Irwin walked away from his house, holding back his desire to run. It would relieve some of his listlessness and annoyance, but if he ran into someone again, things would only get worse. Besides, his legs and arms felt alright now, but who was to say the pains and aches wouldn't return with a vengeance?

So, he stalked through the town towards the school building near one of the central squares.

The odd sensation that was the connection to his card lingered in the back of his mind. He fiddled with the sensation, but not enough to accidentally trigger it. With his hands in his pockets, that'd ruin his pants.

It feels like a mug slowly filling with water, he thought.

He flexed the connection, noting the sore sensation. Did Bronwyn have this with both of his skills? He hoped not. It was one thing to have a sore body from walking up a stair, but if he was also going to be in pain from using his card, he wasn't sure he'd ever use it again.

After thinking about it for a bit, trying to recall if he'd ever heard about it before, he decided it was probably because he'd only just gotten his first card.

As he moved, he bent down and grabbed a little grime, wiping it across the back of his hands, instantly hiding the thin, tattoo-like lines from sight. He wasn't interested in drawing any attention to it, at least not just yet.

The narrow streets he walked through were quiet and empty, which made sense as the first bell still had to ring. A dull chime suddenly rang from far to the left as if to mock him.

Irwin looked up at one of the dark spires from Lastristal castle. It was the place the whole of Malorin was built around. Situated less than twenty minutes from the Gloomforest, it had been the sole bastion for survivors in these backwater parts.

Ahead of him was the largest square of the town, lined with craftsman's workshops to one side and the town's school to the other. The central street ran through it from left to right, and he knew that if he followed it, he'd either reach the castle or the town gate—neither a place he wanted to go to. Straight ahead was the Nobles District, the direct opposite of the Rats District, both in location and who lived there.

I wonder who they will send, he thought, staring at the wider, cleaned streets. If they really needed to send twenty people, that meant there weren't enough children from the Rats District or even the crafters. The nobles would have to bleed with them.

Somehow, that made him feel slightly better.

I wonder if the Cityholder will send his grandchildren, he thought, knowing the chances of that were probably zero.

A figure stood, huddled against the wall near the school's double gate, watching his feet. Irwin wasn't surprised to see Greldo here at all. It was even likely that he'd been here for a while, as his mother was probably tumbling with another of the guards, hoping for some coin. He sighed as he walked up, wondering what his friend would say about his card. As bad as it was, he was sure Greldo would have killed for it.

"Hey, Greldo," he said so as not to spook the other.

Even then, Greldo jolted and looked up with wide, fearful eyes. His dark, bushy brows almost came together in a mono-brow, and at fifteen, he was starting to show the thin shadow of a mustache. He calmed as soon as he saw Irwin, smiling half-heartedly before waving.

"Irwin," Greldo whispered.

Irwin stopped and leaned against the wall next to him. They were of a height, but even Greldo had more muscle than he did.

"Did you hear?"

Irwin sighed as the looming notion of going to the sorcerer towers returned with full vengeance. Oddly, Greldo looked at him with wide, gleaming eyes.

"You don't seem too sad about it," Irwin whispered.

He quickly looked around to make sure none of the bullies were heading their way. There wasn't anyone heading to the school, and only a few people were moving around the crafter's buildings.

Greldo shrugged, his familiar sad smile cropping up. "Yeah, well… you know," he muttered, looking around and at the door before leaning closer. "It'll get me away from that horrible woman… The sorcerers can't be worse than that, right? And at least I'll get food each day!"

"Probably," Irwin said with a knowing and pained grin. He'd long since gotten used to Greldo calling his mother 'that woman'.

"But you know how few ever return, right? And those that do... Remember old Garbil?" he said.

Greldo waved his hand in the air. "Doesn't matter. I'll not survive another year here. That woman? She's managed to charm one of the older guards, promising him she can still bear him some children."

"What? Who?" Irwin exclaimed in surprise.

It had been a long-standing bet amongst many people they knew that Greldo's mother would never find anyone that stupid.

"Tyson Bas," Greldo said with a scowl.

"That violent maniac?" Irwin said as he swallowed. He instantly knew what Greldo meant. If he had to live at that man's house, he'd be in for a beating every other day or more. And Tyson had two cards. If he forgot to hold back only one time...

"Yeah, I heard him beat her up two days ago, but she didn't seem to care much. Was all happy the day after, sporting her blackened eye and telling me that Tyson just showed his love like that…"

"By Gelwin's Balls, you might be right," Irwin said, wanting nothing but to change the topic.

