Drunken cheers and the slamming of wooden mugs sang across the great hall, an aroma fueled from sweat, mead, and roasted pork permeated the air. Aric held his cup amongst his new brothers, feasting in celebration, though he hadn’t drunk but a sip.

  The freshly branded wound on his forearm throbbed, his fingers traced lightly over it as heat still radiated from it. It felt to him like a visual representation of his affliction, Burned by the Bright One, and burned by humans.

  His long, bronze hair was tied back in a queue for the initiation, hiding its shaggy nature. In preparation, he shaved his face clean, his pale skin visible to all, contrasted only by his red cheeks. Twenty-three years of age, and now a glorified hunter.

  The group of hunters in Fort Tarasian, set in North-Eastern Steerard, had just finished their annual initiation of recruits. Following a lengthy speech from their captain and the swearing of oaths, the thirteen new hunters were lined side-by-side, waiting to be given the brand that titled one as a hunter. The more he wished it to be over, the longer the morning dragged on.

  The Hunters’ Mark, a symbol that represented the courage, determination, and the secrets sworn to be kept from the land. A scorched circle, holding the eye of the gods in its center, signified the divine sight and the relentless pursuit that was expected from them.

  Aric imagined he’d be in better spirits after training for months on end, but reality was shifting into focus, excitement giving way to nervousness. A tall, brawny man beside him clapped Aric hard on his back, startling him.

  “Cheer up, greenhorn!” Merac shouted. His braided beard swayed as he moved, stained with the wine that missed his lips. “You’ve made it through the first trial.”

  “The first trial burns like hell,” Aric said, forcing a grin.

  Merac gave a bellied laugh. “Aye, but pain is a temporary gift to remind us we’re not invincible.” He took a long swig from his mug, and smacked it on the table. “Keep in mind, that mark on your arm isn’t what makes you a hunter.”

  Aric’s brow furrowed.

  Merac shook his head, losing the grin as his teeth clenched. “That shows us you have the courage to try. The real test…” He prodded his finger against Aric’s forehead and paused. “If you can keep your wits about you while evil breaths down your neck, you may deem yourself a proper hunter.”

  “If I wasn’t nervous before, I am now,” Aric said, turning to stare at the food before him, his appetite long gone.

  In the blink of an eye, Merac found his smile again. “You should be nervous! I wouldn’t believe you to be sane if you weren’t. It’s your job to learn how it’s done, and our job to keep you alive. And I’m damn good at my job.” He winked.

  “I’ll hold you to it,” Aric replied, raising his cup.

  “Atta boy!” He yelled, cheersing his drink to Aric’s.

  A grizzled man later in age approached the table, his silver hair tightly pulled back, revealing a deep scar that ran from his hairline to his brow.

  Aric and Merac both stood to show respect, as did the others seated around them. “Aric Greyard, correct?” Captain Ragner asked.

  “Yes, sir,” he answered.

  “Our Head Noble of Fort Tarasian, Geoff Tarasian, wishes to speak with you. Best be prompt,” Ragner said, taking his leave. Those standing took their seats.

  Merac chuckled, his mouth full of food. “Now, what is it our Noble Head could want with you, greenhorn?”

  “Lord Geoff is the brother of my sister’s husband, Joran Tarasian,” Aric claimed, still standing.

  “You hold relation to Lord Joran of the Court of All?” Merac cackled. “I’m eager to learn if you carry more surprises, Aric.”

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  Act Two

  Exiting the grand hall, he stepped outside into the brisk air, the sunlight basking the cloudless sky. Towering stone walls surrounded the stronghold, scars etched on them from battles in the past. Blue and red banners lined the enclosure, waving to the wind's whim in sporadic fashion. They had colors of the eastern hunter parties and the Tarasian insignia—a white boar with long tusks.

  The courtyard was lively during midday. Guards and hunters sparred, women washed dirty clothes, and children darted between the working adults with little consideration. Blacksmith hammering, the clashing of swordplay, and horses snorting from the stables drowned the worries spiraling in his head, a moment of peace.

  He continued up the stairs and stopped at the door, where a guard waited over the Head Noble’s chambers. The guard opened the door, leading the way. “Hunter, Aric Greyard, has arrived, Lord Tarasian.”

