Page 37 of Wizards & Weavers (Cozy Questing #1)

Chapter

Twenty-Six

The skeleton slipped through the crevice, his bony feet clattering against icy ground as he walked.

Slowly, as if in no particular hurry, or as if held in thrall by what awaited in the chamber.

Braiden followed the others as they crowded through the entrance, anxious about what it was that Bones beheld.

The chamber was mostly empty, a smaller version of the cavern outside. The walls here were formed out of pure ice, not a combination of frost and stone. But in the center of the chamber, there it spun, the object of the skeleton’s entrancement.

Like well-carved dice, or a perfectly crafted box, only made entirely out of ice.

It was a cube as big as a man’s head, every surface and corner flawless as it rotated lazily in the air, suspended by some unseen force.

Streams of mist emitted from its six gleaming faces as it turned, an object so intensely cold that Braiden could feel its freezing pulse even from several feet away.

“It’s beautiful,” Elyssandra breathed.

“It’s dangerous,” Warren said, gripping his quarterstaff tight.

The skeleton gave a bitter laugh. “It’s the rat bastard that killed us all.”

The chill of the chamber penetrated straight to Braiden’s heart. This was it, then. This was the source of the blast.

“Odd things can happen when the elements converge,” Augustin explained, “but this phenomenon is odder than them all. And more dangerous, too. What we see before us is a compressed crystalline cube of the elements, the essence of air and water combined in a single deadly package.”

A cube, of all things. This very thing had tunneled out so many of the dungeon’s passages and opened it up to the surface.

Braiden recalled the day he heard the explosion from inside his shop, how the windows had rattled.

Now here they were staring at it like a curiosity in a pawn shop. He couldn’t help but shudder.

“This thing may be shaped like a box,” Augustin continued, a lecturing professor, “but note how this chamber has no corners. Observe. It’s as if we’re on the inside of a frozen egg.”

Augustin was right. The shape of the room was imperfect, but every corner had been rounded out with frost, as if smoothed down that way by a team of wintry workers.

“So that’s the object’s sphere of influence,” Braiden said. “This is how far its freezing properties touch when it isn’t actively exploding. This ‘egg’ was cracked open when it built up enough elemental force.”

“Exactly. And then it closed over again once the cube exerted its influence on its surroundings.”

Warren flattened his ears against the top of his head with frustrated paws. “Are you telling me that the Underborough would have been safe if we just hadn’t bothered coming all the way down here? Nibura protect my hide. Grandmother will never let me hear the end of this.”

Augustin clapped the burrowfolk on the back.

“Fret not. It’s not as simple as that. This thing is a force of nature, a convergence of elemental might.

In time, it would have built up enough pressure to explode on its own anyway.

This wasn’t your fault, nor any of ours.

It wasn’t a question of if the cube would explode again. It’s a question of when .”

“That’s all well and good,” Elyssandra said. “But exactly how do we stop it from exploding again?”

“That’s the thing,” Bones said. “You don’t.”

Bone scraped against ice as the skeleton shambled closer, holding his hands up to the cube. He stepped away again after mere moments, turning to reveal fingers already encased in ice.

“Things are coming back to me,” the skeleton said.

“Like a distant song, and I’m only just remembering the words.

I lived in a city. Stone, most of it. Lots of stone.

Beautiful. Deep underground. Our miners found something like this, thought it was a magical gemstone.

Our wizards tried to harness its power. And then one fine day — a thunderous explosion, a blinding light. And then nothing more.”

Silence hung in the chamber as Bones lowered his frost-covered hands. His bones rattled as he turned to face the cube once more.

“The ancient Hyberidians,” Augustin murmured. “People who lived in great cities beneath the ground. You’re one of them.”

Warren shook his head. “Ancient humans who lived beneath the soil — the grandest mothers spoke of them in whispers. They were long gone before the burrowfolk decided to burrow downward. You must be hundreds of years old.”

“Not that old, mind you,” Bones said. “I was only entering my thirtieth year before — well, you know. Kaboom. In the final days, our wizards tried to cast spells to ensure our people’s survival.

” He looked down at himself, staring at his fleshless form.

“I don’t think they intended for any of us to survive like this. ”

“That’s awfully sad,” Elyssandra said, “but how remarkable to have a second lease on life. We’re glad to have you with us now, Bones.”

The skeleton wrung its hands and stared at its feet, saying nothing.

Augustin stepped forward, shielding his face with his cloak as he approached the cube. “This is what all the talk of sealing comes down to. It would take an elementalist of immense power to deactivate this object safely. The best we can do for now is put up a barrier.”

“We?” Braiden asked. “Who is ‘we,’ exactly?”

“No time for petulance, Braiden. My sealing magic works by accelerating air to the point that it hardens, forming a wall of force. I don’t know if any of my spells will be strong enough to stop the cube’s magic, should it decide to explosively expel itself again.

But if you were to craft a network of threads to hold it all together? That might do the trick.”

It was deeply flattering that the Wizard of Weathervale thought that Braiden’s humble magic would help seal the cube. He couldn’t quite fathom weaving would help the wizard, but if Augustin believed in him, then Braiden would just have to believe in himself, too.

“This should work, in theory,” Augustin said, guiding Braiden into position with one hand on his hip. “There. This is the safest distance we can work from, right on its periphery. Now, start by weaving a lattice around the object. Shaped like a cylinder, if you will. Yes. Just like that.”

Braiden stepped around the cube warily, aware of what its ambient ice magic could do to him. Bones didn’t have to worry about frostbite, but Braiden could lose his fingers. And what use would he be as a weaver then?

