“Just tell me the kind of books you need and I’ll grab them,” Kirja said.
“Huh...anything about playing a lute, or...being a bard, I suppose,” Ildarg answered, before realizing something important. “Wait! We have no lute!”
“I do have one,” the dragon replied. “It used to belong to the last bard that played for me.”
“What happened to him?”
The dragon grinned. “I ate him after the performance. He had the nerve of accusing me of his failure.”
“I see,” Ildarg commented, as if they were talking about the weather.
“So, anyways, books about being a bard and playing the lute, plus a lute. Incoming!”
And he dived into the huge pile of books. Only his waving yellow tail emerged from it, while discarded tomes flew from all directions. Ildarg couldn’t help admire the variety of genres the dragon owned, at least the ones whose titles were in uppercase; the human told himself he should learn to read in lowercase too, in case he miraculously won. Then a big, bulky one titled ‘Dictionary dragon-kobold and kobold-dragon’ almost hit his face.
“Sorry, thought it was about barding!”
Ildarg didn’t reply, but stopped attempting to read the books’ titles, concentrating instead on their trajectory.
“Ah, here is the lute!” announced the dragon.
Suddenly, from the pile of books emerged a different object, which turned to be, unsurprisingly, a lute. Ildarg managed to catch it before it would hit the ground, saving it from destruction.
“Hmm...maybe this one…” came again the muffled voice of the dragon, whose tail was now nearly swallowed by the ocean of books “...yes! Here is one!”
Another book flew to his direction, just like that dictionary. This time, however, Ildarg was ready: with open hands, he caught the incoming tone and saved his face from being smashed by knowledge. The title was in uppercase: it said ‘How to learn the lute in two days’.
Strangely convenient, he thought.
“Do you need anything else?” Rikastil shouted.
“Hm...something about singing!”
“Incoming!” For the third time, a tome came to his direction. This new book was titled ‘Become a singer in two days’.
Is some god above deciding these titles right now, or is it just a coincidence? Ildarg wondered.
“Need some more?”
“No!” Ildarg answered. He was starting getting tired, and wasn’t sure if he’d take his face away from the next one.
The dragon’s big yellow head emerged from the books, taking a deep breath. “Aaaaah, air!” Then he landed in front of the human. “Alright, give me the books and I’ll read them for you.”
Ildarg obeyed. With a theatrical gesture, the dragon opened How To Learn The Lute In Two Days with the tip of his right forepaw’s longest talon, and began reading, while Ildarg sat down.
“You were spending a pleasant night in your local tavern and between a pint and another you saw a bard entering the local, playing marvelous songs that enchanted your mind. It was such a good experience, you now wish you were able to sing those songs by yourself, in any time and any place. This is not a bad idea at all! What do you say? You’re not going to be as good as professional bards because you don’t know much about music? Don’t worry, I’ve got you covered! I guarantee that learning how to sing doesn’t require any theoretic musical knowledge, and as such, can be done even by those, like you, who are approaching the world of music for the first time. You don’t even need any particular object: all it takes is some lungs, a voice and a lot of goodwill-”
“Hem, where does it begin teaching?”
Kirja looked at him with a murderous look.
“You dare interrupt me when I’m reading a collection from my hoard?”
“I wouldn’t, normally!” Ildarg barked, getting a little further from him. “It’s just, we don’t need to read everything from that book-we only need the parts where it explains what to do.”
The dragon’s eyes relaxed a bit, and finally, he announced: “I concede you’re right. Let me search for the actual content.”
He turned a pair of pages before announcing: “This looks like what we need. First: Stand up straight. Correct posture is essential: you cannot sing well without standing tall.”
“Yes, I remember this,” Ildarg said, and he got up. “What’s next?”
“Breathe with our diaphragm. Practice by making deep breaths: inhale and exhale, imagining your nose is on your stomach...wait, what’s a diaphragm?”
“The bard who taught me tried to explain it,” Ildarg answered, “it’s something in our bodies. I haven’t understood much, though. Anyway, I’ve done this too. Inhale and exhale, I spent a week doing this.”
The dragon turned some more pages, puffing with his mouth.
“Warm up your voice by singing scales…”
“I know that already.”
“It looks like you know everything then. Why you made me search for this book?” The dragon growled, irritated.
Ildarg felt disappointed too. That book was no different from Rikastil’s teachings. He didn’t have the courage to look at Kirja in his eyes; a bit because of fear, a bit because of shame.
“I thought it would contain some magic trick,” he admitted, “some bard secret…”
“Let’s try the lute.”
