Page 44 of Wizards & Weavers (Cozy Questing #1)
Chapter
Thirty
Reuniting with Warren lifted Braiden’s spirits in a way that bacon and pancakes never could. Elyssandra and Augustin were equally energized, the four of them blazing through the dungeon’s haven and into the underground honeycomb of passages without breaking their stride.
And now with Craghammer, the Gwerenese twins, and all the rest of the adventurers Dudley had press-ganged into service, they finally had a fighting chance of reaching the Underborough before imminent cube collapse.
Falina pulled out a tambourine, beating it in time, setting a brisk pace for the caravan.
Fedro produced a flute from a secret pocket in his vest, the sweet, lilting notes bringing color to their journey, making this trip down the dungeon less of an exhausting expedition, more like something approaching a hopeful adventure.
Downward they delved through the dungeon, crushing lesser elementals in their wake. The more heavily armed and armored adventurers led from the front, unfazed by elemental rocks and icicles, all while the magic users and archers took them down from the back.
Warren took point in the luminous cavern, guiding the adventurers down a very specific path to avoid his traps. The caravan resembled a long and winding snake as it rippled through the grass of the glowing cave. And in what felt like no time at all, they’d arrived safely in the Underborough.
Grandest Mother Magda came to the village entrance to greet them, the look of wrinkled worry on her face replaced by relief.
“You’ve returned to us, and it appears you’ve brought company,” Magda said with a wry smile. “The elders won’t like this very much.”
“We also brought scarves and sweaters.” Warren lifted his nose in the air, heading to the heart of the village with an armload of knitwear. “The elders can stuff it.”
Mother Magda laughed, welcoming the caravan. Every last adventurer stared around the underground village with bulging eyes and open mouths. Braiden couldn’t help smirking, remembering all the disbelief back at the Dragon’s Flagon.
Dudley was already chatting up a burrowfolk woman, curious as Braiden had been about her bubbling cauldron of rooty tooty stew. Craghammer slipped easily into a position of leadership, barking orders at the adventurers, directing them to bring their quota of sweaters to the village center.
A clacking, chattering sound drew Braiden’s attention.
Bones had been standing nearby the whole time.
He hadn’t recognized the skeleton in Elyssandra’s cloak, possibly conflating the images of the two in his mind.
Braiden recoiled when the skeleton brushed icy finger bones against the back of his hand.
“Your fingers are frozen,” Braiden said.
“No blood or breath to keep me warm,” Bones said, his teeth chattering. “Listen. This was how it began in old Hyberidia. The air went colder and colder before that horrible icy box exploded. You have to hurry and do something.”
Augustin shook his head. “I don’t have enough of my will left to cast another fleetfoot spell for five of us, much less all the rest. I can muster the strength for two travelers, at best.”
Elyssandra nodded firmly. “I understand. With your guidance, you and Braiden might find a way to suppress the cube together.”
“I’ll go with you,” Braiden said. He ignored the shiver of fear in his heart, knowing he’d be standing mere feet away from the cube if it exploded. “I don’t know that I can do much to stop that thing, but I’ll help any way I can.”
“Thank you,” Augustin said. “I’d hate to go it alone. I’m glad to have you beside me. If only my old windbag of a grandmother could have bothered to come, or even answer my airmail.”
“I heard that, boy,” came the icy reply, colder than the wintry Underborough air.
Augustin flinched, then quickly composed himself at the sight of Orora Arcosa. Braiden blinked hard in disbelief. How? And when? Had she been following them the entire time? Augustin didn’t seem as surprised by her presence, more mortified, and perhaps a touch intimidated.
“What took you so long?” the wizard snapped, overcompensating for his insult.
“I took a day trip out to the islands,” she said crisply, extending her arms and turning in a slow circle. She was showing off her tan. “I came as soon as I could.”
Elder Orora’s expression changed when she caught sight of Grandest Mother Magda. Aha. A meeting of grandmothers, but more importantly, of village elders. Braiden held his breath.
“It is such a pleasure,” Orora said, offering both her hands to the chief. “Tales of your people are the stuff of legend. It is an honor to meet you. I am Orora Arcosa, from the council of Weathervale, up above. We must be the closest human settlement to your fine village.”
Mother Magda held a hand to her cheek, flattered and flustered. She accepted both of Orora’s hands, smothering them in her furry paws.
