Marked by Pedro Urvi Read Free Book Online Page A

scrutiny of the other residents, but certainly not like this. His knees were trembling. This was ridiculous; he had to calm down.
    The two friends ambled through the village, captivated by all the attractions provided for the enjoyment of locals and guests alike. Hartz insisted on stopping at every single stand—as if they could afford to taste the delights for sale―even though neither one had any money. After drooling over fresh and cured meats, cheeses, breads, and other delicious treats, Hartz—with an appetite to match his size—ended up nearly fainting over a honey-glazed blackberry pie that only a privileged few could afford. Komir had finally grabbed his arm and dragged him away to put an end to his agony.
    A group of musicians passed nearby, heading in the direction of the main street and livening up the morning with their festive melodies. Komir observed his friend; he showed not one iota of nervousness. How he envied his indestructible calmness and cheerfulness! Nothing ever seemed to alter his good mood and self-confidence. Komir, on the other hand, was a completely different case. The only moment all morning long when he hadn’t been overwhelmed with nerves had been the time he had shared with his parents on the outskirts of town, in the low prairies next to the river where the ranchers’ market was taking place. There he had seen the most magnificent horses—and he had a considerable soft spot for horses... steeds brought from the kingdom of Rogdon, and even some from the faraway lands of the South under the control of the Nocean Empire. Horses were scarce in the lands of the Norriel and owning one was considered a sign of social status. Maybe one day he, too, would have one, although right then he thought of that as an unattainable dream.
    But now the moment of truth was near. The ceremony would soon begin. He could barely keep his legs steady. The enormous town square was completely packed with spectators. They had with some difficulty managed to establish a guarded perimeter where the ceremony and the final competitions would be celebrated. The Master Warrior Gudin moved to the center followed by two of his instructors. Drawn on the ground was a white circle. Inside it, the effigy of a roaring bear had been carefully etched in a deep, blood red. Gudin and his two instructors turned around in the middle of the square to face the leader of the tribe and knelt in a show of respect.
    Auburu presided over the festivities seated on a high throne made of oak with intricate ceremonial carvings. She wore a long, white wool tunic with silver embroidery. Her straight blond hair flowed down to her waist and shone like wheat bathed in sunlight. On her head, a simple crown of silvery flowers softened the usual seriousness of the young matriarch’s face. In her right hand she held the ancestral scepter of the Bikia. It was almost two and a half yards high, made of elm wood and adorned with complex symbols representing the sun and the moon in a brilliant, dazzling silver. That scepter identified her before all her people as leader and spiritual guide. To her right were seated two other women: Suason, the healer, and Amtoko, the strange hermit. The latter, of an undetermined age but beyond fifty, caressed her long, snow-white hair which sharply contrasted her jet-black clothing. She was the Mistress of Tribal Ceremonies, in charge of ancestral rites and formal rituals and responsible for guaranteeing the purity and correctness of these. The majority of people considered her a witch and mystic; some revered her for her immense wisdom. Everyone respected her and above all, feared her. To the left of Auburu was Althor, the Master Smith; Bamul, the Blacksmith; and various artisans and merchants of importance in the small tribal society as well as the Council of the Twelve. Protecting them were fifty veteran warriors covered with bearskin capes.
    In the midst of the din from all those present, Auburu stood up, scepter in