THE MARKED

Kael hid in the ruins of the old mill outside Brackwater. His hand throbbed. The cloth wrap was soaked with something that was not blood? black, too thick. The mark glowed faintly through the fabric.

He had tried to cut it off. That was the first thing he did. He found a knife in the mill. He pressed the blade to the spiral. The knife turned to rust. The mark stayed.

He could feel it breathing. Not his own breath. Something else. Something in the lines.

The mill door creaked. Kael grabbed a wooden beam. He raised it like a club.

A woman stepped inside. She held a yew staff taller than she was. A cracked green crystal sat at the top. She wore a cloak of woven reeds, and her red hair was tied in a knot that looked like it had been done in a hurry. Her eyes were green and very sharp.

"Put the stick down, soldier," she said. "I didn't come this far to get brained by a deserter."

"Not a deserter," Kael said. "Discharged."

"Same result. You're hiding in a mill while your village burns."