Page 13 of Wizards & Weavers (Cozy Questing #1)
Chapter
Nine
Braiden tilted his head, studying the cave mouth. It was only a hole in the ground. Whatever had exploded weeks ago had carved a ragged opening in the rock, though not quite ragged enough to make the dungeon’s entrance look very intimidating.
Something in the shape of a yawning skull might have been more interesting. At the very least, the cave’s mouth could resemble an actual mouth, with overhanging bits of sharp rock for fangs, like a gaping maw into a hellish pit. Now that would be impressive.
A crude signpost had been hammered into the earth by the entrance. In even cruder writing, in bold black letters, someone had painted the word DUNJON onto the splintering wood. This place didn’t need sealing. It needed better signage, and someone who knew how to spell.
Braiden adjusted his rucksack against his body, hoping he hadn’t overpacked for the trip. The rope, lantern, and rations made up most of the weight, but the rucksack’s most precious occupant was the sheaf of Granny Bethilda’s recipe cards.
Her brief treatise on bandaging wounds could come in handy. That was Card No. 28, the one about the practical uses of finely magicked gauze. And what if Braiden desperately needed to make pancakes underground? What then?
“Where is everyone?” he wondered out loud, glancing over his shoulder, peering into the woods.
It was a chilly morning — perfect sweater weather, which was why he’d worn a particularly plush one for the occasion, knitted from black othergoat wool. The sun was already out, but not a single adventurer in sight, least of all the elven rogue and windbag wizard he was waiting for.
“Maybe I came too early,” he muttered. He turned toward the nearest road out of Weathervale, squinting to see if he could find anyone approaching.
And then the voice came from up above.
“Good morning,” it echoed. Braiden raised his head to the sky and groaned.
The Wizard of Weathervale’s cloak rippled behind him as he soared among the clouds, his fine black boots reflecting the morning sunlight like a beetle’s back, the white crescent of his smile almost blinding even from far away.
Augustin Arcosa didn’t stop smiling as he floated into a smooth landing, the soles of his boots touching soft patches of grass, his hair artfully mussed by the wind.
“That was exhilarating,” the wizard said. “Flying always is. You should try it some time.”
Braiden couldn’t tell whether the wizard was taunting his lack of appropriate magic or offering to take him flying. He puckered his lips.
“Did I look majestic?” Augustin asked, sweeping his hair back with one hand, picking out an errant leaf. “Coming through the clouds, descending from the sky like that.”
Where was the weary wizard from before? Braiden much preferred the version of him with slumped shoulders and dark circles under his eyes. A good night’s rest had somehow made the Wizard of Weathervale even more insufferable.
“I wasn’t really paying attention until you were a lot closer,” Braiden lied. “At first I thought you were a very large and very awkward bird.”
The wizard chuckled as he smoothed down the wrinkles in his cloak, shaking it off the same way a bird might shake its wings. Braiden hated to admit that Augustin hadn’t looked awkward at all. More majestic, actually.
But Elder Orora was right. Her grandson clearly had a flair for theatrics. Maybe that was how he tricked everyone into liking him so much, especially Elyssandra.
Braiden glanced around, peering through the trees for any sign of the elf. Where was she? He wouldn’t have been so punctual if he’d known he’d be alone with Augustin Arcosa and his very large head.
“I came from the far end of town,” Augustin explained, unprompted. “I figured flying would make more sense. The dungeon and my humble accommodations are on opposite ends of Weathervale.”
From where they were standing, Braiden could easily guess the exact location of Augustin’s “humble” accommodations.
The far end of town meant the Golden Road, an exclusive strip of establishments designed to cater to the very wealthy.
The wizard was bragging. Maybe he thought that Braiden would be impressed by his refined taste and deep pockets.
Very wasteful , Braiden thought, sniffing smugly to himself, the Il-venessi dragons still unspent in his coin purse.
“You don’t stay with your grandmother on your trips to Weathervale?” Braiden asked.
“Oh, I try to avoid that when I visit. You’ve seen for yourself how things get between us. I’ll come over for tea or dinner at most, but even then I run the risk of being mildly poisoned. Grandmother’s habits are hard to break.”
Braiden truly couldn’t tell if the wizard was joking. More importantly, he couldn’t fathom visiting Weathervale without stopping in to stay with his grandmother. Braiden would happily risk a case of mild poisoning if it meant he could spend another day with Granny Bethilda.
Bushes rustled, leaves scattering everywhere as Elyssandra burst out of the undergrowth. “I’m late. I know, I’m sorry I’m late! I’m here now.”
“You’re just in time,” Braiden lied, reaching over to pick a twig out of her hair. At least he hoped it was an actual twig and not another magical accessory.
And about those accessories — Braiden gave her a cursory glance. Elyssandra was wearing a darker shade of green under her cloak. The only other difference was the satchel she wore across her body.
Surely this wasn’t all that Elyssandra owned. Didn’t she say she had a safe place to stay out in the adventurer encampment? There was barely room for a tent in that satchel, much less a sleeping roll. Gods, was the poor woman sleeping in the dirt, out in the cold?
“It’s lovely to see you again, Elyssandra,” said the Wizard of Weathervale, finishing the greeting with a chivalrous tip of an imaginary hat.
“I’ve never been down a dungeon before,” she blurted out. “It seems so dangerous and exciting and new. But with your mastery of the winds and Braiden’s — you know, everything — I’m sure it’s going to be a fantastic experience.”
