In a hut located in a village far away from the dragon’s lair, a woman held an infant child between her arms, gently cradling her while singing a lullaby.

Down in the valley, valley so low

Hang your head over, hear the wind blow

Hear the wind blow, dear, hear the wind blow

Hang your head over, hear the wind blow…

The baby replied with a series of harsh coughs.

From the woman’s left eye came out a tear. It had become a habit for her. The village’s healer had succeeded in slowing down the baby’s sickness, but he had told her and her husband she would survive only until the next winter. It was autumn now, and the end was near.

Unless…

Unless, the healer told them, they got a certain book. It was said to contain all the most portentous cures to any sickness. There was a problem though: all books were under dragons’ ownership. The healer didn’t even need to specify that: everyone, in the village, had to work hard to bring books to the dragon that ruled over their land, and whoever dared to open them, received their punishment. With the dragon’s ability to smell lies, nobody would dare do it, or even learn how to read and write.

But the baby’s father, Ildarg, didn’t want to hear it. “I’m not going to accept this. I’m going to travel to the dragon’s lair!” He had proclaimed that same evening. She tried to dissuade him the best she could, and they argued the whole night, to no avail: the next day, when she woke up, her husband and his backpack were missing.

Three months had passed since then, and she had lived with anxiety every day. There was no way to get any news of Ildarg, and her only child was about to die. At twenty years, she was about to become a childless widow. The only thing that relieved those feelings was their baby herself: singing lullabies was an excellent distraction.

Roses love sunshine, violets love dew

Angels in heaven know I love you

Know I love you, dear, know I love you

Angels in heaven, know I love you.

The door knocked.

Her heart immediately beat fast. Not as fast as the first times since her husband left: she had gotten used to that feeling, hoping to have her husband to the door and instead getting a neighbor of theirs asking for some wood for the fireplace.

She opened the door.

“Silvane,” a man exclaimed. It was Ildarg.

Silvane almost made their baby fall to the ground.

“Ildarg…” she said feebly.

He didn’t answer, but he opened his arms. The two spouses hugged each other for who knows how long, as tight as they could, wanting to feel their contact after so much time. Then Ildarg affectionately kissed their baby on the front. “Elise. How much have I missed you.”

The baby laughed happily at her father before another cough attack hit her.

“Do you have the cure?” Silvane asked Ildarg with apprehension. He made a very forced smile.

“Well, about that...I have good and bad news. The good news is the dragon may let me have access to the book.”

“And the bad news…?”

“I have to become his bard and win a singing battle to get it.”

“What?”

Ildarg explained her everything. When he finished, Silvane’s face managed to express an amazing variety of different emotions at the same time: confusion, hope, worry.

“You have to admit,” Ildrg said, “this outcome is much, much better than what we expected.”

“You’re right,” Silvane agreed, “but you’re a blacksmith! Remember when you tried to sing a lullaby to Elise?”

“How could I forget?” He said. Elise had cried so loud, and stopped only when Silvane sang a lullaby for her. It was quite a humiliating experience. “But I’m sure if I find someone who teaches me a pair of things-”

“In seven days!” She cried. “There’s not enough time.”

Ildarg sighed. “I know...I know. But it’s our only chance to save Elise. Tonight I’ll go to the Staggered Mare and find someone to help me. I promise, Silvane, I’ll find a way.”

* * *

The Staggered Mare was the village’s inn, whose sign showed a picture of a horse head with its mouth and eyes opened wide in a surprised expression. Ildarg had to admit he had been in larger, cleaner inns while traveling to the dragon’s lair: however, that place was a welcome sign after so many months. As he pulled the heavy wooden door, he was greeted by many familiar voices, which however had more intentions than just being friendly.

“Hey, look who’s there!”

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“Ildarg! How long has it been?”

“I just needed you! I need a new pitchfork for my barn…”

“My hammer’s broken!”

“My daughter is about to get married and we need a new set of cutlery for the bride price…”

Ildarg sighed. Sometimes he had wondered if in that village he had real friends. He straightforward ignored them.

“Ildarg, wait! I asked you something!”

He went directly to the counter, where an old man with an enormous belly was washing a mug with a rag. It was the inn’s owner, the only one with whom Ildarg had some kind of relationship which was not strictly linked to his job, apart from his family.

“Hi, Bolarg.”

“Ildarg!” Bolarg gave him a strong pat on his shoulder that almost made him fall. “I prayed every day you’d come back alive. How was the dragon? Did you meet him?”

“Yes, I did...however, before talking about the dragon, I need to ask you something.”

“Anything!”

“Is there some bard coming here tonight? I need to find one urgently.”

Bolarg raised an eyebrow.

“Why?”

“It’s a long story,” Ildarg cut out, “I just need one. Anyone.”

“Well…” the big man scratched his head with his big hand “bards come and go. They’re very good for my business, sure, but I have no way to know whether one’s coming or not. I’m sorry.”

Ildarg lowered down his head, in discomfort. “I see.”

“Are you getting something to drink?”

“Just a small beer.”

“Immediately.”

