Kelfor (The Orthomancers)

Chapter 1

When I first see her, from my hiding place behind the curtain, Zivan is furious. She is projecting the sort of thinly restrained anger that could explode at any minute. I recognize her only as an outcast. Her skin is covered in mud and she is wearing filthy clothes. She looks dirty. She looks defiant.

"Why am I here?" She is staring at Quondam Azrial, her shoulders back. Flanked on either side by two burly miners to dissuade her from leaving, she is definitely not happy.

The wrinkles in the old face in front of her attempt to contort into a smile. "You are here because you are the toughest of the outcasts. The best thief in the karths." The quondam exchanges a brief glance with the praetor, who is sitting beside her on the wooden bench. "And we are going to need the best."

Zivan reaches toward her small son, who is standing nearby, as if touch could protect him. "Why should I help you?" She glares around her.

"Your child will soon be left alone. One day, you will be caught stealing by the Scoriats and executed. He will not survive without you." The stately old lady is unmoved by this catastrophic future she envisions. Her voice is calm. "He is one of the shunned; he will be hunted down."

A shadow passes across the girl's face; I can see it clearly from my hiding place behind the thick curtain. Her fists clench and unclench by her sides. I think she would like to attack the quondam. However, she says nothing.

Quondam Azrial goes on: "If you agree, he shall be protected by the timeworn, for as long as both we and he exist." She sighs. "That is why you will help us."

The young, unlined face and the tired old one scrutinize each other. There is a long silence. Finally, the girl with the eyes of flint lifts her chin. "In return ...?"

Quondam Azrial inclines her regal head, pleased that the girl has understood. "In return, you must swear loyalty to the task, must swear by the blood to complete it."

Zivan considers her options. Her son is making small noises of worry in his throat. Her eyes slide to him again. They soften. She takes in a large breath of air and then breathes it out slowly. She has decided. The outcast hands are held out, palms upward, in the age-old Inmuri sign of capitulation. She does not smile.

As Quondam Azrial takes the ceremonial knife to lightly pierce the girl's thumb, I notice a shining circlet of metal around Zivan's ankle. It has two words engraved on it: 'NEVER AGAIN'. The words have been carved into the silver by hand. Zivan must have spent many hours chiseling them into the metal. They are important to her, I think.

The quondam moves the knife to her own wrist. She has to push harder to find blood in the dark raised veins, and hers moves more sluggishly. Finally some of the precious dark liquid seeps to the surface and she is able to mix the two by touching her wrist to that of Zivan. The pact is sealed.

"Can you move at any time?" The old woman stares steadily into the thief's eyes.

"Of course."

"Then you know what your first task will be?"

"I do."

Quondam Azrial breathes in slowly, her relief showing. "I wasn't sure it was possible."

Zivan gives a faint smile. "Anything is possible."

The quondam turns to my own mother, who has been standing quietly to one side the whole time.

"You were right to come to us, Irizana. As she will soon be the last of the orthomancers, it is now or never. I can see no other way, although many of the timeworn do not agree with me."