Page 8 of Wizards & Weavers
“As you wish. In my line of work, Braiden Beadle, I prioritize the safety of the people above all else. I strive to ensure that peaceful populations can sleep soundly, never needing to worry about monsters, or bad magic, or bad men. The board has given me a quick glance at the dungeon’s dangers. Those threats can come from anywhere. Uncharted forests. The open sky.”
His finger swiveled down to point at the street. Braiden’s stomach churned.
“Those threats could come from deep underground.”
Braiden’s mouth fell open. “No. You can’t.”
Augustin Arcosa stood as tall and straight as a mast, his hair fluttering in the breeze.
“That’s right. I’ve come to seal the dungeon.”
Chapter
Four
Seal the dungeon?What kind of ridiculous idea was that?
Weathervale was thrivingbecauseof the dungeon. Well, for everyone else, but that was the whole point. Things were going to change, and Braiden was going to change them, and in swept this hero he’d never heard of threatening to change things back again.
“You can’t do that,” Braiden said, still clutching his piece of parchment, taking off after the wizard as he turned sharply away from the questing board and marched down the street.
“Oh, I can, and have,” Augustin answered. “You might even say that it’s sort of my specialty. Building a barrier at the entrance should be enough to keep the beasties from pouring out.”
And enough to keep would-be treasure seekers like Braiden from pouring in. He protested. He huffed. But his words only fell on deaf ears. The Wizard of Weathervale was too busy greeting his adoring public, beaming and waving.
“But look at all these people,” Braiden said, struggling to keep up. “All your fans. The dungeon’s the only reason they came here. Weathervale is alive like never before.”
He wagged his finger. “And Weathervale will be dead like never before if the dungeon’s denizens decide to come out and play. Tell me, Braiden. Have you ever defended a city against a flight of manticores? Evil things. Much smarter than they look.”
“Of course not,” Braiden said, scoffing.
“It’s better to nip the problem in the bud. It’s why we build dams to hold in rivers. It’s why we make breakwaters to hold back the ocean.”
Augustin did it again, his cheeks rounding in an easy smile, eyes twinkling every time another starstruck adventurer greeted him.
“Yes, hello. Hi. So nice to meet you.”
If Braiden didn’t know any better he would have sworn it was some sort of magic, like fae glamor, how Augustin’s face even seemed to flicker when he wore the hero’s mask.
How tempting it was to call him a phony, except — wasn’t Braiden doing the same thing back at the tavern? Putting on airs, pretending to be someone he wasn’t, rising to the occasion?
“Fake it till you make it,” Granny Bethilda used to say. Plaster on a quick smile and try to sell some yarn, some needles, a new embroidery hoop.
Augustin wasn’t faking it. A very real part of him held the structure of his smiles, straightening his spine and broadening his shoulders with every impromptu performance. He was just tired.
Then why even bother showing everyone a happy face? If he was so tired, why was he embarking on yet another adventure?
Braiden huffed as he followed the wizard. He wasn’t that much taller, but his strides were so long and so confident. Was it those boots? Were they enchanted?
“Hold on,” Braiden gasped, throwing himself in Augustin’s path, arms outstretched.
Augustin’s boots clicked on the cobblestones as he complied. He raised an eyebrow, folding his arms as if to lock them against his body and suppress the urge to cast a spell to blow Braiden out of his path.
“Slow down. Let’s talk about this. I don’t understand. What’s this about sealing the dungeon?”
Augustin sighed. “Tell me, Braiden. What is it that you do for a living?”
Braiden puffed his chest up, an immediate defensive reaction. He considered saying that he, too, was an adventurer, but the scrutiny of Augustin’s gaze convinced him to tell the truth. Something about those gray eyes, like mirrors. Braiden hated the idea that he might see himself in them, what he looked like when he lied.
