Acadian rammed the bookshelf with his shoulder, sending several books toppling to the ground with papery thuds. He was grunting and swearing out after Keena, receiving no response. The bookshelves were rising higher until they made full contact with the tall ceiling. Gostor had run up to one and tried to climb it. As his small form scampered from shelf to shelf, some of the books flew out, flapping their pages like birds, sending him to the hard floor before falling themselves.

The other four had moved to stand back-to-back, glancing nervously around the room as more books began to rush from their places. Soon, a swarm of twenty or so books floated midair and opened their covers threateningly. They then began to slam together, sending waves of thunderous sound rushing toward them. The group held onto one another to keep from falling over, using whatever free hand they had available to cover their aching eardrums. Acadian was yelling something over the noise, but nothing was heard over the loud bangs. Arsa noticed he was attempting to point to something.

Following his finger, he saw dainty golden words floating above the assaultive books:

My skin has been stretched, my body beaten, time and time again, to keep the time.

Arsa jerked the others around to see the words. Each of them were screaming different things to one another, but it was of no use. Gostor had seen the words, too, and was pushing his way through the thunder waves to reach one of the rolling ladders in the chamber of shelves. Using his axes, he chopped two of the legs off and held one in either hand. Then he sat down, sliding slowly across the ground, and began whacking the sticks on the floor.

Frank was watching with concerned confusion when it struck him. He strained his voice through the thunder, “Drum!”

At once, the books slammed closed and fell, the thunder ceasing. They stood amazed, catching their breath. Circe’s hair had become more wild and untamed than it already was from the blasts that caught it in the air. Flynn rushed over to Acadian and helped him to his feet. Gostor played a final beat on the floor before tossing the sticks and joining the others.

“Gostor, how did you know that was the answer?” Frank asked, looking down at the unphased dwarf.

He looked up with a blank stare, “Didn’t.”

Acadian kicked a couple of books and punched the wall once more. The words had faded from the air like sparks falling from a crackling torch. The far shelf began to swiftly descend into the floor, creating a pathway into another cubical chamber of books.

“She’s toyin’ with us,” Acadian said. “She’s playin’ with her food. We gotta find a way outta here.” He looked up, scanning for any sign of weakness in the cases.

Arsa grabbed his shoulder, “Maybe so. But this is her lair. If we want out, we play by the rules. Clearly, it's beatable. There is a win condition here and we won’t meet it by scaling shelves or throwing books.”

Acadian glared at him, knowing he was right. A part of him was embarrassed, but he knew far too well that pride had no place in a hunt. He nodded and began toward the next chamber.

The group trepidatiously stepped into the next chamber, startling when the shelf shot back up behind them to lock them in. As they approached the center, twelve books flung forward and opened in the air, launching thick vines toward them from between the old parchment. The vines wrapped around their limbs and torsos, pulling them in uncomfortable directions. More gold lettering apparated in the air:

I’m always moving just a bit, until I am sky high. I never lie down even once, that is, until I die.

“Gostor, what is it?” Frank shouted, pulling hard against the vines. His tattoos began to glow, but the plants began to burn his skin. He yelped out in pain as he ceased his magic attempt at escape.

“Dunno,” Gostor grunted. He was trying to bite at the vines.

Flynn was reaching for his sword to swipe at the restraints, but he couldn’t reach far enough. Arsa was being stretched so far, his back was beginning to pop in painful jolts.

“A snake?” he screamed, hoping for anything to release him from the hold. As the words left his lips, the vines grasping him hurtled toward their books, bringing him with them. In an instant, Arsa’s body had disappeared into the pages.

“Arsa!” they all screamed after him. The cost of failure was seemingly very high. Acadian was pale, feeling sick. Where did he go? Was he dead? That dragon will die.

Their groans of pain continued as they thought, all too nervous to submit an incorrect answer. Suddenly Circe, who was being held by her wrist and her neck, choked out a hoarse, “Tree.”

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The vines released them and they fell to the ground with gasps and aching cries. The next chamber opened up before them. Angry and determined, Acadian charged forward before the others even got to their feet. Frank offered a hand to Circe, helping her to her feet. Flynn was pulling Gostor away from one of the books - he was not done trying to get a bite out of the vines.

The silence of the next chamber made Acadian nervous. He stepped quietly, hand poised to snatch the dagger strapped to his thigh at any moment. His right ear twitched as he rolled forward, barely dodging something whirring by his ear. He looked up to see a book closing and returning to its shelf. The others made their way in, sealing off the previous room. Acadian held his hand out, signaling to them to stop.

