To be an Ally
By: K.D.
June 23, 2011

	“Believe me, I’m grateful for any opportunity to practice my skills. But I had hoped that we’d be getting more interesting jobs from time to time…”
	Raven was standing in the tavern. Not sitting and eating – standing. He was next to a table, addressing three adventurer-types who were enjoying a hearty breakfast. 
One of the people at the table – a burly man with long, wild hair and beard – replied roughly, while in the midst of inhaling a large biscuit. “It’s good and steady work, lad. There’s always call for adventurers like us, and the coin we earn is always honest.”
Raven made a funny face, half-rolling his eyes. His martially-inclined comrade was right, of course, but it was also an evasion of the issue. “All I’m saying is that rat-infested cellars and overpopulated wildernesses are getting a little… boring. Couldn’t we do something different every so often?”
Also at the table was a young, calm man with a shaved head. He was eating little, and his words were soft and curious, “So we should not aid townsfolk with vermin infestations, and we should allow predatory beasts to become too numerous for the ecosystem to support?”
“No, no!” Raven said with a sigh. These people may have been his combat allies on many occasions, but it didn’t stop them from being utterly dense at times. “But, surely other people can handle such trivial tasks. I barely even get to use my magic without risking collateral damage.”
A tall and slender woman at the table chuckled at the last comment. “Collateral damage, nothin’. You came that close to burnin’ down the entire –“
“I thought we agreed to not bring that up again,” Raven interrupted, frowning and crossing his arms. “I already admitted it was my mistake, and I paid for it out of my own pocket.”
The burly man was already chewing noisily on yet another biscuit. Once again with his mouth full, he said, “So what is it ye want, lad? Ye want t’ leave the group?”
Leave? No, not leave. The reason why Raven was even here in the first place was because he couldn’t stand the notion of being at the Magic Academy a single day longer. A year of working under their inane and antisocial rules had once nearly driven him mad, and it wasn’t an experience he wanted to tempt again.
The second year had been somewhat more to his liking, but it unfortunately wasn’t meant to last. No, he certainly had no intention of ever going back. The mere notion of returning and being a Senior Student – running trivial errands in return for continued “teaching” – was completely out of the question.
Raven was a wizard, and a very talented one (if he did say so himself). He deserved more chances to prove himself and his abilities. True, it was nice to travel with a group of comrades, and to have no worries for where to find the next food and shelter. There was always someone who was willing to pay for a good sword-arm or a bit of sorcery, and there was always a tavern or inn that welcomed the coin.
“I merely want a sabbatical,” Raven finally said. “I’m sure you lot would be alright in the interim, provided you don’t suddenly go trying to take on demonic hordes by yourselves. But would I still have a spot when I return?”
Nobody seemed too eager to answer. How could they? Their group was basically one of like-minded convenience, in order to ensure safety during the course of dangerous jobs.
Finally, the young man with the shaved head spoke with the necessary wisdom that the others could not muster. “You are a skilled wizard, Raven. Provided you will be absent only a short while, it would be foolish – to say nothing of being unlikely – to replace you.”
No disagreement was voiced. Raven nodded soberly. “That’s it, then. I’ll return up to our room for a moment, and then set off on my own,” he said. “Can I expect to meet with you in this tavern?”
“Aye, lad,” the group’s warrior said, polishing off the last scraps of his third biscuit of the morning. “There’s plenty o’ work to be had in this town; we’ll keep this place as our inn o’ choice.”
Raven nodded once more, mutely, and left the others to their feasting.

----------

	Physically, Raven wasn’t much to look at. He was a young man of nearly twenty years, slender in build, his most striking feature being his distinctive straight, jet-black, shoulder-length hair that he kept tied back behind his ears. “Raven”, in fact, was only a nickname he had assumed because of his hair color. He had never much cared for his given name, anyway.
	He didn’t do much else to betray his status as a wizard. He wore no stereotypical robes or pointed hat – only common tan trousers, a modestly-dressy and long-sleeved white cotton shirt, and boots fit for long travel. Those with magical talent could sense his own, but to the layperson, he was only another face in the crowd.
	Raven went up to the second floor of the inn, to one of the two large rooms that served small parties of adventurers, like themselves. His party was keeping their traveling gear in here – weapons and armor accounting for most of the combined weight. Raven’s own worldly possessions consisted only of the clothes on his back, coins he kept in secret pockets sewn into those clothes, dried food for the road, and a few bags of powders and minerals that aided in some types of spells.
	Truth be told, he preferred to travel light. His most prized possession was his talent in wizardry, after all: intangible, yes, but more valuable than any physical item he could ever get his hands on. So long as he had his magic, there would never be anything else he really needed.
	Nevertheless, he had planned to spend only a couple minutes tying all that he owned to his belt, and then to leave the room and inn. Where he planned to go afterward, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t intend to wander aimlessly – he hoped to find work that was more in line with his particular talents … perhaps even his shadier talents that went beyond just wizardry.
	As he collected his items, however, the sum of Raven’s wizardly talent and training manifested itself; he could sense magic at work within the room. Seeing as how there were no other wizards staying at the inn at that time, and he could sense no hostile intent, it could only mean one thing.
	“Logan,” Raven said loudly to the invisible wizard, not pausing in his current task, “you need to pay the innkeeper if you want a room. It’s impolite to sneak in.”
	He sensed the magic in the room dissipate, and turned around to see his once-colleague standing on the other side of the room. Logan was another young man, roughly physically the same as Raven in many ways, save for his usual facial expression being a bit more neutral and a bit less glower, and having much shorter, brown hair.
	There was also a cat-sized, sinuous, gold-scaled dragon perched on his shoulder with all four claws, and his tail just barely hooked around the opposite shoulder. He knew all about the dragon: his name was Orion, an “employee” of Logan’s for nearly three years.
	On second thought, he didn’t know much for certain about Orion aside from those two facts. Supposedly, the dragon was helpful in some way (in what way, he didn’t know), and could even purportedly communicate with Logan via some kind of natural draconic telepathy (which Raven had never personally heard, despite past attempts).
	“If I might ask, what gave me away?” Logan said.
	Raven shot him a brief smirk and went back to collecting his things. “Like anyone else at our level, you waste a lot of energy with anything too advanced,” he explained.  “You might have a deep pool to draw from, Logan, but that doesn’t help you stay invisible.”
	“…But only to those sensitive to magic,” Logan finished.
	“That’s right. Just don’t go shouting into people’s ears.” Raven said. Having collected everything he needed, he turned around again. “Anyway, Logan, I doubt you sneaked into my room to show off…”
	Logan nodded. Wordlessly, he pulled a rolled-up scroll from his belt and tossed it to Raven. Raven caught the scroll, and, with a raised eyebrow, opened it.
