Page 53 of Wizards & Weavers
“No peeking,” Elyssandra said.
“I saw,” Warren told Braiden, nodding his approval. “It’s a very good likeness.”
Augustin sat up even straighter, flexing his arms, showing off muscles that didn’t show because of his tunic’s generous sleeves. Braiden sighed and focused on finishing his meal.
There was no grand sendoff for the Underborough’s favorite grandson. Warren’s willful ways rubbed the other burrowfolk wrong, but at least Grandest Mother Magda recognized his spark of intellectual curiosity. Even better, she encouraged it, too.
The burrowfolk elder was clearly curious about how life had changed beyond the Underborough. Sending Warren out to scout deeper would perhaps partially slake their shared curiosity, but something told Braiden that this first small expedition would hardly be the end of it.
The four were making good time, trekking back through the mushroom passageway and out of the luminous wilderness cavern. This new passage was darker, danker, and colder. Wet, too, a mucky, squelchy path down the dungeon.
Half an hour or so away from the Underborough, Warren sidled up to Braiden to bump elbows and talk.
“I’m not sure what you and Grandmother discussed in the moongrass grotto,” Warren said, the faint hint of a smile creasing his lips. “All that matters is that you convinced her to let me wander farther from the village. For that, I thank you.”
Braiden chuckled. “I’m convinced that your grandmother convinced herself. The two of you obviously care about the future of the Underborough. I admit, I’m also worried aboutwhat lurks underground and what that means for those of us who live above.”
Warren nodded gravely. “Anything that was powerful enough to tunnel all these new passageways into stone should be considered a potential threat. It’s part of what’s made the village more susceptible to rockwalker attacks. We keep finding new directions for them to come from. We’re plugging holes all the time, it seems.”
“Plugging holes?” Augustin asked, poking his head into the conversation. “What I’m hearing here is two friends who are now understanding the value of sealing the dungeon.”
“Or sealing away their home,” Elyssandra corrected. “You know, there are still many elves who believe in total seclusion. With the magical and structural barriers they’ve put up around their hideouts, they may as well be invisible. But Warren, something tells me you’re not of the same mind. You don’t strike me as the type who wants to stay in the village forever.”
Warren took too long to answer. The droop of his ears said plenty enough.
“If it helps,” Elyssandra continued, “I’m very much the same. The elf lands are magical and mysterious, but there was a whole other world out there for me to see. It’s been difficult, exploring the rest of Aidun for myself. But I don’t have any regrets, and I’m thrilled to have made myself some new friends along the way.”
Four little tomatoes. Braiden smiled to himself. But that only reminded him of rooty tooty stew, which reminded him that he should have had some more to eat. It really was as delicious as Warren promised. Perhaps when they made their way back, after they’d sussed out the source of the dungeons danger.
And speaking of which, here was Augustin still going on about sealing the dungeon. Braiden slowed his pace, allowing Elyssandra and Warren to exchange stories about their similarlyseclusive communities. He tugged on the end of Augustin’s cloak until the wizard hung back to match his step.
“It’s awfully nice,” Augustin whispered, “seeing new friends get along like this.”
“Very nice,” Braiden replied. “Yes. Listen. Now that we’ve met the burrowfolk, surely you agree that haphazardly slapping a seal over every conceivable entrance to the underground isn’t a feasible option. You’d be blocking them off from the rest of the world.”
Augustin raised a lecturing finger. “Unless it’s what they want in the end.”
Braiden frowned, remembering his talk with Grandest Mother Magda, remembering her face. He couldn’t imagine a world where she would be happy for her village to be closed off from Aidun — unless it was what the rest of the burrowfolk wanted, of course.
“It just doesn’t feel right,” Braiden said. “There could be other communities living down here, too. Remember what Elder Orora said? Who are you to decide whether the dungeon deserves to be shut down?”
Augustin cocked an eyebrow. “A fine time for you to mention my dread pirate grandmother. She didn’t put you up to this, did she? Surely Orora Arcosa wouldn’t stoop to sending someone into the dungeon to babysit me and influence my decisions.”
“O-of course not,” Braiden stammered. Somewhere in his rucksack, somewhere in his coin purse, those Il-venessi dragons were still sitting, clinking, waiting.
“Because it would be just like her to try and do something so devious,” Augustin said, sighing. “And for her to send someone with such a pretty face to distract me, too.”
Now Braiden was too worried about spontaneously bursting into flames out of embarrassment to worry about being caughtin a lie. He stared dead ahead of him, biting the inside of his cheeks. Did Augustin like him like that? A pretty face, he said.
“Come now,” Augustin teased. “Let’s not tread eggshells around it. You’re a handsome fellow. It’s not as if you don’t own a mirror.”
This was too much for Braiden. He thought he could feel steam rising from the top of his head. He stomped his foot, curling his fingers like hooks into Augustin’s cloak to stop both of them dead in their tracks.
“It’s very demeaning of you to think that I’m only accompanying you down the dungeon because your grandmother is somehow playing matchmaker and pulling the strings from the surface. And thank you for the compliment, you’re very kind, even if you’re embarrassing me so much it’s making my skin crawl. And ofcourseI own a mirror. Don’t you think that — wait.”
A mirror. Something just up ahead, silhouetted in the half darkness. A shiver ran down Braiden’s spine. A figure just at the edge of the passage, just nearly out of sight — it seemed to be mirroring his every move.
In fact, there were four figures at the end of the hallway, one for each member of their party, and each perfectly mimicking their movements.
