Madragast Mountain

Chapter 1: The End of the Brumation (not yet final draft)

Chapter 1: The End of the Brumation

         The sounds of a large mound of snow and ice, broken upstream, crashing along the riverbed past her nest roused her from her slumber. The Brumation was over.
         The water was too far away to splash her, yet she watched as it settled on the ground a few yards away from her, seeping into the cracks of the earth. She could've comfortably slept for a few more hours, as most of the other creatures would, but that was not her way. No, there was too much work to be done. If she didn't get an early start, every other creature of the castle would rush to her quarters at once, and she'd rather not deal with that. Besides, it would please the other creatures and the Queen to know that the metal was being maintained.
It was time for her to rise.
         With a long yawn and a smack of her lips, she slithered out of her nest of straw. The cool air hit her scales, causing her to shiver, yet she didn't retreat. Instead, she stretched out, her bones creaking with the movement. She relaxed, watching the water continue to travel through the cracks of the ground. After a few moments, she looked at the cracks in the eastern wall. There was no sign of light from the west, on the other side of the mountain, yet she knew better than to rely on that. She could feel in her body that the Brumation was over.
Her eyes went back to the water. One last lonely stream disappeared down the steps surrounding the blacksmith's anvil, where it would go no further. A few yards away, illuminated enough by dragonfire that she could see him, was the mountain's blacksmith Atatax. An armored lizard, his orange skin heaved up and down as he snored in his bed, all of his eight-foot-tall body covered by two sheepskin blankets, a rarity in the mountains. His tongue was out across his cheek as he slept deeply.
         She smiled softly. He had survived the Brumation.
          She turned to the river itself and, after climbing the counter to her quarters, approached its banks. Snow continued to drift from up the mountain in chunks, with a few thick shards of ice floating alongside them. She waited for a lull in the ice, and then lowered herself to drink. The sharp cold of the water caused her to gasp and hiss, but she forced herself to drink again. All the while, her left eye watched upstream for any ice headed her way.
          Several mouthfuls passed without interruption, but eventually a large slab of ice came right at her. Slowly, she rose and let it pass. The water rose above the bank and lapped at her body, and she shivered violently. But she didn't hiss at it this time; better not to wake up Atatax. After the water settled, she returned and drank her fill without any more interruptions. She relieved herself into the river before heading back to her quarters.
          Resting on the counter was a wicker basket, her main possession from the mountain. She removed the rag covering it and looked at all of her tools lying inside: whetstones, jars of sand, files, tallow, neatly-folded rags, and a few bundles of preserved rhubarb. There were several more supplies behind her counter, but for the few polishing jobs she'd do around the mountain before every other creature woke, it would be enough. Pumice was the one thing she lacked, and she would receive that from the Queen for when it was time to serve her directly.
          In fact, she saw her first task resting on the anvil, covered by a black cloth, in the middle of Atatax's quarters. She slithered over to the steps, descended them, and approached the anvil. She had to coil herself around the base before she could reach the top of it. Three feet tall and weighing far more than Atatax could lift-and that was saying something, for he could lift much-its black metal glinted proudly in the firelight, and testament to centuries of service. The rest of his quarters-his blacksmithing tools, his most skillfully made weapons, his furnace-lay just as still and dormant.
          She wrapped her tail around one of the edges of the cloth and pulled it off. Underneath it was Atatax's prized possession, his warhammer Earthcracker. A twenty-pound head made of solid steel, supported by a solid oak staff. Four ivory tusks stuck out of the upper corners of the head-or, as it stood now, were upside down on the anvil, holding it upright.
          There was no dust on it, but the winter cold had dulled it. She opened up one of the jars and pulled out some tallow. Picking one of the striking faces of the hammer, she began rubbing the surface with the grease. Around and around she went, smoothly, gracefully, until the entire head was covered. Then she took a rag and began to wipe it all away, removing the excess and leaving Earthcracker with its characteristic sheen. She rubbed the little dust off of the ivory and the oak, and soon Earthcracker was back to its former glory.
          She nodded at a job well done and set about re-covering it with the cloth. It was a task in itself, as the staff was seven feet tall and it took all of her might to raise herself without falling over, but soon the warhammer was covered again. It was like she had never been there at all. Atatax would think that the mountain had blessed him by taking care of his baby.
          And she was completely fine with that.
          She slithered back to the river and washed her used rag. After making sure it was clean, she set it on the line over the river so it could dry. She turned around to make her way out of the chamber when a noise caught her.
          "Hurry up, mama! We gotta get there before sunrise!"
          She turned her head to the cracks in the mountain wall. She slithered over to peer out of one. It was too dark to see anything of color, but with her infrared vision she could see a figure climbing up the mountain with something wrapped around its neck. Its species, its age, its gender could not be seen from that far away with that little light. What could be climbing up at this time of day?