	“The Wizard’s Challenge,” Logan explained. “A test of magic, skill, and ingenuity for young wizards like us.”
	Indeed, half of the scroll in Raven’s hands was a map marked with a dotted path and a large “X”. The other half showed more resemblance to an overzealous advertisement that one might nail to a tree, calling the Challenge “marvelous” and “mysterious”. Raven couldn’t bring himself to read more than a couple lines of the thing.
	“Are you sure this isn’t a pamphlet for a circus act?” Raven asked, rolling it up again. “Their marketing strategy leaves something to be desired…”
	“It’s completely real,” Logan replied, his expression utterly straight. “It was created by a wizard of great ability, designed with apprentices and student wizards in mind, to teach them – us – about addressing problems with more than just fireballs and lightning bolts.”
	Raven’s own expression was much the same, albeit for a distinctly different reason. “So there’s probably a catch or trick attached. Unless you mean to tell me it’s a charity.”
	Logan said nothing for a moment. Then, as though a delayed reaction, he chuckled. “Orion is very impressed by your skepticism,” he said. The dragon on his shoulder seemed to add his own punctuation with a silent, open-mouthed laugh. “Is it so hard to believe that some good-natured old man with a pointed hat and a long white beard just wanted to do something helpful for the next generation?”
	Raven needed only a heartbeat to think about it. “Yes,” he said.
	Logan sighed. “Regardless, it exists, everything I’ve said about it is true, and I intend to take the Challenge,” he said with a slight shrug. “Almost a year ago, you asked me to bring you along if I got caught up on an interesting adventure. Thought I’d at least extend the invitation.”
	That was true – Raven had made that request of Logan. And, glorified circus act or no, this did sound a bit more interesting than exterminating oversized rats from people’s cellars.
	At last, Raven nodded his assent. “Very well. Let’s do it.”
	This time, it was Logan’s turn to be skeptical. “Just like that? You don’t need to tell your friends downstairs that you’ll be away for a while?”
	“I already did,” Raven replied, with a conniving sort of smile. “Let’s get on with this so-called Challenge.”

----------

	Their journey was not long. The path to the Wizard’s Challenge, as guided by the map that Logan had, led them on a northwest dirt road, to the outskirts of the Ardet Mountains – an area of rolling hills and rocky formations, but with enough footpaths to be easily navigable.
	The leisurely few-hours-long walk (or flight, in Orion’s case) went by without much incident to speak of. The two young wizards chatted and shared news of their latest adventures, such as they were. Raven had, of course, been dissatisfied with his work of late, and Logan still preferred to stay at the Academy as often as possible. Today seemed the perfect opportunity for them both to break the monotony.
	At last, the three of them arrived at the place marked with the X. They immediately spotted a sign of what they were questing for – literally. A brightly-colored wooden board staked into the ground in front of them cheerfully announced, “The Wizard’s Challenge”, illustrated with a magic wand and sparkles.
	Raven tsked at the sight. “You weren’t kidding when you said an old man designed this thing,” he said. “I haven’t seen a ‘magic wand’ outside of one of those rubbish centuries-old history books at the Academy.”
	Though his former colleague’s words were quite snarky, Logan chose to take the criticism seriously. “Despite what it looks like, plenty of people have taken the Challenge recently, and none of them – at least, none of the ones I’ve spoken with – mentioned anything about it being outdated.”
	He fell silent for a moment, then suddenly motioned at the top of a nearby path that spiraled up one of the rocky hills. “Orion has spotted a door set into the rock up there. It must be the entrance to the place. Follow me.”
	Raven did, but he had rather suddenly found a new question to ask. “That reminds me of a rather important point, Logan. If you’ve talked about this Challenge with others, do you know what we can expect from it?” Then, as a quick afterthought, he added, “And no ambiguity like ‘skill’ or ‘ingenuity’ – I heard you the first time.”
	“No, actually.” Logan answered immediately, but the explanation for it came with more difficulty. “Other than a unanimous testimony for the trip being ‘worth it’ for the other wizards, nobody was willing to offer up any specifics. I did discuss it a bit with Orion; we decided it might be like… how you wouldn’t talk about the major plot twist of a bard’s story with someone who hasn’t heard it yet.”
	Walking behind Logan unseen, Raven snorted and rolled his eyes at the pitiful attempt. “That’s either the most insightful thing I’ve ever heard, or it’s proof that this entire thing is a fraud.”
	Logan stopped walking and turned around, crossing his arms and making a funny face – a mix between frustration and disappointment, as near as Raven could tell. “Then maybe it’s more along the lines of a logic puzzle – you enjoy things like that, don’t you? The satisfaction is in figuring it all out yourself. It loses all meaning if someone tells you the solution before you even begin.”
	Logan turned around once again and continued walking up the spiral incline, taking strides nearly twice as lengthy as before. “You’re just like Orion when he gets into one of his ‘moods’,” he muttered, “being contrary purely for the sake of being contrary…”
	“I heard that,” Raven called out after him, suddenly struggling to keep up. “This thing could be dangerous, Logan – who knows what it’ll throw at us. I’m merely concerned about your safety.”
	It was Logan’s turn to be sarcastic. “My safety. I’m sure that must be it,” he said. “It’s perfectly safe – we’re going to be just fine. And besides… we’re here.”
	Indeed, the two young wizards had reached the door. It was a huge thing made of sturdy dark wood and a large handle; banded, reinforced, and decorated with some kind of metal – brass, if Raven were forced to make a wild guess. It certainly looked out of place, being such an obviously artificial and somewhat ornate construct in the middle of natural and irregular stone.
	Orion flew a couple more circles close overhead, then gently flapped down to his usual perch on Logan’s shoulder. Now, all three of them were staring at the door.
	Logan cleared his throat loudly. “Well, I… suppose that we can just open the door and go on in,” he said.
	Raven’s contrary attitude just a moment before, however, wasn’t entirely just to be a pest. He had a natural, healthy skepticism of just about everything, to say nothing of strange doors in the middle of uncivilized land. For all he knew, there was a cranky hermit inside that would teleport them all to the top of a waterfall for the slightest of reasons.
	Squaring his shoulders and standing as large and tall as he could (which, to be perfectly honest, wasn’t very), Logan stepped right to the door, reached out for the handle, and tugged. Nothing happened.
	“Huh…” Logan said. “The door must be locked, or barred, or … What in the –”
	What came next happened very quickly – there was only enough time for Raven to flinch away in reflex, and to ready an instinctive protective shield spell for himself. Logan’s hand, where he was holding the door handle, dissolved rapidly into smoke. His arm followed suit. Then the rest of him, in mere seconds, also dissolved away into a grey puff… that was diluted into nothingness by the surrounding air.
