Page 43 of Wizards & Weavers
“Yes, yes,” Braiden grumbled. “Another fancy-pants tailor from the garden capital of Il-venesse, the same city where you found your fancy pants. Sit still, won’t you? This is hard enough as it is.”
Augustin sniffled. “Your bedside manner leaves something to be desired.”
“Or I could just leave you here on the ground,” Braiden said, thoroughly tempted to do just that, except he’d already succeeded at unwinding the bolas from Augustin’s shirt.
He did the same with the bolas entangling his legs, managing to minimize the damage to the fabric. A grateful but slightly pouting Augustin followed him over to where Elyssandra still stood guard.
“Our friend still hasn’t said anything,” she said, unmoving, unflinching. This was the same elf who’d gotten so flustered when Braiden had bought her a dinner of seafood skewers, and here she was prepared to skewer their masked attacker at a moment’s notice.
The thing in black had resigned itself to lying mostly motionless in the grass. With its spiked full-face helm, without a visible face, Braiden thought that it looked almost comfortable.
He studied its uniformly black clothing, the material sleek and soft, like velvet, perhaps, or some kind of short fur. Most importantly, he noted how the creature no longer had any other pointy throwing weapons on its person.
“We’re not going to hurt you,” Braiden said. “If you swear to do the same, we’ll be happy to let you go. We don’t want any trouble. We’re just exploring.”
The thing sat up, crossing its legs, a little too casual for something that was still very much their captive.
“Too many adventurers down here,” it said, its voice muffled by its improvised helmet. “Trying to keep them out.”
Braiden glanced at the others, finding that they too were surprised to learn that their would-be assassin could talk.
“I see your point,” Braiden said, “but surely maiming or killing adventurers isn’t the best way to get your message across.”
Augustin sniffed. “Neither is ruining their very nice clothes.”
Braiden glared at the wizard. The thing in black shrugged.
“If you try anything,” Elyssandra said flatly, “I will drive this through your throat.”
Braiden winced. Maybe he was worrying about the wrong assassin in the first place.
The thing in black nodded. It raised one hand, as if making a vow. “I swear that I will not attempt to murder you. Again. For now.”
Good enough. Braiden waved his fingers over his macrame battle net, prematurely dispelling the thread. The thing in black flexed its arms, then rose on its haunches, bounding in place once or twice. The tip of Elyssandra’s spear followed its throat without fail.
“Thank you,” the creature said. “I apologize for attempting to smash your head open.”
That was true. It had attacked Braiden first. The creature favored blunt weapons, blunt-force trauma, and blunt words, too. Good to know.
“Apology accepted,” Braiden said. He thumbed over his shoulder. “I think. It looks like our wizard got the worst of it in the end.”
The thing in black nodded. “He looked like the biggest threat.”
Augustin beamed, his chest puffing up. “Did you hear that? He thinks I’m the biggest threat.”
“He,” Augustin had said, for the creature did seem to speak with a masculine voice. The creature turned his faceless spiked head toward Elyssandra.
“But you turned out to be the deadliest of them all. You are a most formidable opponent. Thank you for the battle.”
Elyssandra’s spear finally wavered, a red rosiness flowering on her cheeks. “Oh, my goodness. I’ve never been thanked for almost killing someone before. Um, thank you. You too.”
“It is the proper thing to do,” the thing in black said. “And the proper thing now is for me to remove my helm and introduce myself to those who have bested me. Three against one is hardly fair, of course.”
Braiden thought he could detect the faintest hint of a smile in the creature’s voice. With hands protected by gloves of the same velvety black, the creature reached for his helmet, mindfully avoiding its many spikes.
Braiden held his breath in anticipation. He knew the others were doing the same. How many times had he debated this with Augustin already? All manner of creatures could be awaiting them in the dungeon, though Braiden hadn’t expected any to be very civil or polite.
Perhaps the thing in black was one of those beings Augustin had warned them about: an amicable representative of the living dead, or a decent demon come through a portal from the many hells. With a wry smile, Braiden thought of his own silly joke about how the dungeon may as well be populated by bunny rabbits.