          She turned and began to slither past her quarters, then past Atatax's. There was nothing more for her to do there, and plenty to do up the mountain. Opposite her quarters, past Atatax's, was a tunnel leading up to the mountain proper. She took one last look at Atatax, who was still sleeping soundly, and began her ascent up Madragast Mountain.

          The Blacksmith and Polisher's quarters were at the bottom of Madragast's cavern. A singular winding tunnel led creatures there safely, save for the dragons who had their own tunnels accessible only to them. Normally the troughs running along the walls would be bathed in dragonfire, but now it was lit only by smoldering embers. That was enough for her, though; apart from infrared vision, she could see in the dark to an extent, enough that travelling up the tunnel was no issue. It was naught more than a smooth passageway with no dangers save for other creatures traveling her way, but for skittish lesser creatures like herself, the darkness would cause fright.
          Not for the polisher, though. Like all other greater snakes, she was perfectly comfortable here.
          It took several minutes, but she finally climbed up through the tunnel into another chamber, this one much larger. This one had several tunnels which to travel down, all of which were surrounded by two statues denoting what they were for. To her left were two komodo dragons with raised claws stacked with what were meant to be gold coins, but which were the same sepia as the rest of the rocky walls. That was the domain of the merchants. To her right were two small ferocious skinks with whips in their hands. They were the guardians of the maids' quarters. Across from her tunnel were the mightiest statues, two horned lizards with swords, axes and bloodthirsty grins on their faces. This, of course, was the knights' quarters. Between the knights' and merchants' quarters was another passageway, this one a staircase large enough for a dragon to descend, which led up to the mountain proper.
          She slithered down the passage leading to the knights' quarters. It was lighter than the passageway to her own home, because the oil that kept the dragonfire lit was finer and would expend itself more slowly. The tunnel itself was lined with smooth stones on all sides, a symbol of craftsmanship beyond the simple terraforming that could be found throughout the rest of the mountain. The tunnel led to a metal door with horns at the top.
          She very slowly pulled the door open, the metal emitting a low creak. She slid through just as it was ajar, and didn't bother to close it.
          Inside these quarters were rows of beds haphazardly placed from wall to wall, with several large lizards of all sorts inhabiting them. They were all the dangerous sort, and as a bane for humans and for the more unfortunate creatures of the mountain they were mostly bloodthirsty. The maze of beds could be safely navigated by these knights from years of experience, but it would be impossible for any other creature.
          For the polisher, though, all she had to do was slither underneath them. Their weapons were lying strewn along the ground, but they were all dull, so there was no fear of being harmed by them. Her goal was near the end of the room, close to where the captains slept. As she grew closer, she heard the noise she was looking for: snoring much softer than the rest.
          She rose next to one bed, where unlike the fiercest lizards scattered around the room, a gecko slept soundly. He was younger than the other knights, with skin green as grass. Young, but with a good head and a sense of duty not seen in most knights, he had earned his place as a squire to the captains. This one, Jutron by name, was the squire of the captain of the guard, Sir Filigree. His body heat glowed strongly, bringing a smile to her face. He had gotten through the Brumation.
          Her smile faded as she looked slightly to her right. Another bed, this one belonging to a fiercer lizard whose body heat had dissipated. This one didn't survive the cold of winter. She sighed, running her tail along his frigid body. She had known him as a quieter creature like herself, who did as he was told and minded his own business, yet was fierce enough to fight at the front lines of their army. She would miss him.
          With some anxiousness building in her stomach, she slithered to the other three squires. All of them were geckos, and all of them were alive. The second squire, Trevius with skin red as grapefruit flesh-contrasted to her keeled scales, which were red as sunset-snored splayed out haphazardly. The third, Delilah with skin blue as the ocean, was more properly settled into her bed. Both of them were as healthy as could be.
          The youngest of them, however, had a much duller body heat, on top of his constant shivering. This was Hammot, the fourth squire, with skin yellow as an unpeeled banana. She could tell that he had grown during the Brumation, but he needed more heat. His blanket would not do.
          She went to an unlit torch nearby and pulled it off. There were still some flames from the winter's oil along the wall; she used that to light the torch. Then, as carefully as she could, she maneuvered the beds again until she was next to his side. The flame built up to a healthy fire, and she held it next to his bed.
          The light caused him to stir. She could see him begin to warm, so she didn't move. Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked at the fire. His breathing steadied, and his body slowly stopped trembling. He inched himself towards the fire.
          How did he end up with an inferior blanket? Surely his knight would've prepared a better one for him by now.
          He wasn't the only one to stir from the light. Next to him, Delilah stirred as well. Instead of aimless shifting, she pushed herself upright, her body more properly held like a soldier. She looked over at the polisher, and then at Hammot. Without a word, she hopped out of bed, without clothes on, crawled onto his, and grabbed the torch from her. By now, Jutron and Trevius were roused as well, and they joined her in warming up their brother-in-arms.