	The gold dragon perched atop Logan’s shoulder did not dissolve into smoke with his employer. Instead, Orion found that the “ground” beneath his paws was suddenly yanked out from under him, and it took some sudden and frenzied flapping of his wings to safely right himself in the air and land clumsily – but softly – on the ground.
	In any other circumstance, it might have looked rather funny.
	“Logan?” Raven asked uncertainly. But unlike back at the inn, Logan wasn’t simply invisible or otherwise hidden. He was gone. And from his tone of surprise right before he vanished, it wasn’t willingly.
	Orion was beyond “uncertain”. Raven didn’t need words to know that the miniature dragon was frantic. His long neck whipped about as he searched the area in shock, his tail was flicking, agitated, and he turned left and right like a panicking insect.
	Then the gold dragon’s view turned toward Raven. Orion hissed, long and loudly.
	Raven put both his hands out, open palms directly facing the dragon in a gesture of surrender. “Don’t look at me!” he insisted. “I didn’t do anything to him!”
	Orion stared at him intently with his tiny reptile eyes, then hissed again with force. As he did, Raven could feel an inkling of something in his mind … it was a terribly odd sensation, perhaps a bit like someone poking his brain with a stick, or trying to invade his thoughts with magic.
No, perhaps not quite like that. Not like another wizard attempting to read his mind, or to control his thoughts and actions. This was closer to someone looking over his shoulder while he studied a book, and this someone was reading a different paragraph out loud, clashing with his own reading – his own internal monologue. So much that Raven’s own subconscious tried to block it out automatically, like background noise.
Of course, even Raven himself was not consciously aware of these several small nuances. He did logically conclude that Orion was trying to communicate with him, and that it wasn’t working. It had never worked before. What had seemed to come easily to Logan was an impossibility to Raven. “I can’t understand you!” the young wizard insisted irritably.
Still, Orion didn’t quit. He reared up briefly onto his hind legs and continued his hissing, apparently attempting some kind of draconic display of intimidation. If he was any larger than a small housecat, it might have not looked so silly.
Raven sighed and tried to survey the situation as a whole. Surely, Logan would have returned by now if he could. Orion was obviously agitated – that also meant that he was probably feeling confused and helpless. His eyes drifted toward the door again.
It was open.
<Find Logan.>
“What?” Raven said. Before Logan disappeared, he said the door was locked – and now it was clearly ajar. In the mere half-second where he was rendered stunned by the discrepancy, a foreign mind had forced itself upon his own. His subconscious had been unable to tune out the noise in that brief moment.
Orion hissed at him again, wordlessly.
	And once more, Raven sighed. This time, it was in disgust. “Both of us just saw Logan vanish when he touched that door,” he said to the dragon. “And I suppose that by ‘Find Logan’, you really want me to go in there.”
	Orion stopped hissing. Instead, he very clearly nodded his head. Raven doubted it was natural dragon body language.
	“…So I can vanish in a mysterious puff of smoke, too,” Raven finished.
	Orion hissed again. Although the little dragon seemed to be using hissing to mean many different things, Raven took it as a “no” this time.
	By this time, Raven had to wonder what he was really arguing for. Until he saw otherwise, he had to assume that Logan was still alive, and had simply been teleported somewhere – very likely beyond the door in front of him. Logan had helped him in the past – was it right to abandon him in a time of need? Maybe he was trapped and needed help. 
	Finally, the facts clicked together within his logical mind. “Oh, I get it,” Raven drawled out, more irritated by the runaround than pleased by his revelation. “It’s all part of the ‘Wizard’s Challenge’. It’s all part of the giant practical joke that some old coot made, to toy with the newer generations of wizards.”
	Orion didn’t hiss this time; he merely stared. Raven thought he heard <Find Logan> again, but it might have been his imagination.
	“Fine, fine, let’s just get this over with, shall we?” Raven said. “Go ahead and get on my shoulder, you useless little lizard.”
	Orion hissed – definitely in protest this time – but complied with the prompting. He flapped his wings hard for altitude, and then drifted over to gracefully perch on top of Raven’s shoulder. Raven’s mouth twitched at the uneasy prospect of having an overgrown (well, overgrown compared to most) reptile sitting right next to his face. He would have to tolerate it for a while; Orion probably wasn’t going to abandon Logan either.
	Since the door was unlocked and ajar, Raven simply pulled it open the rest of the way. The darkness within seemed impermeable, even to the omnipresent afternoon sunlight of the outdoors… as though a silly thing like darkness would ever stop a wizard, regardless.
	Raven and Orion entered the Wizard’s Challenge, and the door slammed shut behind them.

----------

	The hallways were pitch black… and yet Raven didn’t feel the least bit disoriented or concerned as he walked steadily forward. There was powerful magic at work, even in the mere layout of this place – that much was clear. Maybe, through illusions and short-range translocations, the path before him wasn’t even linear. It was taking him exactly where he needed to go.
	Soon enough, the wizard and dragon found themselves in a small, nondescript, dimly-lit chamber of natural rock. There was a door – much like the one that safeguarded the entrance to this place – several meters in front of him. To his left, the chamber seemed to extend into more of the infinite blackness that seemed to permeate this entire area. All other directions were constrained by rocky walls.
	Experimentally, Raven went to the door and tried pulling the handle. It wouldn’t budge. Fortunately, nobody vanished in a puff of smoke this time.
	What did happen, however, was a formation and coalescing of lighted spheres on the left side of the chamber – the side with no immediately visible wall. Raven turned and simply watched, expressionless. Magic, again, but still none of it seemed immediately hostile. Raven felt no cause for alarm.
	As the spheres combined and glowed even more brightly, a shape began to form. It was a head – a reptilian snout, long neck that extended into the blackness beyond, and an array of long and majestic horns atop its head. The shapes continued to sharpen and define, into patriarchic and wise eyes, and scaly lips forming just the hint of a kindly smile.
	“Must every wizard be so obsessed with dragons…?” Raven muttered, causing Orion to hiss sharply into his ear.
	This was no ordinary dragon. The light that created it never ceased its glowing: well-defined and detailed though it appeared to be, this was a monochromatic, clearly illusionary dragon made of purely intangible substance. Being educated to the powers behind its creation, Raven likely would have been more awestruck by someone draped in a bedsheet and proclaiming themselves to be a ghost.
	“Welcome to the Wizard’s Challenge, Raven and Orion,” the dragon spoke in a deep and resonant voice. “You –“
	“Yes, yes,” Raven interrupted loudly, trying to suppress a yawn. He barely even noticed that the dragon had somehow known both of their names without a proper introduction. “If you’ve got some kind of test for me, can we just hurry this along? I assume that’s what I need to do to find Logan again.”
