Page 31 of Wizards & Weavers
Twelve
The ballof spiny brambles was bigger than Braiden’s head. No, even bigger than that. He’d never seen an ogre’s head before, but that might have been a closer comparison. It was as big as four human heads put together, as big as a boulder.
Elyssandra stroked her chin as she paced the grass, watching from a safe distance now that the ball of jagged death had stopped swinging. She hummed to herself and nodded, announcing her findings.
“It’s a trap, all right.”
“Really?” Braiden’s eyes followed the trip wire all the way up to the dangling sphere. “What gave you that idea?”
“But who would do such a thing?” Elyssandra asked, either too polite or too oblivious to acknowledge Braiden’s sass. “Surely not another adventurer.”
“There would be nothing to gain from maiming a fellow adventurer,” Augustin said. “That is, unless this trap was meant to protect something from prying eyes. Something precious hidden nearby, perhaps?”
Braiden studied their surroundings, taking in the luminescent fungi. Why would another adventurer even bother setting a trap like this?
“This wasn’t done by someone from above ground,” Braiden said. “Wouldn’t you expect deadlier components in that sort of trap? Actual blades and iron spikes. Forged metal. Whoever set this had to work with what was available to them. Whoever set this knows this place well.”
“An excellent point,” declared Elyssandra, her hand still stroking her imaginary beard, examining the trap with the intensity of a scholar. “I spotted some of the brambles they used in the undergrowth. And look closely. They used woven vine netting to reinforce the thorns, all wrapped around a large wicker ball to lend the trap some weight.”
Braiden couldn’t help admiring the handiwork. Whoever had done this was not only proficient with basketry, but knew a few things about knots and ropes as well. It was an odd time to suddenly think of macrame.
“Then perhaps this isn’t about protecting valuables at all,” Augustin said. “Elementals do not have the ingenuity to create traps, even those as simple as this. They have no concept of property or treasure. This contraption was crafted by someone who lives within the dungeon.”
The three of them fell silent. A growing sensation of unease crawled across the back of Braiden’s neck as he strained to find the cavern’s farthest reaches.
What sort of crafty creature could be native to this dungeon? He’d been so busy watching for gemstones and jewels when he should have been watching for danger. The elementals were powerful adversaries, but now they had to deal with an intelligent threat, too.
“We should stop here for the night,” Elyssandra said. “We can take some time to rest and regroup.”
Braiden reached for his rucksack, squeezing it to make sure that his bedroll was still there. “This hardly seems like the safestplace to make camp, especially if there’s someone out there who doesn’t like uninvited guests trampling their grass.”
“There’s nothing to fear, Braiden,” Augustin said in an annoyingly heroic timbre. “I’ll be here to protect you.”
The way the wizard had protected himself from flying icicles and a near miss with a bramble trap? Braiden gritted his teeth, but said nothing, feeling a rare and generous impulse to spare the hurt to Augustin’s ego.
But Augustin just kept going.
“And besides, we’ll be perfectly safe inside this.”
He whipped out a rolled cylinder of something blue and garish. Braiden’s stomach clenched. It was the tent from the Noose, the one that would signal to monsters all and sundry that it contained between one and three sleeping, defenseless morsels.
Braiden already felt as vulnerable as an unshelled peanut in these underground wilds. Why did Augustin need to advertise their presence with such convenient packaging?
“I refuse to become a midnight snack.” Braiden grabbed the rolled-up tent, waving it in the air like a wand. “Why did you buy this thing in the first place? We may as well feed ourselves to whatever’s setting these traps and trying to kill us.”
“But I like blue.” Augustin gestured around the cavern, his lip turned up in an injured pout. “And don’t you think the color blends nicely with the mushrooms? We’ll be camouflaged. I think.”
The tent felt more like a rolling pin with each passing moment. Braiden resisted the urge to swat Augustin with it. Why did he have to make that face when he complained? Why did he have to look so handsome when his feelings were hurt?
“Gentlemen, please,” Elyssandra said, pulling her cowl back. “I’ve thought this through. Not to worry. We have safe passage for the night.”
“I am not sleeping in the treetops, Elyssandra.” Braiden thrust the tent back into Augustin’s hands. “I fidget in my sleep. I don’t want to wake up on the ground with a dozen broken bones.”
Augustin sniffled. “What’s wrong with blue, anyway?”
“Don’t be silly, Braid.” Elyssandra pointed at the side of her head. “I have an accessory for every occasion. Well, most occasions.”
This hairpin was quite different from the others, a comb with no tiny gemstones, far larger than the sprigs. It was nearly as long as a finger, its prongs made of the same gold as Elyssandra’s other accessories. Atop the prongs was a curious decorative panorama: a little house of elven design, an exquisite work of handcraft.
