“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 withme. 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.
Chapter
Nine
The countryside zippedby far below as the Wizard of Weathervale flew through the open sky. His cloak rippled behind him like banners on a parapet, like the sails on a merchant ship. Braiden Beadle hung on for dear life.
Braiden had hoped to experience more of the journey on foot, though he couldn’t deny the unparalleled convenience of traveling by air instead. He hadn’t even had the chance to complain about his sore feet before Augustin had scooped him up and taken to the skies.
“We’ll cut our travel time in half, I wager,” Augustin yelled over the wind rushing at their faces. “Perhaps even more.”
“As long as you don’t tire yourself out by the time we get there,” Braiden yelled back. But he knew the wizard wasn’t listening.
This wasn’t the boring way to Yhip Valley, and Augustin was going to savor every moment, whether or not he burned out his reserves of magical essence. Braiden couldn’t imagine how restrained and tethered Augustin must have felt.
Why should a wind wizard have to move over ground, consigned to the heinous act of actually transporting himself using his own two feet? There was a bit of pretentiousnessalready baked in, but Braiden knew better than to blame Augustin for only being who he truly was.
