Chapter One

The air was dank. Shae threw a log onto the fire. It crackled as moisture evaporated from the wood, leaving the scent of char thick in the air. Shae barely noticed. She was listening. She thought she’d lost them in the woods, but now she isn’t so sure; she can hear whispers. The first arrow misses her by a hairsbreadth. She rolled past the fire, grabbing her own bow.

“Enzo, you’re losing your touch!” She gloated. Shae often gloats. She has that way about her, a confidence that shines even when peril is at its highest. Some would call her brave. She knows she’s just lucky.

Bear was the name of her horse. He snorted loudly as Shae parried a second arrow with the moon-kissed silver dagger that never leaves her hip. Three low whistles and Bear charged off to her left. The unnamed assailant sneaking up behind her never saw him coming.

Shae laughed again. “Oh Enzo, where are you? Best stop this charade before someone gets hurt.”

Enzo knew the ambush was reckless. He’d told his patron to wait until Shae was asleep, then perhaps they’d have even odds, but they didn’t listen. ‘Now!’ They’d demanded, it had to be now, this hour. He’d lost count of the times she’d slipped through his fingers. She was a witch; of this, he was certain. Still, she was on the back foot, and he hoped that one of the three men encircling her would get lucky. That was all he needed: one lucky shot to land. Hope evaporated as Bear rounded on them, knocking each down, never slowing. The horse was a demon, or a ghost. None saw him coming. By the time they were on their feet, Shae had taken to the horse’s back. Enzo lined up a final shot before residing himself to another failure. As he took aim, ready to fire, the moonlight failed, ducking behind a thick sheet of cloud. Only the firelight remained. Captivated, he watched the shadow of the woman take down his three men, all giants compared to her, all tiny as they lay defeated on the floor. He didn’t wait for her to find him. When the last man fell, he ran. Shae did not follow. He knew she wouldn’t, she never did. He feared the day she found him first. Perhaps she would come in the daylight, brandishing nothing but her hands and that haunting smile. Perhaps she would never come at all. She would take him in his dreams. A knife slipped between the fears he had concocted for himself. It didn’t matter. This was the last time, he vowed. The last time he’d take a bounty on the witch of the Western Rise.

Shae buried the men and placed markers on their graves. ‘Fools,’ she thought, as she gathered up the coin from their pouches. Then she froze. Nothing scared Shae, not a knife to her throat or the pull of a fierce ocean, but now she was afraid. In one of the coin pouches there was a necklace, a crescent moon, crafted from moon-silver. The necklace was unique, forged many years passed by her father. He had made only two, and one hung around her neck. This belonged to Ana, her sister. She had never seen her without it.

Shae did not stamp the fire. She did not roll her sleeping mat, or take the half roasted rabbit from the spit. She took to Bear before the moon had emerged from the passing cloud, and in a haze of dust, she headed home.