‘Brands,’ one guard demanded brusquely.
The three drew back sleeves to reveal their brands. They were a horrible, angry red colour, and Torben’s had yet to stop throbbing, but the coat of arms of Guild House Fisel was distinctly burned into his arm.
‘Fresh blood,’ the guard said curtly. ‘You’ll need to see the Guard Master over there; he’ll sort you out.’ Stepping to one side, he waved an arm towards a tent not too far away and let them pass.
A small line of people snaked from the Guard Master’s tent, which the three of them joined while waiting for admittance. When they finally reached the Guard Master’s desk, he examined their fresh brands, muttered something in approval, and they were ushered to another desk at the side where a clerk made them re-initial several pieces of paper befor
