Keira Ashborne's Arc

Chapter 1 of 3

Keira tightened the saddle straps on her brass-plated horse and scanned the dry ridge ahead. Steam hissed from the Clydesdale's flanks as it stamped the dust. She had ridden hard since her town burned, chasing a name and a sigil. Justice was the word she used. Any ending would do. She found the camp at dusk, empty but warm. A weathered hunting journal lay open by the ashes. Sketches of stags filled the pages, but the last entry showed her own face, circled in red. Range notes. Watering holes. A list of roads she had taken. A twig snapped behind her. Keira drew her pistol and turned. A wide man stepped from the brush, smiling, an ornate metal key swinging from a cord at his neck. He said the bandits paid well for the key's match — and better for the woman it belonged to. He raised his rifle. She fired first. The bounty hunter dropped into the dust. Keira pulled the key from his neck and stared at the engraved warriors along its shaft. The bandits knew her name now. And they were waiting.