Two sources elemental . . . Mardex slumped and rested a talon on his snout. Riddles were not his strength. He was a soldier, damn it all. He had not a head for flowery language or . . . whatever this was. He wracked his brain, trying to find an answer. All the time, the mage's eyes watched him, steady as an eagle and double as predatory. He began to ramble, piecing his knowledge together in a stream of barely coherent phrases.

"Two sources elemental . . . fire? Earth? Fire and earth . . . " he mused. It sounded about right. "Chore is ore, aim is flame . . . metal. The metal itself, or a metallurgist . . . so what do I hope to gain?" He readied his answer, expecting the worst. "Strength. The strength found within metal, both firm and yielding. The riddle is about a blacksmith, is it not?"