A trail of weaving magic lingered in the air as he worked, creating the loose horizontal framework for his project. He combed down with his other hand to interlace the threads, crafting a sheet of ephemeral fabric around the cube.

“Excellent,” Augustin said. “Don’t materialize the magic just yet. If I do this just right — imbue the ethereal fabric with a burst of my own elemental essence — it might strengthen the binding.”

Like pouring plaster over gauze, or using varnish to cover cracks in woodwork, filling all the gaps. Of course, all of that involved the application of liquid, but Braiden didn’t busy himself with the details. The Wizard of Weathervale knew what he was doing. Probably.

Augustin incanted old words learned from his elders, passed down from one wind wizard to the next.

He pursed his lips and blew a single breath, a sudden breeze rushing into the chamber.

Braiden gasped as wisps of iridescent light tangled with the matrix he’d woven, catching at the gaps, like a school of ghostly fish swimming into a shimmering net.

Then with a gleam and a subtle flash, their magics fused, forming a sheet of luminous material. It shrank until the cylinder’s ends joined and twisted shut, sealing to form an impenetrable barrier around the deadly cube.

“It’s working,” Warren whispered. “Nibura spare us. It’s actually working.”

Braiden held his breath, too cautious to celebrate. When frost formed all along the outside of the twisted cylinder, his heart sank. When the barrier shattered into dozens of brittle pieces, his stomach dropped.

The burrowfolk’s ears drooped. Elyssandra reached for Warren’s hand, squeezing it.

“We can do something about this, can’t we?” she asked, giving Warren reassuring glances, staring hopefully at Augustin.

“The object is more powerful than anything I’ve ever encountered. I know how to seal doors and gaps and dungeons — but a cube of elemental essence? We’re going to need help from someone with more experience. Perhaps — oh, gods. Perhaps another wind wizard.”

Braiden winced. “You seriously mean it? You’re going to ask her?”

“If it means keeping both the Underborough and Weathervale safe, I have no choice. Orora Arcosa is a shrewd woman, but she will not tolerate a threat to her hometown.”

“Is this the grandmother I’ve heard so much about?” Elyssandra asked. “The one who’s secretly in charge of Weathervale?”

Warren blinked hard, his curiosity subduing his sadness. “Your grandmother leads your community, too? How interesting. And she’s also a wind wizard?”

Augustin scoffed. “She’s a bit of a windbag, if that’s what you’re asking. Hang on. Let me send her a message. It’ll get to her faster than we can reach the surface, but we’ll have to escort her down here in any case.”

He whispered a spell into his cupped hand, then parted his fingers, blowing hard. A bolt of wind howled out of the chamber, flying with such speed that it rippled through the air like an arrow.

“Airmail,” Augustin explained. “Faster and more private than a carried letter. It should take less than an hour to reach her.”

“Is it really as simple as that?” Braiden asked. “She said you never called.”

Augustin cleared his throat. “You’ve seen for yourself. She’s the only blood I have left in the world, but Grandmother and I have a challenging relationship.”

“And what if she refuses to accompany us?”

“Then we’ll stuff her in a sack and drag her down here. You can conjure it for us, too. This is a matter of great import, and — wait. Do you hear that? Out in the main cavern.”

Elyssandra’s ears visibly prickled. Warren’s ears waggled this way and that.

“Voices,” Bones said, his body creaking as he turned toward the crack in the wall.

“Other adventurers, at last,” Augustin said, striding out into the cavern.

Braiden hurried after him, sputtering words of warning. Running into other adventurers on the upper levels was different. With all the passages honeycombing throughout the dungeon, didn’t it seem too convenient that another party of adventurers would find themselves deep down this exact same path?

But his spirits lifted when he spotted familiar faces at the opposite end of the cavern. The man with the green skin was the very same orc he’d seen at the Dragon’s Flagon, an enormous war hammer strapped to his back.

Then the lovely woman with the equally lovely brother — the Gwerenese twins from the tavern. What were their names again? Falina? Fedro? And they’d brought their gambling friends with them, a party of four Gwerenese adventurers in all.

And standing at the back — it wasn’t his face that Braiden recognized, but he would have known the heavily armored man and his distinctive helmet anywhere. It was the horned warrior from the shop, the very same one who’d handed Braiden his bill and accidentally started this entire adventure.

“Oh, hey,” Braiden said, waving his arms in a wide arc. “I know those people. Hi, there. It’s me, from the tavern.”

Metal sang as weapons slid out of their sheaths. The wicked curves of Gwerenese daggers gleamed. The cavern trembled as the orc bashed his hammer onto the ground. The horned warrior slid a sword as black as night out of the ornate scabbard at his hip.

“What did you do to those people?” Bones asked, his bones already clattering from fear.

“Nothing! I met them once. We barely said anything to each other. Hey! You over there. Yes, all of you. Sorry for whatever I did, or whatever I didn’t. This is all just a misunderstanding.”

As the other adventurers drew closer, Braiden saw by their eyes that they weren’t actually looking at him, their gazes focused on Augustin instead. He frowned as he curled his fingers, readying his magic to contribute to the fight and help protect his wizard. The party’s wizard. Whatever.

“Greetings, Wizard of Weathervale,” boomed the horned warrior through his helmet. “We come to you under command of Orora Arcosa, Elder of the Lighthouse.”

“Friends of yours?” Augustin growled, shooting Braiden a glare.

“We had that talk,” Braiden snapped back. “I have nothing to do with this.”

The horned warrior brandished his midnight blade, pointing its tip across the cavern.

“Augustin Arcosa. You will not seal this dungeon.”