A Song of Thieves
By Grizzly Moose
He had stolen from a wizard, a feat only accomplished by one other thief in the history of Dencyrin. Kvim would enter the proverbs of the great thieves: Hammin, who stole the king’s fortune, Ogron, who kidnapped the last princess of Dencyrin and Salzaya, who stole dragon-blood from the Wizard vault. In the cities lowest sewers, that giant lizards and blood-sucking birds called home, Kvim lit a torch. Flames illuminated a wooden-crate-table and a blanket for sleeping – what he called not homeless. Thieves lived pathetic lives, cast to the sewers by Wizards. They were left to plunder at night, most thieves never seeing daylight. He hated the Wizards, but none could not stand up to magic. Hoping to change that fate Kvim emptied the Wizard-purse.
Gone! Stolen! Ranzana, Lord-Wizard of Dencyrin would not believe it. He was one of five Lord-Wizards, the most powerful order in Gireland. They were above mistakes. The Lords had entrusted him with their most valuable possession: The Ops. If word of this spread, war would be inevitable. The Lord-Wizards, stewards of peace, would lose their ability to govern. None but the Wizards could ensure peace as they had for hundreds of years. He ordered his royal-guard to search the city secretly. If The Ops was still missing by daybreak, peace would perish. Foolish Thieves.
Kvim knew the object in the purse was powerful but could not identify it. Thieves knew little of Wizards; that was wizarding law. He needed to ask Logyn, head of the quad he pilfered. Logyn did not like visitors, unexpected visitors far less.Thus surprising Kvim when Logyn’s henchmen whisked him into the audience chambers telling him to wait. Kvim pulled the object from his pocket, placed it in his palm and watched it. Time seemingly stopped.
Hours passed, Ranzana had already heard soft-songs innocently skipping through the night air. All serfs were by Wizard-law ordered to sleep silently after sundown. If song was coming, society would be destroyed. What he feared most now was the other Lord-Wizards. They would not allow their cities the same fate, would raze Dencyrin to the ground to reclaim The Ops.
In combination with a spell, it produced an elixir that was unknowingly consumed by all serfs. It had been this way since the Last-Great-War instituting the most peaceful era in Gireland. The cities coffers were full, and the Lord-Wizards knew no greater endowment. Ranzana hated these thieves.
The grand doors swung open, and Logyn strode to Kvim. Surrounded by a flowing, crimson cape, Logyn gruffly sat on the throne in front of Kvim. Kvim fell to his knees holding the object out. The thieves eyes filled with fear. He jumped up looking to Kvim’s eyes that darted to the floor. Logyn recognized the object, had seen it once before; he said one word: Come. He strode out of the chamber with Kvim obediently following. Logyn expertly navigated secret catacombs making Kvim lose all sense of direction. Logyn explained that when he was seven-years-old, the same age as Kvim, a wizard told him that he could join the Wizard order. Logyn studied magic for ten years until he chose a thieves life.
Ranzana paced in his chambers atop of the highest tower in Dencyrin. Usually, he would stand at the window gleefully watching his serfs slave away. Now he nervously awaited his Captain. It would be light soon; he did not want to hear the march of armies. His captain reported ten men died in the sewers without finding a single clue. Ranzana would let a thousand men die before he gave up his chair as Lord-Wizard. He would not be the Wizard, who failed the city. He would go to the sewers himself.
Logyn left the order of Wizards when they showed him the Ops. It created what wizards called peace. The elixir it produced shrunk the brain paralyzing free thought. Kvim did not understand. Logyn told him the first thing that you learn as a wizard pupil is the origin of magic: unity. Magic originates when two or more minds are in unity.
Because of this, all people in Gireland can produce magic. Before the Last-Great-War all Dencyrians were wizards. The magic that came about during that enormous battle was stolen by the Lord-Wizards and turned into The Ops. Before that time the people of Dencyrin manifested peace from magic they created through song. Breaking a wizard-oath, Ranzana descended to street level. Stepping into the open, Ranzana grabbed his nose hiding the putrid stench of commonness. He found a tunnel to the sewers, knelt, stuck his head in, then stopped. A faint melody rose. He jumped to his feet running towards the city center. The song was growing. He could not believe that, for the first time in a hundred years, he was winded. The singing was stealing the magic he had stored. Every step made him weaker.
Kvim and Logyn saw daylight for the first time. In its, beauty Kvim vowed to destroy every Lord-Wizard. Logan sang leading them towards the city center. Kvim had never heard the song but remembered it. Logyn explained it was an ancestral song, sung for ten thousand generations by Dencyrians. More people joined the march and song.
They reached the city-center ten-thousand strong, singing together. Kvim felt magics strength before darkness entered the song. He sensed the break and ran towards it. Ranzana was cowering on all fours.
Kvim kicked dirt in the Wizards face then opened his ears letting song flood his brain. Magic filled him. He breathed, flames poured from his mouth incinerating Ranzana.
The Lord-Wizard turned to ash. Kvim rejoined the song as every Dencyrian sang together. He would no longer be a thief. He was, Kvim: Singer-of-Flames.