Maturation of the Marked by March McCarron

Author:March McCarron [McCarron, March]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: March McCarron

The first thing Ko-Jin knew was the dank cement floor beneath his cheek; the second, acute agony. His head throbbed, his battered body ached, and his thigh seared with excruciating pain. He groaned before he could think better of announcing his consciousness, but the noise was drowned by a general din coming from somewhere above.

“Are you alright?” Zarra asked, her voice hushed.

Ko-Jin let out a second moan in response and, with no small degree of effort, rocked his body until he had rolled to face her. They were both tied hand and foot. Someone had bound his leg wound tightly, leaving his right foot prickling with lack of blood.

Artello’s large form sprawled unmoving by Zarra’s feet, though the rise and fall of his chest was a promising indicator of life.

Above them, the drone of rowdy chatter and the drum of feet reverberated.

“Where are we?” he asked. His voice, even to his own ears, was decidedly slurred.

“Leonna, I think. The roads sounded too loud to be a smaller town.”

“And how did we get here?” he asked.

“Those men tossed us in a covered wagon,” Zarra said, the anger in her voice audible. He blinked until his vision cleared and saw that her face was puffy and bruised around the eye, her lower lip split and stained with blood.

Ko-Jin meant to ask which men she meant—someone from the school?—but a sudden wave of nausea clamped his mouth shut.

Above them, a door opened and the clamor swelled. Heavy footsteps pounded down the stair. Ko-Jin’s stomach chose that moment to clench and thrust. Hot vomit burned its way up his throat and hit the floor with a lusty splatter.

Keys rattled, a door squealed open, and then two figures appeared.

“What’s this, boy?” A rough hand seized him by the base of his braid and pulled his face up. Ko-Jin found himself staring up into the long, impassive face of a Dalishman. “Chennre, you didn’t say the kid was concussed.”

“What’s it matter?” a second, higher voice asked.

“It matters,” the Dalishman said in slow, irritated tones, “because the edict stipulates an accurate report of all participants’ physical condition, and the biddings said only that he’d suffered a gunshot wound.”

A second man appeared, his scarred face vaguely familiar. He, too, peered down at Ko-Jin. “I don’t know that he is concussed, boss. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

The hand that gripped Ko-Jin released and his head lolled forward.

“With one pupil the size of a crater and vomiting? Even those as imbecilic as you could deduce as much. Or would you like me fined for fraud?”

“Of course not, boss.”

The boots thumped over to Zarra. Though she lay in an undignified bundle, her countenance was a mask of cool fury. Ko-Jin would have called it a glare, but for the fact her eyes were, as ever, clouded and unseeing.

“You’re Hervenne’s girl, are you not?” the man asked.

“Bellretha,” she swore at him.

He smiled blandly and grabbed at her fists, secured behind her. “Callused hands consistent with a swordsman. Yes, Chennre, I’m confident in your assessment.

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