Page 48 of Wizards & Weavers
It was easy to tell from her attentive ears alone that the village chief was happy to see her grandson, how they stuck up and out of her elaborate headdress of flowers, feathers, andribbon. All built into an ornate tiara, crafted once again from woven wicker.
The chief made an attempt to disguise her amusement with a quirk of her mouth. The other burrowfolk elders did not seem as thrilled, but made a good effort of looking polite all the same.
“Back from your week of scouting and stalking already?” said the burrowfolk chief. “And I see that you’ve brought guests.”
She beckoned for the four of them to step forward. Braiden hung back, allowing Warren to take the lead, trying not to seem too eager. The chief’s fur was a silvery gray, her frame markedly distinct from her grandson. The oldest and youngest among the burrowfolk more closely resembled the rabbits that Braiden had seen up above, smaller in stature, rounder and softer, though still standing on two legs.
There was a different quality to the chief’s authority, a comfortable, quiet strength in how she sat at the head of the table. This wasn’t Orora Arcosa, which wasn’t to speak ill of Orora Arcosa at all. Braiden would never. He was absolutely terrified of the woman.
“It was only a few days, Grandmother,” Warren said, with such a weariness that Braiden could detect him rolling his eyes without having to see his face. “And yes, I’ve brought guests. With good reason, this time.”
Braiden cocked an eyebrow, looking to his left and right to find that Elyssandra and Augustin were wearing matching expressions of confusion. This time?
The chief laughed, leaning off to her side to address the three. “You should be most thankful, friends. The last time this happened, he brought a human bound and gagged straight to these very chambers. Our people breed by the dozens. I have very many children, and even more grandchildren. Warren is the very worst of them all.”
There was a fondness in both her gaze and her voice when she said that, the quiet, knowing words of a grandmother teasing her favorite grandchild. Warren sniffed, smoothing back his ears the way someone else might smooth back their hair.
“If by worst, you mean best,” Warren said, addressing his prisoners.
Braiden mentally corrected himself.No, we’re his new friends. Uh, maybe.
The burrowfolk chief laughed throatily. “My grandson does tell the funniest jokes. But I rarely find reason to mistrust his judgement. If he has brought you here unrestrained, then we can only assume that you mean our people no harm. Which is just as well. The Underborough is home to peaceful folk — peaceful, that is, unless we are provoked.”
“Your hospitality is most appreciated, benevolent one,” Elyssandra said, her tone suddenly so refined and smooth, her behavior even silkier.
The burrowfolk chief laughed again. “That sort of thing is hardly necessary. There are no royals or nobles here, only those who govern and lead. I am the Grandest Mother Magda. The title has always felt so cumbersome. You may call me Mother Magda, like everyone else in the village does.”
“Gladly,” Elyssandra said, dropping her mantle of etiquette and reverting to her usual self. “My name is Elyssandra. I’ve come a long way from the elven lands.”
“Braiden Beadle, ma’am,” Braiden said. “I mean, Your Motherness. I mean — anyway, I’m from upstairs. I mean above. The closest town. Weathervale.”
What a disaster, Braiden thought. Elyssandra made this all seem so easy.
“And I am Augustin Arcosa, at your service. We thank you for your kindness. Mother Magda. You’ve welcomed us so kindly for a community that is so secluded.”
“We have means of defending ourselves, round-eared friend. I’m sure you’ve stumbled upon some of my willful grandson’s contraptions. And if it comes to the worst of it, we have our seers and the old ways. Some of the deities still answer their prayers, Goddess Nibura protect us.”
Nibura — like the goddess Ybura? Was this the burrowfolk name for the same deity? Curious. Braiden had so many questions for the burrowfolk, but the burrowfolk clearly had their questions, too.
“My council,” Mother Magda said, gesturing at the burrowfolk elders seated closest to her with a lazy wave of her hand. “They would be interested in introducing themselves but for the fact that they clearly question your presence here.”
The council members harrumphed and murmured among themselves. Braiden had no way of telling through their fur, but he thought it safe to guess that at least some of them were blushing in embarrassment.
“Now, tell me,” Mother Magda continued. “What are you doing here? Why has my grandson brought you to our village?”
Augustin answered for the group. “We have come to discover the source of the elemental dangers plaguing the underground.”
That was better than the wizard outright stating, yet again, that he had come to seal the dungeon. It was all about context, after all. Augustin Arcosa’s head tended to drift among the clouds, but he still had some sense about him. To the world above, this was a dungeon. To the burrowfolk of the Underborough, this was home.
The chief’s eyes swept across the room, examining each of their faces. “Just the three of you? Is that right?”
Augustin’s posture went even straighter as he smiled. He seemed to grow taller. “You’d be surprised, Mother Magda. I’ve found myself some very fine companions.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Braiden could see Elyssandra blushing. He rubbed his cheek, wondering if he was doing the same.
“Your grandson tells us that your good people have already experienced the symptoms of something gone awry in the depths,” Augustin continued. “We’ve encountered dangerous rockwalkers along the way. I’m embarrassed to confess that I was injured by one of them. And I’m sure you’ve noticed how the explosion from underground has carved new tunnels through the soil.”
An uncharacteristic graveness darkened Mother Magda’s eyes. “We felt the earth shake the day it happened. It was a frightful moment for all in the Underborough, but our seers have assured us that it is best to stay put in the village.”