  Geoff Tarasian sat behind his desk of scattered papers, scratching his chestnut-colored beard. “Hurry on in, Aric,” Geoff said, radiating joy. “Take a seat beside our friend here.” He gestured to a man sitting in a brown leather seat across his desk.

  The guard exited and closed the door, barricading the unwelcomed wind. Aric advanced into the room, his eyes fixed on the man who was turned away from him. The mysterious man turned and stood, the firelight illuminating his visage. “My brother-in-law is now a hunter, I hear!” Joran Tarasian exclaimed, clapping his hands together with pride.

  “Joran!” Aric gasped. He rushed to embrace him, clinging to him as if he’d already given his farewells. “What in the Staterra’s name are you doing in the east?”

  Breaking from Aric’s grasp, Joran placed his hands on Aric’s shoulders. “Can’t I take a trip to see my two brothers without reason?” He said, with a simper.

  “As if that were the reason.” Geoff howled. “You always did prefer the warmer winds of the south. Now take a seat, the both of you.”

  “How are my sister and niece?” Aric asked.

  “Julia is well, though I haven’t seen her in the last month. Elise and I escorted a friend to The Shade and figured I’d stop by to see how my family in the east is fairing,” Joran said.

  “Elise is here with you? I have not seen her since she was seven years of age.”

  “Yes, she’s causing trouble in the courtyard, no doubt. We just arrived mere minutes before you entered. She was excited to see you when I told her we’d be stopping here on our journey back to Thios Reach.”

  “How long will you be staying, brother?” Geoff interjected.

  “No longer than a few days. It will take four weeks to reach the Capital, and I’d like to attend the Court of All meeting next month. One of the members has been pushing for brutish changes in the city's laws, and I should be there to see he doesn’t get his way.” Joran said, his face weighed by exhaustion.

  Geoff’s joy shrunk, and his eyes became sincere. “So, you don’t know, do you, brother?”

  Joran’s smirk lessened, meeting his brother’s intense gaze. “And what is it I don’t know?”

  Geoff leaned onto his desk and looked down amongst the papers. He picked one up and sighed. “A pigeon brought a letter from the Capital yesterday—it was from your wife, Julia.”

  Joran took a deep breath and rubbed his hands against his eyes, readying himself to whatever news Geoff might bring. “Go on, Geoff.”

  He paused for a moment, then read off the letter. “‘Hello, Geoff. I hope you, my brother Aric, and those in your fort are well. I’m writing to inform you that laws have been changed in the Capital and may cause problems to ripple out east in the future. Afflicted amongst our walls were to be exiled, but today, the Court has revised the punishment to an immediate execution. I pray they don’t extend this law to the country in time, but I fear that may be their goal. A riot took place at the Public Gathering Announcements, and they have already executed a few afflicted found fleeing the city. Prepare your people for the worst. Stay safe and give Aric my best regards.’” He finished, leaning back in his chair.

  Aric sat in stunned silence. He’d always known the south showed more disdain for the cursed, but he never imagined it would grow so severe. The vision of children and parents being ripped away from one another made his stomach turn and blood boil. He realized how daunting Joran’s burden must be—fighting alone against a barrage of cruelty, while he celebrates with companions.

  Joran sprang up. “I must prepare to leave as soon as possible. Send word to have my horse readied.”

  “Brother, what could you do arriving a day earlier? Stay for the night and be off at first light.” Geoff reasoned.

  “No. I have dear friends living in those walls, trapped like animals awaiting slaughter. Knowing Damian, he must have guards investigating those trying to leave the city. I have no time to waste here. The south isn’t as welcoming to the rejected as the north or east is,” Joran declared. He looked to Aric as if to give him a warning. He quickened to the door.

  “Sorry to be taking my leave early, but I thank you for your open hospitality, Geoff. Aric, I’ll be sure to bring Elise up this way once I clean up the Court’s mess.”

  “I understand, Joran. Safe travels to you and Elise.” Aric said.

  He nodded to Aric, his face aged with tension. Looking back at Geoff, Joran asked, “I won’t be able to do much on my own, but I feel the east could lend aid. I ask you to ready our family's banner, march down to Thios Reach with a small army. Help the afflicted leave the city safely.”

  “I would be glad. I will ask fellow eastern nobles to join our march. We stand by you and the afflicted.” Geoff said, without hesitation.

  “Farewell, my brothers.” He said, closing the door behind him.