Books from various places in the square chamber slid out from their spaces, hovering in the air. The words appeared in the space above them:

My feathers give the gift of flight; and yet I never nest. My landings turn men ghostly white, and swiftly end their quests.

Flynn cocked his head, “Oh, it’s a…” Before he could finish, the books opened. From the pages, darts launched themselves at the group, sending them dodging and rolling out of the way.

Circe spun like a dancer around a couple of arrows that nearly nicked her left shoulder. Frank backed up to stand against the back wall, avoiding as much fire as he could. Acadian nimbly ducked and rolled over each of the darts’ paths, watching to make sure everyone else was avoiding them as well. Gostor began rushing toward one of the books with axes in either hand, shouting at them in dwarvish curses. Flynn shouted at him and grabbed him by the scruff, using his shield to deflect a dart from hitting the dwarf. Suddenly, with the shield off his back, a dart stuck itself deep into the half-elf’s neck, causing him to disappear before he even registered the pain.

Frank gripped at the back wall, his heartbeat visible through his bare chest. He watched as Circe dove to the floor to avoid being struck as well. Darts? he thought. No, that’s too easy. It won’t give us the answers. But what else?

Then, his eyes grew wide. “Arrows! It's an arrow!” he shouted. The darts disappeared and their books returned to their places. When the whistle of flying projectiles had ceased, Circe stood and looked down at the kneeling Acadian.

“Alright, Dragon Hunter,” she said. “We’re down two and nary a dragon to be slain. Do something, yeah?”

He got up and sneered at her, “I kill dragons. I don’t solve riddles.”

“Thus far, I’ve not seen you do either.”

Frank stepped between them, “Both of you, quit. We did it.” He pointed into the next room, where an old and important-looking journal sat on a floating sunset-colored cloud. They all poked their heads into the chamber, searching carefully for any indication of cursed literature. With no threats to be seen, they made their way inside. Ten feet before they reached the spellbook, the way backward closed, and the marble tiles they stood on lit directly beneath their feet in a beaming yellow magic.

The lettering appeared once more:

FInd me down below, empty. Though to some, full of possibilities.

No strangling vines or flying darts, just lit square tiles beneath them. Gostor looked around, bored, before stepping off his square. A large book came from the shelf and flew at him. It opened its pages to reveal sharp teeth cut from it paper. Gostor growled as it unhinged its spine and clamped down around him, sending him disappearing in its pages before falling lifelessly to the floor.

“No moving, I suppose,” Circe said with a raised brow. They read the riddle several times over before Frank spoke up.

“I think I know it. It’s a mine,” he called out with emphasis. The chamber was silent a moment before the floor beneath him disappeared, leaving Frank to fall into a vast darkness below. Circe and Acadian looked to one another, both breathing harder than before.

Acadian swallowed hard before, “I have a guess. How ‘bout you?”

She looked back to the riddle, “Yes. Though, I’m not confident.” They were both silent again, waiting for the other to go first. Eventually, Circe closed her eyes and sharply exhaled. “A well.”

The floor fell out from under her as well.

Sweat dripped down the side of Acadian’s head and into his beard. He was pale and his hands were shaking. Not again, Acadian, he thought. Not again.

His mind searched for other possible answers, but he continued to fall on the same idea. With no other ideas, he closed his eyes and whispered, “A hole.”

When he opened his eyes again, the light at his feet was gone and the shelves were slowly descending around him. The spellbook floated over to him on the cloud. Still shaking, he picked up the journal and looked it over.

Now, to kill the…

“Well done!” Keena’s voice called out. The bookshelves behind him rose into layered archways that led all the way back to the front door. The floor beneath him began to rush him forward so quickly that it nearly knocked him over. He was clutching the book hard when he was brought face to face with the dragon again, who was smiling a wide grin. The boy, Seamus, was standing nearby, hiding behind Keena’s tail. “Oh, I just knew you lot could do it.”

Acadian stammered, his mind demanding his pull out his crossbow and end her right there. But he couldn’t. Something about her seemed far less fearsome than he expected.

She spoke again, “Apologies for the theatrics. I rather enjoy an unorthodox checking-out process. It makes it more fun to play with friends.”

Friends.

“Where are they?” Acadian forced out.

“Hm? Oh, right, right,” she snapped her fingers and screams echoed overhead. One by one, Arsa, Flynn, Gostor, Frank, and Circe fell with hard thuds onto the floor from portals in the ceiling. They groaned, not even bothering to look up at Acadian. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling, taking a long, deep breath.

Not again, Acadian.