Page 16 of Wizards & Weavers
“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 noddedalong 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 amazingstories 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.”