"Better make sure your mother doesn't hear you," Greldo said, grinning nastily. "Or she might finally stop being nice and smack you around some.

"Just don't tell her then," Irwin said as he suddenly grinned, though it quickly turned into a pained one. "Bronwyn is back-"

"Did he bring you a card?" Greldo hissed, his eyes darting to Irwin's hands.

"Yeah," Irwin said hesitantly as he raised his hand for the other to see.

"Oh. It's a utility one," Greldo said, taking a single, short look before smiling ruefully.

"Yeah," Irwin said as his shoulders hung. "I'd had hoped…"

Greldo didn't reply, and they stood there for another five minutes. A couple of their classmates came slowly drifting in from the Rats District and Crafters District. They stayed with their own little groups, and although Irwin couldn't hear what they were talking about, he was pretty sure he knew what it was about.

Finally, a group of well-dressed teenagers began walking out of the street of the Nobles District, congregating near the exit to the side of the school.

And here come the lucky ones, Irwin thought.

One of the young nobles waved his gloved hand at another, electing a loud ooooh from a few of the surrounding girls.

Must have gotten another card, Irwin thought.

Maybe if he was lucky, he could get a glove to cover up his, though it would likely only draw more attention to it. Eyeing the boy's leather jerkin and padded pants above well-fitting black boots, Irwin sighed wistfully. He'd probably not be getting those new boots now.

Wait, when do we have to leave? Not today, right?

He recalled Bronwyn's words, and his hands turned cold. At the same time, his stomach clenched, reminding him that he'd not eaten since the previous afternoon. Even though there probably hadn't been anything but some moldy carrots and the dried meat his mother spoke about, it would have been better than nothing.

"Do you know when we have to leave?" he whispered as he turned to Greldo.

Greldo was staring straight at the group of nobles, gazing at Clarish, a tall girl with a long, curly ponytail. She was one of the few children, besides the nobles, who had a weapon: a long quarterstaff with metal-plated ends. Some said she slept with it, which Irwin found more than reasonable as the price of the weapon could feed him and his Mum for months.

"Grell," he hissed, pulling his friend's sleeve. If the nobles saw him looking, it would just be trouble they could do without.

"Dunno," Greldo muttered, tearing his eyes from Clarish.

Irwin pressed a hand against his stomach.

Mum said she'd come to school. Perhaps she's got food, he thought, as he saw Greldo's gaze slowly drift back to Clarish.

He didn't even bother looking. Greldo and the other boys had been giving Clarish more and more attention over the last year, and he knew why. She was tall, smart, and beautiful, and she was rich to boot as the youngest daughter of one of the few carded tailors. He'd even seen more than a few nobles stare at her in class with a dreamy, far-off look.

Fools, Irwin thought, somewhat smug.

Clarish had no interest in any of them, not even Lark, who was better than her in everything besides turning boys' heads. If she didn't want Lark, what chance did any of them, or him in particular, have? He banished the image of her intelligent brown eyes.

A clunk from the door of the school snapped him out of it, and he mechanically moved to the back of the line of youths that had formed.

"So, I hear we are finally being relieved from your skinny presence?"

Irwin looked up at the sound of the grating, cocky voice to find Bast and his friends grinning at him as they stepped into the line behind him. All three were brawny and could have been brothers from both their looks and intelligence, the latter of which was the lowest in the class.

Because the sorcerers don't want you and are sending you to the wall? Irwin thought, but he said nothing. He wanted to, but getting a beating after school wasn't his idea of a good time.

"What now? Afraid to speak?" Bast said as he stepped closer, his nasty grin widening. His hands moved towards Irwin, who couldn't stop himself from flinching.

"Hah! You won't survive a day in those towers! I'll light you a candle when we hear you're dead," Bast said.

Irwin held back an angry retort, afraid that whatever he did would just result in a beating.

"Inside, you brats! Go to the main hall. There's no class today," a cracked voice shouted.

Their teacher, Rhym, father to the current smith Randal, stood at the door, staring straight at Bast. His sharp, dark eyes, set in a wrinkled face with a ragged gray beard, promised punishment for those who didn't act upon his orders immediately.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

Bast scratched his nose as he backed off, nodding at Rhym before turning around to beckon his friends.

"I'll find you after school," he whispered as he backed toward Rhym. "Some bruises might motivate you to get lost sooner!"

