Chapter 8
Chapter
Eight
Braiden hefted the weight of his rucksack against his shoulders, staring longingly at his unmanned spinning wheel. The days of preparation had simply flown by, taking less time than Braiden had ever expected for the both of them to be ready for the trip.
Augustin’s boot soles were secured, his garish blue tent exchanged for a far more sensible one in mossy green.
He’d brewed up crates of plain elixir with his single whistle stone, teaching Elyssandra how to infuse the flavors by tipping in the concentrated extracts from an array of brilliantly colorful bottles.
Neatly folded new moongrass garments had been stacked lovingly toward the front of the store, each threaded with freshly spun moongrass filament, each imbued with an enchantment lightweight but efficient enough for adventuring purposes.
Braiden had even taken the time to knit matching scarves for himself and Augustin, threaded through with warming enchantments just in case Yhip Valley turned out to be a far chillier place than they’d expected.
And now they were packed and prepped for their trip, or as ready as they would ever be. Braiden slid his foot against the floorboards, the small, subtly hesitant kick of a schoolboy who wasn’t quite ready to leave for his first day.
He wasn’t sure how he felt, really, standing with Augustin as they relayed their last-minute instructions to Craghammer and Elyssandra. Which pair were most like the parents sending their children off to school?
Augustin crossed his arms, staring Elyssandra down sternly. “And you’ll remember to be more careful with the frost wand this time, yes? No more sticking it against your tongue to see what happens?”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, Father.”
At least that answered the parent question. Braiden shivered at his remembrance of that night. It had taken a few pots of warm water to get the damn thing unstuck.
“And Craghammer,” Braiden said, “maybe keep your war hammer behind the counter at all times? I’m worried it’s frightening the customers. Better to have it on hand for would-be thieves than to intimidate everybody else upfront.”
Craghammer rolled his eyes. “Yes, Mother.”
“I don’t know about their attitudes,” Augustin joked, “but I think we’re mostly ready. Shall we begin our journey?”
Craghammer and Elyssandra bid them goodbye at the door, grumbling their reassurances, no doubt eager to go back to their beds to squeeze out a few more hours of sleep.
Augustin chuckled as he allowed himself to be herded out onto the street.
Braiden stepped out into the meager morning light, the air still chilly as the sun slowly crept above the horizon.
He pulled on the leather straps of his rucksack, securing the bag against his body, suddenly uncertain all over again.
“We should say goodbye to Bones and Warren, too,” he said, glancing at where the golden hair comb would be planted, right in a patch of dirt outside the shop. “What if they miss us?”
Augustin placed strong hands on his shoulders and nudged him down the street. “We said our goodbyes last night, or have you forgotten already? And they’re very much asleep. Not much use saying goodbye when they won’t even know we were there.”
“But, but,” Braiden stammered. “The Heirloom. The instrument. Whatever we’re calling it. We need to make sure they have enough coin for Gregor’s initial payment.”
Braiden’s boots scraped against the cobblestones as Augustin kept pushing him down the lane, guiding him toward the nearest way out of town.
“All accounted for, Braiden. We told them to take what was needed from the till, remember? And with the payment plan we’d agreed on, we’ll have plenty of time to settle the remainder after we’re back from our trip.”
Braiden’s eyes searched Weathervale’s sleepy buildings, the slowly coloring sky for any excuse to stay. Why was he so hesitant about this all of a sudden?
“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all,” Braiden said, stealing anxious glances over his shoulder. “Did we account for the infernal messenger? The brass box, I mean. What if it comes back to terrorize the shop?”
Augustin gently clasped Braiden’s chin with the tips of his fingers, turning his head away from the shop and out toward the open road.
“Relax, weaver. Remember, it was Elyssandra who batted the thing away with a broom and sat on a bowl to keep it imprisoned. The shop is secure, even more so now that you know Craghammer will be spending his nights there.”
It was one of a few concessions Craghammer had to make, sleeping in a foldout cot in the shop while Braiden and Augustin were away. He seemed thrilled by the idea, really, especially when informed that he had free access to the kitchen upstairs.
The image of Craghammer sleeping soundly with his war hammer tucked under his pillow did give Braiden a little bit of comfort. If he’d been there the night the brass box had burst in through the window, it might have been smashed to pieces under the crushing weight of his hammer.
“You’re right,” Braiden breathed, finally accepting his fate. “Everything will be fine. Everything’s going to be just okay.”
This was different, he realized, from the time he’d struck out to delve the dungeon.
The shop was on its last legs, very much on the brink of financial collapse.
This time there was something truly worth maintaining at Beadle’s Needles, a real chance for the business to prosper, to make something meaningful for his family’s name.
He had to learn to trust the people he’d met along the way, these fast friends who’d already gotten a steady grip on how to run a craft shop, of all things.
He took Augustin’s hand and strode bravely down the road, trusting his newfound family, but trusting the wizard, most of all.
Braiden tried his hardest not to look back.
At the edge of town — and quite a distance away from the dungeon’s entrance, Braiden noted — Augustin unfurled his map of the land. Elyssandra had lent them her illustrative talents, very helpfully creating an accurate copy of the territory covering the trip from Weathervale to Yhip Valley.