          Seeing that he was taken care of, the polisher looked around the other beds. There were only two other knights that succumbed to the cold, and one other that was nearly gone. She took another torch and raced to his bed. He took longer to wake up, while the others around him were roused from the flames. They rose to crowd closer to the torch, much to her consternation.
          As she had predicted, one of them reached for the torch. She moved it away, closer to the shivering individual. The lizard hissed at her; she didn't reciprocate. An older knight approached her and gently took the torch from her grasp. This one she could trust; he held it above his near-frozen brother, while the others gathered to warm themselves.
          By now, the captains were beginning to stir. Sir Jabbawa, the second in command, rose first and looked for his squire. Seeing them still warming Hammot, he stretched and reached for a telescope near his bed.
          "Mmhmm, it's that time," he said, a smile forming on his face. "The Brumation is over." He looked around until he found the polisher. "I suppose their early rising is your work?"
          She nodded, having slithered back to the squires.
          "The sun hasn't even reached our mountain yet," he said with a scowl. "We can sleep for a few more hours at least."
          She nodded again, watching as Hammot's body heat glowed like the others. The other geckos patted him.
          "I think you're due for a new tunic," Jutron whispered, hopping out of bed with youthful enthusiasm. He ran across the beds with an agility that kept the others asleep. He crawled until he reached a wardrobe, and then flung it open. Inside were fabrics piled high in what one could have assumed was a random order, yet he pulled out exactly what he needed within a second of opening the doors. He ran back and threw the new tunic onto Hammot's bed. "Try this one on."
          Hammot got up and began to force his new tunic on, still drowsy from the winter and the cold. Meanwhile, the polisher had her first proper task to take care of. She slid away from the squires and slithered up to the captains' section of the room. There were four captains in total. Sir Takkan, the shortest of the frightening lizards, was still six feet in height, much taller than his four-foot-tall squire. Third Knight Sir Dolbee was a seven-foot-tall toad with a large gut and a larger attitude; he snored louder than Atatax as he slept. Sir Jabbawa curled up with a scowl on his face, angry that his sleep was interrupted.
          Then there was Sir Filigree, the captain of the guard. A ten-foot-tall horned lizard with scales orange as topaz, He had a bed larger than himself that he kept all to himself. Next to his bed was the polisher's goal: his suit of armor and his sword, the Scourge of the Earth. His helmet, consisting of a jawplate and a headpiece with holes to fit his horns, was dusty; his breastplate, slender to go on his body without impeding movement, had a film on it. His gauntlets were cleaner, but they would need to be sharpened to their usual razor-sharp points. He didn't have any leggings-no member of the knights did, as that would impede movement. His Scourge, a zweihander as thick as a young tree yet as sharp as any other sword, was dull from the winter.
          She took hold of Scourge and began to brush the dust off of it. This woke up Jabbawa, who scowled hard at her. "Why are you polishing his things at this time of day?"
          "Because she knows who's the greatest amongst us," a menacing voice said, its pleasure dripping in his voice. Sir Filigree's eye peered at her, and then at him. "Continue, polisher, and make sure the others are presentable for the queen.
          She nodded to him in acknowledgement and continued wiping until the blood-red blade gleamed with new life, fitting for the coming of the spring. His armor took a few minutes after that, as she made sure to clean inside and out. Without being asked to, she moved on to Sir Jabbawa's halberd the Thunderclapper, as well as the second knight's armor; Jabbawa scowled at her, but knowing he'd awaken with shiny armor and his baby polished he wouldn't complain. Sir Dolbee had no weapons, only oversized armor that was near bursting at the seams from his recent weight gain. Sir Takkan's Crowdslayer was a more traditional sword for a knight, and his armor was nothing special, but as the fourth captain he would be destined to mediocrity.
         She finished Sir Takkan's last piece of armor. "Now get out," was Sir Filigree's command.
         She bowed to him and to Jabbawa, who waved her away, and began to slither out. Most of the knights had gone back to sleep, but the squires, full of youthful energy, were talking amongst themselves and preparing for the new spring. Jutron, however, stopped her.
          "I heard some voices outside," he said to her. "Did you?"
          She nodded.
          "Did you see them?"
          She nodded again.
          "Did they look dangerous?"
          She shook her head this time.
          Jutron, thus emboldened, straightened up. "Then I better see who they are, while my master's still asleep." With that, he stepped past her to prepare Sir Filigree's things for when he decided to awaken properly. Without another word or glare from anyone else, she left the room and closed the door.

