The Urchin Learns Magic

The crisp dawn shone down on the sprawling mess of glinting rooftops that was Vivec. Already there was the sound of crowds and singing priests, the city awakening.

Despite this the gang was still half asleep in an effort to escape their pounding headaches. Last night they’d managed to nick a whole basket filled with mazte and shein and steamed kwama eggs and even, could you believe it, a whole bottle of brandy! Someone had just left it unattended at a night market outside the Foreign Quarter and, well, who would pass up such an opportunity? So when Crazy Renny clambered down the canton wall and landed heavily on the creaking boards that made up the haphazard streets of the slums that grew like barnacles along the canton wall, none of them were planning to get out of their dirty blankets. Renny strolled along to where Dolms slept together with the others under a roof clumsily made from wood and netch leather.

“Oi, Dolms.” He kicked him casually in the shins.

“Ghrurr.”

Dolms was having trouble waking up and going through quite an agony. His hangover was so bad that everything seemed to smell funny. This wasn’t that weird really, this part of the slums was adjacent to a sewage drain from the canton, and seeing how that canton was Telvanni Quarter, you’d be lucky if all you got was funny smells. Sometimes there’d be crazy colours, or noxious gases, and one time he’d swear he’d seen things moving in the torrent.

“Dolms, wake up. Look at this.”

With tremendous effort Dolms opened his eyes, which were even brighter red than usual. Renny was holding a… book?

“What you’d steal that for, half-wit?” came a rasping voice. It was Muvis, one of the older boys, still wrapped in his damp blanket together with his current girlfriend. His voice was already dropping to the distinct dunmer rasp, although Dolms thought he forced it a lot of the time.

“Can you drink a book? Can you eat a book? You s’wit.”

Renny ignored him and sat down next to Dolms on the rough wooden planks, the canal swirling perhaps a foot below them.

“I nicked this of some mages guild lizard,” said Crazy Renny excitedly, “It’s a spell book!”

Dolms looked at him like he was crazy, which is how he got the name. “You can’t read.”

“No, I can read! I forced a cat to teach me or I’d tell the ordinators where he hid his sugar.”

“Yeah? So what does it say on the cover, then?”

“It says Mages Guild Practice Spells.”

Dolms sat up, fully awake.

“Who needs that?” grunted Muvis, still sprawled on the floor. “I can do magic.”

“All you can do, Muvis,” Renny said, “Is light a fire, after which you need to take a nap.”

“Go on!” Dolms cried, impatient, “Try one!”

Renny opened the book. The pages were adorned with indecipherable text, as well as strange pictures and symbols. If Renny can make sense of that, Dolms thought, that’s already more magic than I can do. Renny read slowly, his lips moving and eyes squinting, but he read nonetheless. Dolms tried and failed to supress his impatience. Finally Renny spoke.

“It seems to be a tiny restoration spell.” He smirked at Dolms. “Ready to experiment on your headache?”

“Uh—“

“Good, let’s see… The invocation is written in daedric, that’s harder… Hand movements…” He made a weird sign in the air that ended with his bony index finger outstretched.

“Alright, here goes.” He cleared his throat. “Strength and vigour,” he said, making the sign, ending with his finger touching Dolm’s forehead. Dolm waited. A seagull cried, a whistling gondolier floated past. Nothing happened.

“Er,” said Renny.

“I heard,” interrupted one other boy, Neloth, from his sleeping position, “That you really need to mean it. That’s why they have invocations. To focus your will. Your magicka. Only real Telvanni lords can cast silently.”

“Huh.” Renny looked at the prone form of Muvis. “Muvis, what invocation do you use for your fire spell?”

“Fire fire fire fire fire. Don’t be a s’wit, it works.”

Renny kept a quiet smirk, took a couple of deep breaths and closed his eyes. He frowned slightly. Then he tried again. And again. And again. Until finally, when the sun had already wheeled to its highest point, he said “Strength and vigour”, and Dolms’ headache disappeared. There was no light, no sound. But the pain left.

“It’s gone!” he exclaimed, “You did it!” He was astonished. More boys were sitting up and looking at them. “Do another one!”

Renny was grinning like a fool as he read the next page. He made a strange circle motion with his arm and said, “Winds carry me,” and nothing seemed to be happening until Dolms realized Renny was now floating a couple of fingers above the weathered boards. Renny looked slightly disappointed when he found out he couldn’t go higher.