	The massive dragon’s smile seemed to widen just a bit further – not completely benign anymore, perhaps now with a hint of mischief or elder condescension. “As you wish, young wizard,” it said. “As you suspected, your friend is completely unharmed, and will be returned if you can complete the challenges presented to you.”
	“Great,” Raven said blandly.
	“Your first challenge is a riddle,” the dragon continued smoothly. “Answer it true, and the door will be opened.” 
It paused for a short moment, and then recited its promised riddle: “Young and old; sinner and saint; fragile and strong; enlightened and ignorant. What is the thing that I have described?”
	Raven stood, remaining expressionless and unmoving, really almost stupefied. This was his first test? He didn’t need more than a few seconds to think about how he would answer. “Riddle? What sort of riddle is that? You just listed a few antonyms,” he complained. “How, pray tell, can something be young and old at the same time?”
	This only made the dragon give a deep and throaty chuckle. “That is for you to determine. Now, you will not be getting any further clues from me, so do not even try.”
	Raven shook his head and snorted in disgust. The wizard who crafted this place clearly had a twisted sense of humor. First, Logan was whisked away (despite it being his idea to come here in the first place), and now Raven was being “tested” in the most inane of fashions.
	He looked at the illusionary dragon for a few moments longer, trying to stare it down. It didn’t work, of course. An illusionary dragon, lacking in actual physical substance, had no need to blink, nor any sense of unease to make it look away. It probably also lacked the emotion to care at all. 
	“This is ridiculous,” Raven said, whirling about to face the closed door. Orion hissed and flapped his wings for balance due to the unexpected movement.
	Raven approached the door and said out loud, “I didn’t follow Logan here to solve riddles. I came here to be tested on my talents. If necessary, I’ll exercise those talents myself!” 
The young wizard pointed at the door, directing his focus to the wooden area directly surrounding the metal handle. Channeling forth his energy, the small section began to rapidly heat up… hotter and hotter, until it began to smolder and smoke. 
With clenched teeth and a grunt of effort, Raven tightened his hand into a fist and threw a punch at the air. Abruptly, the door exploded – or at least, the most important part of it did. The small section that Raven had been forcing raw power into had suddenly burst into splinters, making the handle (and lock along with it) fall to the ground uselessly.
Raven wiped a bit of sweat from his forehead took a sideways glance back at the illusionary dragon. “Your creator should have learned that a wizard cannot be contained by riddles,” he said snidely. 
The dragon said nothing, but the condescending smile hadn’t left its muzzle.
Raven confidently strode to the ruined door and pushed it easily aside. True, his particular choice of magic might have been crude, but sometimes finesse was simply overrated. Why waste time trying to coax the door open with an unlocking charm when destroying the thing was much quicker? It probably wasn’t even a real door, anyway.
Once again, Raven walked through a tunnel of blackness to arrive… right back where he started. It was the exact same room he had just left, complete with the illusionary dragon, still smiling at him. Another door – of the same design he had just destroyed – was once again blocking his way.
For the first time in years, Raven was utterly dumbstruck. Whether or not he had solved that riddle should have been irrelevant. He had made it through the door. He had gotten through the test. If nothing else, he should have been rewarded for his ingenuity and demonstration of power. Who else but he would have thought up an alternate solution so quickly?
<Do it right.>
What, was Orion trying to talk to him again? Of course he would take sides with another dragon, whether it was a real dragon or not.
“Young and old; sinner and saint; fragile and strong; enlightened and ignorant,” the dragon recited again. “You cannot proceed to the next test without answering this riddle correctly.”
“And if I don’t?” Raven snapped. This setback had irritated him far more than he cared to admit. “Are you going to keep me in this room forever?”
The illusionary dragon’s broad smile slowly wavered, then settled back into neutrality. It seemed uncertain on how to answer. Perhaps nobody had ever asked such a thing before. 
“You are not a prisoner here, Raven. You may leave if you wish. However, if you do, we will not release Logan.” A light smirk returned to its muzzle. “Perhaps the next wizard to face the Challenge can rescue him.”
So that was the game, then? He could leave, but the mere prospect of it caused an illusion to laugh at him… to say nothing of what his traveling companions would think when he came back empty-handed.
Worse, Orion would probably gnaw one of his ears off.
<Do it right.>
“Fine, fine,” Raven said with a sigh of surrender. He turned his head slightly to eye the dragon on his shoulder. “So, what’s the answer?”
Orion stared back at him mutely.
“Great lot of help you are,” Raven said.
Well, perhaps if Raven thought about it for a moment, he could figure out the trick. That’s what riddles were all about, after all: questions that seemed initially impossible to answer, but really had a very obvious solution in the end.
There was something peculiar about each of the words the dragon used. They were all adjectives – and more specifically, all were relative. Virtually anything could be considered young, old, fragile, or strong… but inanimate objects weren’t generally known for being sinners, saints, enlightened, or ignorant. That narrowed things down a fair bit.
Was there some famous historical wizard who had attributes like these? Logan would probably know. Orion might, too, if he was feeling more talkative. Unfortunately, Raven had never cared much for learning about such wizards, despite the Academy’s efforts to have him memorize their past, irrelevant exploits.
Wait! Even the illusionary dragon had admitted that this was a riddle – not a trivia question. Riddles were not about the information that someone knows, but about lateral thinking. If the answer was not a word or phrase that Raven knew of, the riddle would be pointless.
Was the answer himself, perhaps? Although Raven didn’t really think of himself as being “old”, most everything else seemed to fit. For example, he didn’t really think of himself as being particularly robust physically, but his magical talent was arguably strong. And certainly, his (failed) plot to kidnap Logan and murder the residents of the Academy with a conjured disease was at least a tiny bit sinful… yet he had been trying to behave a little better since then. 
“By the way,” the illusionary dragon said cheerfully, “you are allowed only one guess.”
	Irrelevant. If Raven couldn’t figure out this ridiculousness in one attempt, perhaps he was hardly fit to be a wizard at all.
	Yes, his own name seemed to be a decent answer, but decent was not good enough. Maybe something a little broader in scope, then, like “a wizard”? All but instantly, that answer seemed even worse. Maybe “Raven” was a close fit, but not all wizards would fit nicely into that description. 
	Unless, then, that was the point? Was this description a matter of capability, rather than activity? What person, except the most exceptional, could be completely saintly all the time? Who was truly immune to the ravages of time, or perfectly enlightened or ignorant?
	“A person,” Raven said, with not a moment of further deliberation. “Any person is capable of possessing all of those traits. Maybe at the same time, depending on the opinions of others, and maybe just at certain points throughout their lifetime.”
	“Correct,” replied the dragon. “Was that really so difficult, Raven?”