          The hallway was still silent, so she climbed the stairs leading to the grand hall. As expected, no one was there. Her slithering made no sound as she entered the two-hundred-yard-long cavern. A long streak of ash from the fire of dragon battles went all the way from the mountain entrance to the royal throne, with several claw marks from centuries of fighting for the throne. The space was fifty yards wide and a hundred feet tall, more than enough to let a dragon wander freely.
          At the end of the throne room was the crowning jewel of Madragast's craftsmanship: a throne large enough for a dragon, made of solid gold smooth as sand. Several rubies lined the legs and back of the throne; silver embroidery was etched into the solid gold surface. It was dusty like Atatax's hammer, and she would need to polish it before the Queen arrived.
          But there was still time for that. She slithered to the entrance, an open entrance to a caveway. The edge of the cave showed a land still covered in darkness; looking up at the peak of Madragast, there still was no sign of light. She looked down at the slope of the mountain, and saw the two figures still having a ways to climb. The larger of the two had the smaller one on its back.
So she turned back to the mountain and proceeded to the merchants' quarters. This one wasn't as smooth or intimidating as the knights' quarters, but it was lined with a dusty purple carpet and golden cobblestones. Many tried their luck at joining the merchants' ranks, but few could hold on to their gold long enough to establish any reputations.
          She saw this when she opened the solid-gold door and entered. All around her were bodies of those too-far grabbed by avarice to prepare for the Brumation, no heat emanating from them now that it was springtime. Several were blanketed in scraps as if they had all fought for the same piece of cloth. She couldn't imagine being that desperate for gold; but then again, her home was well established, far away from the Pit. Would she be so fortunate if she had to compete against the other snakes of the mountain for precious shelter?
          She was about to proceed to the true merchants' quarters, but movement caught her eye. A twitch from a nearby body, a small lizard, brought her over. She stared down at him, his eyes looking unnaturally in different directions, his fingers curled painfully, his breathing ragged. His body heat was turquoise, near the verge of death.
          Instead of leaving him, she grabbed a torch from outside and held it over him, as she had done to Hammot. It took several minutes for him to climb from death, so long that she began to wonder if she was too late for him. Eventually, his warmth reddened.
          His eyes refocused on her, and he croaked, "Please tell me the Brumation's over."
          She nodded.
          He forced himself up. "Thank the gods." He snatched the torch from her and ran to the main merchants' quarters. She followed far behind, hoping to stay away from the scuffle that would likely happen.
          The inside of the merchants' quarters screamed nothing but elegance. Beds with satin sheets and bearskin blankets, tables of solid mahogany, silver bowls to hold fruits and coins, chalices, necklaces, rings, bracelets and whatever else struck their fancy. On top of one of the beds lay the Master of the Merchants, Master Tullyboy, a large, bloated lizard with red satin robes. Across from him a fair distance away was Master Brastol, a lean chameleon who clothed himself in black. In between them was a doorway leading to the Grand Master's quarters.
From here, the lizard that had nearly frozen to death came running. Both master merchants awoke at once. "What?" Tullyboy shouted only half-awake.
          "The Grand Master's still alive," the lizard said with a smile on his face.
          "And so are you," Tullyboy said with disdain. "I thought the cold would've taken you."
          "It almost did, but I'm an especially strong lad."
          The polisher said nothing.
          "Remind me your name," Brastol said, his voice monotone.
          "Devenin, Master."
          "Well, Devenin, what time is it?"
          He thought for a moment before remembering the polisher. "You there! Has the sun risen yet?"
          She shook her head.
          "Will it rise shortly?"
          She shook her head again.
          "Then why did you wake me?"
          "Oh?" Brastol raised himself. "She woke you?"
          "She did, sir."
          "Why so early?" Tullyboy snapped at her. "He wouldn't have woken us if you didn't come barging in!"
          "She has a job to do," Master Brastol said with an eye roll. "And if you want to go back to sleep, she can polish my jewelry before we go see the Queen-"
          "Oh no you don't." Tullyboy pointed at her. "Who's the head merchant amongst us? I will have my jewelry polished first! Come here, you worthless snake!"
          She nodded and slithered over to his bedside. He flung his golden necklace and headpiece at her. If she weren't practiced in catching metal flung at her, she would've incurred a few bruises. As she was, the metalwork was gently caught on her tail and quickly worked on.
          Both Tullyboy and Brastol went back to sleep, but Devenin stayed wide awake. He watched her-not her, but the jewelry she polished. She saw the look of greed out of the corner of her eye, but said nothing as she finished Tullyboy's adornments and moved on to Brastol's. His necklace was not as ornate as his superior's, but there was still a great deal of ornamentation in it that showed his status amongst the dwellers of the mountain.
          A scuffle from behind her. Devenin had tried to steal Tullyboy's necklace and had been soundly punished for it. For some odd reason, the younger merchant decided to hide behind her. It slightly impeded her work, and she gave him a cross look, but continued working regardless. Soon Brastol's ornaments were done, as was her work there.
