Page 23 of Wizards & Weavers
“Need to pack,” she breathed. “Need to get ready for tomorrow. See you. Okay. Bye.”
She disappeared around the corner, then soon came running back again. She gave him a sheepish grin as she rushed back into the supply shop, producing a leather flask from the folds of her robes and depositing it quietly onto a display rack.
Braiden’s mouth fell open. Elyssandra dashed out of the store, muttering as she hurried by.
“Goodness, I just don’t know why that keeps happening. Bye. Okay. Bright and early. Bye.”
First his bacon, now this? Braiden had never met a thief with a guilty conscience.
He finished off his own shopping at the Noose, picking up the basics he’d listed in his head. With a coil of rope hanging from his shoulder and a rucksack full of rations, Braiden hurried to the Dragon’s Flagon, prepared to beg on his knees for a favor.
Dudley eyed the rope and the bulging rucksack, his mustache faintly quivering with annoyance.
“And I suppose you’ll want me to watch your shop while you’re gone.”
“Only once or twice a day, to make sure it doesn’t get broken into or something,” Braiden said, his eyes huge and pleading. “I’ll lock everything up nice and tight.”
“It’s you who needs to be locked up nice and tight.” Dudley sighed and shook his head. “Fine. I’ll keep an eye on Beadle’s Needles. Don’t go getting yourself killed in the dungeon.”
The joy brimming in Braiden’s body compelled him to vault over the bar counter and smother Dudley in a grateful hug, but Braiden already knew he wasn’t the hugging type.
“Thank you,” Braiden gasped. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. I owe you one, Dudley.”
“You owe me plenty. I hope you know what you’re doing, Braid. It’ll be dangerous down there. You better have some good people in your party to watch your back.”
Braiden thought of an elf with sticky fingers and a wizard who commanded the wind.
“Don’t worry,” Braiden told him, happier than he’d felt in ages. “I think I’m going to be just fine.”
Chapter
Nine
Braiden tilted his head,studying the cave mouth. It was only a hole in the ground. Whatever had exploded weeks ago had carved a ragged opening in the rock, though not quite ragged enough to make the dungeon’s entrance look very intimidating.
Something in the shape of a yawning skull might have been more interesting. At the very least, the cave’s mouth could resemble an actual mouth, with overhanging bits of sharp rock for fangs, like a gaping maw into a hellish pit. Nowthatwould be impressive.
A crude signpost had been hammered into the earth by the entrance. In even cruder writing, in bold black letters, someone had painted the wordDUNJONonto the splintering wood. This place didn’t need sealing. It needed better signage, and someone who knew how to spell.
Braiden adjusted his rucksack against his body, hoping he hadn’t overpacked for the trip. The rope, lantern, and rations made up most of the weight, but the rucksack’s most precious occupant was the sheaf of Granny Bethilda’s recipe cards.
Her brief treatise on bandaging wounds could come in handy. That was Card No. 28, the one about the practical uses offinely magicked gauze. And what if Braiden desperately needed to make pancakes underground? What then?
“Where is everyone?” he wondered out loud, glancing over his shoulder, peering into the woods.
It was a chilly morning — perfect sweater weather, which was why he’d worn a particularly plush one for the occasion, knitted from black othergoat wool. The sun was already out, but not a single adventurer in sight, least of all the elven rogue and windbag wizard he was waiting for.
“Maybe I came too early,” he muttered. He turned toward the nearest road out of Weathervale, squinting to see if he could find anyone approaching.
And then the voice came from up above.
“Good morning,” it echoed. Braiden raised his head to the sky and groaned.
The Wizard of Weathervale’s cloak rippled behind him as he soared among the clouds, his fine black boots reflecting the morning sunlight like a beetle’s back, the white crescent of his smile almost blinding even from far away.
Augustin Arcosa didn’t stop smiling as he floated into a smooth landing, the soles of his boots touching soft patches of grass, his hair artfully mussed by the wind.
“That was exhilarating,” the wizard said. “Flying always is. You should try it some time.”
