Augustin sniffed. “Very rude as always, Braiden, but even your vulgarities won’t diminish the specialness of this day. It’s time to announce that Augustin’s Effervescent Elixirs is now in business!”
In a manner of speaking, of course. Braiden had kindly allocated a corner of the shop to Augustin’s beverages. And whynot? Crafters and fans of knitwear might get thirsty as they browsed the shop’s selections. Besides, having a local celebrity to attract extra business didn’t seem like a very bad idea at all.
“Now, if we’re quite ready?” Augustin asked. He threw out his arms and adjusted his cloak, as if his outfit might have anything to do with the efficacy of his spellcasting.
Braiden gave him a firm nod. Even more than revivifying the shop, somehow, Braiden had dreamed of this day. He’d always fantasized about how fun it might be to draw attention to Beadle’s Needles by using the magic of weaving out in the streets, casting colorful sprays of magicked yarn like confetti and streamers.
He’d come such a long way from fanciful fantasies, adapting the weaving way to a myriad surprisingly effective uses within the depths of the Weathervale dungeon. But they were up on the surface again, up in a town where his magic was best put to practical use.
He raised his hand, focusing tiny beads of magic on the tips of his fingers. Really, absolutely meaning it this time, he nodded again.
Augustin bunched his fist, whispering words between his fingers. Scattered leaves and bits of dirt on the cobblestones swirled at their feet as the wind began to build. Biting her lip to restrain a huge smile, Elyssandra hurled her sheaf of flyers into the air with all her might.
In a single exhalation of breath, Braiden unfurled the magic still coiled within his body, long threads of hope and joy and excitement unspooling from the deepest, dustiest parts of his soul. With the shop’s storage room uncluttered, with the help of the wizard and all their friends, Braiden’s worlds without and within finally matched. He hadn’t felt so light in so long. He couldn’t remember feeling so free.
Augustin opened his fingers, and a great wind howled upward, a geyser of air. Its invisible hands caressed the flyers, teasing along bits of colorful string, glowing ribbons that grew ever longer as they streamed from the ends of Braiden’s fingers.
He laughed as he relinquished the magic, unleashing the rainbow torrent of ribbons and thread, the wind carrying his laughter into the Weathervale sky.
Off the flyers and confetti went, cast out across the eight districts through the power of Augustin’s spell. The wizard dusted his hands off dramatically, a triumphant smirk playing on his lips. Braiden thought it was smug, but also very tempting to kiss away with his own lips, except maybe not in front of Elyssandra. Not just yet. He’d seen how much she could hyperventilate at the mere thought of the two of them being engaged in anything remotely romantic.
Still, Braiden had to admit that he quite liked the kissing. It had only happened a few more times since that one night in the storage room, back before Augustin had claimed it as his bedroom and moved in the mismatched furniture he’d cobbled together from local pawnshops. Braiden thought that he couldn’t be very bad at it if the wizard liked doing it with him so much. He did wish they could do it a little more often. Braiden always believed in getting better with practice.
He almost bumped into Craghammer as he turned back to Beadle’s Needles. He hadn’t even noticed the orc standing there, so exhilarated by the exertion of magic. Craghammer gazed wistfully into the sky, his eyes following the last of the letters and streamers as they went.
“Such a beautiful display,” he breathed.
“It’s incredible,” Elyssandra said, “the sort of wonders that happen when two spellcasters put their magics together.”
Augustin smiled to himself, brushing the back of his hand against Braiden’s, as if in acknowledgement of their very successful cooperative casting. Braiden blushed.
“Imagine its utility as a distraction on the battlefield,” Craghammer said, his eyes still misty. “The enemy forces raising their heads to admire the spectacle in the sky, unknowingly exposing their throats to arrowheads and spear tips.”
Good old Craghammer, always considering the wartime applications of everything from the weaving way to knitting needles and crochet hooks.
This was a great way to start the day. Braiden never thought he’d get to actually live his dream of using his arcane talents for advertising. It was mainly Augustin’s idea.
“Wind wizards invented flyers,” he’d said. “That’s why they’re called flyers, because of how we make them fly. Everyone knows that. Keep up, Braiden.”
Braiden had rolled his eyes at the time, all to hide how he secretly delighted in the endless font of nonsense that poured from Augustin Arcosa’s lovely lips.
He pushed the door open, the shop bell tinkling melodically. It sounded somehow sweeter after Craghammer had given it a thorough polishing. Where it once seemed to herald the arrival of yet another disinterested customer, it now rang with the promise of something new.
And what a stock of new goods Braiden had in store for its many potential customers. A hat that offered mental clarity even in the face of danger, perfect for spellcasters who needed to concentrate on weaving complex magic. A bandanna that not only kept the sweat out of a warrior’s eyes, but also imbued them with extra ferocity and resolve in battle. And for the enterprising rogue, Braiden was particularly proud of the fingerless gloves enchanted to ensure a lighter touch, perfect for picking locks and disarming traps.
He hadn’t quite mastered the moongrass thread enough to make sweaters resistant to dragonfire, or even the battle cardigan that Craghammer so loudly longed for, one that could turn the edge of even the sharpest blade, as good as a coat of armor. Granny Bethilda always said it was all right to start small, and so Braiden decided that small was the right place to start.
If all went well, and provided Craghammer could hold down the fort, Braiden could finally embark on his long-awaited expedition to seek out the othergoats. Or justoneothergoat, at least. How he’d longed to meet one of the elusive creatures in the flesh, to see how the sun glinted off their black fleece, their wool so plush and supernaturally warm.
He and Augustin had talked about it often over late-night cups of tea, after long days of spinning moongrass and brewing elixirs. The weaver wished to find an othergoat, and the wizard wanted to find more air elementals. It was the best way for Augustin to improve his elixir business, after all, by finding more whistle stones with which to brew even vaster quantities of his bubbly water.
Scaling up the enterprise, as it were, all while Braiden focused on delegating and automating and entrepreneurship, all these big, fancy business buzzwords. And now they were doing some marketing, too. Braiden Beadle never was very good at business, but he was more than willing to try.
Sometimes he wondered if he liked sketching these plans out more than actually living them as adventures. In any case, he found himself thoroughly enjoying the time they spent in each other’s company. Tea tasted different when he shared it with Augustin. Tea tasted lovelier, somehow.
“Oh, I can barely stand the excitement,” Elyssandra said. “I’m going to go brew some tea, if anybody wants some.”
“I’d love a cup,” Braiden said, smiling.