          "What about me?"
          She looked down at him. He felt around in his pocket and pulled out a golden ring with an opal stone set in. He held it up for her. "I must be presentable for the Queen."
          "Pfft!" Tullyboy spat in his sleep.
          She took the ring in her grasp. Polishing it would take about twenty seconds, so she did it. Once she was done, he snatched it from her, laughing at his gleaming jewel, and wandered off back to his bed.
          The polisher, meanwhile, turned and silently slithered up the stairs past the merchants' quarters. Inside this new chamber was the Grand Master's quarters, a place of history more than wealth. Books and scrolls lined the walls, along with several cartographic tools and instruments. His prized work, a massive tome containing the complete day-to-day history of the mountain throughout the centuries, rested on a desk made of solid mahogany. A bed not as ornate as then merchants', but undoubtedly one of power and prestige, sat in the corner.
          Sitting at his desk, looking out of a telescope, was Grand Master Algon. Everyone knew he was large even for a tortoise, though none had seen another tortoise. The scales on his shell were ringed with age, at least three hundred years. His skin was somehow not as wrinkly as everyone would've thought; any immigrant to the mountain would gawk at his lively hobble, even with his silver cane. He wore a large set of spectacles for reading and to improve his general sight.
          "You're early," he said softly. "You always are."
          She nodded, even though he couldn't see her.
          "It's the end of another Brumation." He leaned back in his chair. "Another nine months of misery."
          She said nothing as she took out a rag and a block of fat. She began coating his shell, and then rubbing it to a shiny finish. He didn't look back at her, no doubt thinking about more important things. As far as she was concerned, she couldn't contribute anything to what he had to say, and she was sure that he would agree.
          She finished, leaving his shell waxed to a sheen.
          "Get out."
          She bowed and took her leave. He had more important things to do, and she'd only be a distraction.
          All of the merchants were asleep when she exited their quarters. She went to the main hall and looked to the throne, when something caught her attention:
          "We're almost there, Mama!"
          She slithered back to the entrance. She had forgotten about the creatures outside. When she looked down at the mountainside, she saw two creatures climbing up-or rather, one climbing, and the other on her back. They were two skinks, both skinny even post-Brumation, and while the older was dressed in rags brown as dirt, the younger had a dress white as cream. The mother was clawing her way up, gasping for air whenever she could.
          "Hurry up!" The daughter shouted, kicking the sides of her mother's head.
          The polisher slithered down before either of them noticed her and slid herself underneath the mother. She ignored the screams as she picked them both up and helped them reach the entranceway. The daughter hopped off and ran inside.
          "Malas, wait!" the mother gasped. The polisher slithered to the nearest fire and set her down, then left her to deal with her daughter.
          "Whoa," Malas said breathlessly, taking in everything around her. "It's so big, and the throne's so... so dusty! Where's the polisher?"
          The polisher slithered past her, ignoring her insult.
          "And who are you?"
          She didn't answer.
          "Hey-"
          "Leave her alone, Malas," her mother croaked. She had found some strength, and started to walk. "Let her do her work."
          The polisher climbed up the side of the throne until she was on the backrest. Starting from her corner, she began to sweep the dust off. There was a fair bit, and removing that would be the first step to properly polishing the throne.
          "Mother, look at how large it is! The dragon that occupies it must be really large, right?"
          The polisher nodded before noticing Malas wasn't talking to her. She returned to her task.
          "It sure is," the mother said, walking to the throne. "There is a dragon ruler, right?"
          She nodded.
          "Oh my," the mother whimpered, her knees buckling.
          The polisher stopped her work to regard her. This skink shrunk at the vastness of the room, shrunk at the grandness of the throne, shrunk at the sight of the snake, even jumped at the sight of her own shadow. She looked at Malas, a pang of sympathy drilling its way into her heart. There was no way this frightened creature would last long, right?
          She looked at the work that she'd done-cleaning the entirety of the backrest-and decided to stop for a moment. She slithered down the other side and, making sure the mother saw her, waved for her to follow. The skink did so while Malas wandered around, looking behind the throne for anything interesting.
          Once the mother saw the fountain, she drank deeply. The polisher turned back to the throne to continue her work. She heard the mother's head emerge from her quaffing, but she didn't pay attention.
          "Thank you."
          She stopped. Slowly, she looked back. The skink approached her.
          "Forgive me," she said with a weak voice. "This is all so much for me. My name's Saylah. What's yours?"
          The polisher stared at her for an uncomfortably long time, but when she noticed Saylah back away, she spoke. "I've lost mine."
          Saylah blinked. "Lost your name?"
          "The mountain has taken it."
          Saylah gasped. "The mountain can do that?"
