“Hmm, you’re still here, eh boy? Well, maybe there is some fire in you. Let’s see if it will be enough to make a wizard. Get up. Follow me.”
The boy, who had been kneeling in the hallway outside the mage’s office for hours, stood up slowly so as not to trip over his numb feet. He had to rush slightly on stiff legs to keep up—the wizard’s pace was slow, but not slow enough to coddle. As the feeling returned (starting as pins and needles but soon graduating to fire) the boy refused to show any indication of pain. The grizzled mage noted this and smirked to himself. This boy might make a wizard after all . . .
“So, young man, what do you call yourself?”
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Gaedren Lamm, perhaps the most notorious crime lord in Korvosa, had owned this boy for years. Lamm had unimaginatively dubbed him “Johnny” after collecting him off the street, barely more than a toddler, some ten years ago. As the child grew, Lamm discovered Johnny had an unusually keen mind, so he set him to work doing his bookkeeping. Little Johnny was a voracious learner and was highly skilled in keeping Lamm’s accounts in order. He was skilled enough that he found time to read for pleasure behind Lamm’s back, and still get his work done.
Some of the “Little Lamms” often did small favors for each other, a form of solidarity against their cruel master. Johnny was the recipient of several gifts, in the form of books and papers brought to him in secret from those children who did some of Lamm’s work out of doors, and were much more likely to come across such things. One such pamphlet referenced “The Acadamae,” Krovosa’s most prestigious school of magic. Johnny was fascinated by the concept of magic (being as sheltered as he was, he’d never seen it), but when Lamm found both the writings Johnny was reading and the notes he took on the subject, he flew into a rage that cost Johnny his notes on magic, many bruises, and several meals.
However, Johnny deduced (correctly) that Gaerden was so angry because he didn’t want any of his slaves to gain hope, or gain power. He also realized that his gifted mind was well suited for the study of wizardry. He decided to risk all by simply walking away from Lamm, and walking into the Acadamae.
He didn’t know that it was rare in the extreme—ridiculous, in fact—for one such as him to simply “walk into the Acadamae.” He managed to enter the campus, but was promptly challenged by a Professor and dismissed out of hand as a street urchin. But the boy knew that if he left this place, he’d be dead by Lamm’s hand before the next sunrise; so he refused to leave. He followed the wizard right to his office door.
“Sir, allow me to show you I have what it takes. I can read, write, and perform arithmetic quickly and fluently. I have an excellent memory. How can I prove myself to you?”
“It takes more than brains, boy, to be a wizard.” The old man sighed, exasperated. He was about to send the boy off more firmly, but was arrested by a glance into his dark brown eyes. Those eyes . . . interesting. There was fear there, to be sure, but also a wisdom that belied his youth, and a rock-solid determination, as well as a deep hunger. After a moment’s contemplation of the boy’s eyes and what story they told him, the wizard made his decision. Maybe he’s got something—let’s see how much fight is in this one. “Kneel down. If you’re still here when I come back, I’ll think about it—*if* there’s room for a straggler like you and someone is willing to sponsor you.” Without a second glance, the wizard walked off, thinking that most likely the boy would be gone in fifteen minutes.
After two hours, the wizard started back down toward his office again, and noticed the same boy, still kneeling there. The mage started, intrigued. Then he smiled, his mind beginning to work . . . It looks as if there may be something there after all. He went back to speak to some colleagues, checking on whether there were open spots for a student he himself could sponsor.
Four more hours later, the wizard returned, convinced of the lad’s discipline and determination.
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“So, young man, what do you call yourself?”
He knew he’d be asked this question, and he was prepared. During the time he knelt, waiting to be brought into the wizard school, he had decided he’d no longer go by “Johnny;” what self-respecting wizard would call himself that?? He needed to take on a new name. He recalled one of his beloved fantasy books. The book was a classic tale of a knight who tried to slay a dragon, but the dragon was too powerful and slew the knight instead. That’s the kind of power the boy wanted, that was why he was here! He decided to take on the dragon’s name as his own.
“Morkeleb. I am Morkeleb.”
“Interesting. Welcome to the Acadamae, Morkeleb.”