	“Of course not,” Raven said with a slight roll of his eyes. “It was just an irritating waste of time. Can we get on with the next test, now?” He turned to the door, expecting it to be unlocked or opened after his success.
	“Certainly,” the dragon said. “Your next test… begins right now.”

----------
	
	“Five people are standing in a row, facing me,” the dragon intoned darkly.
	Raven turned around. “What?”
	“This is your next challenge,” the dragon explained. “Five people are standing in a row, facing me. Professor Rasaam is standing somewhere between Logan and Abigail.“
	As the illusion spoke, Raven’s mouth was hanging open dumbly. He had initially feared that this whole thing would be some kind of circus act, and as time went on, that seemed to be more and more true. This was clearly not a test for wizards. “Professor Rasaam?” he asked incredulously. “The old coot at the Academy?”
	“I am using names you are familiar with,” the dragon said. “Now, if you continue to interrupt, you will not be able to solve the puzzle.”
	Raven remained quiet.
	“Professor Rasaam is standing between Logan and Abigail,” the dragon repeated. “Raven and Abigail are holding hands…“
	“What in the nine h–” Raven started to mutter, but a venomous glare from the glowing dragon cut him short.
	“Raven is standing in the fourth position from the left. To pass this challenge, please state the names of the five people as I view them from left to right. You are allowed only one attempt.”
	Raven sighed in utter disgust. He knew how logical deduction puzzles worked, and surely this would be as trivial to solve as the riddle he just answered. But that wasn’t the point. For being called a Wizard’s Challenge, there was precious little wizardry being challenged here.
	True enough, intellect and wizardry did have a certain intertwining – especially for anyone who studied at the Academy (however briefly). But the presence of one did not strictly require presence of the other: magical talent was still mostly an inborn attribute, and studying only served as one method out of many to hone that talent. Surely the one who crafted this place knew that?
	Alas, he still had to play their foolish game. Quitting was out of the question.
	Exasperated, he asked the dragon, “Do I at least get a parchment and quill for this?”
	The dragon stared at him blankly.
	“Of course, you haven’t got any,” Raven muttered. In hindsight, it was a rather foolish thing to ask for, anyway, and something that – as a practitioner of magic – he didn’t actually need. Perhaps breaking doors was frowned upon in this place, but creating illustrations with magic was surely a bit more innocuous. The world itself was his canvas, if he desired it to be.
More to the point, conjuring light was one of the very first things any wizard learned how to do – a classic example of something easy, useful, and versatile. Raven turned his attention toward an empty space of floor. With a modicum of concentration, he gestured, instantly creating a segmented graph of light.
He listed off positions – first through fifth – for each column, and similarly listed the names of people for each row, in the order the dragon said. Professor Rasaam, Logan, Abigail, Raven…
“Hold on,” Raven said, once again turning his attention back to the illusionary dragon. “You want five names, but your clues have only given me four. Who, pray tell, is the fifth?”
Before it had a chance to answer – if it even intended to – Orion took that opportunity to nip at Raven’s ear with his needlelike fangs. On reflex, Raven yelped and swatted in the direction of the offending teeth, which Orion lithely dodged. Despite the constant weight on his shoulder, the little gold dragon had been so quiet as to be nearly forgettable.
With a moment taken to determine exactly what the gesture meant, Raven turned back to the graph he had created. “Someone could have just said ‘Orion’,” he mumbled, and added the name to the final row.
There were only three clues, so this was sure to go quickly. Since Rasaam was standing between two other people, that meant he couldn’t be in the first or fifth positions. Raven crossed out the appropriate boxes for Rasaam.
Raven was standing in the fourth spot – a welcome freebie that allowed Raven to put a circle in the intersection for his own name and the fourth position. Logically, he could then put crosses in the remaining blank spaces for that row and column.
If Raven and Abigail were … and this was a very juvenile jest by the dragon … holding hands, Abigail could not be standing in the first or second positions. Thus, the corresponding squares could be crossed out.
As Raven stared coldly at the current results of his light-conjured drawing, he could not help but notice that the solution remained woefully beyond his grasp. Already, he had run out of clues, and had no logical way to place the remaining four people. As though his patience had not already been strained enough…
Once again, Raven turned to face the illusionary dragon. “You haven’t given me enough clues,” he said tersely, struggling to refrain from calling the thing any impolite names. “Unless you consider my power of guessing randomly to be worthy of testing.”
The dragon slowly shook its head at him. “You have sufficient means to complete this challenge, Raven.”
“I don’t have enough information!” Raven insisted. “There are only three clues, and the only certainty between them is that I’m in the fourth position. If I could place even one other person…”
Raven’s words trailed off, hopeful in the possibility – however slim – of squeezing another clue from the illusionary dragon. Unfortunately, he had already established that the dragon was completely immune to such trickery. This was infuriating; Raven knew it had to be withholding a clue. There was no other way.
 Orion took that opportunity to nip at Raven’s ear again, this time causing Raven to swear and swat at the little dragon with much more violent intent than last time.
“You useless lizard! What in blazes is wrong with you?!” Raven growled. His  swatting hand thudded dully against his own head as Orion nimbly flapped into the air.
As his better judgment quickly reasserted itself, Raven found that he knew the exact answer to his question. The dragon had something to say, but his brand of pseudo-telepathy remained frustratingly beyond Raven’s means.
<Clever wizard, why is this so difficult for you?>
Raven grimaced at the words that appeared in his head. Orion had found flying to be difficult in the small and enclosed room, and had perched on a tiny cliff set into the rocky wall a few meters upward. “Did you just say that to me, or is my own inner voice staging a rebellion?” Raven asked, looking up at him.
Orion stared back in silence.
“Useless lizard,” Raven repeated. “I ought to recolor your scales green.” Unfortunately, while seething at Orion did make him feel better, it didn’t bring him closer to finding a solution. Orion had something important enough to say that he would risk a wizard’s ire by biting a piece out of said wizard’s ear.
Evidently, he was quite capable of hearing Orion, but there seemed to be a stark disconnect between “capability” and “reality”. What made him able to hear at some times, but not other times? 
“What makes Logan better than me?” he asked bitterly.
<Wrong.>
There it was another time. Orion had just said something to him again. “Wrong?” Raven echoed. “Loath though I am to admit it, if he can hear you consistently, then he’s better in some way.”
Again, he only received that silent stare.
Raven almost couldn’t believe what Orion seemed to be implying. “You – Logan’s little pet – are actually freely admitting that Logan is bad at something? That he’s worse than me? And that’s what I’m missing?” A heartbeat passed. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
Silence. 
Could it… actually be possible that Orion was purposely saying nothing? Was Raven wrong again?
“Logan is worse than me,” Raven tried.
