Chapter Three: The Knights Of Westerbluff
"Are you the Dragon Of Enlightenment?"
I sighed. This time it was nearly nightfall. I looked down. The man standing before me caught me completely by surprise. For a moment I thought he was made of metal, then I realized the metal was armor. He was a knight. I think I've mentioned I don't see their type very often.
"What do you want?" (You see what a low opinion I have of knights--I could scarcely believe that this clunking heap of metal actually wanted to match wits with me.)
"I want to ask you a question."
Not all that enlightened, but then, the whole idea of actually battling a knight amused me, so I said, "Ask away, little rust bucket."
"If the King of Westerbluff, who has five thousand knights, was facing the King of Easterhaven, who has ten thousand knights, on the fields of Centerplain at ten o'clock tomorrow morning, what should Westerbluff do to gain an advantage in the battle?"
I glared at the little man with disgust. What kind of a question was that? That wasn't enlightenment, it was just plain old war tactics and human butchery.
"I'm not going to answer a question like that," I said disdainfully.
The knight nodded. "Too hard for you? I understand."
I roared. "It is not too hard for me! I am the Dragon Of Enlightenment!"
The knight shrugged and leaned casually against his sword, as though to say, "Take your time, I've got all evening."
Well, of course, it was a bit of a challenge, figuring out how an army of five thousand could gain an advantage over ten thousand. I think it must have taken me fifteen or twenty seconds to come up with the answer, but I did it. Then I explained to him how such a feat could be accomplished. I mean, why not? It's not like he was ever going to get away to plan any battle strategies based on my advice.
I then proceeded to ask him what you get when you multiply the number of fingers on your left foot by the number of toes on your right hand.
The great thing is, even his armor shrank down to toad size.
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"Are you the Dragon Of Enlightenment?"
Unbelievable. What were the odds? Two knights in two days. "I am. And who are you?"
"I am Sir Finkelstein."
Just then there was a tiny, tinny, clanking noise down at his feet. We both looked down in time to see an armor-clad toad leap across the mouth of my lair. I decided to ignore the intrusion, but told myself that such interruptions were not particularly enlightened, and that I would have to do something about the toad-knight sooner or later.
Sir Finkelstein, on the other hand, seemed quite unnerved by the creature.
"What is your question?" I asked impatiently.
"If the King of Westerbluff, who has four thousand knights, was facing the King of Easterhaven, who has six thousand knights, on the fields of Centerplain at eight o'clock tomorrow morning, what should Westerbluff do to gain an advantage in the battle?"
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I stared. This was just too much. The same question as the previous knight, the previous night. Only the numbers had changed. Then I realized that somehow the king of Westerbluff had received word of my answer, and had used my battle plan. Now he faced the second day of battle, and wanted more advice from me.
Dirty rotten little pig-faced scoundrels. You don't just take the wisdom of the Dragon of Enlightenment and put it to use in the waging of pathetic little human wars. It's just--well--wrong! And not entirely enlightened, either.
Despite the moral ambiguity inherent in using my great wisdom and intellect to gain an advantage in battle, I did admire Westerbluff's audacity. But how did he do it? How did the knight get word back to the king? Surely he didn't hop all the way back to Westerbluff on his stubby little toad legs and give a report to the king? And if he did, what language did he use? Does the king of Westerbluff understand the language of toads? True, I had heard he has some toadish blood in him, but still...
The toad-knight chose that rather inopportune moment to hop back across my path. With a quick flick of my wrist I flattened him against a rock, armor and all. Sir Finkelstein turned as gray as the rock, as gray as the armor.
"Nasty, annoying little creatures," I said casually. Finkelstein stopped wetting himself long enough to nod politely.
I leaned down close to the knight and leered at him through the holes in his metal visor. "Tell me, Sir Finkystream," I said, "How are you going to get my answer back to your king?"
The knight stammered for a moment, and then said, "It's not your turn to ask a question."
"Oh," I replied, "I will answer your question, after you answer mine."
"It's not your turn to ask," he repeated, with a little less certainty.
I reared back a little, and then let loose a horrific roar as I bared my yellow, pointed teeth right in his face. I'm not the Dragon of Fear, but I certainly know how to use fear.
"Th-the-there's a courier hiding in the rocks," he said, as the puddle at his feet grew larger. "A-after you answer my question, h-he'll run back to the palace and report."
Clever. An eavesdropper hiding among the rocks. This poor sap knew he wasn't getting out of here in one piece, but it didn't matter to the king, because someone was out there listening to my every word. I thought and thought, but realized there was nothing in the rules of the game to prevent that sort of behavior. Still, it didn't seem very enlightened.
Well. Two can play that game.
So I answered his question--in a manner of speaking--then punished him by asking the most fiendishly difficult question I could think of.
In retrospect, I realized I should have given him something much easier, so he would have at least tried, and I would have had the satisfaction of watching him battle against my puzzle with his feeble, puny little brain. As it was, there was nothing to do but watch him turn into another little toad-knight.
Chapter Four: The King Of Westerbluff
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