Irwin slumped, already feeling the heavy thuds on his body. It wasn't just the pain of the moment or that he'd be unable to do anything for days after. The fact that they kept reminding him they were holding back because he was too weak for a proper beating somehow made everything far worse.

Perhaps we are leaving right away, he thought.

For a second, he wondered if he could perhaps burn the three with his flame to scare them off. Then he recalled the pinky-sized flame he'd produced, and he barely managed to hold back the anger from making him glare at Bast. If he did that, things would only get worse.

"We can just hide in the attic till they are gone," Greldo whispered, and Irwin nodded.

They followed the other youths into the old building made of stone and wood. Walking through the familiar dark and dusty hall, they headed into the largest room, generally used for festivities and the occasional shared breakfast.

Irwin stopped in his tracks as he saw the tables lined together and laden with plates and baskets filled to the brim with bread and cheese. A shove from Bast made him stumble forward, but he barely cared as his eyes locked onto the food.

"There's milk," Greldo said, his soft voice still the loudest thing in the quiet room.

There was a round of laughter and mockery from the front of the class as a group of nobles began whispering and pointing at Greldo.

"Pipe down, brats," Rhym shouted, his voice cracking as he moved to a small elevated podium. It was empty, but Irwin saw a cloaked figure standing near the wall.

"You will all be grateful to know that we get to share a meal gifted by Sorcerer Xourdin," Rhym said, waving his hand at the figure. "However, before we do, I've got some not-news, as I'm sure most have heard it by now!"

Rhym coughed, and his face turned pale. It took him a few moments to gather himself as the youths quietly watched. They had long since gotten used to Rhym's poor health.

There were many stories about how someone with as many cards as he had ended up in this state, from him being poisoned by a monster in the Gloomforest to surviving a stabbing with a sword he forged himself. However, the most commonly believed one was that he used to be with one of the last groups of mercenaries that closed portals before those were all forced to join the walled cities.

"Due to a... minor inconvenience at the sorcerer-initiates tower, our noble city council has agreed to the sorcerer's request for more people," Rhym said, looking around.

Nobody dared speak, and he nodded.

"To celebrate your unexpected ability to help keep our beautiful peninsula safe, you will all get to eat to your heart and stomach's content. When we finish, Sorcerer Xourdin will explain a few things, and then I'll let you all know who has been selected," Rhym said.

This time, there was some shuffling of feet and anxious looks, showing that not everyone knew or perhaps hadn't been told that the selection would come from within them.

"Your parents already know who will be leaving, and they will be waiting for you at noon. Those who are chosen can then go with them for-"

The hooded figure cleared his throat, and Rhym blinked, then gritted his teeth as he stopped talking. When nothing else came from the hooded figure, Rhym took a deep breath, then waved at the tables with a short, angry gesture.

"Go eat."

As afraid and curious as he was, Irwin knew better than to ask questions or expect anyone else to dare. He followed Greldo to the furthest table, keeping a close eye on Bast. Luckily, the burly youth and his friends had run to the first free table, seeming to have forgotten all about him.

Irwin lowered himself to the bench, and all his worry faded as he smelled the food. His gaze fell on a big mug of warm milk, and he almost grabbed it, barely holding back. Nobody was eating yet. He swallowed and looked around.

Everyone was doing the same, though the youths from the Rats District were easily distinguishable. They were all swallowing, and their gazes kept drifting to the food. Even the crafter's children seemed ready to dig in. Only the nobles looked around in disdain.

Still, even they knew better than to begin. It wasn't the first time they had eaten together, but that only occurred at the height of summer, when food was more plentiful. Rhym would tell a long story about how lucky they were to be alive and live where they did, instead of near the dangerous coast, on the unforgiving plains, or worse, beyond the wall where the demons ruled. This time, however, he showed no interest in his usual speech.

"Eat, I said," Rhym snapped.

There was only a moment's hesitation; then everyone turned to the food.

Irwin looked at his food-laden plate. There was a thick vegetable porridge on it, whole carrots lurking within, and he even thought he saw a few chunks of gravy. Suddenly, the worry and fear at what was coming, or the promised beating by Bast, seemed unimportant.

His stomach rumbled, and he grabbed the spoon and a piece of bread, then began scooping the steaming porridge into his mouth. The warm explosion of flavors made his eyes water. His mind seemed to grow fuzzy, his thoughts unclear as he swallowed. As the food slid into his stomach, it seemed to heat up like a furnace, and he quickly blinked the tears away before anyone could notice.