Kirja grabbed the book about singing and threw it behind him, like if it was just some garbage. Then, he opened the other, which was much bulkier. However, even this one contained a lot of information Ildarg had already been taught. How to chord it, where notes are, basic chords...until at one point, when Kirja seemed ready to set it on fire, they found something new.
“Alternate picking? I never heard of that,” the human said.
“Oh, at last!” The dragon thundered. “Here is what it says: Alternate picking is arguably one of the most used right-hand techniques on the lute. It is especially popular in fast soloing, but you can use it in-”
“Just read what it is and how to make it!”
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The beast roared in his face, but Ildarg had passed through so much in few days, that he didn’t blink an eye.
“You know I’m right, I told you before.”
“You insolent…” Kirja lamented. “Fine, fine, as long as you don’t interrupt me anymore! Alternate picking is when you pick down, up, down, up and so on. This will make you play faster notes with more precision. In short: play the first note by moving your finger down, then play the next one by moving it up. Keep alternating these two movements. Here are some exercises…”
Enthusiast for finding something new to try, Ildarg immediately grabbed the lute and did as the book said: he moved his right index down to play the first chord, then up, then down, then up.
“Hey, much better!” He exclaimed, as he moved his finger around the chords. “Up, down, up down, up down…” The whole lair resonated with the sound of the melodies he had practiced together with Rikastil, twice as fast as before, singing enthusiastically.
“I was caught / in the middle of a horse cart track! I looked ‘round / and I knew there was no turning back!”
Kirja looked at him with a look that could express amusement, or irritation; probably both.
“You’re still making lots of errors.”
“I’ll practice just this technique then, for today. Tomorrow we can refine my song, how about that?”
“Sounds like a good plan,” the dragon nodded, throwing the lute book on the big pile.
But after several hours, Ildarg was still playing the wrong notes too many times, despite his new acquired speed. The joy of discovering the new technique progressively faded away, replaced by the self-knowledge of his limits. Plus, he was also feeling tired.
“I was caught / in the middle of a...of a...no, wrong note...I was caught / in the...oh, damn! I was..I was…”
During the whole time, Kirja had done nothing but standing in front of him and watching in silence. Not a comment, not an encouragement or a critique; so Ildarg jumped out when he spoke, remembering his presence.
“You need to sleep.”
“No!” The human cried, waving a hand to nowhere in particular. “I must do it...I must save my daughter…”
“You’ve practiced enough for today. If you don’t sleep, you’ll be too tired to play at the battle.”
“I’m...I’m still not good enough…” he blabbed. “Play more...get better...im-”
But the rest of the words died in his throat as his head collapsed on the instrument, producing a pair of dissonant notes that echoed through the rocks.
When he opened his eyes again, he had no more the lute in his hands. The left side of his body was leaning against something soft and warm, which expanded and contracted regularly. He got up: he had slept on Kirja’s hip. The lute lay on the ground, and next to it was a deer’s carcass, some wood and a bucket.
“What…” he murmured.
“You dozed off,” the dragon explained. “While you slept, I hunted some food outside and grabbed some water.”
“How do you have a bucket?”
“You’re not the first bard I host,” he said, yawning. “Now, please, take that deer. I’ll help you with making the firewood, so you can eat it like you humans do.”
Never would he have imagined such gentleness from a fearsome creature like him. True, he would be more gentle if he just gave him the book to save his daughter, but that was already a lot. “Thank you.”
“I’m only doing it to keep you in shape for tomorrow,” the dragon cut out.
Tomorrow...Ildarg’s heart plunged. He looked at the lute, and remembered how poor his ability still was. He tried to take out of his head the memory of who his rival was, to no avail: the image of Rikastil playing flawlessly in the tavern tortured him. Not mentioning, he had given all his savings to him! Soon his wife would lose his daughter, his husband would be eaten, and she would have no money to carry on. It was like if Ildarg, by getting in contact with that dragon, had made everything worse instead of-
“Aren’t you going to eat?”
“Oh, yes, of course!” He proceeded to prepare a fireplace.
When both were done, Kirja didn’t lose any time. “So, now it’s the time to refine your song. Take the lute and play it.”
Ildarg, feeling a bit heavy from its stomach full of deer and water, felt more like resting a bit more, but the thought of the next day was enough motivation. He got up, grabbed the instrument, then sat down and played the song Rikastil had written for him.
I cannot sing very well,
but my heart is true and pure
so today my throat proclaims,
mighty Kirja, I love you!
Your benevolence’s so touching,
your conditions are so good.
Hundred books every five years,
and you don’t take us as food!
