Page 9 of Wizards & Weavers (Cozy Questing #1)

Braiden led the elf to a common seating area, a mix of tables, chairs, and benches. They settled on a bench tucked away from the market’s main thoroughfare, a little quieter for conversation. He set the plates down, then smacked himself in the forehead.

“Oh, gods. I forgot the drinks.”

She shook her head, hungrily eyeing the skewers. “You’ve paid for enough. I could drink from the river, for all I care.”

“It’s nice to have something to go with all the food. Do you like fruit juice? I’ll get us some. Go ahead and start without me. I’ll be right back.”

One of the night market’s juice vendors had invested in a cheap wand enchanted with a very weak ice spell. Invoking the wand’s magic while stirring a cup of juice caused the liquid to slowly freeze and crystallize, resulting in an incredibly refreshing drink that resembled fruit-flavored snow.

The trick worked for any potable liquid, and soon many of Weathervale’s beverage vendors had their own frozen versions to sample: frosty milk, tea, wine, and more. It was too chilly to drink any of those, so Braiden bought slushy apple and orange juice instead.

Even in the beverage arena the people of Weathervale were trying new and interesting things. Braiden thought of what the elf had said earlier at the tavern, how everyone could do a bit of magic. Maybe some day his bit of magic would work wonders for him, too.

He tried not to let it bother him too much, the thought that none of these small innovations could help boost Beadle’s Needles in the slightest. No amount of hand pies and lily pads and ice wands would magically make all the miles of yarn and the mountain of sweaters in the back room suddenly disappear.

“Apple or orange?” Braiden asked the elf.

“Any,” she replied, her mouth full of grilled shrimp. “And fank you.”

Braiden handed her the apple juice and took a tart, sweet sip of his own drink before he tucked into his skewers.

Izzy was generous with her portions: three shrimps on each stick, a whole small squid, and three chunks of seared tuna.

It was hard to complain at Izzy’s prices, and they were so delicious, too.

The elf clearly agreed, nibbling at the last bits of seafood from the skewers she had picked clean.

“That’s the best I’ve eaten in days,” she said, sighing contentedly as she patted her belly. “I can’t thank you enough. And I was so rude to you outside the tavern today.”

Braiden bit off a chunk of tuna and shrugged. “I don’t know about rude. I think it was just a misunderstanding. I really thought you were in line to ask the wizard guy for a spell.”

She laughed. “Could you imagine? The nerve of me. No, I really just wanted Augustin’s signature for my book.

I collect them, you see. The great heroes of Aidun, the living legends — I travel in hopes of meeting them.

You hear all these amazing stories, and to see these people in person — it’s exhilarating. ”

The elf had produced her book again, the leather-bound journal that she’d asked Augustin to sign. She hugged it to her chest, her cheeks flushing as she gushed.

“You know, that’s probably why you didn’t know about the Wizard of Weathervale,” she continued. “A lot of these exploits, they follow the heroes on the road, on their journeys. News doesn’t travel fast enough, or maybe Weathervale is just too busy of a town to pay attention to things like heroes.”

Braiden took a bite of squid — chewy, smoky, and sweet — and thought about the man who leapt from the top of the Lighthouse like a sulky teenager. Maybe heroes had bad days, too.

“Definitely busier these days,” Braiden said. “So many travelers now that the dungeon’s appeared. Is that why you came to Weathervale yourself? To try your luck in the dungeon?”

She shook her head. “Not at all. I’m not much of a dungeoneer myself. It’s like I told you. I track and chart the comings and goings of famous heroes. I started collecting their signatures, and now it’s a hobby of mine. An obsession, maybe. I mean, look at this.”

She nudged her lily pad aside, her skewers rattling like bones as she cleared space for her precious book.

Braiden nodded along as she flipped the pages with measured reverence.

Each entry was accompanied by an impressive illustration of the hero in question.

Braiden recognized some by name, others by appearance.

“Barraban the Bloody,” the elf said, tapping at a page that featured a ferocious, bare-chested warrior wielding an enormous axe.

“He’s not as scary as he looks. Very nice man, actually.

” There was, in fact, a smear of blood accompanying his signature, as if the elf had requested it shortly after battle, before Barraban had a chance to wipe the gore from his fingers.

She flipped the page. “And this is Wysteria the Wise. She was so cool. Literally. A master of ice magic.” Her finger traced along what Braiden thought was a raised pattern on the paper. “She made me this tiny snowflake as a memento. Feel it. It never melts.”

Braiden brushed his fingertips along the near-invisible snowflake, thrilling at the pulse of intense cold. It was so perfect and translucent that it blended in with the rest of the page. An act of magic made permanent. But how? Braiden could never do the same with his thread.

“That’s incredible,” he muttered.

“And I drew them all myself,” the elf said, turning the page, telling a story about the next hero.

Braiden snuck a glance at her face, admiring her breathless enthusiasm. She was so happy leafing through her scrapbook of legends, delighting in the small and wondrous joys of crafting and collecting.

“Is that why you collect them?” Braiden asked. “To motivate you, maybe? Because you long to become a hero like them some day?”

She drew her hands back from the pages and laughed. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly. Never. Things were very quiet where I grew up. Things were — strict. And then I heard all these amazing stories about these incredible heroes. I just had to see for myself. I had to know.”

Braiden couldn’t imagine what life must have been like growing up among the elves, but he could see why she felt the compulsion to wander. Though her circumstances were different, her story sounded just like his, feeling stunted and stuck in his shop.

Many of these wizards and warriors still wandered across Aidun, performing incredible acts of sorcery and swordsmanship. Every day, even as Braiden slept, there were people keeping the land safe, making the world a better place.