          "It takes what it will from us. My name is not even an echo in a single cavern, I fear."
          "Oh dear... I'm so sorry-"
          "You must stop that."
          "Huh?"
          "Do not apologize. You'll last longer." Without waiting for a response, she returned back to her work.
         She began to polish the seat when Saylah approached her. "My daughter and I," the skink began, "we come from a faraway village several weeks from here-or maybe several days for a snake like yourself. It was a quaint village next to a lake-you know what those are, right?"
          She nodded, having now started wiping the seat of its dust.
          "We built our houses directly on the banks of the lake using the reeds that grew next to it. We would go see our families and friends by gliding along the lilypads, where we'd catch some fish, pick berries from the bushes, and have ourselves dinner underneath the stars or the rain. Often we'd watch fireflies dancing amongst the tulips as well, and light lanterns and sing and dance the night away.
          The polisher nodded, having completed half of the seat.
          "But we were pillaged by a band of human knights." Saylah's voice wilted. "Most of us were killed, including... including my husband. Only the two of us escaped."
          "So why come to Madragast?"
          "Huh?" Saylah blinked. "Oh, because of what I heard about it. That here is a-"
          "A family?"
          "Yes. Is there?"
          The polisher sighed. "Not since I've been here."
          "And how long have you been here?"
          "At least three years. Anything before that is lost to Madragast's memory."
          "Oh..." Saylah stood there in silence. Then, suddenly-
          "Oi! What are you doing here?"
          "Wh-what's that?" Saylah scrambled towards her daughter.
          "It's nothing to worry about-" the polisher said softly even for her, though she knew Saylah wouldn't heed it. She had finished dusting the throne, and now began polishing it.
          "Malas, run!"
          "Run? You think that'll do you any good, wee one?"
          The polisher watched out of the corner of her eye as a fat dragon with scales yellow as lemons stomped into view. His face was in an ever-present scowl, his claws short but sharp, his legs powerful yet stubby from being surrounded by fat. His wings, membranes orange as the fruit, were splayed out in a show of power.
          She rolled her eyes at the sight.
          "And who are you botherin' us so early? How did two scrawny little skinks survive the Brumation?"
          Saylah threw herself onto her daughter to protect her. Malas, meanwhile, wriggled free and faced him directly. "My name's Malas-"
          "I didn't ask your name, you ant!" He roared. "I, the mighty Kruul, asked you why you're here!"
          "I'm sorry your majesty-"
          "No!" Kruul roared. "I am not the ruler of this castle. My Queen is asleep. I am Kruul, the greatest chef amongst all dragons and creatures of the world. And you had better not forget it, or I shall serve you to the Queen herself!"
          Malas quaked along with her mother. Kruul smiled at the sight, a laugh leaking out of his teeth. The polisher decided now was time to intervene, and slapped the throne with her tail.
          That small action caught the dragon's attention, and his gaze settled onto her. His demeanor changed from sadistic to something bordering on fury. "You... YOU! Damnit, polisher, how do you keep surviving the Brumation?" He charged at her.
          She continued to polish, even as he stopped mere inches from her, his breath nearly pushing her off. She watched him out of the corner of her eye, but continued her work. The throne was gleaming wherever she had touched it.
          "Every year, you just have to make it, don't you? All the other snakes that don't wander around the mountain die from the cold, while the one snake that goes everywhere has to make it. I wish you'd have frozen to death, so that I wouldn't have to see you day in and day out!"
          She continued to work.
          "And like always, you don't say anything." He growled and turned her attention to the two skinks, who had tried to scurry away. "Take heed of my advice, little ants: don't trust the snakes. They are the worst creatures on the planet, even worse than humans."
          They both nodded out of fear. The polisher shook her head at the pathetic display and turned to continue to work, when something caught her eye. It was up the stairs to where the Queen lived. Peeking through a hole in the rocks was a large eye purple as a lily staring at her.
          She understood what that meant. She nodded and finished the throne quickly, then left Kruul to wax on about all the bad things about snakes, and the skinks who listened, now slightly relaxed.

          The path to the Queen's chamber went up over two hundred stairs cracked from supporting the weight of several different dragons. The fire in the trough leading up to the Queen's chamber was larger and brighter than the rest of the mountain, as the Queen's dragonfire was fresher. The walls were spare of banners or other adornments, as they would be set aflame and melted from the intense heat. As for the polisher, the fire warmed her enough to fight off the lingering chill of the winter. Her basket was far away from the flames and the heat, so there was no danger of it becoming a bundle of ash on the floor.
          That was good news for her, and the Queen.
          After some silent slithering, she made it to a massive slab of rock made of obsidian. The black stone had hundreds of scratches in it from being pulled by mighty beasts for centuries, yet it was still an imposing piece of metal. She had never attempted to polish something like it, but it never needed it. She doubted her work could do anything for it anyway.