For a long time, Ildarg sat alone on a table at the most distant corner from the others, ignoring their requests for a new metal tool. He’d think about those when this bard affair would be over. His eyes stared at the entrance all the time, desperately waiting for someone with a lute on their back to enter.

He drank only small sips of beer once in a while, and only to have something to do. He drew a gasp whenever the entrance opened up, but it was always just another villager, who would readily get close to him to welcome him back. Ildarg could only make out some very forced greeting and make some excuses to avoid talking about dragon.

Then, when his mug was half emptied, entered in the inn a young man with very striking clothes. Ildarg held a giggle. His robes were black on the left side and scarlet on the other; his pants followed the same pattern. He had a green cloak with a decoration of nightingales, and a green hat shaped like a cylinder.

However, another more important detail caught Ildarg’s eyes: the lute that was mounted on his back.

“Greetings, villagers. My name is Rikastil and I will gladden your evening with my music.”

Ildarg didn’t lose any time. He got up like a fury, and as he ran towards the newcomer, he heard a noise of broken ceramic.

“Hey!” Bolarg protested loudly. “I have to wait until merchants visit this place to replace it!”

“I’ll pay it for you!” Ildarg barked. He basically took the bard by his robes. “Sir! I need your help!”

The bard’s eyes were surprised, but not shocked.

“What can I do for you, gentleman?”

“Sir, I need to learn how to sing and play music in seven days.”

Now his eyes definitely expressed shock.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m serious!”

Ildarg didn’t even care that the whole inn was looking at him. It was now or never.

“Sir, could we discuss about it after I sing my songs? I’m not here for my own pleasure-”

“I’ll pay you,” Ildarg exclaimed. “I’m a blacksmith, I have enough money. I can’t explain everything short, but I swear, I’ll pay you as much as I can!”

“Hmmm,” the bard sounded interested. “And how much will you pay me?”

Ildarg told him the whole amount of gold he had. The bard’s eyes opened up.

“You have all that much? Folks,” he turned his head to the other visitors, “is this gentleman saying the truth?”

None of the men answered. They just stared at Ildarg with astonished expressions. Bolarg himself had another mug and a rag, but wasn’t moving them at all.

“That dragon must have had a funny effect on his head,” someone on the table whispered loudly.

The bard, clearly, wasn’t satisfied with the answer. “Sir, I must ask you to let me go.”

Defeated, Ildarg released his hand from the bard’s clothes. He opened the door towards the outside world, walking on the muddy path under the stars with death in his heart, trying to find an alternative plan…

His workshop.

The place where he hid his money from thieves.

Ildarg began to run. He had to do it as fast as he could, before the bard would depart again. He almost slammed his house’s door.

“Silvane! The money I kept on the workshop...is it still there?”

His wife didn’t answer. She was sitting down on a footstool, with their baby on her arms. Her head lay on the wall, snoring. She had to have fallen asleep.

“Silvane!”

“Huh?” She abruptly woke up. “Ildarg…?”

“The money I kept on the workshop! Is it still there?”

“Yes, I kept it safe while you were out-what do you want to…?”

“I need the key!”

“What do…”

“Just give me the key, please!”

Hesitantly, Silvane got up and put Elise on their bed. From one of the shelves she took a bunch of keys and gave it to Ildarg.

“Could you tell me what…?”

“Later!” Without even saying her good night, he exited their house, directed at his workshop, located behind it. He still hadn’t gotten in since his return. However, after he turned the key, he didn’t lose time in contemplation and went directly at a shelf on the back of the main room.

He knew what to do. He moved the shelf away from its position, revealing a square-shaped part of the wooden pavement that was slightly higher than the others. On a first sight, nobody could realize it. Ildarg opened it with another key, and his secret vault opened up, full of golden coins: the fruit of a year of working as a blacksmith.

Ildarg gathered it all up and with the speed of a dragon in flight he exited, directed towards the inn again. To his joy, he could hear the sound of a lute coming from inside, accompanied by a melodious voice.

“There once was a lady from Strawberry Hollow / She didn’t talk too much but boy, did s-YOU AGAIN?”

He had just seen Ildarg getting into the inn. Bolarg was covering his face with one hand.

“Yes,” Ildarg answered, panting, “and I got something for you.”

He took out his bag and opened it out, to show the shining golden content. The bard’s expression quickly passed from angered to perplexed to finally the look of someone who sees all his dreams come true.

“You...you weren’t lying…?”

“No. Usually how much does it take for you to beg all this money?”

The bard didn’t answer. However, he began walking towards Ildarg.

“Fine,” he pronounced, “it’s a deal. But you got to pay me right here and right now.”

“Perfect,” Ildarg commented and he just gave him his bag. “Are you ready to begin tomorrow morning?”

“Y...yes, sir.” The bard held the bag full of money like a child holds his favorite stuffed animal.

“You can sleep in my place for this week. I and my wife will take care of the rest. Tomorrow I’ll explain you everything. Now, you were still singing, right…? You can finish up.”

“It’s...it’s no more necessary, sir.” He looked at the other people in the inn. “Excuse me.”