2. THE CANTICLE OF HOPE

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"It is said that all the vast lands
molded at the origin of the eras,
were part of a single Empire.

Defended by the Gods with gentle prayers,
prosperous, rich, vast and peaceful,
it was called the Empire without barriers.

The same lands and a single government,
elves, half-elves, humans and fairies,
shared in perfect harmony.

But then, the seed of discord,
by the Gods, as a test, was thrown:
a dragon egg was delivered.

A creature who, at birth,
was to protect the peace and the people,
the Ancients Gods had destined.

That egg should have be protected,
by a guardian elected by the Empire,
watched overand guarded until its hatching.

Only one among all the races
the Ancient Gods had imposed to choose from,
to be responsible for that privilege.

But every race was claiming the egg,
on the grounds that their candidate
was undoubtedly the most worthy.

And of the Ancient Gods failing the test,
the Empire knew for the first time
greed, deceit and betrayal.

The Gods, disappointed, concealed the sun,
and a perpetual night descended on the Empire,
leaving it at the mercy of anger.

They took away the dragon egg
and to the warm depths of the earth
they entrusted it, so where it will remain.

Each blamed the other race
until the disastrous war that had been brewing
in their hearts now dried up, broke out.

The Gods had hoped that soon
the havoc would have ended,
the people having lost the object so madly craved.

But years ran too fast.
And the people, now devoid of good judgment,
were continuing to sow death.

The Gods were forced to intervene.
Every race was separated by force
and relegated in a piece of the Empire.

The elves lineage, proud, haughty,
it was said to have been confined in the East,
enclosed by mountains, hidden by forests.

The fairies, vindictive and spiteful,
hidden in the hollows of trees,
soon disappeared from the eyes of all.

And men, greedy and arrogant,
in the West, by mountains, sea and desert,
by the Ancients Gods were sealed.

The half-elves, union of the two races,
by both were renegades.
By sea, forever, they went away.

Those whom, among the various races, had cause the war
were then exiled by the Ancient Gods
in the North, over impassable mountains.


On them were burdened an horrid curse,
that into hideous monsters turned them,
creating new and dangerous races.

And so, the Gods had divided the world
between the races, isolating them forever
and preventing contact between them.

Meanwhile, the egg hatched and the dragon born.
The immortal creature was summoned back to heaven,
to be the Keeper of the divine world.

But the provident Gods left on the earth
a mysterious seal that the dragon
from heaven could be recalled.

It was impossible to know where and to whom
the seal was handed over by the Gods.
The secret was never revealed.

But it is said that to the faithful Clerics,
elected servants of the Ancient Gods,
the task...
the task of...
Er... "

"The task to preserve it was given.