          She almost reached the single hole in the wall used to talk to the Queen while inside, but the door already began to open for her. The Queen must have been smelling for her, which didn't surprise her. The door opened only a sliver, but that was all she needed. She slipped inside without a word.
          The door closed behind her, leaving her alone with the Queen. The dragon walked away from her to lie on her mountainous horde of treasures which comfortably supported her mass. Climbing to the top of the gold would be a trek in itself. The flames that lined the troughs of the mountain weren't as bright in here, likely because the Queen didn't want to be bombarded with light. Still, her scales, red as ripe plums, gleamed in the firelight.
          "Get on with it."
          The polisher hadn't realized she had been taken by the beauty of the room, and began to climb the mountain of treasure. The Queen, meanwhile, turned her head from her and watched the fire along the walls. The polisher didn't mind the absence of attention. She was here for a job, after all.
          When she reached the Queen's hide, she set her basket down and waited. While waiting, she looked at one of the most prominent features of her ruler: the scars on her belly. It had been a stab, not a slash, that had marked her for life; the puncture had branched out like lightning against the ground, like the weapon had cracked her armor. It was one of the only things the citizens of the mountain would make fun of her for, always at a safe distance of course. Despite this, the polisher had heard, the Queen had faced dragons that had underestimated her because of this scar, and she had always defeated them. For that, the polisher respected her more than most.
          She doubted the Queen had any respect for her in return. That was alright with her.
          The Queen dropped a large stone next to her, and the polisher now had what she needed: pumice from an actual volcano. She bit into the rock and pulled out a small slab of the soft material, and then did what only the mountain's castellan could freely do: climb onto the Queen. She climbed to the base of the dragon's neck. The Queen growled at her, but she ignored it. She picked one of the scales that began after her neck ended and began to rub the pumice stone against it.
          The Queen's growling grew louder, but she ignored this as well. She knew the Queen valued her precious scales highly, and she was now watching her work, but she also knew what she was doing. Even as the Queen's growling grew fiercely impatient to see the result, she calmly polished on. Finally, when steam from her Queen began to billow upon her, she wiped the scale of the remaining pumice so her majesty could see it.
          The Queen's growling grew softer as she scrutinized the work. The polisher stood still, waiting for her to finish. After ten seconds of staring, the Queen turned away. "Well, what are you waiting for? Get back to it!"
          The polisher nodded and began to work in earnest. Starting with beyond the base of the neck and to the shoulders, she rubbed each scale with the pumice stone until the year of dirt, dust and grime had been wiped off, leaving one that shone brighter than a gemstone. She made sure to wipe each one off and wipe out any dirt trapped underneath before moving on to the next one. This process would take a few hours, but that was fine with her. She had an entire rock of pumice larger than her at her disposal, after all. Out of the many treasures of the castle, this was one of the few she cherished.
          "This winter was the worst of them all."
          The polisher balked for a moment. A quick reproachful look from the Queen got her working again.
          "So many floundering creatures under the mountain. So many that have undoubtedly died. Such a waste." She turned, almost throwing the polisher off of her. "And this year shall be the same, no doubt."
          The polisher silently reflected on her words as she moved from her shoulders to her sides. The Queen's sigh stirred something within her, and she began to polish the Queen's spines as well.
          "That is not a part of our deal, polisher."
          She ignored her and finished the first scale. The Queen scrutinized the result, how it gleamed violet as the flower, and the low growl told the snake that it was both appreciated, and expected from now until her death. It brought the polisher some satisfaction as she continued working her way down the body.
          But then the brooding returned. "What will become of my subjects? What will they do for theirselves when they can't fight any longer? When there's nothing left to fight for? When they truly become separated?"
          The Queen silently brooded as the polisher moved down to her arms. The Queen held each one up for her as she worked. Once the Queen twitched a claw right at her eye, stopping just shy of piercing it. The polisher didn't even flinch.
          "Hmph, stupid snake... And what do I care about them anyway? I have all that I need here. My gold, my treasures, my brothers and sisters. And I can always return to my homeland, if it struck my fancy."
          The polisher nodded as she worked on the Queen's hindlegs. The Queen turned her head to watch her this time.
          "Gods, polisher, can't you work faster?"
          She nodded, rubbed the pumice stone faster and spent less time with it. After rubbing it off, she moved on to the next, knowing she wouldn't be working on this one for long.
          "Wait." The Queen leaned in to inspect the last scale polished. "...No, you can't work faster. Do this one again."
          The polisher nodded and went back to that one.
          "It's just struck me, polisher, but did you speak at all last year?"
          "I did not, your majesty."
          "Why not?"
          "There was no need to."
          "Not even a 'yes, your majesty' for me?" The Queen growled.
          "With how many cruel and pointless words you hear every day, I figured it would do no one any good to hear any from me."
