Page 10 of Wizards & Weavers
The Lighthouse, they called it, the towering council building in the heart of town, a beacon of guidance for all of Weathervale. Or so the council liked to think.
It wasn’t nearly as tall nor as bright as Weathervale’s actual lighthouse. Still, by night, when the offices were closed, when the bureaucrats slept soundly after long days of cruelly extorting poor, innocent shopkeepers, the Lighthouse could be very pretty indeed.
Weathervale’s town crest hung from the building, banners as blue as the sea and sky rippling in the breeze, a golden circle at once represented a ship’s wheel and a radiant sun. Crowning the Lighthouse’s peak was the jewel that gave the tower its name: a crystal that sparkled in the sunlight and twinkled softly in the glow of the moon.
But the most remarkable aspect of the Lighthouse was its array of open windows, how the wind whistled faintly as it passed through the gaps and slats, the ocean breeze playing the tower like a flute. Yet it never seemed too cold inside the tower, the lobby as balmy as the sunny outdoors.
The clerks and office grunts on the ground floor didn’t give Braiden a second glance, but one look at the wizard was all it took to start a round of excited whispers and murmurs.
“That’s him,” they said. “That’s Augustin Arcosa.”
They passed a young woman on the way up the tower. She squeaked at the sight of Augustin, nearly dropping the stack of documents cradled in her arms. She bowed her head and scampered quickly down the stairs.
Seriously, was Braiden the only person in Weathervale who’d never heard of him?
His legs were hurting now. This was a humbling lesson in exercise, indeed. Augustin climbed the steps effortlessly, sometimes clearing them two at a time. The wizard looked over his shoulder every now and then, grinning, as if to check that he was still there. Braiden glowered back. This was all a game to him. Braiden didn’t yet know what part he played in it, but he meant to see it through. He didn’t come all this way for nothing.
His shirt was soaked in sweat by the time he hit the top landing. Gods, he’d ascended the Lighthouse. Never in his life did Braiden think he’d have reason to come up so far in the tower, and yet there he was standing in the council chamber. There was no door separating it from the staircase, and no windows to separate it from the world outside.
Thick pillars of sturdy but weathered wood held up the roof, coils of rope winding through the rafters, sheer white curtains billowing like sails. They weren’t very high up, but here the wind sang sweetest of all. Braiden tugged on his shirt, savoring the cooling touch of the breeze on his skin. Augustin Arcosa, meanwhile, had not a single hair out of place.
Braiden leaned his hand against the nearest post as Augustin approached the great wooden table. Gods only knew how they’d carried that thing up here, a repurposed section of aship’s hull, large enough to accommodate all eight members of Weathervale’s council.
But only one of them was sitting at the grand table today. Rumor said that she was the wisest of the eight. Experience had shown Braiden that she was also the most cunning of them all.
Elder Orora was a wizened old woman at first glance, someone who had clearly spent many of her younger years under the sun and out at sea, her skinned tanned and seasoned to something that reminded Braiden of old wood and worn leather.
It wasn’t unusual for merchants and traders to step off their vessels and onto Weathervale sands when they retired. It was a wonderful place for it: right next to the ocean, and so close to the farmlands, perfect for all the light exercise and balanced diets anyone could ask for.
But Elder Orora was no merchant, or so the local legends said. It took a closer look to find the dagger at her hip. The sheath blended in too well with the leather belts and pouches she liked to wear.
Genuine gold coins jingled in those pouches when she walked, the rumors said. According to others, the pouches instead held the severed fingers of those who wronged her — like innocent shopkeepers who were behind on rent.
Elder Orora, or so the stories told, used to be a pirate.
It explained why she was so good at extracting payments from Weathervale’s businesses. That bill they sent Braiden might have carried the council’s wax seal, but it was her signature that appeared next to it. It was criminal, frankly. Actually, no — it was legal, but paying it out at the end of each month still felt like extortion.
The elder gazed out into Weathervale from her perch at the great table, a cup in one hand, a feather quill in the other. A stack of documents sat in front of her — more bills, no doubt, to send out into the streets. She hadn’t noticed Braiden’s presence justyet — small mercies — but it was hard to ignore the solid and admittedly satisfying tap of Augustin’s boots. She turned away from the window. Her eyes widened in recognition.
“Augustin Arcosa,” said Elder Orora. “As I live and breathe.”
By this point Braiden was no longer surprised that everyone and their mother knew who the wizard was.
But Augustin’s answer definitely knocked the wind out of him.
“It’s good to see you again, Grandmother.”
Chapter
Five
Augustin Arcosa,a wizard with a pirate grandmother. Or was he a pirate wizard? A wizard pirate? Was there a difference?
Scratch all that. It didn’t matter! Here Braiden stood in the presence of a man who wanted to take away a potential source of income, and here was the woman who demanded Braiden produce that income in the first place. Gods, he just couldn’t win.
Braiden glowered at the back of Augustin’s head. He’d followed him deep into enemy territory. He’d walked right into a pit of vipers. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to turn tail and escape down the stairs.
But Elder Orora was already craning her neck toward him. Orora Arcosa. That was her full name. It was signed on every bill, but Braiden had blocked out the letters the way he’d blocked out the numbers.