They, in the vacuous mists of the night,
the Silence's Peak reached.
And all their traces were lost forever..." Gar continued, coming to the aid of the old storyteller caught by a sudden loss of memory. The young man smiled, sympathetic, reading the concern in the misty eyes of the elderly. He wasn't focused like the other night, obviously. He already had heard him recite it all, in a compelling and hypnotic narrative. But not tonight. He wasn't in the mood. Neither was Gar. Nor even the other customers of the inn: three burly men of which their gazes were lost or in the void or in the dried up beer mugs. Actually, no one was in the mood, at that time, in Valar. The inn was usually crowded with people. Warm, noisy, alive. Over the past few weeks, however, the customers were steadily decreasing and now it was relentlessly cold, quiet and dull. Gar rose from the table of solid wood, carved and scratched from years of revelry, and approached the desolate old man.
"I'm sorry, Deputy Commander..."
"Oh, no... Don't mention it" Gar assured him with a gentle pat on the back. "It 's understandable, given what's going to happen. And then, this evening there really isn't anybody here...". He stuck his hand in the pocket to extract a gold coin. It also was dull that night. Gar handed it to the old man, then he silently asked himself if it were the case. The old man looked at the coin with an unusual reluctance, but he forced himself; he smiled and took it.
"Thank you, Deputy Commander."
Gar merely shrugged his shoulders and sat on a high stool by the counter, next to the old man. Rather than hearing legends he already knew by heart, he would have preferred to have a chat with that man full of wrinkles and wisdom.
"...Do you want me to continue?" hesitantly the bard asked, throwing then a look at the three other customers, who, still absorbed in their thoughts, didn't even seem to have noticed the interruption. The storyteller was very old, with his back bent by the weight of his years and his hair white and thin as winter fog.
"No..." Gar muttered, shaking his head slightly. He knew too well how the legend would have continued. It was going to rattle off among the events what had happened in what the story called the West: the kingdom of men. It told of how they formed small city-states and how these moved at war against each other, until three heroes managed to unify the biggest part of the lands, the middle, separated from the rest by the barrier of the high green hills of Maerding in the north west and from the Arsifgand desert in the southwest. The three heroes called this kingdom "Kherming" and chose as its capital the largest and richest of the city-states: Valar. Then the legend described how the Ancient Gods, the generous benefactors, had protected and inspired those Heroes to build the most fair and wise of the kingdoms. Gods which now existed only in legends, to the exclusion of Innayrin, the goddess of hope, to which many still insisted to be devotees.
Elves, half-elves or fairies, immediately disappeared. The legend justified itself by saying that the news of their stories were lost due to the separation between the races and the impassability of boundaries. Nonsense. Gar actually knew that there were no elves or half-elves or fairies, nor Gods or Innayrin. No one had ever seen them, they were just legendary figures. What there was in the East, over Ardeithan, nobody cared. It was the North that was worrying, instead. Always small groups of orcs or goblins had occasionally crossed the steep mountains, causing panic in the villages immediately downstream in the Free Lands over the hills, where Kherming was not well regarded and where it was refrained from interfering. But now everything was different. Everything pretty damn different. And Gar was well aware of it.
"What will you do...?" Gar asked to the old man, who apparently had no wish to have a chat with the young officer; he was already picking up his few belongings.
The old man turned slowly to look at him, his expression uncertain. With the air of one who has not well understood the intent of the question.
"What will I do, Sir...?"
"Yes, when the inn will be closed. When you will not have anybody to entertain..."
The old man smiled, lowering his look just a little, bitterly. "I will wait, Deputy Commander. I will wait until everything will be over and that the story will become legend." He bowed his head and walked slowly and dangling toward the exit. Gar looked around. One of the three customers had fallen asleep on the table and had began to snore loudly. Another one was absently sipping beer, with his dark and desolate glance lost in the maze of concerns. The last one was putting coins on the table and was about to leave him too, sighing. The innkeeper, who so far had nervously rubbed mugs too worn even to seem clean, looked at the old man, and then at Gar.
"Bah. Perhaps it would be better to close immediately" he muttered harshly, shaking his curly head.
Gar thought that he wasn't entirely wrong. Things would definitely get worse for the inn. He sighed, suddenly feeling alone like never before. And then he cursed Kyed. Why the hell he was gone, without notice, to wander off into the woods, leaving to him the burden and the dilemma of planning the defense of the capital along with other military leaders? Stupid Kyed. Why he hadn't given him any explanation? And why had the King let Kyed persuade him so easily? In the end Kyed was the Commander of the Royal Guard. His place was in the castle. Next to the King. And instead? Now he was walking around unexplored places in company of a druid. Gar wrinkled his nose, in the throes of a growing nervousness. He abruptly stood up from his stool and left three gold coins on the counter. Then he put on his coat and went out quickly, accepting with gratitude the pungent air of the night.
Kyed was his best friend, as well as his direct superior, yet he still couldn't fully understand him. Always smiling, always ready to joke, always friendly... and yet he had in himself something dark. A sudden and sad tone in his voice, a gaze lost in the shadow of his thoughts, or an unexpected sigh. But so rare and fast that they almost seemed illusions, jokes of the imagination; he had no time to even realize it before he was already returned to smile. And then he was unpredictable. He was solely following his instincts. Always and forever. Yet he was capable of the highest-level military planning and strategy. Gar often struggled to keep up with his reasoning. And also, occasionally, like in this case, he wasn't even made ​​aware of anything and found himself projected into situations without any warning. He hated him when he did so. And now he hated him even more because he had left him alone to face a war. A war, heck!
"I'm leaving," he had said hastily after the last Council, frowning, his thoughts far away. In long strides he devoured the endless corridor that led to his lodgings.
"W... What did you say...?" Gar mumbled, almost tripping over in his own footsteps, just behind Kyed.
"Tomorrow morning, at dawn," peremptory, atonal. He kept walking, with a haste that was completely alien to him.
"What the hell are you saying? Are you crazy?" Gar was struggling to keep up. Both in rhythm and in reasoning.
"I've never been so clear-headed."
"Hey... Wait a minute. What happened? What did they tell you in the Council? Did they give you a mission?" He was trying to understand. He was struggling to do it.
Kyed smiled slightly, but Gar couldn't see him. He was still behind him trying to catch up.
"No. It is me to have taken it."
He had not said anything else. He had remained closed in a silence that could not hide an intimate, restless turmoil, a mixture of fear and excitement. Gar knew him well. But he had never seen that look before. Stranger, crazy, determined. For a moment he had fear of it. Just the time of a thrill.
Gar found himself wandering in the dark and uphill streets of Valar, cursing his best friend who had left him without any explanation. The moon, sleepy and lazy, was going to sink behind the hills, weighted down by the nocturnal mantle. Angry and alone, he decided to return to the palace, where the last rays of the moon were listless reflecting.