          "Hmph. Your voice is barely above a whisper, polisher. Unusual for a snake, and I doubt anyone would even hear you anyway."
          The polisher nodded and continued working her way down the legs. No more words were said as she worked each scale and spine to perfection right to the tip of the tail. The Queen's observation produced no anger from her, and now she was permitted to come to the Queen's front. Once there, she waited for the Queen to lay her neck down upon her treasure, and then began working from the base of the neck headwards.
          As the air warmed with the coming morning, the spines were complete. She moved on to the neck. The Queen wouldn't check yet, which was always a relief for her. The mighty dragon closed her eyes as the polisher worked the scales around it, and made sure to grin as she worked around her muzzle, just so the polisher could see her sharp gleaming teeth. Finally, the polisher carefully polished each scale around the Queen's nostril, taking care not to get any pumice in the holes.
          At last, the polishing was complete. The Queen rose and looked at herself in the smooth reflection of the obsidian doorway. "Yes... yes, don't I look magnificent?"
          The polisher nodded.
          "Well? Don't I"
          "Yes, your majesty." The polisher hesitated before speaking again. "Your majesty, it may please you to know that two creatures have fought through the morning cold to become one with Madragast."
          "So?"
          The polisher balked, trying to find some justification for her words before merely blurting out, "two skinks. Their... their village had been destroyed."
          The Queen shook her head. "I could've learned that without your telling me." The Queen picked up her pumice rock and hid it away. "Now get off of my treasure."
         The polisher bowed and, basket in grasp, slithered down the mountain of gold. When she came to the bottom, she waited for the Queen to search her for any stolen treasure before opening the door. The polisher bowed and took her leave.
          The door closed behind her. The polisher grinned and looked in her basket. Underneath the last of the unused rags were a few stray pieces of pumice. She knew that out of all of the things she kept in her cave, the pumice was one of the least-valued. It would make the most difficult jobs that much easier.
          With her bounty, she slithered to the main hall once more, where several other creatures had gathered. She was able to slither past all of them unnoticed, a skill she had cultivated over years, perhaps even before she had lost her memory. As she had for the past few years, she found a place as far away from the throne as possible, while all of the other creatures gathered around the throne for their ruler.
          Eventually, the castellan Ja'Gnash, a tall, lanky goanna with speed to outmatch even most snakes, hopped onto the throne and cleared his throat. "Is this all that survived the Brumation?"
          The polisher looked around, seeing that the crowd of citizens, merchants, maids and knights were sparser than last year. It seemed like no one cared, though. Fewer people meant more room near the throne. More chances for them to be noticed by her. And that meant more empty space in front of her.
          "No matter, I suppose. Welcome, one and all, to a new year!"
          The crowd of reptiles and amphibians cheered, and Kruul gave a roar of approval.
          "Let me not keep us waiting any longer!" Ja'Gnash shouted, banging his staff against the throne of the stone. "She comes now. Let us welcome our Queen!"
          Suddenly, the mountain began to quake. The crowd began to holler and jabber incomprehensibly to even one another, so were they overtaken with excitement. Finally, without much waiting or anticipation, the Queen leapt from her tunnel to land right behind her throne, her scales gleaming like plump plums in the firelight. The throng of Madragast citizens all cheered for her arrival before being drowned out by a triumphant roar.
         The polisher, usually silent, also cheered as the snakes do, with an open-jawed hiss. Only one creature took notice of her, though, and it was the one creature she didn't want near her. She fell silent as he approached her, a sneer on his face.
         "The rest of your kind are not here," Kruul spat at her. "A disgrace to all things, your race."
         She didn't reply.
         His sneer intensified. "Look at her, polisher. Look at how she gleams in the firelight. Doesn't it make you sad, polisher, that you'll never be able to polish anything to even half as intense a shine as our beloved Queen?"
         She merely nodded. He quickly figured he'd get nothing out of her, and eventually his hatred for her kind took over. He ran away to offer his own praises to the Queen.
         "And who are these two?" the Queen asked, looking down. "Have they braved the cold to be part of our family?"
         "Oh, yes," Kruul said with obvious disinterest. "They're Saylah and Malas, skinks from a village far off."
         The Queen looked at the two. The polisher couldn't quite see from her view, but she could reason that the look of disdain went to the frightened Saylah, and the look of pleasure was for the bolder daughter.
         With nothing more to do, and when the cheering eventually gave way to early beseeching from her, and reports on the state of things, she slithered away without anyone noticing. Her part in the celebration of the Queen was over. There would be much work for her over the next seven days. Many things brought to her to be polished for the spring, many places in the castle to be rid of its winter dullness. Everyone else would be busy with their own duties-or shirking of-and she would be left alone.
         But try as she might, she couldn't shake the skinks out of her mind.