Page 5 of Wizards & Weavers
Four flagons went up to greet him, accompanied by a friendly cheer. It was working. Gods, this was exciting, these sparks in his spine, the fizz in his blood, and it wasn’t just the weak ale talking, either.
“Have you come to investigate our lovely new dungeon?” Braiden asked, wading right into the thick of it.
The handsomest man laughed, his muscles rippling under his open vest. “You could say that we’ve tried, and we might have gone deeper, had my twin sister not been so frightened by the windy creatures we encountered.”
The equally beautiful young woman sitting next to him reddened as she huffed in frustration. “I wasn’t frightened. Those windy creatures were pelting us with rocks, Fedro. They weremadeof rocks. One of them came this close to taking your eye out.”
He shook his head. “You worry too much, Falina. And anyway, I would look quite handsome with an eyepatch. Shields, next time. We bring sturdier shields, then we can press onward. Go deeper.”
Windy, rocky creatures that threw stones, eh? And sturdy shields for protection? Interesting. Two things Braiden couldn’t have learned still sitting at the bar or still sighing behind the counter at Beadle’s Needles.
“Perhaps I could accompany you on your next attempt,” he said, pairing the overly bold suggestion with an uncharacteristicwaggle of his eyebrows. “I may know a spell or two that can help in hairy situations.”
The table answered with open laughter.
“We mean no offense,” said the handsome man, “but I think I speak for my fellows when I say that you are not quite the sort of dungeoneering companion we would hope for. We have magic of our own, friend. And you are, how you say, scrawny.”
The woman tutted. “Harsh words, Fedro. What my twin brother is trying to say is — well, it seems likely that you are unaccustomed to the rougher sort of life. The sort of life that includes being bashed about the head by creatures of the dungeon.”
Braiden held a hand to his chest, feigning offense, keeping it light. “I may have a delicate constitution, sir and madam, but I also have a delightful personality.”
Or so Granny Bethilda had told him. Maybe she was only being nice.
“A delightful personality is lovely, to be sure,” the woman said. “But it won’t be of much help in the dungeon. It is nothing personal, friend. Thank you for your interest.”
The Gwerenese nodded amicably, then turned their backs on Braiden, going back to their dice and drinking.
Braiden did his best not to feel too slighted. He’d expected this, after all, maybe even planned for it. He knew he wasn’t much to look at, a mostly average young man with a mop of brownish hair and a sheepish smile. What good would he be in a dungeon, indeed?
But that only brought him to a crucial part of his business plan, his adventuring agenda: research. Was entering the dungeon even worth it to begin with? What manner of beasts awaited in its depths? How would he need to prepare? And slowly, despite the rejection, the patrons of the Dragon’s Flagonwere feeding Braiden bits and snippets of what he needed to know.
He now knew that the dungeon was home to strange, rock-bodied creatures that liked to throw smaller rocks at people. He now knew that he would need to walk in with protection that was at least more effective than a woolly sweater and a knitted hat.
Braiden took another sip from his flagon, using the moment to scan the rest of the tavern. Recruit. That was another important part of the plan. He needed an adventuring party to bring him down the dungeon to begin with.
If only that horned warrior from the shop was around. He seemed nice and might have heard Braiden out long enough to learn more about what he could do with the magical weaving arts.
Or maybe the Il-venessi mages would be more receptive to discussing the dungeon with another magic user like himself. No, maybe not the best idea. The mysterious sorcerers tended to stick to themselves, eager to leave the grandeur of their enormous garden city to explore the lands of Aidun, but still wary of the outside world.
Braiden tilted back the last of his ale as his gaze flitted past the orcish warrior’s table. A hardy and proud people, fierce in battle and tough as nails. Out of all the customers in the tavern, he seemed the most likely to pick Braiden up by the scruff and toss him through the nearest window.
But wasn’t this a day for taking risks? Wasn’t this a day for feeling out the different kind of man one Braiden Beadle could become?
He slammed his empty flagon onto the nearest table, apologizing softly when it made the people sitting there jump. Braiden wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and fixed his gaze determinedly on the musclebound orc. Now or never. Braiden’s heart thumped faster again.
Then suddenly, a squeal. The elf? She wasn’t in distress, only excited as she rushed for the window and pressed her hands against the pane. She stared out into the street, mouth open, issuing a series of softer squeals as she bounced up and down in place.
Heads turned to see what the fuss was about. Braiden rubbernecked, too. What in blazes was going on?
“Miss,” Dudley called out from across the tavern hall. Braiden could hear the grimace in his voice. “Is there a problem?”
“It’s him,” the elf said, her cheeks flushed, her voice pinched with excitement. “It’s actually him. The Wizard of Weathervale.”
Chapter
Three
The Wizard of Weathervale?Nobody told Braiden they had a wizard.
