Page 24 of Wizards & Weavers
Braiden couldn’t tell whether the wizard was taunting his lack of appropriate magic or offering to take him flying. He puckered his lips.
“Did I look majestic?” Augustin asked, sweeping his hair back with one hand, picking out an errant leaf. “Coming through the clouds, descending from the sky like that.”
Where was the weary wizard from before? Braiden much preferred the version of him with slumped shoulders and darkcircles under his eyes. A good night’s rest had somehow made the Wizard of Weathervale even more insufferable.
“I wasn’t really paying attention until you were a lot closer,” Braiden lied. “At first I thought you were a very large and very awkward bird.”
The wizard chuckled as he smoothed down the wrinkles in his cloak, shaking it off the same way a bird might shake its wings. Braiden hated to admit that Augustin hadn’t looked awkward at all. More majestic, actually.
But Elder Orora was right. Her grandson clearly had a flair for theatrics. Maybe that was how he tricked everyone into liking him so much, especially Elyssandra.
Braiden glanced around, peering through the trees for any sign of the elf. Where was she? He wouldn’t have been so punctual if he’d known he’d be alone with Augustin Arcosa and his very large head.
“I came from the far end of town,” Augustin explained, unprompted. “I figured flying would make more sense. The dungeon and my humble accommodations are on opposite ends of Weathervale.”
From where they were standing, Braiden could easily guess the exact location of Augustin’s “humble” accommodations. The far end of town meant the Golden Road, an exclusive strip of establishments designed to cater to the very wealthy. The wizard was bragging. Maybe he thought that Braiden would be impressed by his refined taste and deep pockets.
Very wasteful, Braiden thought, sniffing smugly to himself, the Il-venessi dragons still unspent in his coin purse.
“You don’t stay with your grandmother on your trips to Weathervale?” Braiden asked.
“Oh, I try to avoid that when I visit. You’ve seen for yourself how things get between us. I’ll come over for tea or dinner atmost, but even then I run the risk of being mildly poisoned. Grandmother’s habits are hard to break.”
Braiden truly couldn’t tell if the wizard was joking. More importantly, he couldn’t fathom visiting Weathervale without stopping in to stay with his grandmother. Braiden would happily risk a case of mild poisoning if it meant he could spend another day with Granny Bethilda.
Bushes rustled, leaves scattering everywhere as Elyssandra burst out of the undergrowth. “I’m late. I know, I’m sorry I’m late! I’m here now.”
“You’re just in time,” Braiden lied, reaching over to pick a twig out of her hair. At least he hoped it was an actual twig and not another magical accessory.
And about those accessories — Braiden gave her a cursory glance. Elyssandra was wearing a darker shade of green under her cloak. The only other difference was the satchel she wore across her body.
Surely this wasn’t all that Elyssandra owned. Didn’t she say she had a safe place to stay out in the adventurer encampment? There was barely room for a tent in that satchel, much less a sleeping roll. Gods, was the poor woman sleeping in the dirt, out in the cold?
“It’s lovely to see you again, Elyssandra,” said the Wizard of Weathervale, finishing the greeting with a chivalrous tip of an imaginary hat.
“I’ve never been down a dungeon before,” she blurted out. “It seems so dangerous and exciting and new. But with your mastery of the winds and Braiden’s — you know, everything — I’m sure it’s going to be a fantastic experience.”
Everything? Braiden tried not to look too offended. She could have praised his ability to whip up some fabulous pancakes, or perhaps his prowess with a frying pan.
Scrambling mentally for what he might actually contribute to the expedition, Braiden knew he shouldn’t take Elyssandra’s words to heart. She didn’t know about all the things he could do with his magic.
But whatcanyou do with your magic?a voice of doubt asked inside his head.
“We should head inside,” Braiden suggested, eager to get out of his own head and down into the dungeon. “The sooner we get this over with, the better.”
Augustin laughed. “That’s the spirit, Braiden Beadle. The sooner I can gauge the danger this place poses to Weathervale, the sooner I can decide whether to seal it up.”
There he went again with his big, sweeping proclamations. Braiden took comfort in knowing that Augustin Arcosa still had several obstacles to overcome, his grandmother being the greatest of them all.
Augustin approached the entrance with long, confident strides. Elyssandra paced breathlessly after him, going so fast that Braiden feared she’d trip over an errant rock. Taking one last look at the world above, Braiden savored the smell of clean air and fresh grass. He followed them into the darkness.
Except it wasn’t very dark at all. The passage was lined with blazing torches that radiated gentle warmth and the faintest tingle of magic. This was spell work, the torches installed here by adventurers who’d come before them.
It was reassuring — almost sweet — knowing that adventurers were only looking out for their peers, literally lighting the way for others. The torches were nice and toasty, too. Braiden held his hands up to them, the magic melting the cold from his fingers.
“Excellent dungeon etiquette,” Augustin called over his shoulder. “Weathervale must have attracted the moreexperienced kind of adventurer. And just ahead, look at what they’ve carved out for a haven. Remarkable.”
From all Braiden had overheard at the Dragon’s Flagon, a haven represented the height of dungeoneering convenience, whether created through cooperative adventurer effort or the expense of a local authority. It was a place for adventurers to safely congregate before descending a dungeon, or to regroup and recuperate upon ascent.