Orion gave a distinct nod.
“And that’s why he can hear you, and I can’t.”
Orion nodded again.
Well, if it came straight from the dragon’s mouth – nodding head, in this case – it wasn’t as though he had anything better to go on. It was almost like a riddle in itself: When was it better to be worse at something?
The logic puzzle posed by the illusionary dragon was trivial if not for the missing clue. Raven had heard of similar puzzles that were far more complicated and difficult. Perhaps this test was another riddle – a riddle to find the missing clue. But who knew the clue? Raven obviously didn’t.
Did Orion?
Raven sighed deeply and crossed his arms, averting his gaze to look down at a blank spot of floor. He couldn’t believe that he was actually going to say this out loud… but he needed to. It was part of the riddle. It was part of the true test. He had finally figured it out.
“Orion,” he painfully drawled, “my normally-superior intellect is at a loss here. I need help. I need advice. I need your advice.” It seemed awkward to leave at that. For good measure, he muttered, “Useless lizard.”
Could he do anything else? Orion seemed to have an easier time talking to him when his own stream of thoughts didn’t shove the dragon’s words out of the way. He needed to be thoughtless. Empty-headed, like Logan.
<You still have much to learn… but it is a start,> Orion said, the words much more vivid than ever before. <If I fly down, do you promise not to try hitting me again?>
As much as Raven couldn’t believe he said what he just did, this was almost even less believable. Being able to hear Orion so clearly was like lucid dreaming – so often such an exciting revelation that it causes a rapid awakening, thus ironically ruining the entire achievement.
He didn’t want that. 
“I promise,” he said, not thinking about it too hard.
With his eyes still trained on the ground, he heard the faint flapping of small dragon wings from above, and Orion delicately took his previous perch before he had been so rudely chased away.
<I am on your shoulder,> he said emphatically.
So he was. To be even more precise, Orion was on Raven’s right shoulder. When they faced the illusionary dragon (as Raven now turned to do), Orion came to occupy the third spot from the left, as per the dragon’s point of view. The puzzle could be solved.
“Logan, Professor Rasaam, Orion, Raven, Abigail,” Raven said, erasing the graph of light from the floor. “Can we please move on, now? These so-called ‘tests’ are rapidly becoming extremely tiresome.”
“As you wish,” the dragon said, and its voice lowered into a predatory growl. “Prepare yourself, Raven, for your third … and final … test.”
----------
Suddenly, the room began to shift and blur around Raven, changing its shape and configuration right before his eyes. Frightening though this might have been to a layperson, Raven already knew that that he was surrounded almost entirely by sorcerous illusions. Leaving one room to arrive at a completely identical one with a repaired door was always liable to give away the façade.
The basic concept of the chamber remained unchanged, retaining its cave-like texture. However, the room was becoming a more elongated, rectangular prism-like shape, with Raven’s position being manipulated to put him on one of the long ends, leaving him facing off against the illusionary dragon several meters away.
A great swath of floor in front of him depressed even further into the ground, blurring into much more vibrant colors than stone was normally capable of. No, not just colors. The floor itself became an intricately detailed countryside landscape, complete with fields, trees, roads, a river, bridges, and a small village. Yet another illusion, of course, but a very good one. The view was quite similar to overlooking the land from atop a high tower.
With the crafting of the landscape complete, Raven also saw that small people were now being added. Despite the lack of close detail, it was easy to see that these miniature men were holding various sorts of weapons, and wearing standardized outfits and armor. They stood in their own groups, every single one of them facing away from Raven… and toward the side closer to the dragon.
 “We are going to play a game of strategy and wits,” the illusionary dragon explained, quickly abandoning the growling voice from just moments ago. “We have both been provided some military forces. You can see all soldiers under your control, and I may see mine, but we can only see each other’s soldiers when our own forces can. Do you understand so far?”
Raven did. In fact, he stared at the map and his soldiers with uncommonly great interest. In stark contrast to the last two tests, this one actually seemed to hold some promise. When this was over, he knew that even the illusionary dragon would be forced to see just how quickly Raven could master anything that called for strategy and wits.
“I understand. What else?” Raven asked shortly, knowing that being conniving always began from the very first second. There was no need to openly reveal his confidence.
“You may direct your forces with your thoughts; will them to move around the battlefield in the same way that you would will your own body to move,” the dragon instructed. “If you should have no more forces, you will fail this test. If I should have no more forces, you will have conquered all three tests of the Wizard’s Challenge.”
The dragon paused, allowing its words to sink in, and then asked, “Do you have any questions?”
Experimentally, Raven focused on one of his groups of soldiers – a contingent of armored men wielding polearms – and thought about them moving several paces north. Somewhat to his surprise, the tiny men followed his unspoken order both instantly and precisely, marching directly to the spot he wanted.
“Seems intuitive enough,” Raven said, forcing himself to sound just a bit bored. “If my illusions slay all of your illusions, then I win.”
The answer was not immediate; Raven almost thought that he hadn’t been heard. But the dragon did eventually say, “Yes.”
It was settled, then – he would conquer this last test quickly and be done with this entire misadventure. Raven examined his military forces in more detail. He was commanding exactly two-dozen platoons made up of different sorts of soldiers. Some of the soldiers variously held swords and shields, polearms, or bows. Some were riding on the backs of horses. Each platoon also wore a certain type of armor, ranging from heavy plate to lightweight cloth.
Raven didn’t actually know much about how armies fought, but certain facts were simply common knowledge. Most anyone knew that bows could propel deadly arrows to long ranges, and that armor and shields were useful for not dying when being hit with sharp objects. And, anyway, Raven seemed to only need to command – not personally fight.
The first order of business was to get an idea of what forces the illusionary dragon was commanding. He ordered one of his cavalry platoons to cautiously advance over a bridge and into enemy territory. The horses they rode, he figured, would increase their mobility, and allow them to escape any overwhelming opposition.
That was the plan, anyway. The reality was that, a scant few seconds after crossing the bridge, the platoon’s men began to recoil and fall, one by one, while their then-riderless horses reared and fled in panic. Bad though it was that his soldiers were perishing, it was even worse that he couldn’t see what was causing this. 
“What’s going on?” he demanded. “Why are my soldiers dying?”
“You may only see what your soldiers can see,” the dragon reminded him.
Was that so? Thinking back to Logan’s attempted trick earlier that day, Raven briefly wondered if the dragon was perhaps controlling invisible wizards. That wouldn’t be very fair – none of his own forces resembled wizards at all. 
“How do I fight sorcery with ordinary soldiers?” he demanded.
“Sorcery?” the dragon echoed. “No, you misunderstand. My forces are merely well-hidden by the terrain, and your cavalry platoon was slain by crossbows. It is hardly my fault if they were unable to see their doom before it arrived.”
