The Frugal Wizard's Handbook for Surviving Medieval England

by Brandon Sanderson

Oh hell. Was I a cosplayer? And why could I remember that word, but not my own name?

The review almost wrote itself. An ideal experience, if you happen to be a pyromaniac cow. One star.

“You’re a good tree. Tall, thick—and most importantly—wooden. Four and a half stars. Would hide behind you again. Half a point off for lack of refreshments.”

It was time to make my move. Like the old saying goes. Carp diem. Seize the fish.

“Careful,” she said. “The spiders in the eaves look for empty, unused spots to build their webs. Keep talking, and they’ll investigate the vacuous cavern between your ears,

If only my teachers in art school could see me now—and be forced to acknowledge that I was literally the best artist in the entire world.

Horses were less the thundering creatures of pounding hoofbeats and unparalleled speed found in movies and more like golf carts that ran on a tank of grass and occasionally bit you.

wind tugging at my cloak. Handy piece of clothing, that. I didn’t need the warmth, but I sure felt more dramatic wearing it. (Four stars. The weird kids might be onto something.)

There is no only when it comes to goodness and joy. The smallest amount is as large as the universe, and one boy saved from a pit is a precious work beyond that of any king’s treasury.”

First time in my life I can have some fun, travel the world, see what trouble I can get into. Why let the young folk have all the dumb ideas? Not fair, I say.

“Don’t give me that look,” I said. “What look?” “The ‘I knew there was someone better inside of you’ look. You’re not my grandma.”

When I busted up his equipment, I didn’t realize my childhood best friend was going to pop in for tapas.”

“The stories all say to avoid aelvs, particularly the handsome ones.” I grinned, taking her hand and standing up. “So,” she said, “you’re probably safe.”

Nothing is ever good enough for you.” “I lost the notebook. And I don’t judge everyone.” “You assigned my plan a rating.” “Yes, but—” “And I’d bet money you gave my Robin Hood costume a score the moment you saw it.”

Everyone else seems to innately know what they love. When things were going poorly for me in the academy, I started keeping a list of things I liked and didn’t like. I thought if I rated things, it would give me the proper context to compare. I hoped…it would lead me to who I am. What I like.”

“A little pebble starts an avalanche,” I said. “Life isn’t like the craps table, where the next roll has the same chance of winning as the last one. In real life, you lose a little—and that makes you wonder if you deserve to lose. You get nervous, make mistakes, overcompensate. That makes you lose more, then it compounds. Eventually, you’re so far gone…”

But Ealstan deliberately saying it like that, and Sefawynn doing the same, made me a little emotional. Ryan had known me all my life. But he’d never noticed I didn’t call myself Johnny. My name was John. It was how I’d always introduced myself.

“Killing is desperation, not strength. To live without killing…that is a strong society.

“Don’t involve me in this. Heresy is one thing, but insulting Rowena is something else.” “Wait,” Sefawynn said. “You named your axe?” “Um, yes,” Ealstan said, looking away.

“I like my wife. It makes perfect sense to use her name for something else I like.”

My brain shorted out for a moment as Sefawynn hauled herself into the saddle in front of me. She took the reins and started the animal forward at a faster clip. “He doesn’t know how to ride properly,” she said to Ryan. “I will make sure we match your pace.”

“Do not be ashamed of your joy,” he told us, his voice intense. “Regardless of what aelv Ryan says. This is not a thing of shame. It is why I fight. It is why my sons bled. Never be ashamed of joy.”

Yes, he’d try something desperate, because he’d given his blood every day for his people. Now, squeezed dry, his life was the last thing he had to give. He’d try it, because he had no other options.

Seriously, I could be getting drunk and castrating giants right now.”

“Sorry, Johnny,” he said, then put up his fists. “This isn’t personal.” “You actually believe that?” I asked. “Nah,” he said. “Every fight is personal. That’s just something a fellow says, you know?”

I was a failed artist, a pitiful excuse for a cop, and a passable boxer. But I was a great liar.

“I’ve learned to fear someone else more than I do you.” He frowned. “Who?” “The man…I used to be.”

“How did you beat two fully armed and moderately plated modern soldiers!” “They didn’t have bows,”

I kissed her again. “Not that I mind,” a voice said behind us. “In fact, I enjoy watching. But you two really should be more respectful in my presence. It’s traditional.”

If I stay, this land dies. And with it, everyone I love. So…thank you. For helping me find myself. It was nice to know him for a few days.” I stepped off the dock. Then sat up a moment later. “It’s only about two feet deep here,” Logna said. “Dullard.

Turns out, even a coward can save the world. So long as you leave him with no other options.

Logna approved. Not only were there ample amounts of silly voices, Woden’s puppet was cross-eyed.

You see, as I’m going to bed each night, I tend to imagine a story. Like telling myself a bedtime story. This is how my brain works. If I close my eyes, movies start playing.

SAME