Page 85 of Wizards & Weavers
Chapter
Thirty-One
Braiden Beadle patted his belly,already so stuffed full of snacks, made even fuller from all the delightful new flavors of fizzy water Augustin had made him try. That he’d made all of them try, in fact, not that he had to convince them very hard in the first place.
Lined up in bottles on the counter of Beadle’s Needles, the many wondrous colors of Augustin’s Effervescent Elixirs formed a rainbow, scintillating like jewels in the sunlight. A platter of breads, sliced meats, and cheeses accompanied the beverages, along with a selection of cakes and sweets, but those were really only enticements for the main event.
The Wizard of Weathervale was so clever, paying for a luxurious afternoon spread for all his friends when it was really an elaborate bribe, a way for him to test his new flavors before he figured out how to distribute them.
Warren was thrilled when Augustin presented him with a glass of orange elixir — not flavored with tangerines or mandarins, as one might expect, but carrots. For Elyssandra, a bubbly blueberry beverage. And for Craghammer, who had begged Braiden for a job as a shopkeeper, Augustin concocted a fiery red brew, a sweet and spicy cinnamon.
“So delightful,” Elyssandra said.
“So delectable,” Craghammer said.
“And so depressing,” Bones said, “that it keeps dribbling on the floorboards. I wish I still had a stomach.”
Warren patted him kindly on the back and went to fetch a mop.
“Is that really what you’re calling it, then?” Dudley asked, one eyebrow raised. “Augustin’s Extravagant Elixirs?”
“Effervescent, actually.” Augustin scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “I thought — and Elyssandra agrees, you see — that attaching my name to the drinks might help them sell better.”
Dudley took a sip and swished the beverage around his mouth, as if sampling a fine wine. He swallowed, smacked his lips, then nodded.
“Send a barrel down to the Dragon’s Flagon. Let’s see how well it sells.”
“Really?” Augustin said, his eyes as huge as his heart. “Truly? Thank you, friend Dudley. I shall craft for you my finest of bubbly brews.”
Braiden smiled to see his friends getting along so well, or at least better than when Dudley had threatened to chop Augustin’s feet off at the ankles. Life after the events in the icy chamber had been so wonderful. The cube truly was no more, the dungeon returning to a far more tolerable temperature, the Underborough restored to its atmosphere of comfortable, balmy warmth.
Unfortunately, the dissolution of the cube also meant that elementals would no longer appear inside the dungeon.
“The imbalance in ecology,” Augustin had explained, “means that other monsters might rise up to fill the gaps.”
He’d tried not to look so glum about how he no longer had a convenient source for extra whistle stones, but that was the priceto pay for saving the day. Braiden promised that he would help the wizard find more elementals to harvest, whether in nearby dungeons or far flung regions. That made Augustin smile a little, which made Braiden smile a lot.
And speaking of harvests, Braiden had successfully harvested his first load of moongrass filament with the Grandest Mother’s blessing and the help of his friends. He couldn’t wait to spin it into string and weave it into fine new crafts. The first order of business, of course, being a load of permanently cooling beer cozies for Dudley.
But that would have to wait. Augustin had so generously paid for a party, and they were going to celebrate.
The Gwerenese twins had been granted the audience they’d requested with the great and powerful Hyberidian bard himself. Bones had regaled them with stories of ancient songs and long-dead bards, keeping both Fedro and Falina rapt without imparting them with a single precious stanza.
Too dangerous, he’d claimed, or maybe he’d forgotten more than he cared to admit. The twins took it in stride, promising to seek Bones out the next time they dropped by Weathervale, just in case the skeleton had somehow remembered more.
Grandest Mother Magda was so grateful for both the cube’s demise and the village’s new stock of sweaters, ceremonially embracing every member of the party as honorary villagers. The burrowfolk no longer seemed so wary of the above-worlders, and Warren, in turn, was granted permission to leave the Underborough and visit Weathervale as often as he liked.
Elyssandra had successfully avoided stumbling into her father and his heavily guarded palanquin again. Her hairpin cottage now had a permanent home in a little patch of grass just outside of Beadle’s Needles, for at least as long as she wished to stay in Weathervale. For free, too. What Elder Orora didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.
While Braiden was deciding between another handful of nuts and a slice of chocolate cake, Elyssandra snuck close and bumped against his shoulder, like she had a secret to share. Out of the folds of her robes she produced her journal, the same book of heroes she’d shown him at the start of their journey.
Braiden rolled his eyes teasingly. “What’s this? Are you going to show me that new drawing of Augustin you made in the Underborough? Honestly, none of your other heroes get two pages. It’s a little too much, Ely — ”
His words trailed off when Elyssandra opened her book to its latest page. There, staring back at him, was a miniature copy of Braiden himself, drawn expertly in ink. Printed above his smiling face in a fine, steady hand were words that he wouldn’t soon forget:
Braiden Beadle, the Weaver of Weathervale.
“Your signature, if you please,” Elyssandra said, handing him a quill.
