Page 41 of Wizards & Weavers (Cozy Questing #1)

He pressed his wrists together and blew down the length of his arms. The wizard’s breath rushed around their feet, wreathing Braiden and Elyssandra’s shoes in faint clouds of swirling vapor. Braiden picked up one foot to test it, then the other, stamping his soles against the veranda floor.

“I hate to be so banal about it, but my feet genuinely feel lighter than air.”

Elyssandra spun in place. “We’ve walked a long way from the cube and the frozen cavern, but my legs suddenly feel so refreshed.”

“It’s a fleetfoot spell, meant to quicken our movement.

” Augustin kneaded his forehead with his thumb.

“As I said, I try to save it for matters of great import. Casting it on the three of us is taxing enough. If I’d used it on all five of us at full strength — good gracious.

You might have to carry me out of here.”

Braiden clasped him by the shoulder. “Your talents brought us this far, Augustin. We’ll make it to the surface and back in good time.”

“ Our talents,” Elyssandra said, taking both their hands in hers, joining them in the center, fingers all in a reassuring knot.

The Wizard of Weathervale nodded and smiled. “Then we’re off.”

And off they went, taking out of the Underborough at top speed. Braiden’s legs were a pair of pistons, a ragged blur. Still his muscles didn’t tire. Augustin had understated the efficacy of his hastening spell. This was wildly powerful wind magic, indeed.

A journey that should have taken hours took only a fraction of the time. They tore rapidly through the luminous cavern, somehow without ripping up the wild grass that grew freely there. The lesser elementals they encountered were too slow too react.

Soon the three found torches lining the walls. They sprinted through the dungeon haven, then stumbled out into the light of day.

Birds twittered. Trees swayed in a gentle, balmy breeze. As strange and wondrous as Braiden’s encounters had been underground, nothing would ever compare to the delights of the surface world. He savored the warmth of sunlight on his skin and gulped down great big lungfuls of fresh air.

“To the Dragon’s Flagon,” Braiden said, surprised to find he wasn’t out of breath. “It’s where adventurers gather. Maybe we’ll find more hands to help there.”

“Excellent idea,” Augustin said. “And I’ll head straight to Grandmother, and after the shouting match that will no doubt ensue, I’ll convince her to come down the dungeon with us.”

“Later,” Elyssandra said, a hand on Augustin’s shoulder. “You’re the Wizard of Weathervale. Other adventurers are bound to take your word over ours.”

Lines creased Augustin’s forehead as his expression turned resolute. He led the charge back to the streets of Weathervale.

Braiden never thought he would miss it so much, and he’d only been gone a few days.

The voices of merchants barking and haggling, the clatter of carts over the cobblestones.

Far above, white clouds swirled, seagulls calling as they searched for scraps.

And nearby, the ocean lapped at the docks, the waves insistent, perpetual.

How could Augustin stand staying away for so long?

The Dragon’s Flagon seemed no busier than it did on most days, a smattering of adventurers lingering at the questing board in search of new jobs to pick up. Through the windows, Braiden could see that the tavern’s tables were just full enough.

His shoulders broad, his head held high, Augustin Arcosa threw the doors open and strutted inside.

“Friends,” Augustin crowed into the tavern. “Pray, lend me your ears!”

Barely taking a running start, Augustin leapt onto the table closest to the center of the room, his jump no doubt boosted by the tiniest dose of magical wind. Plates and tankards clattered, though little food or ale was spilled.

The adventurers in the tavern didn’t look at all perturbed, to Braiden’s surprise. In fact, they seemed quite interested in what Augustin had to say. A Gwerenese man popped a bit of sausage in his mouth and chewed expectantly.

“You may find this an amusing turn of phrase,” Augustin announced, “but I must inform you all that the dungeon at the edge of town is in grave danger.”

Braiden rushed for the bar, waving his hands emphatically as Dudley reached for his old battle-axe still hanging above the counter.

“Let him say his piece,” Braiden said, his hands clasped. “Don’t kill him. Yet.”

The bartender’s knuckles only whitened as he gripped the handle of his axe tighter. “You’d best tell the pretty boy to get those filthy boots off my clean table before I lop his feet off at the ankle.”

“Please, Dudley. He’s not exaggerating. There’s trouble in the dungeon that could put the town in real danger. We need all the help we can get.”

That did it. Dudley of all people knew that his tavern’s brisk business and the dungeon’s well-being were intertwined. He reluctantly removed his hand from his axe, letting it linger on the wall. For now.

Augustin ran through a rousing, if very abbreviated account of their journey through the dungeon. Elyssandra gasped and clapped in all the right places, as if hearing the story for the very first time, as if she hadn’t lived it herself.

For how loquacious he could be, Braiden thought the wizard was doing an excellent job of editing their adventure down. He scanned the tavern, nodding in approval. The patrons were rapt with attention.

And then Augustin’s story ended. The first peal of disbelieving laughter rang throughout the tavern. Braiden bit his lip.

“Rabbit folk?” someone asked, slamming their tankard of ale on the table for emphasis. “You seriously expect us to believe that?”

“Burrowfolk, actually,” Augustin corrected. “And yes, there is an entire colony of them in the dungeon depths. Been there for generations. We adventured with one of them, except — well, he had to stay behind. His name is Warren.”

More laughter, and this time it came with sneers of contempt and rolling eyes. Braiden could hardly blame them. Why would anyone believe fantastical stories about rabbit people and oversized elementals and life-threatening cubes of ice unless they saw them with their own eyes?

“The sweeping cold of the elements will come for the Underborough,” Braiden said. “And then they’ll come for Weathervale, too.”

Someone piped up from the back of the room. “At least we’ll have your sweaters to keep us warm.”

Even more laughter, interspersed with crueler words and japes. Braiden’s ears burned red. Elyssandra’s emerald eyes smoldered as she glared around the room.

“You should all be ashamed of yourselves,” she said, her voice on the edge of cracking.

As they made for the doors, Braiden threw Dudley one last plaintive glance. The bartender shook his head, his face as stony as ever, then went back to polishing his mugs.

Someone muttered just loud enough for Braiden to hear as he walked past.

“Sounds like the wind wizard is full of hot air.”

Braiden bristled. He balled up his fists, but said nothing. The nerve of them. He’d used that very insult on Augustin himself, but that was different. Augustin was his party’s wizard. Augustin was his wizard.

The doors to the tavern closed behind them. Augustin’s shoulders were rounded again, his demeanor droopier than ever. Even Elyssandra’s eyes were downcast, sadly studying the cobblestones.

Weathervale felt oddly still. All that momentum they’d built from their fleetfoot run was gone in an instant, like someone had squeezed all the air out of them.

Braiden gazed at the ships on the dock. No wind in their sails.

His heart sank into his stomach. They couldn’t just leave the Underborough to its doom.

“Come on,” he said, rubbing one fist angrily at his eyes. “Follow me to the shop.”