Not wizardry, then, but mere trickery. Raven could deal with that. The cavalry unit might have been pointlessly lost, but the dragon had foolishly revealed the reason for his advantage. He had paid it no attention before, but he realized now that the area beyond the bridge did, indeed, have walls and trees to take cover behind.
Indiscriminately, Raven commanded several of his platoons to group together, and then converge toward the site where the cavalry unit was slain. The dragon might have had a positional advantage, but Raven had plenty of soldiers to spare, and zero qualms about sending automatons to their deaths if it meant a positional advantage.
Grimly, he watched the aftermath of his order. The bridge they crossed was too narrow to hold the entire force at once, and several of his soldiers were quickly felled as the dragon’s crossbowmen took their shots at the dense formation of troops. 
Raven was not dissuaded; he ordered all of his soldiers to keep marching forward, and then spread out and search for the hidden enemies. At last, he saw them, but not in the way he wanted. A group of lithe, unarmored men abandoned their hiding places and immediately fled deeper into the dragon’s territory and out of sight once again. Unless he wanted to pointlessly lose another platoon of cavalry, his mob of soldiers was too slow to catch them.
This was not going nearly as well as he had hoped. This test had barely begun, and he only had quite a few (fake) dead people to show for his efforts. With the skill and understanding that the dragon was demonstrating, how many more would die before Raven even killed one opposing soldier in return? Perhaps he was supposed to order his entire army to charge forward, and hope for the best?
No, it didn’t seem right; the dragon had already made clear its thoughts on solving problems with brute force. He still needed to change his strategy – maybe even do something wild.
Suddenly, Raven spoke aloud. “I have a proposition for you.”
“Oh?” the dragon asked. “And what might that be?”
“We settle this war with a single, honorable fight on open ground: one of my platoons against one of your platoons, battling to the death. The losing side of this one fight must surrender unconditionally.”
The dragon seemed to ponder this for a moment. “Interesting. You are underperforming in this game, so you impulsively want to end it all with a single gamble, rather than continue attempting to learn the rules. Some would call that foolish.”
Raven felt that he had been seriously misjudged. This was a well-considered move – not a spontaneous one. At the rate this was going, there was simply no way he would learn this game before his army was all but lost. The dragon was afraid, attempting to make him second-guess himself and weasel out of this without actually refusing outright.
“I’m sure they would,” Raven answered uncaringly. “Does that mean you refuse to accept my ‘foolish’ challenge?”
“Oh, I accept your challenge,” the dragon said quickly. “Bring one platoon of your choice to that nearby field, and I will send one of my own.”
Raven selected a platoon of soldiers with heavy plate armor, broadswords, and shields to be his champions of this contest. From what he could see from high atop his “tower”, they looked like a fierce and battle-ready bunch.
The dragon’s selection moved toward the open ground as well. It looked to be a group, equal in number to his, also with heavy plate armor, but armed with maces and small shields. 
Raven smirked. Most other things being equal, his own soldiers possessed the sharper weapons and bigger shields. It was just the thing to give him the winning edge in the battle, and sooner end this nonsense.
The two platoons faced off against each other for a tense moment, then both charged into battle. There was little that Raven could do now. His soldiers fought autonomously, and it wasn’t as though he would benefit by micromanaging the swings of swords.
The melee was fierce; Raven could hear the faint ringing of metal clashing against metal as blows were both landed and deflected in equal frequency. Then, the deaths began. One soldier fell to the ground, unmoving. Another followed, then another, and another.
Unfortunately, it was mostly Raven’s soldiers that were doing the dying. For every opponent that was slain, three of his own soldiers followed suit. The pattern continued… until the dragon had emerged quite convincingly victorious. It wasn’t even close.
Raven’s smirk vanished rather quickly.
“Tell me again, what was the gamble?” the dragon asked with uncharacteristic ego. “Ah, I remember. Your unconditional surrender.”
“I shall do nothing of the sort!” Raven snapped. “Not when you so clearly cheat. Why were your soldiers able to defeat mine so easily?”
The dragon sighed and quietly muttered, “Really ought to be expected.” Then, it dutifully answered more loudly, “The key was in the weapons being used. Heavy, blunt weapons, such as the maces wielded by my soldiers, are much better suited for inflicting damage through even the toughest of armors. In comparison, sword blows are frequently deflected away and cannot cut the flesh beneath.”
Raven was livid. He had initially thought that this would be a valid and interesting test, but it had just been revealed to be all lies and trickery. “And just how in the nine hells was I supposed to know that?” he demanded. “Perhaps it escaped your notice, but I’m a wizard, and this was advertised as a Wizard’s Challenge. Where is the wizardry in knowing all the little nuances of swords and maces and armor?”
As usual, the dragon seemed unmoved. “I cannot force you to keep your word and surrender. Let us please resume the game,” it said, ignoring his protests.
Unfortunately, Raven was completely sick of the game. It was clear that he would not understand the innumerable rules quickly, and his gamble had not paid off. For all he cared, Logan could rot in this place for a century, perhaps as punishment for dragging him here.
<Perhaps you would like some advice.>
Once again, Raven had been so caught up in the moment that he had completely forgotten about the constant weight on his shoulder. Forgotten – and certainly hadn’t been keeping his mind very clear. Only now that he had given up on this, could Orion get even a single word in.
“Only because you didn’t bite my ear this time,” he muttered.
<It might be better if you allowed me to,> Orion said. <It is impossible to get your attention while you ‘scheme’.>
“If that’s not a jest, I’ll smack you again, you useless lizard,” Raven threatened. Of course, he only belatedly remembered that he had only succeeded at smacking his own head the last time he tried. “What’s your advice?”
<Consider the nature of your previous two tests,> Orion explained. <Neither were what they first appeared to be. The riddle and the puzzle were merely diversions to what you really needed to know.>
“What I really needed to know?” Raven echoed. “Ah, yes, I learned that ‘people’ can have contradictory traits, and that someone thinks Abigail and I should hold hands.”
<That exploding a door is not an appropriate response to being asked a riddle,> Orion corrected him. <And… that you are not alone, Raven. This Challenge was created with both of us in mind.>
Sure, it was a pretty lucky break for Orion to figure out the “I am on your shoulder” gimmick, but what else was Raven supposed to expect of him?  He had no use for nonsensical questions and commentary on human culture.
Still, it wasn’t as though he had any other options. Maybe Orion could have a second lucky guess. “What’s the answer, then?”
<I do not know the answer,> Orion said. Raven was about to reply, but Orion wasn’t finished talking. <However, the Illusion might. Have you not noticed that it is oddly receptive to your questions now, despite being so uncooperative on the previous tests?>
That was… a fair point. Raven hadn’t noticed the attitude adjustment at all. If anything, he had quietly supposed that the dragon was simply mocking him with its superior knowledge of the game – giving him the answers only after they ceased to matter.
