And so we sat around naked for the next eight hours. It got cold, which was obvious when you looked at any of us. We got hungry, so we caught some fish (incidentally, bent over holding a wriggling fish is not a good look for a naked half-dwarf/half-halfling) and cooked them (note to self: fire is especially hot when you’re naked). We got bored, so we played rhyming games (Borg was surprisingly good at them, notwithstanding his tendency to rhyme with lines from which we’d moved on several minutes before).
Finally, Whiska declared that she was ready. We stood in a line facing her, all trace of self-consciousness gone (except maybe for Nadi, who continued to try to avoid looking directly at anyone). Whiska walked up and down the line, hands behind her back, for a moment before pausing in front of Rummy. “Now,” said Whiska, “I do have a spell that will clothe you.”
“Great!” responded Rummy. “This cold air is really not good for my already limited sense of self-worth.”
Whiska resumed walking, coming to a stop in front of me. “But, I can only create a single outfit for each of you, and the spell is limited in what it can do.”
“So, muumuus for all of us?” I asked jokingly (or so I hoped).
“Yes,” replied Whiska.
“You’re not good at being funny,” I said. “Which means…you’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Why would you think I’m not serious, you thick-headed bibblebop?” (Whiska’s insult was sort of redundant—bibblebops are known for their immense heads, so calling them “thick-headed” is a little bit like calling something a “smelly skunk” or a “winged bird.”)
I sighed. “No reason.” I looked at the others, none of whom seemed particularly distressed. “You guys know what a muumuu is, right?”
“We’re not really in a position to be picky,” said Nadi. “Whatever Whiska can do will have to suffice.”
“I’m with the elf—well, the full elf—on this one, Heloise. I’m all in favor of whatever’s going to minimize the obvious effect the cold is having on me.”
“Is it like…a shirt for…cows?” asked Borg.
“No, Borg, it’s a—” My response was cut off when Whiska waved her magic wand and, in a flash of light and a puff of smoke, clad us all in…long, white, loose-fitted dresses patterned with black blotches.
“More like a cow dress than a shirt, apparently,” said Rummy, admiring his new garment.
Sometimes I hate my life.
At least we’d made it out of the swamp. Now, we just had to get into the mountain the dragon called home, which I figured would be the easy part, and then battle it dressed in cow costumes, which I figured would be the hard part.
It turns out I’m not very good at figuring.
Chapter 19
THE BRAVE HEROES PROVE THEIR BRAINS ARE EQUAL TO THEIR BRAWN
At the foot of Mount Fenneltop our doughty warriors stood, battle scars fresh from their victories in the Dukbuter Swamp. With renewed vigor they began their climb, scaling the nearly sheer face of the mount. Hand over hand, clawed foot over clawed foot…it was a grueling and torturous climb, but the difficulty did not deter the band of heroes, so intent were they on finding the dragon and bringing to a close their quest to save the good people of Skendrick from further agony and destruction at the beast’s fire, jaws, and talons.
At last, they reached the summit, and stood for a moment gathering their breath and stretching weary muscles. They knew that an epic confrontation awaited them, and began to steel their nerves for the coming battle. First, however, they had to gain entrance into the dragon’s mountain lair, which was blocked by a massive, round stone that none of them, not even the mighty Borgunder Gunderbor, could so much as budge, no matter how hard they pushed.
It was the quick-thinking mage Whiska who first noticed the spidery text above the door, written in the language of magic, and she summoned her companions together and read the words aloud.
“Ye who enter here,” she said slowly, translating as she spoke, “take heed, for only those who can solve this riddle may gain the safety of the mountain.” Whiska looked at her companions, who nodded, ready to take up the intellectual challenge. “Name for me these ideas three: you can’t begin before it happens; it gets shorter the longer it lasts; and it ends its opposite.”
The heroes pondered long and hard, calling upon the prodigious powers of their collective intellect to consider any number of possible answers, knowing that to answer incorrectly would prevent them from having the chance they so desperately sought to defeat the dragon. Finally, Nadi looked up and said, with confidence, “Birth. You can’t begin life before you’re born.”
Rummy’s eyes widened, and he took up the thread, adding, “And birth begins life, which gets shorter the longer it lasts.”
Whiska smiled and nodded, adding the final piece: “And what ends life? Death—its opposite.”
With Whiska’s words, the grating sound of rock grinding against rock reverberated through the air, bouncing off the mountain and amplifying to a deafening degree as a passageway opened before them. The dark tunnel appeared to head straight into the heart of the mountain, though the companions had heard rumors that a dangerous creature guarded the maze of tunnels that led to the dragon’s lair, and so they steeled themselves for one final challenge before the time came to take on the foul and mighty wyrm itself.
Chapter 20
SHUT UP…YOU WOULD HAVE BEEN STUMPED, TOO
Riddles are for smart people what sexy underthings are for attractive people—a way to flaunt what they’ve got, to tease the possibility of something greater, and to generally frustrate the hell out of you.
As you can probably guess, I hate both riddles and sexy underthings.
After a long and arduous climb, we reached a plateau on the mountain that, we believed, presented the entry point that would lead us to the dragon. Unfortunately, standing between us and that goal was a boulder the size of a Harvingian wedding cake. “There’s a rock…in our way,” said Borg succinctly after we had all stood staring silently at the impediment for a good five minutes.
“Sure is, big guy,” said Rummy, “any chance you can roll it out of the way?”
Five more minutes passed before Borg said, “I will…try.” Our muscular friend braced himself against the side of the boulder and began to push. After about a minute of pushing and no result, Borg stepped languidly back from the boulder, staring at it thoughtfully.
“Whiska,” said Nadi, “any ideas?”
“Short of blowing it up? No.”
“Can you do that?” asked Rummy.
“I’m not sure,” replied Whiska doubtfully.
“The rock is…too heavy…to move,” added Borg.
“Thanks for trying,” said Rummy, patting the giant on the arm.
“Want to give it a go, Whiska?” asked Nadi.
The wizard shrugged and lifted up her staff. “I’m always up for blowing things to smithereens. Might want to stand back, you brainless half-twits.”
“I think you mean ‘half-wits,’” I corrected.