Everything ? Braiden tried not to look too offended. She could have praised his ability to whip up some fabulous pancakes, or perhaps his prowess with a frying pan.
Scrambling mentally for what he might actually contribute to the expedition, Braiden knew he shouldn’t take Elyssandra’s words to heart. She didn’t know about all the things he could do with his magic.
But what can you do with your magic? a voice of doubt asked inside his head.
“We should head inside,” Braiden suggested, eager to get out of his own head and down into the dungeon. “The sooner we get this over with, the better.”
Augustin laughed. “That’s the spirit, Braiden Beadle. The sooner I can gauge the danger this place poses to Weathervale, the sooner I can decide whether to seal it up.”
There he went again with his big, sweeping proclamations. Braiden took comfort in knowing that Augustin Arcosa still had several obstacles to overcome, his grandmother being the greatest of them all.
Augustin approached the entrance with long, confident strides.
Elyssandra paced breathlessly after him, going so fast that Braiden feared she’d trip over an errant rock.
Taking one last look at the world above, Braiden savored the smell of clean air and fresh grass. He followed them into the darkness.
Except it wasn’t very dark at all. The passage was lined with blazing torches that radiated gentle warmth and the faintest tingle of magic. This was spell work, the torches installed here by adventurers who’d come before them.
It was reassuring — almost sweet — knowing that adventurers were only looking out for their peers, literally lighting the way for others. The torches were nice and toasty, too. Braiden held his hands up to them, the magic melting the cold from his fingers.
“Excellent dungeon etiquette,” Augustin called over his shoulder. “Weathervale must have attracted the more experienced kind of adventurer. And just ahead, look at what they’ve carved out for a haven. Remarkable.”
From all Braiden had overheard at the Dragon’s Flagon, a haven represented the height of dungeoneering convenience, whether created through cooperative adventurer effort or the expense of a local authority.
It was a place for adventurers to safely congregate before descending a dungeon, or to regroup and recuperate upon ascent.
Braiden had expected a room of crudely carved rock, or a rough cavern. But this place? He wouldn’t have minded spending some time here. The haven was clean, almost comfortable.
Soft snoring came from the alcoves around the room, each providing sufficient space for a sleeping roll or even a small tent.
A campfire made of real flame crackled quietly in the center, built by adventurers to keep warm and prepare meals.
The haven also had a long table and benches for communal dining, a small altar space for those devoted to prayer, and a well of replenishing water.
Augustin held a finger to his lips as they passed through. Braiden quietly appreciated the campfire’s heat and sweet smell of woodsmoke. The wizard paused to point out a large barrel filled with adventuring odds and ends.
“A donation box,” he whispered. “No shame in borrowing something to help you survive. Take only what you need, leave something to help another.”
Braiden peeked into the barrel, spying an old iron sword, a weathered wooden staff, and a serviceable shovel. It cheered him to find this bit of kindness in a dungeon, of all places.
The wet chill of cold earth pierced Braiden’s body as they emerged from the haven. Before them, mostly darkness. No more courtesy torches from this point on.
Elyssandra reached into the depths of her cowl, pulling out another pin from her hair, this one tipped with gleaming blue gemstones. She incanted a spell in a low whisper, then gave the sprig a little twirl. It floated from her hand, its berries bathing the cavern in a ghostly blue glow.
Braiden gasped. Tunnels. Everywhere. The passage didn’t just travel in a straight line. That would be too easy.
“This is incredible,” Elyssandra breathed.
“This is much bigger than I expected,” Augustin said.
This is terrifying , Braiden thought.
“But how?” he asked out loud. “The kabooming from before — the explosion, I mean. This is what it created?”
“And it opened up passages to whatever awaits below,” Elyssandra said.
“There are magical forces dwelling deep within the earth,” Augustin said. “Pockets of arcane power scattered all over the world. And when some of them intersect, the intermingling of the elements can have extremely volatile results.”
Braiden looked around at the honeycomb of passages. “And this is how far it went? Who knows where all these different corridors even lead?”
Augustin shrugged. “Some go to the surface. The cave mouth we came through just happens to be the most convenient form of access. It’s like an anthill, if you think about it, radiating outward in many different directions.”
But which path to take? Which didn’t lead to a dead end, and which led to the proverbial queen’s chamber? Treasure. Gemstones. Riches.
Most important of all: where had the blast really come from? Was it like an earthquake? Would there be aftershocks, too?
“This explosion that started it all,” Braiden said. “Could it happen again?”
Augustin tapped the end of his nose. “Now you understand my concerns. What if the energies that created this place are not yet expended? What if a second blast occurs while adventurers travel within?”
Braiden glanced at Elyssandra’s face. She must have looked as pale as he did. A thin trail of sweat dripped down his nape.
“But no need to worry just yet,” Augustin said.
“Lightning, in this case, isn’t likely to strike twice.
The pressure has been released. There are openings up to the surface now.
Should the elemental forces build up again, there’s a way for them to escape in a non-destructive manner.
Well, theoretically. For now, we must find out what the merging of those elements has actually created in the dungeon. ”
And then Braiden recalled the things he’d heard at the tavern, the posts he’d read on the questing board. Hadn’t the Gwerenese party talked about rocky creatures hurling stones through the air? And quite a few notices on the board were looking for rare gems and minerals.
“That must be it,” Braiden said. “Elementals.”