There was only one way to test it. He needed to ask a wild question about the game that would get him laughed at in any circumstance. “Say, dragon, how many platoons of soldiers do you have?” he asked.
Without even a moment’s hesitation, the dragon answered, “I have 12 platoons under my command, one of which is at roughly half-strength.” 
<Interesting, is it not?> Orion asked. <There is no way we could have – or should have – known that, yet the Illusion volunteered the information freely when you asked. I wonder what else we were not told.>
“The rules, for one thing,” Raven muttered quietly. Then, he directed at Orion, “It doesn’t matter how long I stand here, asking questions. There’s no way I’m going to ask enough of the right ones before my army has been cut down to nothing.”
Orion seemed to have no answer for that. As for why he had no answer, Raven couldn’t reliably say. Maybe Orion wanted him to figure out the rest of the puzzle for himself… or maybe Raven was just unable to keep his mind clear enough to hear the words.
That didn’t matter. As helpful as Orion wanted to be, Raven was the wizard here. As with the previous two tests, if he couldn’t figure out the trick – especially after a generous helping of advice – the embarrassment would be immense. Even Logan might laugh at him for it.
Nothing was to be gained by staying silent. Maybe something would come to him if he just started talking “Why do you have 12 platoons when I began with 24?” Raven tried. He assumed it simply was a beginner’s handicap, but it’d be nice to get an official answer.
The dragon’s reply was not quite so straightforward. “You began with more soldiers because your kingdom has more people, more resources, and a larger army than I would ever be able to muster. In truth, the size of your army is unrealistically small, but any larger would make the game very pointless.”
“My… kingdom?” Raven asked. “I have a kingdom?”
“Naturally,” the dragon said. “In this game, you are playing the role of an expansionist emperor who commands a very large dominion. I am playing as the leader of a smaller land, much weaker in comparison to your military might, but full of citizens desperate enough to fight for their livelihood.”
Raven didn’t quite know what to say. Ultimately, whatever story the dragon spun was only for flavor. This was only a game, and they were dealing only with lifeless illusions. He didn’t need to feel bad about being some kind of evil overlord and cutting down desperate people – not that he cared enough about this “Challenge” to have any emotion for it other than disgust.
Except… he wasn’t really “cutting down” anyone, was he? Despite being placed into the role of the bad guy with a more fearsome army, he was losing convincingly. Surrender wasn’t an option, and fighting wasn’t an option. Was there anything else he could do?
“Wait,” Raven said suddenly. “I’m the… aggressor in this battle? I’m trying to conquer your land?”
“Yes,” the dragon said.
	“Do I… have to?” Raven asked, feeling like he had caught onto something very important. “That’s to say, I have no intention of surrendering, but if I ordered my army to just leave, then your men would have no further reason to fight. You would no longer have any soldiers – any forces – and then I would win.”
	The dragon hesitated. “Maybe,” it said. “Are you willing to take that risk?”
	Truly, Raven didn’t see any other way. If the trick to this test was asking questions and discovering the hidden storyline, then he had already gotten past the hard part. 
“I want to be very clear,” Raven said. “I am ordering my army to leave your territory, but I will still have my army at another location. Once it leaves, you will have no further reason to fight. With the threat gone, your soldiers will return to their civilian lives. My only question is, do we need to wait for all of that to agonizingly play itself out?”
“The intent is enough,” the dragon said, and the edges of its mouth curved into a gentle smile. “Congratulations, Raven. You have bested the Wizard’s Challenge.”
Both at once, the countryside map and the illusionary dragon blurred and dissolved away, replaced only with hundreds of tiny, luminescent orbs of light that hung in the air, continuing to provide light to the room but otherwise lacking in animation. The door that had taunted Raven on several occasions suddenly clicked and swung open.
Raven huffed. “Great,” he muttered sarcastically. “I beat their little game, and they let me leave. What a prize…”
He entered the doorway, and it closed behind him.

----------

	Logan stood at the top of the cliff, quietly observing the open countryside painted orange by the setting sun. He really never did much in the way of nature watching. Being a wizard was just as much a lifestyle as it was a full-time job, after all, and it simply didn’t leave a lot of time for smelling flowers.
	Suddenly, a drawling voice from behind Logan said, “Someone needs to tell that dragon that not rewarding a quest’s completion is terribly impolite.”
	Logan turned around and chuckled good-naturedly. “Sometimes the journey is its own reward, Raven,” he said. “Also, by completing the Challenge, you set me free. I’m grateful.”
	“I’m sure,” Raven said in his usual blasé way. Feeling abruptly uncomfortable, he put his hands behind his back. “Ah … Look, Logan, not that this hasn’t been great fun, but please don’t invite me the next time you have an ‘interesting adventure’ in mind. Our definitions of ‘interesting’ appear to differ just a little bit.”
	Logan blinked, and his jovial smile turned into a more concerned frown. “Was it really that bad?” he asked. “You made it through…”
	“Make no mistake, Logan, those silly tests were no match for me,” Raven said, reinforcing his bored tone with a dismissive wave of his hand. “But for now, I’d simply prefer that you take your useless lizard back, and don’t call me again unless it’s for something important.”
	“Uh… okay,” Logan said. “Come along, Orion.”
Orion flew back to his usual perch on Logan’s shoulder. The two young wizards traded a small silent glance, and Raven turned to leave, getting back on the path that would return him to civilization.
	Logan didn’t follow. From where he stood, both he and Orion continued looking after Raven for several minutes, watching him backtrack through the irregular, hilly terrain.
	“He certainly likes to wear that mask,” Logan said wistfully. “Do you think anything useful came of our little plan, then?”
	<Yes,> Orion said. <Raven is an independent person who will always say and do whatever he wishes, but I believe so.>
	“And you didn’t go too hard on him, did you?” Logan pressed, slipping a tinge of joking accusation into his voice. “I know how you can get when people act stubbornly.”
	<I only needed to bite his ear twice. That means you owe me five strawberries once we return to the Academy, Logan.> 
	Logan scoffed and shook his head. “Five strawberries. I still don’t know what you’re going to do with so much food. Not unless you want to get very fat, like your twin.”
	<Nonetheless, a wager is a wager. Raven learned his lesson after two bites, even though you thought several more would be required.> Orion paused, then added wistfully, <Perhaps another demonstration is needed.>
	“Oh, no, no,” Logan said quickly. “I quite like my ears as they are, and I’m fully aware of what you’re capable of.”
	<Good. Never forget it.> 
	And then, Logan smiled. 

Fin.