Copper and Blood

The rain leaked through the attic's warped boards as Kieran counted his coins for the third time. 'Fifteen coppers. Pathetic.' Each piece was worn smooth from his constant handling, his only companions in the drafty room he called home.

Something rustled in the corner – a rat, bold from hunger. Kieran's fingers twitched. A burst oft raw spirit magic sent the creature flying with a dull thud. 'Still can't get it right. Too much force, too little control.'

"Oi! Magic boy!" The matron's voice cut through his thoughts. "Got someone asking for you. Fancy type."

'Finally.' His stomach had been growling all day. "Coming, Matron Rose!"

She caught his arm as he passed the kitchen. "Listen here," she whispered, her breath heavy with cheap wine. "I keep your secrets, you keep mine. This one looks rich – make sure I get my cut."

'As if you give me a choice.' Kieran forced a smile. "Always do, don't I?"

The visitor waited in the receiving room, overdressed in silk that screamed new money. 'Trying too hard. Must be desperate.'

"By the gods, they sent me to a child?" The man's face fell.

"Funny," Kieran leaned against the doorframe. "Most clients prefer it. Makes things cleaner when no one remembers the kid who passed by." 'Plus, who'd suspect a twelve-year-old of murder?'

"I was told you have... abilities."

"Straight to business then." Kieran closed the door with a flick of his mind. The merchant flinched. 'They always flinch.'

"My competitor, Eduard... his prices are destroying the market. He needs to have an... accident."

"Accidents cost silver, not copper." Kieran picked invisible lint from his sleeve. 'Here comes the dance.'

"How much?"

"Twenty pieces. Half now."

The merchant barked a laugh. "For a gutter rat with party tricks? Five silver, total."

The candles went out. Something cold and invisible wrapped around the merchant's throat, and Kieran's voice came from everywhere and nowhere. "Feel like gambling with cheaper help?"

"Fifteen!" the man gasped. "Fifteen silver, please!"

Light flooded back. Kieran smiled, all teeth. "Smart choice. Tell me about Eduard."****

Later, watching Eduard's warehouse burn, Kieran ran the numbers again. 'Fifteen from tonight. Twenty-eight saved. Three more months of making rich men's problems disappear.'

He looked up ahead at the building, The Arcaneum Academy. They'd take anyone's coin, even a gutter rat's, as long as there was enough of it.

A woman's scream pierced the night – someone who wasn't supposed to be there. Someone not in the plan.

'Not my concern.' Kieran turned away. 'She made her choice being there after hours.' Besides, complications meant higher prices next time. More coin meant fewer nights counting copper, fewer rats for company, fewer stains that wouldn't wash off his hands.

The Academy was waiting. Power was waiting. And he'd burn the whole city down if that's what it took to reach it.

His fingers brushed the hidden pocket where he kept his coins. 'Soon. Very soon.'****

From the shadows, a voice called out: "Oi, magic boy! Got another job for you!"

Kieran's lips curled into a smile. 'More coin for the coffers.' He had dreams to chase, after all.

And dreams didn't care who burned along the way.

The tavern's back room stank of cheap ale and desperation. Kieran sat across from his newest client, a merchant whose trembling hands betrayed his nervousness.

"A mage?" Kieran's voice stayed steady, but his mind raced. 'This is different. This is dangerous.' "You want me to kill a proper mage?"

"Not just any mage," the merchant leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Magister Wells. He's... he's threatening to expose my business dealings."

'A Magister. Are you trying to get me killed?' Kieran started to stand. "Find someone else."

"Fifty silver pieces!" The merchant blurted out. "Half now, half after."

Kieran froze. 'That's... that's more than enough for the Academy.' "Tell me everything."****

Later that night, Kieran crouched in the shadows of Magister Wells' study, watching the man work. 'He's strong. Stronger than anyone I've faced.' Blue light danced around the Magister's fingers as he wrote in his journal.

"Come out, little rat," Wells suddenly called, not looking up. "I can sense your magic. Crude, untrained, but... interesting."

'Shit.' Kieran's heart hammered against his ribs. "Magister Wells. I heard you were threatening a friend of mine."

The older mage finally looked up, his eyes glowing with power. "Ah, Merchant Brien's pet killer. I wondered when he'd send someone." He stood, magic crackling around him. "Though I expected someone... taller."

A wave of force slammed Kieran against the wall. 'Can't breathe. Can't focus.' 

"Such potential," Wells mused, walking closer. "Raw talent, wasted on petty murder. Perhaps I should take you to the Academy myself. After suitable punishment, of course."

'The Academy.' Something cold settled in Kieran's chest. "I'm going there anyway," he gasped out.

Wells laughed. "You? A street urchin? The fees alone would take you years to—" 

His words cut off as Kieran's magic lashed out, not at Wells, but at the chandelier above him. The Magister deflected it easily, just as Kieran hoped. 'Always protect yourself first. Never check what's behind you.'

The bookshelf Kieran had carefully loosened earlier crashed down. Wells spun, raising a magical shield, but he'd forgotten about the boy against the wall.

Kieran thrust his hand forward, channeling every bit of power he had. Not a elegant spell, just raw, desperate force. It caught Wells in the back of the head with a sickening crack.

The Magister crumpled, his shield flickering out. 'He's not dead. Not yet.' Kieran limped over, his whole body aching.

"How..." Wells coughed, blood staining his lips. "How did you..."

"You protected against magic," Kieran knelt beside him. "Not against a falling bookshelf. Not against a desperate kid."

"Clever... boy..." Wells' eyes unfocused. "In my desk... my research..."

'Research?' Kieran waited until the Magister's breathing stopped before searching the desk. In a hidden compartment, he found a worn, leather-bound book covered in strange symbols.

"Sorry, Magister," he whispered, pocketing the book and the man's coin purse. 'But I need this more than you do now.'****

Outside, the night air cool on his face, Kieran counted his take. 'Twenty-five silver from the merchant. Fifteen in Wells' purse. And...' He touched the book hidden in his jacket. 'Something worth far more than silver.'