Page 24 of Wizards & Weavers (Cozy Questing #1)

Chapter

Seventeen

The thing in black — no, the person in black — shook his head the way someone with long hair shakes out their mane, sighing with relief as air rushed over his exposed face.

Except it wasn’t hair he was shaking, but a pair of very long ears, ears that grew out the top of his head.

They flickered and flapped, then finally stood to attention.

“A burrowfolk,” Elyssandra breathed, looking even more stunned than Braiden felt. “You’re one of the burrowfolk.”

The half man, half rabbit’s whiskers twitched as he smiled. “A pleasure to meet you. My name is Warren.”

Of course it is , Braiden thought, only just remembering to snap his mouth shut instead of gawping.

The party made their introductions. Braiden’s eyes had traveled the length of Warren’s entire body, which nearly surpassed seven feet when you included the height of his ears. That explained his legs, how his feet bent at an angle, the way he kicked out like a cat.

Braiden had always thought it was a myth.

There had always been tell of races in Aidun beyond those that more closely resembled humanoids.

Though he hadn’t met all of them himself, Braiden knew that dwarves, gnomes, goblins, and the fae surely existed.

And elves, well, he had one with a bottomless stomach and a dab hand with martial weaponry right beside him.

But the burrowfolk? He’d always assumed they were fairy tales, silly stories that Granny Bethilda and the entire Aidunese coalition of mothers and grandmothers agreed to tell their children before bed.

If these elusive rabbit people existed, albeit this deep underground, then what did that say about the other legendary races?

Fabled frog men, or fox people, or great cats that walked on two legs — Braiden could hardly contain his excitement.

“It’s genuinely incredible to make your acquaintance,” Augustin breathed, his eyes cutting toward Braiden as they silently exchanged their befuddlement. Braiden had been joking each time. A demon or an undead seemed far more likely, and yet.

Warren placed his hands on his hips and grinned a little smugly. “It is, isn’t it?”

The best Braiden could figure was that Warren was as humanoid as the fabled werewolf. In stature and musculature, the burrowfolk, it would seem, had torsos and upper legs that closely resembled those of humans. The greatest differences were their legs, and naturally, their heads.

And that meant that his black garments — that short-shorn fur that Braiden had mistaken for a velvety coat — oh, no. He’d been staring intently at Warren’s naked body this entire time. How mortifying.

“To be perfectly honest,” Elyssandra said, “it’s also incredible that you’re being so sociable after — well, everything we’ve just been through.”

Warren shrugged. “There’s something different about you people. Most adventurers go running for the exit the first time they have a near miss with the Pulverizer.”

Braiden frowned. “The what, now?”

“Big spiky thing that swung from the trees.” Warren spread his arms out wide. “Almost took out your friend over here. Could crush a man to death. You can’t miss it.”

Augustin laughed good-naturedly. “It isn’t my first brush with dungeon dangers, friend Warren. I know a thing or two about death traps.”

Braiden chewed on his lip, too curious about these new discoveries to remind Augustin that he had to be rescued from said Pulverizer.

“Elyssandra’s right,” Braiden said. “It’s quite nice of you to linger and chitchat after she nearly skewered you and I dropped a net on your head and everything.”

Again Warren shrugged. “It was a good sparring session. And again, you’re not the average human adventurers, are you? I like this one because she has long ears, like me. Well, long in a different way, I suppose.”

Elyssandra blushed as she brushed a hand against one reddening ear, suddenly bashful when she was so prepared to disembowel poor Warren not ten minutes ago.

“And you wear a soft downy pelt, like mine,” Warren said, feeling the sleeve of Braiden’s othergoat sweater with his own jet-black paw. “I like that.”

Braiden blushed, too. It felt nice to have his handiwork appreciated.

Augustin smiled hopefully, waiting for his own burrowfolk compliment that would never come.

“If you don’t mind,” Warren said, squeezing past them to retrieve his staff. “Don’t worry, I no longer mean you harm.”

Again Braiden found the burrowfolk’s bluntness quite refreshing. He didn’t often meet people who apologized so politely for almost committing murder and mutilation. Well, there was Elyssandra, of course.

He watched as Warren picked up his staff, brushing blades of grass from its shaft. Its wood was smoothed and polished by practice and frequent use, a well-loved weapon.