“It’s just practice spells, after all”, Neloth consoled him. Already the other boys tried copying him, trying to rid themselves of their headaches and trying to float, but only two got it right and they were exhausted afterwards. Renny tried several other spells and in time managed to do them all, except the fire spell, because he was afraid the whole shantytown could go up in flames. His face was sweaty and there was a manic grin on his face. “Follow my will”, he said, arm outstretched, and the empty bottle of brandy swung up into the air. He made it do circles over the heads of the cheering boys.

“Having fun?” came a rasping voice. Adults, Dolms thought, but the boys gasping proved it was worse. He turned around and gazed into the glinting gold mask of an ordinator. Renny reacted with blinding speed, dropping the brandy bottle and hiding the book behind his back. The ordinator, Dolms thought, looked strangely out of place in the shantytown, his resplendent armour and mask and many blue scarves starkly contrasting with the bleached wood and old netch leather that made up most of the shantytown. The hand of the Tribunal was etched into the forehead of his mask, commanding awesome power and demanding utmost respect.

“Can we be of service, noble ordinator?” Renny said bravely, but his voice quivered. Dolms’ heart was pounding like mad. Some boys were obviously getting ready to run.

“You have stolen. Your punishment is a hand. Or a finger of each of you.” The ordinator’s mask was maddeningly emotionless.

“I’m sorry, noble ordinator,” Renny said, backing up, making very sure the book stayed properly hidden behind his back, “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The brandy.”

“What?”

“That bottle. It was stolen of a noble Hlaalu lord last night. He made very clear it had been ripening for possibly generations in his manse. Very valuable.” The ordinator cocked his head. “I hope you enjoyed it.”

They ran. The ordinator came after them, sword sheathed, but casting several spells. Neloth was hit with a paralyzing curse and fell to the ground. The ordinator was fast, highly trained, and a fanatic. But this was their turf.

“Ordinator!” they shouted as they ran, “Ordinator!” and the ragged people of the shantytown cleared the alleys, running for their own hides. In the slums, everyone feared the ordinator. The group split up multiple times, trying to dissolve in the panicking crowds, while Dolms and Renny stayed together. It was utter chaos, dunmer and khajiit and argonians and some orcs tumbling and fighting to get out of the way, yelling and hissing and screaming and crying, literally throwing up clouds of dust, but the ordinator stayed on Dolms and Renny. They couldn’t lose him. They stumbled onto a rickety market square and just kept going, dodging stalls and salesmen who shouted names at them until they noticed the chasing ordinator, at which point they too took off. They reached the other end of the square and entered an alley. Renny stopped. Dolms was panting like a dog. The ordinator was coming.

“What are you doing?” he gasped.

“Bottleneck.”

“What?”

An expression of such concentration came over Renny’s sweaty face, it scared Dolms. It was unreal. He made the sign of the spell he hadn’t wanted to use, and hissed, “Sanctify with fire.”

There was a thunderous roar and a blinding flash as the floor exploded, chips of wood flying and cutting Renny and Dolms. A portion of the canal waters below evaporated. The shacks bordering on the explosion caught fire and shivered under the shockwave.

“Three-in-one,” Dolms breathed, eyes wide. Through the heat haze he could see the ordinator coming to a halt at the other side of the burning chasm. He eyed them for a while, then left.

“Vehk-and-Vehk Renny, how’d you do that!?” Dolms hissed, but Renny was lying facedown on the floor.

When Crazy Renny woke up, they were in the Telvanni sewers; the meetup point in case of emergency. The waste water was a slightly luminous shade of pink. Half the gang was already back. Renny sat up. He got kicked in the face by Muvis.

“You fucking idiot! They chopped off Neloth’s middle finger because of you! You set half the slums on fire!”

Renny raised his hand, an innocent enough gesture, but the threat was obvious.

“Back off, Muvis. I’ll set you on fire.”

“You’re too tired,” Muvis hissed, but he backed off and left with his girl. Dolms helped Renny up. They sat together and looked out into the slums through the grate.

“How’d you manage to blow up the floor?” Dolms asked.

“I dunno. I panicked.”

They were silent.

“You’re lucky, you know. Nobody picks up magic that fast.”

“I know. And what’s more, I know how to use it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Muvis. Why does everybody listen to him? Why is everybody afraid of him? Why does he get all the girls? Because he’s older and bigger and stronger. But that doesn’t matter if I’ve got magic. Then everybody will listen to me. Then everybody will be afraid of me. Then I’ll get all the girls.”

He stared out of the grate.

“One day I’ll join House Telvanni and learn all their secrets. And then I’ll be the boss. You just watch me, Dolmaves.”

Dolms smiled. “I’d like to see you try, Gothren.”