She’d even embellished a little, adding tiny stick figures of their party around the border of the map. Braiden’s favorite was the one of a tiny flying Augustin being struck by lightning, his pencil-scratch hair standing on end. Augustin, unfortunately, was not as amused.
Traveling on foot, the journey would take them three, at most four days to reach Yhip Valley. The route, to the best of Braiden’s knowledge, wasn’t especially known for danger, quite unlike the trade routes that Elyssandra occasionally accompanied merchants on.
It was part of the reason Braiden didn’t much fancy the idea of hiring a cart. They’d have to learn how to manage a horse, first of all, or pay to feed and water both a horse and driver if they hired an entire service instead.
They were already running on so little that Braiden was happy to cut corners where he could. And two walking travelers were far less likely to attract unsavory attention, in any case, but Braiden didn’t really feel anxious about potential bandit attacks either way.
The pair of them had dealt with far stranger dangers in the depths of the dungeon. Whether with an entangling spell or a well-placed whirlwind, the Wizard and Weaver of Weathervale were more than sufficiently equipped to defend themselves out on the road.
“It’s a beautiful day to start our journey,” Augustin said, holding his hand above his eyes as he watched the sun emerge from the clouds.
“It really, is,” Braiden breathed.
The farmlands outside Weathervale changed color, beautifully afire as the sun’s orange glow crept over orderly rows of vegetables and fields of golden grain.
This in itself was a wonderful thing he might never have otherwise experienced, as someone unaccustomed to early hikes or taking morning constitutionals.
And yet again Braiden promised himself that he would, at long last, learn to partake of regular exercise. Weathervale had only just vanished behind the hills and a small, quiet soreness was already spreading through his muscles.
Good thing there wasn’t much urgency to their journey. If anything, the limiting factor was the quantity of food and supplies they’d brought along. As Elyssandra had told him, though, there would always be opportunities to forage on the road.
“Apple trees with ripened fruit just appeared out of nowhere,” she’d once told him, describing how she’d fed herself when she’d first ventured away from her elven home in the Summerlands. She’d also mentioned how she would stumble upon abandoned campfires with meals already conveniently cooked.
Braiden never said so out loud, but he always suspected that King Emeritas Ileli Emeridan had a hand in Elyssandra’s serendipitous discoveries, trailing after his beloved princess daughter to watch over her from a safe distance, engaging either his magic or his minions to keep her fed.
That the steady supply of food had suddenly stopped when she ventured too far from the elf lands had been evidence enough.
King Emeritas had to return to his palace and resume his kingly duties, after all — well, except for that one time he followed her deep into the dungeon, but that was the single exception he’d made, more or less in the interest of protecting his heir.
So Braiden kept his eyes peeled in case they spotted anything that could make for extra rations along the way. Orchards and garden plots didn’t count, of course — Braiden wanted to forage and live off the land, not steal from some hapless farmer.
“But perhaps if I sent a brisk wind to fell some oranges from that one tree,” Augustin said, licking his lips. “Plausible deniability. It wouldn’t have been our fault. ‘Must be the wind,’ the farmer would say. We can pick the oranges off the ground and rush off, and no one’s the wiser.”
“Augustin Arcosa,” Braiden hissed, elbowing him in the side. “Don’t be greedy. We’re barely an hour out of town and we still have full packs of rations.”
He didn’t add that it could be a point of consideration at the end of their trip if they were both running empty on supplies and half starved.
For now, it was best for Augustin to conserve his magic.
It was the same reason Braiden hadn’t asked him to cast his fleetfoot spell, Augustin’s special wind magic that hastened the simple act of walking to superhuman speeds.
Braiden remembered very well how Augustin had passed out and fallen into a deep slumber after expending so much magic, the way he’d supposedly slept for a whole week after stopping a tidal wave in Whiteport.
An extended nap on the side of the road wasn’t Braiden’s idea of an ideal start to their adventure.
Augustin frowned as he sucked on his bottom lip, failing to conceal his obvious pout.
Braiden had become so used to the wizard’s brattier side, perhaps even grown a little fond of it.
He chuckled and shook his head, savoring the clean air on the open road.
Blue sky, white clouds, green grass, a picture of perfection out in the Aidunese countryside.
And there, just over those hills, awaited the ocean that they’d already left behind.
Braiden wouldn’t trade life in Weathervale for the world.
“But I’m hungry,” Augustin whined, clearly still dwelling on those oranges. They did look very juicy and ripe, Braiden had to agree.
“You’re not, so stop lying. We had a big breakfast that I cooked myself. I was there. I saw you stuffing your face full of pancakes.”
“But I’m bored,” Augustin said, conveniently ignoring everything Braiden had just said.
“No, you aren’t. Look around you! It’s so beautiful out here. And you’re with me. How could you possibly be bored with me?”
Augustin made the kind of face that made Braiden want to pinch his cheeks, or smack them, or kiss them. He could never decide, really.
But then Augustin’s eyes twinkled, the tiniest sparkle of mirth turning the murky gray of them into crystalline silver. Uh-oh.
“We don’t have to walk the entire way, you know,” Augustin said.
Uh-oh, indeed.