There was a whole world out there. Braiden just had to see for himself. He had to know.

“I can’t believe how rude I’ve been, and how rude I’m being now.”

The elf threw back her hood, fully revealing the points of her ears, a cascade of beautiful blond hair, braided in places, held up in others with delicate pins. She wiped her hands on her robes, then held one out for Braiden to shake.

“My name is Elyssandra Ileli Emeridan. But friends call me Elyssandra.”

Braiden took her hand and smiled. “My name is Braiden. But friends call me Braid.”

“Then I’ll call you Braid.”

Braiden smiled even harder.

She held her hands up and clasped them. “I promise I’m not in the business of hanging around market stalls and looking half-starved until someone agrees to buy me some food.”

Braiden laughed. “I wasn’t thinking that. And feel free not to answer, but I do have to ask. Is everything all right? We don’t have a lot of local elves in Weathervale, so I’m guessing you’re only passing through. Has traveling been, uh, difficult?”

She groaned, covering part of her face in her hands.

“Let me put it this way. I planned very, very badly for this trip. It’s my first time away from the Summerlands.

I didn’t think I’d need to spend so much just feeding myself, you know?

Back home the land itself would provide.

Literally. I’d stop somewhere, tired from traveling, and there would be a grove of apples or an abandoned meal at an abandoned campfire. Just like that.”

Braiden nodded, trying not to look so doubtful. “That sounds awfully convenient.”

“Doesn’t it? But no such luck in the world outside our borders. I hate the idea of cutting my trip short, but I’m very close to running out of options here.”

Braiden came so close to asking her about coming to the dungeon, but she’d already explained that she wasn’t the adventuring kind.

“Well, do you at least have somewhere safe to stay?” Braiden asked instead.

“Oh, very safe. Don’t you worry about that. I’ve been camping out a little outside town.”

There had been concerns from the locals about the possibility of a crime wave from the sudden swell of newcomers in Weathervale. “Wouldn’t the town need a bigger night watch?” the people wondered.

The adventurer encampment watched itself, as it turned out.

For every bloodthirsty monster-masher among them only looking to hack and slash in the dungeon, there was another adventurer committed to the classical ideals of peace, righteousness, and justice.

Adventuring wasn’t just about slaying monsters and defeating evil in search of untold riches.

Not every adventurer would admit it, but no one would mind becoming another Barraban the Bloody, another Wysteria the Wise.

If Braiden marched straight up to the Lighthouse and demanded a record of local crime over the past few weeks, he wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Weathervale was just as peaceful before the dungeon appeared, if not more so.

The thought had been sitting in the back of his mind, something his brain had been grappling with since his actual visit to the Lighthouse.

Everything in Weathervale had seen an upswing since the dungeon exploded into existence.

Was Braiden too silly or too optimistic to see any of the downsides?

Why was the Wizard of Weathervale so hellbent on sealing the dungeon?

And then Braiden remembered his mission.

“Say, Elyssandra. You mentioned something about charting the whereabouts of these heroes you follow around. How does that work? How do you track them down, exactly?”

Her lip turned up, her nose scrunching as she suppressed the smuggest of smiles. “I have my ways. Part of it is gossip, of course. You pick up smatterings of information now and again. I’m not the only admirer that the heroes have out there.”

Braiden narrowed his eyes, making a cursory sweep of her outfit. She could be hiding anything under that cloak. Maybe it was some form of surveillance magic. Scrying, perhaps? He’d heard of seers who could see great distances by looking into a bowl of water, a crystal ball, or a polished mirror.

He swished his drink around, watching the dregs at the bottom of the cup, wishing he knew how to scry with leftover orange juice.

“So you’re saying that you can help me find a specific hero.”

“Within reason, of course.” Elyssandra smoothed out a lock of her hair and cleared her throat, trying her best to look serious and professional.

Then a wave of softness overcame her features, and she dropped the act.

“But you bought me such a lovely meal. I do owe you a favor. So, yes. If it’s within my means, I’m happy to help. ”

“Excellent! He can’t have gotten very far. It’s the Wizard of Weathervale. I need you to help me track down Augustin Arcosa.”

Elyssandra waggled a single eyebrow and smirked. “I knew you’d become one of us eventually. It’s okay to admit you’re a fan of his work.”

Braiden sat back with a start. “I am not a fan of Augustin Arcosa. Let me just make that clear.”

“Sure, that’s what they all say. But everybody gets it eventually, you know.” She gazed upward, counting off on her fingers. “Maybe it’s his mastery of magic, or maybe it’s his sense of style, or maybe — you have to admit — it’s because he’s quite good looking. And that’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Braiden rose from the bench. “All right, let’s not go overboard. That’s not why I’m looking for him. But you’ll help me, won’t you? I promise, it’s important.”

She gulped down the last of her apple juice and nodded. “A chance to help a new friend out, and a chance to run into Augustin Arcosa again? Of course, I’ll do it.”

A new friend, she’d called him. Braiden told her the shop’s address, which she dutifully copied down on a bit of paper.

“Meet me there tomorrow morning. I’ll make us breakfast.”

She clapped her hands in excitement. “Oh, this is going to be so much fun. Yes. I’ll see you there.”

They waved goodbye as they parted. Braiden hadn’t made it a single block before Elyssandra came running up to him again.

“Is something wrong?” Braiden asked.

“Not at all,” she said. “But I’d be careful about those Il-venessi dragons in your coin purse. Very rare. Someone might try and steal them from you.”

Braiden stared at her with his mouth wide open. How could she have known? Without another word, Elyssandra shrugged and pointed at her ears.

And here was the sharp-eared rogue he was worrying about the entire time.