Undeterred by the uneven burrowfolk distribution of adventuring compliments, Augustin cleared his throat and stood with his head held heroically high, doing his best despite his now shabbier clothing.

“You are a fine warrior, friend Warren. Have you given any thought to the possibility of descending the dungeon to explore its depths? Perhaps in the company of other explorers and adventurers?”

The wizard waggled his eyebrows, his eyes pointedly flitting toward Braiden and Elyssandra. Braiden stifled a laugh. In truth, he didn’t mind the idea of traveling with a fourth adventurer. And a burrowfolk, too! Dudley would never believe him.

Warren pounded the butt of his staff on the ground. He crossed his arms and leaned on its tip. His nose twitched as he searched his thoughts, his whiskers quivering.

“That’s a kind offer,” Warren said, “and I would be lying if I told you I wasn’t tempted. But I have a responsibility to my village. Our people don’t venture very far from our home.”

A village? His home? Elyssandra was right, then. There was an entire settlement of burrowfolk somewhere in the dungeon. The pendulum trap, the stalking from the night before — Warren probably served as a sentry for his people, some sort of scout.

“That explosion opened passages all the way up to your world and deeper down the earth. The rockwalkers, we didn’t use to have so many of them around.

We were perfectly happy staying put in the Underborough.

Well — most of us. The world outside isn’t for the burrowfolk. At least it’s what the elders say.”

Warren scratched behind his ear, rubbing the length of it as if to soothe himself. Braiden hadn’t considered it that way at all. To Weathervale, and to all the adventurers from across Aidun, this was just another dungeon. To Warren, this place was home.

“Rockwalkers,” Elyssandra said, repeating Warren’s word for the elementals. “Like people made of rock, you mean? The kind that try to kill you with jagged bits of ice.”

“You’ve run into them, then. Nasty pieces of work. They never used to wander too close to the village. And there used to be far fewer of them.” He pinched his thumb and finger until they were the tiniest space apart. “And they used to be a lot smaller.”

Grass rustled as Augustin strode forward, speaking to Warren face to face. “Then surely you’ve considered digging deeper to find the answer. The cause of the explosion, that is, and the source of these rockwalkers. It may still be a threat to your community.”

“That’s exactly it,” Warren said, both his ears and his posture perking up.

He snatched up his staff, his paws curling tightly around its shaft in frustration.

“I keep telling the elders, and they keep telling me an expedition isn’t worth it.

How much longer can we stay safe if the rockwalkers keep coming? And there’s all the adventurers, too.”

His ears drooped as he let out a sigh, his head lolling back, his gaze flitting up to the trees. Daydreaming about more of those pendulum traps, perhaps. More Pulverizers.

Elyssandra cleared her throat. “To be fair, perhaps killing all strangers outright isn’t the most practical approach. My people — the elves, that is — so many of us still believe in seclusion from the other races. Staying hidden was very effective for our purposes.”

Warren’s nose twitched again as he snuffled at the air.

“But your people have powerful magic, don’t you?

We’ve heard all the stories about the sharp-ears.

Magic as old as the earth itself. And we have our ways, but it isn’t enough.

Our seers try their best to keep the village warded from prying eyes, but this has all been so sudden.

We’ve had to — well, I’ve had to improvise. ”

Braiden’s gaze fell on Warren’s spiny helmet as well as the bolas he’d extracted from Augustin’s clothing. There was clearly a running theme here. Warren had done well with the materials he had to work with.

“And the traps are hardly lethal,” Warren continued. “I was only exaggerating. You’ll be plucking thorns out of your face for a few days, which so far has worked as a good enough reminder for anyone with soft, vulnerable skin to stay away. Now, if only it worked as well on the rockwalkers.”

“Your village is nearby, then,” Braiden said, so curious about where the other traps were hidden that he’d almost missed Warren’s flinch of surprise.

“No,” the burrowfolk said, frowning. “Maybe. Why do you ask?”

“Mainly the fact that we didn’t encounter any traps on the way to this cavern,” Braiden replied. “It’s very clear that you care a lot about your community. We heard you skulking about yesterday, and last night, too, when we went to the pool for water.”

“You’re free to join us if you like,” Augustin said, “but if you feel more useful staying close by your village, then I won’t insist. It’s been lovely making your acquaintance — and very dangerous, too — but duty calls. The three of us need to delve deeper.”

Warren crossed his arms again, nibbling on his lip. “To find the source of the explosion?”