairs and the third behind the desk pushed against the center of the back wall. His feet were propped up as they laughed at something she hadn’t heard. As soon as the door swung open though, they paused, pinning her with suspicious looks. She looked like death, dressed in black from head to toe, smudged with dirt, dust, and sweat. Her look was just as hard and suspicious and her mouth pulled into a thin line as she scratched her head through her mass of curls, shaking them slightly. She was ready to be done with it all.

“Can we help you, Ms.?” the man behind the desk asked. She eyed him carefully. His clothes were neat and clean cut with just a simple brown pant, off-white tunic, and brown boots. His hair was slicked back and a sword leaned against the desk beside him. She fought her nose crinkling into a sneer. His whole look and demeanor screamed that he was in charge and he carried it with all the glitz and glam he could muster. She was sure he used it to get into quite a few women’s beds. The arrogance of it all was already leaving a bad taste in her mouth and she was even more ready to get it all over with.

“I believe I have someone for you,” she simply said, pushing the door open wider so that they could see the horse and the package on its back. The men blinked a few times before chuckling. The leader put his legs down heavily, shaking his head and laughing before sauntering over to her.

“I believe you’re right,” he said, amused as he continued to eye the hogtied man. He looked down at Cyla and smiled charmingly. “Captain Jameston. I’m the head of the patrol around here.” He extended his hand out, pride pouring out of him and drowning her. She eyed his hand with disdain for a moment, fighting the urge to recoil. Slowly, she took his large hand, shaking it firmly once before nearly snatching her hand back. She silently patted herself on the back for keeping her face stoic despite the odd look on Jameston’s face. He quickly recovered, clearing his throat and pasting that same charm-filled smile. “Go grab him, boys,” he said with a wave. The two men walked past them, chuckles on their lips.

“So, Bryant the Bad,” Jameston stammered. “Thanks to you for that. The Goddess knows we’ve been trying to get him. But he’s slippery, that one.” Cyla allowed one brow, only one, to arch slightly.

“About that, why is he so bad?” Captain Jameston shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. He watched the as the other two men lifted her captive off the horse and carry him back pass them.

“Some say he’s just simply a bad guy, others say that he’s just stupid bad, the rest—they say he gave himself the name for no reason.” Cyla watched with hard eyes as the three men turned the corner to a hallway, leaving the two alone.

She knew she was getting more invested than she liked to (she more preferred to just get in, get it done, and get out) but curiosity was winning her over. “What did he do to have a price on his head?”

“Stole a pig.” Cyla’s head snapped back to look incredulously at the captain. She searched for any signs of jest, but Jameston was all seriousness now.

“A pig?” The captain nodded once.

“To be fair, it was the mayor’s pig. His favorite one, actually.” Cyla blinked blankly. Well then, she thought with amusement. It certainly wasn’t what she was expecting. “Even if it was the mayor’s pig, I don’t think it’s serious enough to involve the guild though.” Cyla watched as he fidgeted uncomfortably while eying the symbol on her left shoulder. She glanced down out of reflex to see the red dual moons with star bursts around them. It was the symbol of the Blood Moons Guild and anyone wearing it was considered a representative of them.

The guild primarily sent her contracts and had facilities in which to house them once she had caught them. But each town had their own jailhouses (like the one she was at now) and their own patrols for small-time criminals. When she caught someone, sometimes she would have to go straight to the next contract and needed somewhere to hold the first contract. She would then take them to one of the jailhouses and they would hold the contract until another representative or bounty hunter came to collect them. Her being there, emblem in view, she could see how that would send such a message to this captain.

She shook her head, curls bouncing slightly. “Oh no. I’m not here for the guild as of now. I had time on my hands and saw your wanted notice for Bryant. Figured I would make a little coin while I had the time.” Hearing this, Captain Jameston relaxed. She wondered if maybe he knew Bryant personally and had feared the worse. Either way, she was done caring.

“Well, The Goddess be praised for that,” he muttered, looking off to the side before snapping back to her. “I guess you’ll be wanting your pay then?”

“Please,” Cyla stated. She’d grown tired of the conversation and had heard the iron bars close on the cell further into the building. All she wanted now was a bath and some food. Captain Jameston nodded to himself absently as he strode over to the desk again. He bent down, disappearing for a moment, before reappearing with a small pouch.

“As advertised, twenty gold coins for the capture of Bryant ‘the Bad’ Dram.” Cyla took the bag, silently weighing it in her hand. She looked at the captain from the corner of her eye.

“Twenty gold coins for a pig thief?” she asked. Jameston shrugged.

“Like I said, it was the mayor’s favorite pig.” Mentally she told herself to keep her mouth shut before she talked her way into a pay cut. She bowed slightly to the captain and reached for the door.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Jameston called, trying one last time to use his charm. Cyla paused in the doorway. She nodded once to him.

Another step and she paused again. “Could you perhaps have one of your men return the horse? He belongs to the farmer who lives down the road about a day away.” Jameston nodded, slightly defeated his never-failing charm had failed.

“I know the man. I’ll have someone take him in the morning.”

“My thanks and may The Goddess bless you with good fortune.”

“As I hope she keeps you in her favor,” the man finished the customary saying. Without another word, Cyla made her way down the road into the rest of town.