Still, he sensed eyes on him, and he looked up at the person sitting in front of him, freezing as their eyes met. Purt, another youth from the Rats District, stared at him in stupefaction, blowing on his heavily laden and damping spoon.

Irwin waved at his mouth before whispering, 'Hot,' and Purt gave him a 'no shit' look as he took small tentative sips from his spoon.

Irwin hoped Purt wouldn't tell the others because he didn't need another reason to be pestered, but before he could worry, his stomach clenched, shouting at him to continue. As his thoughts hazed over again, he faintly realized there was something odd, but with the allure of food before him, he ignored it and focused back on his steaming plate.

Only the noble's children spoke for at least half of the next bell as all the other youths busied themselves with finishing off all the food from the tables.

As Irwin finished his second helping of bread, the fuzziness in his mind slowly faded. Using a piece of bread to wipe the stew's meat and vegetable juices from his plate, he wondered why he felt he could still eat more. It wasn't that he was incredibly hungry, but he should definitely be stuffed by now!

He had started slowly, afraid that his empty stomach would rebel against the sudden influx of food, but nothing of the sort had happened. Instead, it almost felt like everything he put in his mouth vanished. By now, he'd eaten more than he ever had. Not that he had many occasions for overeating. Only during Gelwin's eve was there ever enough food. Now, like with the water that morning, he felt almost insatiable.

Something changed, he thought as he looked at his hand.

Some of the mud and grime had gone from the back of his hand, and he could see parts of the faint outlines. It was well known that common cards did not change one's body unless they were specifically meant for that. Only uncommon and above cards did that, and the rarer the card, the more significant the change.

"Careful, don't draw attention to your hand," Greldo whispered, handing Irwin another big chunk of bread and cheese. "Just keep showing off and eat the rest of the food."

Irwin nodded, continuing to stuff his face while keeping an eye on the others to make sure he wasn't drawing attention. Only Purt kept glancing at him, but even then, he seemed more interested in trying to stuff every morsel of food in his stomach that would remain without vomiting. Their position at the back of the room made it so nobody else noticed his overeating.

When he finally felt satiated, many of the larger boys and even some of the girls were still eating, though he knew that they had been eating at a far more measured pace.

Irwin wiped the last of the thick, sweet milk from his lips when he got a poke from the side.

"It is common, right?" Greldo whispered so softly that even Irwin barely heard him. Still, he took a quick look up to find that Purt had begun chatting with the guy to his left.

Irwin looked at Greldo and nodded, causing his friend to frown and inspect him but remain quiet.

It took another while before everyone finished, and Rhym got up from his own table at the back where he'd been drinking from his flask of Shril.

"Quiet!"

His voice was much more stable, and his face less pale as he stood straight and frowned at the softly whispering youths. It took only a few moments before everyone turned quiet.

"Make sure to thank Sorcerer Xourdin for his generous gift by carefully listening to what he has to say!"

There was no response, and Irwin repressed a scowl. As if any of the children, even the nobles, would have dared to interrupt a sorcerer! He wondered if Rhym had forgotten what having little to no cards was like. The old smith himself had a full-hand-and-one, making him one of the most carded and most influential people in Malorin.

His thoughts stilled as the hooded figure of Sorcerer Xourdin stepped forward.

The cloaked figure removed his hood with a shake, revealing an unkempt, bearded, and bored-looking man. His gaze passed across the children, and Irwin felt himself freeze as the Sorcerer's cold brown eyes gazed straight into his briefly. He was glad the man didn't linger as he did with Clarish.

"I'll cut this short. Twelve of your group members will be coming with me to the towers, and eight will be brought to the wall tomorrow morning. I know none of you had expected this, and I apologize on behalf of the good people of Giard," Xourdin said dully, showing not the least bit of sorrow.

He looked around, seeming to search for anyone who dared oppose. Although none did, he apparently found something he didn’t like, and his thin eyebrows lowered in a frown.

"Do I need to remind you that the safety and plenty you have experienced your entire life is only possible because the sorcerers continue to close the portals?"

Plenty? Irwin thought. He knew he and Greldo were going to have a laugh about that later. But for now, he kept very still.

Nobody else spoke either, and Xourdin nodded before turning to Rhym.

"I've been reviewing the proposed list you handed me and have found some issues. I've taken a look at the school ledger and made some changes. I expect that you don't interfere."