“And such a pleasure it is to meet you, too. I am called the Grandest Mother Magda, but such titles are far too fancy for new friends, don’t you think? You may call me Magda.”
Braiden narrowed his eyes. On the surface, he knew that this was only two older women making pleasantries, and there was definitely sincerity in their delight. But he couldn’t help noticing how parts of this exchange seemed like the beginnings of a business transaction.
“But we can talk and sip tea later,” Orora said, serious again. “My grandson has told me of a dangerous object that threatens both our communities.”
Mother Magda nodded. “And my grandson has experienced its oppressive cold for himself. I fear that burrowfolk magics do not extend into the realm of elemental control.”
“This is a job for wind wizards,” Augustin said, giving Braiden a cursory nod. “And weavers, too.”
“Then we should get going,” Orora said. “You’ll forgive my grandson for being so slow to act, Magda. I shall see you again soon. Augustin? Go on, then. Lead the way.”
Magda hobbled off to secure her own sweater. Augustin threw his hands up in frustration, but managed to stifle a snarky response.
“I have barely enough magic left for a fleetfoot spell. Grandmother, if you’d be kind enough to ensorcel your own feet — ”
Elder Orora rolled her eyes. “What have I taught you about the wind? Why waste your strength when you can take advantage of your surroundings instead?”
Her gaze fell upon the ground beyond the boundaries of the Underborough. Braiden should have noticed it before. The cube’s icy fingers had stretched so far and so long.
“There’s a sheath of ice covering the ground,” Braiden muttered.
Orora smirked. “See how the Beadle boy has sharper eyes than you? Go on, then, Braiden. You were taught the weaving arts by Bethilda, were you not? Conjure us a sheet of cloth as fine and sturdy as a ship’s sail.”
It would be too slow and dangerous to walk. But reaching the cube meant continuing on a steady descent through the dungeon — a downward slope.
Augustin laughed. “You’re not seriously suggesting that we sail our way over the ice, are you?”
Not minutes later, the three of them were skidding down the dungeon on a plank of wood Orora had commandeered from the village.
A powerful gale filled the sail grasped tightly in Braiden and Augustin’s hands, a challenging enough feat when they were already busy clinging onto the plank for dear life.
Defying all logic, Orora’s conjured wind was balmy and warm, keeping the three of them comfortable as they plunged headlong into the icy depths, melting just enough of the ice to keep their sled skittering along.
And the whole while, Orora stood on the plank as if on the prow of a ship, blissfully ignoring all of Augustin’s horrified admonitions.
And quick as a flash the three found themselves in the great frozen cavern, right where the party had battled the colossal elemental.
Orora leapt spryly off the speeding sled, landing steadily on her feet.
Augustin held Braiden tight as he magicked a gust to buoy them upward and cushion them as they fell, leaving the sled to race onward and smash into a burst of splinters against the cavern wall.
Braiden panted as he clutched the side of his head, disoriented by their journey.
These wind wizards were out of their minds.
Augustin’s cloak billowed behind him as he raced for the frozen chamber.
Elder Orora followed at a brisk pace, and Braiden fell in step, every one of his exhalations creating a cloud of fog.
It was so much colder now, perhaps the coldest Braiden had ever been in his short life. Again he congratulated himself for sensibly selecting a sweater for the dungeon. Noting the way Orora shivered as they entered the chamber, he quickly conjured one of his warming scarves.
Either the elder hadn’t taken Augustin’s message so seriously, or she’d been in too much of a hurry to find something warm to wear. Orora nodded in thanks, sighing as she wrapped the scarf around her shoulders.
The three of them entered. Orora glared at the cube as if its existence personally offended her.
Augustin approached the frozen construct with even more caution than before.
Braiden stared down at his hands, wondering what he could possibly contribute to this meeting of Weathervale’s two greatest wind wizards.
“I heard about that tidal wave you stopped in Whiteport,” Orora said, never taking her eyes off the cube.
Augustin raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And here I thought you weren’t very interested in what I was up to out on the road.”
“You are my grandson, Augustin. My only one. Of course I was interested. Foolish boy.”
It was as sweet as Braiden had ever heard her speak to him. Augustin tried not to show it, but even here, in the face of danger, he was holding back a tiny smile.