Chapter 1 #2
He almost bumped into Craghammer as he turned back to Beadle’s Needles. He hadn’t even noticed the orc standing there, so exhilarated by the exertion of magic. Craghammer gazed wistfully into the sky, his eyes following the last of the letters and streamers as they went.
“Such a beautiful display,” he breathed.
“It’s incredible,” Elyssandra said, “the sort of wonders that happen when two spellcasters put their magics together.”
Augustin smiled to himself, brushing the back of his hand against Braiden’s, as if in acknowledgement of their very successful cooperative casting. Braiden blushed.
“Imagine its utility as a distraction on the battlefield,” Craghammer said, his eyes still misty. “The enemy forces raising their heads to admire the spectacle in the sky, unknowingly exposing their throats to arrowheads and spear tips.”
Good old Craghammer, always considering the wartime applications of everything from the weaving way to knitting needles and crochet hooks.
This was a great way to start the day. Braiden never thought he’d get to actually live his dream of using his arcane talents for advertising. It was mainly Augustin’s idea.
“Wind wizards invented flyers,” he’d said. “That’s why they’re called flyers, because of how we make them fly. Everyone knows that. Keep up, Braiden.”
Braiden had rolled his eyes at the time, all to hide how he secretly delighted in the endless font of nonsense that poured from Augustin Arcosa’s lovely lips.
He pushed the door open, the shop bell tinkling melodically. It sounded somehow sweeter after Craghammer had given it a thorough polishing. Where it once seemed to herald the arrival of yet another disinterested customer, it now rang with the promise of something new.
And what a stock of new goods Braiden had in store for its many potential customers.
A hat that offered mental clarity even in the face of danger, perfect for spellcasters who needed to concentrate on weaving complex magic.
A bandanna that not only kept the sweat out of a warrior’s eyes, but also imbued them with extra ferocity and resolve in battle.
And for the enterprising rogue, Braiden was particularly proud of the fingerless gloves enchanted to ensure a lighter touch, perfect for picking locks and disarming traps.
He hadn’t quite mastered the moongrass thread enough to make sweaters resistant to dragonfire, or even the battle cardigan that Craghammer so loudly longed for, one that could turn the edge of even the sharpest blade, as good as a coat of armor.
Granny Bethilda always said it was all right to start small, and so Braiden decided that small was the right place to start.
If all went well, and provided Craghammer could hold down the fort, Braiden could finally embark on his long-awaited expedition to seek out the othergoats.
Or just one othergoat, at least. How he’d longed to meet one of the elusive creatures in the flesh, to see how the sun glinted off their black fleece, their wool so plush and supernaturally warm.
He and Augustin had talked about it often over late-night cups of tea, after long days of spinning moongrass and brewing elixirs.
The weaver wished to find an othergoat, and the wizard wanted to find more air elementals.
It was the best way for Augustin to improve his elixir business, after all, by finding more whistle stones with which to brew even vaster quantities of his bubbly water.
Scaling up the enterprise, as it were, all while Braiden focused on delegating and automating and entrepreneurship, all these big, fancy business buzzwords. And now they were doing some marketing, too. Braiden Beadle never was very good at business, but he was more than willing to try.
Sometimes he wondered if he liked sketching these plans out more than actually living them as adventures. In any case, he found himself thoroughly enjoying the time they spent in each other’s company. Tea tasted different when he shared it with Augustin. Tea tasted lovelier, somehow.
“Oh, I can barely stand the excitement,” Elyssandra said. “I’m going to go brew some tea, if anybody wants some.”
“I’d love a cup,” Braiden said, smiling.
It was just like her to read his mind like that.
And how proud he was that she could now confidently work a stove without fear of burning the entire kitchen down.
It wasn’t long ago that Elyssandra Ileli Emeridan, rogue princess of the Summerlands, fearless spear-fighter and talented thief, was deathly afraid of common kitchen equipment.
“And I would gladly take a cup, Miss,” Craghammer said meekly.
Elyssandra paused as her foot hit the bottom stair, smiling. “Craghammer, I told you. You can call me Elyssandra.”
She trotted up the stairs. Craghammer rubbed the back of his neck and grinned.
Augustin was outside again, rocking on his heels on the cobblestones, his hands on his hips.
Braiden tried not to worry when the wizard craned his neck this way and that.
Perhaps he was searching the far end of the road for an impending horde of customers eager to slake their thirst on his bubbly elixirs, or to sample the craft shop’s newest wares.
It was a familiar feeling, this hopeful scouting of the streets in search of one — no, in search of any customers at all. Braiden fought the sinking sensation in his belly and pushed out the front door, sidling up to Augustin.
“A watched pot never boils,” he told the wizard. “Or something like that.”
Augustin grinned. “More of your Granny Bethilda’s weaving wisdom, I presume? Something catchy from one of those cards about her favorite teas, perhaps?”
Braiden laughed as he nudged Augustin with his elbow.
He’d let the wizard look at the sheaf of recipe cards he’d inherited from his grandmother, what he thought of as Bethilda Beadle’s Book of Everything.
While the collection didn’t offer much of magical value to a wind wizard, Augustin still thought it was an illuminating and entertaining read.
“Come on inside,” Braiden said, reaching for Augustin’s hand. “It’s barely been minutes since we sent out the flyers. Give them time to fly, and give Weathervale time to actually read them.”
Augustin sighed, his shoulders finally relaxing. “I suppose you’re right. I’m being far too eager. Only I’m very excited about how this goes, you know? I’m sure you understand.”
Braiden smiled. He knew all too well. It was nice seeing Augustin like this, no more of the tired eyes from his days of being fed up with adventuring, no more of the slumped shoulders. His gaze glittered with excitement, his smile more radiant than ever.
And then his eyes lit up even more as he spotted something at the end of the street. Augustin pointed at the piece of parchment as it tumbled and circled on the breeze.
“How curious,” he said. “Why is one of our flyers returning?”
Braiden squinted at the paper. “That’s not one of ours, Augustin. I think I know who it’s from.”
Augustin’s eyes widened in recognition. He opened his mouth, but the words never left his lips. The parchment smacked him head on, stretched over his face like an open hand.
The wizard sputtered and cursed as he ripped the parchment from his face, glaring even as he read the words.
Braiden didn’t need to read anything, already aware of its origins from the wax crest. It was stamped with a symbol that could have been an eight-pointed sun, or an eight-spoked ship’s wheel, representing Weathervale and its eight districts.
Augustin Arcosa gulped. “It’s from Grandmother. She wants to see us.”