Marcus Reid's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Marcus Reid stood guard at the grove's narrow passage, his hand on his sword. Hired men waited in the trees beyond the thorned wall. He knew this. But he had never seen their faces. Elena had asked him to protect her home while she rested, and Marcus meant to keep that promise. The problem gnawed at him. If he struck the wrong man, the real threat would slip inside and take her. A stranger stepped from the tree line. He walked toward the passage with easy grace. He had pointed ears and fitted clothing, and he moved like someone who belonged nowhere and everywhere. He raised both hands and smiled. "I'm only a traveler," the wanderer said. "I heard a healer lived here. I seek her blessing." Marcus studied him. The smile was too smooth. The man's eyes flicked past Marcus, counting the passage, measuring the wall. A real pilgrim would have looked at the grove with wonder. This one looked at it like a lock he meant to open. "You already found her once," Marcus said. "You're the one who tried to lure her away." The wanderer's smile held, but his hand drifted toward his belt. That gesture ended Marcus's doubt. He crossed the ground fast and shoved the stranger hard in the chest. The man staggered backward and fell against a low stone altar, the one crowned by a thin beam of silver light. Worshippers had once left prayers there. The wanderer caught himself on its worn edge, stunned. "Who sent you?" Marcus stood over him. His voice shook, not with fear, but with everything he'd swallowed since coming here. Curiosity had brought him to Elena's grove. He had wanted to do right by her, to help, to understand who deserved a healer's mercy. Now a man had come to trade her life for coin. The wanderer looked up, confused. His plan had counted on Marcus hesitating. He had expected a guard who feared striking an innocent. He had not expected to be caught so plainly. His eyes moved to the tree line, then back to Marcus. He was deciding what to do next. "There are others," the wanderer said at last. His voice dropped its polish. "You pushed one. You cannot push the rest. They already know the way in." Marcus drew his sword and set the point at the man's throat. "Then you'll tell me their faces. Every one." The wanderer laughed, low and bitter. "They watched me walk in. They saw you catch me." He nodded toward the trees. "They won't come as pilgrims now." Marcus glanced at the wall, at the single narrow passage he could not guard from every side. He had unmasked the lure. He had won the moment. But in winning it, he had shown the hired men their trick was dead. They would not knock again. They would come armed, and they would come soon.