The next morning, the sun rose timidly from the sinuous horizon of the green lands of Kherming. The sharp towers of the royal fortress were flooded by a pale and distant light. From the small stone balcony of the highest tower of the castle, King Ilfreug Loder Balch was watching with apprehension the vast landscape around him. Although it was dawn, the capital which spiraled under the fortress, around the Mount of Three Heroes, was teeming with life, despite the imminent danger. Merchants, farmers, soldiers. Women, children and the elderly. Everyone was preparing themselves for the worst. And they were busy in the hopes of avoiding it. The King closed his eyes and sighed. He turned toward the North. Far beyond the hills that marked the boundaries of the kingdom, the clouds were gathering. Dark, heavy and hostile, they seemed to corroborate the ominous omens that were overthrown on Kherming. Ilfreug tried to imagine the immense army which, in that moment, was marching toward the Capital. Perhaps it had passed the Shady Pass, among the hills, or maybe not yet, but who cared now? It was only a matter of time. It made no difference. They would arrive. Orcs, goblins and who knows what else. How it was possible that they didn't realize in time the threat that hung over Kherming? How could they underestimate so much the events beyond the hills? They had rushed to the shelters now, and were gearing up as best they could, but the time was too little. And the enemy too powerful.
The imagination of King Ilfreug, proven by long and tormented sleepless nights, crancked out solely apocalyptic scenarios: butchered corpses, smoking ruins, innocent enslaved; his lost kingdom in the hands of exultant goblins and orcs. The King's stomach wriggled, rebelling to those images with a wave of nausea. No. He would have to protect his people, he would do everything possible, that was for sure. He would not understimate even the smallest opportunity to save Kherming. And that was exactly what he was doing. He would not let himself demoralize ahead of time. He wouldn't allowed it. For himself, for his ancestors, for his family. But first of all, for his people.
He returned to his rooms invigorated by this certainty, and called the servants in a loud voice while he let himself fall on the chair of the table submerged by maps and official documents.
"Warn immediately the Proconsul of the Army, the Deputy Commander of the Royal Guard and the High Druid: I want all of them in an hour in the throne room for a new war council" he said without even taking his eyes from the small curves of brown ink that, on the parchment, depicted the hills.