In truth, he was beginning to hate those lyrics.
“Alright, I see two problems with this song,” Kirja commented, “first of all, it could tell more details about how better I am than my rival, other than my terms and conditions. Even after being defeated so many times, my hoard remains undeniably bigger than hers. Not mentioning all the books she wishes she had. And…” He stopped talking, whispering to himself.
“And…?” Ildarg attempted to ask, after a while.
“Well, that’s all,” the dragon said, looking away.
“So, we’ll add four more verses?”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Which ones?”
“What do you mean?” The dragon snorted. “You are the bard, therefore you are the one supposed to add these new verses.”
“But you have all these books…”
“To be kept away from humans, not to be read.”
“I’ve never written music before!”
“You had never sung or played a lute, yet here you are.”
“Ha, very clever,” Ildarg laughed, “but I’m afraid Rikastil didn’t teach me how to write a song. He did the task for me.”
“Alright, I get it,” the dragon sighed. “Book about writing music incoming.”
Before Ildarg could reply, his head was already deep into the book’s hoard, and the rain of tomes came back. At one point, he had to bend backwards to avoid a series of volumes about cooking cakes.
When Kirja announced he had found the right one, next to the human landed an absurdly huge book, as big as his own chest. Ildarg tried to read the title, but it was in lowercase.
“What does it say?” He asked the dragon’s head, re-emerging from the pile.
“Theory and discussions on poetry and music composition.”
“We’ll never read it in one day,” he said in discouragement.
“We just need to find out the right chapter,” Kirja replied, “so you can write those verses.”
“While you wait, I’ll practice the melody.”
For a while, the human played as if for providing a background for Kirja’s reading time. The dragon restlessly turned the enormous pages, until he finally exclaimed: “I may have found something!”
Ildarg stopped playing immediately. “What does it say?”
“It’s a part titled Lyrics writing essentials.”
“How long is it?”
“Hm…” Kirja turned a lot of pages at the same time. “Three hundred and forty-five pages.”
“It’s too much. I should focus on improving what we have already.”
“It’s an incomplete song!”
“There’s no more time! If we had discussed this seven days before, we could have done it, but now, you can only hope for the best.”
“Don’t you dare make me this kind of lessons, human! You should have remained with that bard and you’d have perfected the song with him!”
“That bard is my adversary! How could have I kept trusting him?”
“Well, it was your responsibility to find the right way to learn how to bard! You should have found another one!”
“It should have been your responsibility from the very beginning!” Ildarg found himself standing up, despite not remembering it. “It’s you who has all these useful books, it’s you who sends bards to battle against each other! No wonder you keep losing! It’s time you stop being afraid of the past and accept that sometimes, sharing is the right thing to do!”
In reply, the dragon emitted the loudest, longest roar he ever made since the first day they met. Ildarg, confident of the fact he would survive at least until the battle, kept staring at him.
“I am wondering whether I should eat you regardless of tomorrow’s outcome-”
“Heh. I told already, I’m kinda into-”
“-by chewing you.”
“Oh,” he said. He sat down and grabbed the lute again. With so little time left, it didn’t make sense to keep arguing about whose the fault was. He had a song to practice. “Wait. I still haven’t tried it with the technique I learned yesterday.”
“The alternate picking? I don’t see how it can improve such a lukewarm composition.”
“Do we have anything else?” He played the chords faster, and the effect was immediate. His own head was now jamming from the rhythm. There were still a lot of wrong notes, but the song itself felt livelier, catchier...more effective.
Kirja kept staring at him. Ildarg wasn’t sure, but those few times he raised his head while playing, he could have swore his head was following the rhythm too. He smiled. Maybe there was a chance.
“Good, good,” the dragon commented, “now the last thing to practice: pressure.”
“What do you…”
His enormous head got so close to Ildarg, he could have booped his nose. The strong reptile smell punched him
“Keep playing,” he said, “I will stay here.”
“Al...alright.”
It took an effort to keep looking at the chords and ignore the giant reptile head above him. For a while, he had to slow down, putting the song back to its original so-so-ness. Gradually, though, it became just a part of the environment. Inside Ildarg’s head, nothing existed but himself and the lute. The song itself just came out as it had to, with its melody, its lyrics and its wrong notes.
“Perfect,” Kirja said, and Ildarg felt like waking up after a long, long state of trance. “It is time to rest now. Tomorrow I’ll fly you to Lavidar.”
The human could now feel the tiredness in his body. The thought of the battle was a distant thing, covered by the need to close his eyes. He left the lute on the ground, put his head on Kirja’s comfortable body and stopped thinking.