A little girl burst into the room with a loud laugh. The boy chasing her, a little older, tripped over a bearskin rug spread on the floor and fell headlong.
"Grandpa, look! We have a new rug!" The amused girl helped the boy to his feet and hugged him. "Are you okay?
" "Leave it!" The boy gently pushed her away. "Warriors don't get hurt when they fall.
" "It hurts, it hurts, it hurts a lot," a hoarse voice from the corner of the room, belonging to an elderly man, interjected. He looked, as befits a grandfather, pleasant, a little mysterious. His sparkling eyes looked at the children from under a curtain of bushy, gray eyebrows, and his lips above the thick beard were twisted in a crooked smile. "A warrior is nothing more than a human being, dear child."
"Grandpa, tell us the story of the fight between the barbarians and the brave knights, please!" the children shouted over each other. The old man laughed, silencing their excited voices with a gesture. He stood up with a groan, walked a few steps to the armchair by the fireplace, his feet scraping against the floor, sat down, and pondered.
"You've heard the story of the barbarians so many times you could tell it to me yourselves," he said, reaching for his carved pipe. He slowly filled it with tobacco, and the children waited silently for their grandfather's first words. "But you don't know..." he began, as his listeners settled down on the bearskin, "why those brave knights fought the barbarians?
" "Because the barbarians were evil!" the boy shouted, jumping slightly in place.
"Not as evil as you think," the old man replied, lighting his pipe. He exhaled a puff of smoke, staring at the ceiling. "There never had to be a fight."
"So why?" the boy wondered. Grandpa smiled slightly.
"It's all because of a certain princess," he replied, almost in a whisper, and the girl sitting on the rug squealed with joy.
"Tell me, Grandpa, about the princess! I've never heard a story like that!" she asked.
"Okay, I'll tell you," Grandpa agreed. "And that will be the beginning of a story about our world, the eastern world.
" "A story about the whole land of Ellison?" the children asked in chorus, and Grandpa just nodded. "Speak, Grandpa, speak quickly!"
The old man shifted in his chair, and the children lay down on the rug, ready for Grandpa's long tale, which they loved more than anything else in the world.
"As you already know," he began, "in our world, the eastern world, there are twelve lands. Once there were only six: three on the left, and three on the right side of the River." Those on the left were inhabited by peaceful, peaceful peoples, while those on the right produced the best warriors in the world.
"And that's where the barbarians came from, Grandpa?" the boy interjected.
"That's where they came from. You also know well that the gods sent minor deities to certain lands."
"Legendary animals!" the girl added.
"Yes, there were legendary animals. And so the peoples of the Wolmar forest worshiped the phoenix, and the Nasareans had their own deer.
" "But that was a long, long time ago, wasn't it?" the girl asked.
"A long, long time ago," the old man agreed, inhaling the smoke. "But the memory of them still lives on, even though they're dead, and hardly anyone talks about the deer god anymore. The phoenix is a different story; it's still somewhat young, and the raven...
" "The white raven!" the children corrected their grandfather in unison.
"...the raven was summoned recently, so everyone knows about it. And that's exactly what I'd like to tell you about today. About the times when the Statuette of the White Raven fell into the wrong hands, when Princess Octavia had to leave her palace, when the war broke out on the left side of the river...
" "And will there be anything about beautiful princes, elves, wizards?" the girl mused, rising from her seat.
"How many times does Grandpa have to tell you that elves don't exist?" the little boy scolded her.
"Exactly, little one, elves are just human inventions. But I'll tell you something more interesting. You have the same name as the bravest warrior of those times.
" "Really?" the little girl exclaimed, her face turning pink with delight.
"Yes, Gloria." Grandpa stroked her hair as she sat down. "She was the bravest, most beautiful, and most courageous of all women."
"And did any of the brave warriors bear my name, Grandpa?" the boy asked hopefully.
"Oh yes, there was one with your name," the old man agreed. "One of the three most powerful and gifted experts in the arcane arts, his name was Medard.
" "Does that mean he was a wizard?
" "A magician," Grandpa corrected. "And he's still alive today.
" "And Gloria isn't?" the little girl stated with horror.
"I'll tell you about it. I'll tell you about the magnificent, brave Gloria, about the warriors from the Academy in the Wolmar Forest, about the fearsome city of Gen, about the prince of Kalathana, about the witch of the Golden Heights, about brotherhood, honor, courage. I'll tell you about events from seventy years ago. I'll tell you about the war for the White Raven Statuette and about a certain band.
" "Grandfather, you were supposed to be talking about Princess Octavia!" reminded little Medard.
"Actually, she was a princess. And it all started with her. Yes, I'll tell you about her now. Let's go back in time as if by some mysterious, powerful magic. Let's go back seventy years and fly through all of Ellison, let's peek into the castle court in the eternally snow-covered Menarine in the land of Mare, on the left bank of the river..."
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