Rhym blinked in surprise, seeming stunned. He looked around, and Irwin saw the old man's gaze linger on Lark and Clarish before returning to Sorcerer Xourdin. He seemed ready to object, but Xourdin quietly held his gaze, and Rhym finally looked down, the muscles in his neck taut.

"Good. I will start with those that will join me at the tower," Sorcerer Xourdin said as he looked around the room. "When I call your name, move to the wall behind me and wait. I'll be talking to you privately later."

"Clarish Uldrot."

Irwin's mind froze, and for a moment, everything was still. Then, there was a scraping of chairs as a few of the noble's sons rose. Amongst them was Lark, the youngest grandchild of the current city warden and the most powerful man in Malorin.

"What is the meaning of this?" he asked.

His voice was deeper than those of the other youths, and he was already taller than many of the adults, even those who had cards. He glared at Rhym, shaking his head. "Clarish isn't supp-"

"She wasn't on the list," Rhym declared as he stood, his hands clenched. "She is one of the most promising youths in this group and Malorin needs-"

"Quiet," Xourdin snapped. "The sorcerers are not obliged to accept the secondhand rejects the ungrateful give them. We are the last line of defense against the Demons!"

His voice rose in volume as he spoke, and five cards began glowing on the back of his hands while his previously bored gaze turned sharp and angry.

"You know the number of portals has been increasing, and we need skilled people to close them!"

He has five cards, Irwin thought as he looked around to see if anybody else had noticed.

Everyone had, and the whole class was staring at the Sorcerer's hands, frozen in shock. Even Lark, a step from his seat, gaped.

Five! It was but one more than Rhym, but the power difference would be impossible to overcome. Finding five compatible cards was incredibly difficult, as the list of compatible cards shrunk with each added card. The only way to make it easier was if the cards were of a very high rank, as those cards had more elements and effects, and only one of those needed to be genuinely compatible for the card to be slotted.

It was generally accepted that the more cards someone had, the more powerful they were.

All this flashed through Irwin's mind, as he knew it did with the others, while Rym took a half step forward.

"You can take up any issue you have with the Towers! Now, be quiet lest I remove you from the room!"

There was a deadly quiet as everyone looked at Rhym, who was visibly shaking. His hands gripped his wrists, and he suddenly turned and bolted for the door.

"Yes, by all means. Go tell that old fool what I've done," Xourdin snapped. "Also, tell him not to come to complain unless he wants a fight! My fifth is beyond my fourth!"

Irwin sat back, and he wasn't the only one. Though he didn't know what the Sorcerer had meant with the last bit, he was sure it didn't mean anything good.

Teacher Rhym didn't stop but almost stumbled out of the room, leaving them with Xourdin.

The Sorcerer sniffed, then focused back on them.

"It doesn't matter who your father or mother is. If you hear your name, you will stand behind me or suffer the consequences."

Nobody dared speak as he began snapping off names, and as one of the nobles was called, Irwin felt a slight wave of relief. Perhaps he didn't have to leave? If the Sorcerer wanted only the best, then there was surely no reason to bring him.

More of the noble's sons and daughters were called than some of the children of the crafters, and Irwin felt a slight bit of schadenfreude as he saw their shocked faces of disbelief.

It lasted for the whole of five seconds.

"Irwin Roddington," Xourdin said, not looking at him but continuing. "Greldo Domnyr!"

Irwin was still staring at the Sorcerer when Greldo grabbed his sleeve and pulled him up towards the wall. "Move before you draw his attention," Greldo whispered.

Irwin stumbled, then followed his friend to the wall, barely realizing he stood beside Clarish. The names continued, and at some point, Xourdin said the next eight would go to the wall. Irwin barely heard it, as everything seemed to pass in a haze.

Only when Xourdin finished and clapped his hands did he snap out of it.

The Sorcerer looked at the remaining children. "Go back home and tell your parents they are lucky. I have a rule not to take more than one child from a single family, and for now, that will hold. For now..."

Most of the children backed up before turning and fleeing out of the room. Only Lark and a few of the other nobles remained behind, faces pale as they looked at the Sorcerer.

Xourdin ignored them and turned to the smaller group of eight that would be heading to the wall.

"Go to the square and wait there. When Rhym returns, alone I am sure, tell him not to bother us!"

He spun around on his heel and pointed at the twelve children.

"Follow me!"