Not even the High Druid could sleep that night. He had tried to meditate, in the almost religious silence of the palace. The same silence of the Hermit's Peak, where the Druids had their stronghold. A few days ago, however, they had moved to Valar to coordinate their support to the capital. Despite the absolute silence of the fortress, he was not able to sleep. And it was rare that he could fail. He, whose power and charisma was based on his ability to concentrate and to alienate. But it happened. He had spent a sleepless night, consumed with worry. For Ria. The little Ria who he had grown up as a daughter. Whom he had bred and trained personally, fighting against the stupidity and hypocrisy of the majority of the followers of his order. False moralists, ready to fight for ​​antiquated and obsolete values, but not for a higher and collective vision of "fair" and "good."
Ria was a girl. The first female ever admitted in the order of druids. And this, for some, was not only a problem but also an insult to tradition and integrity of the order. But Landaren was the High Druid, the highest office, and the last word belonged to him. And he decided what he believed was right, after all. He clearly had perceived in that little girl, at the time very tiny and slight, a rare inner strength. Rough, maybe coarse, but strong like a river in flood. Difficult to draw out and also difficult to contain. Even the other druids of the council had perceived that power, of course. Some had pretended that it was nothing special, others that it would have been devastating for the order, or impossible to control. Impossible because, in their view, the subject, being female, could not arrive to an adequate control and education. Nonsense. He and even all the other druids knew it. The High Druid had not been influenced. He believed in the little girl and in the elemental force inside her. Who is chosen by the elements can not be a threat. Aware that it would be antagonized by the most fundamentalist members of the order and that they would not have expected anything more than a false step to oust him from his role, he chose to accept the child, to breed and train her as a member of the warrior class of the druids and therefore not only to elemental magic, but also to the arts of base fighting. He had given her the most comprehensive training he could, letting her get into the fighter class order. The one that actually was destined to elected with less elemental force. To all the effects, she was supposed to belong to the mystic class, the one that deepens the study of magic up to the higher and powerful levels. But Landaren had not been allowed to go so far. The Council had decided that the fighter class was enough. And maybe they secretly hoped that, since that was the class even less suitable for a girl, she would soon have abandoned. But Ria had disappointed the expectations of the Council and kept those of the the High Druid. She had been a model disciple, doing her utmost, despite the manifest hostility of many, and had given excellent results.

But the High Druid wasn't quiet. He sensed a sort of restlessness in the elements. Something was changing. Ria would have to face that change? Would she be capable of it? Or she would be back in time to be able to deal with him and the whole order? But above all... Would she be back...? The High Druid turned again in the bed, abruptly, nervously. He snorted. He decided he had to do something, rather than stay there, completely helpless, to get nervous. He got up, took a deep breath, closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind. He parted his legs a little, balancing his body weight on bare feet. He enclosed his hands one inside the other, softly, at the pelvis and again, inhaled. One thought, however, appeared sudden and disturbing in his mind. He should not do that. The regulation forbade it, except in cases of extreme danger and emergency. And this was yet neither one nor the other. He hastened to send back this thought in the recesses of his mind and regained control. He sought the conjunction with the elements, focusing on his inner energy. The small catalyst stone around his neck began to shine slightly. The contact with Ria was established. He felt her within himself. Initially just dimly, like a shadow of a flickering candle that was shutting down. But then, slowly, concentrating with more effort on that minimal contact, he managed to strengthen and make it clear, stable. He felt the cold of the night on the skin and between the hair, her hands outstretched toward the warmth of the fire, which lit up slightly the too dark area. The air was carrying moisture and silence, broken only by the occasional singing of some nocturnal bird. Everything, therefore, seemed quiet. Ria was fine.
Very slowly he relaxed his concentration, gradually separating himself from the mind of his pupil to go back to being master of his own. He took a few deep breaths, opening his eyes. He was exhausted. The spell of identification had worn him. It was a difficult incantation, that a chosen few knew, and even fewer dared to realize, for the enormous expenditure of energy and for the possibility that, if one wouldn't been able to stay totally alien to what would appear into the other's mind, the subject will end up to discover the intrusion. In addition, the contact could last only a fraction of a second, because the greater the distance from the chosen subject, the more quickly energies were lost. Who had not full mastery of their ability and knowledge could even die. The High Druid knew when to stop, and he knew that there was only the slightest risk of being discovered by Ria. At the most, she would have had for a fraction of a second the feeling of being watched. But it would have quickly passed. She didn't suspect the existence of such a spell and she wouldn't have ever studied a magic of such high level, only destined to druids in the highest degree of the mystic class. The High Druid, calmed and exhausted, returned to his bed, dropping on it almost without strength. He closed his eyes, smiling slightly. His little girl was fine. Yes, he had cast a spell that, according to the code, shouldn't have done, but in the end he hadn't hurt anyone. He only assured himself that his pupil was okay. And then, it was not the first time he had done it. But actually nobody would have ever know.