Having slightly opened sleepy eyes, Esrael exhaled with a slight, quiet moan: his body was full of tremendous tiredness, his arms and legs seemed to be full of tons of molted steel. Esrael couldn't move a muscle, so he found no other way rather than to tiredly stare at the ceiling. The first thought that came to his mind during the observation of the ceiling mural, which belonged to the brush of the best artists of Uniearth, was the reason he was there. He hardly recollected memory particles of how he was on the battlefield, observing the allied army rushing for help, the hostile army's rapidly fleeing. And after that — just fog, fog, fog... Our hero looked around. It seemed that he was in an elf's house, the noble one, evidently: flamboyant exotic plants, which had elvish crests hanged on their stems, which only could be hanged in the houses of the most deeply-privileged representatives of elvish noble society. The left corner was occupied by a little garden, consisted of two slim peach trees, bursting their white buds and radiating precious smell of mellow fruit.
Absorbed with examining the fabulous interior of elvish resting place, Esrael suddenly remembered his friends. Where they were? What had happened to them? Were they dead or alive? These questions demanded immediate answers. But when Esrael hastened to rush on the searches of his comrades, he suddenly heard a knock at the door.
—Esrael, are you awake?—someone's familiar voice sounded.—Can I come in?
Our hero was in seventh heaven when he heard that slightly rude, but very soft and kind tone.
—For sure,—Esrael replied enthusiastically, having leaned on the bedstead.
—Do, please.
The door opened, and the dragon entered the spacious room, illuminated with the warm sunlight. He didn't have the freshest look Esrael had ever seen: his belly was meticulously covered with soft meltis leaves with tiny blood prints on them; his tough scaly forehead was covered with a thin Rothmir silk bandage. Nevertheless, despite his severe injuries, the dragon's eyes exhibited optimism and cheerfulness.
—Well, how's it going?—he asked Esrael, carefully taking off the bloodsoaked bandage from the forehead. Having looked at his friend's puzzled face, who was definitely worried about all the scars on his scaly friend's belly and head, dragon grinned and assured:—There's no need to worry. I'm alright. Elves have fixed me a bit, as you can see. Their medicine can truly create miracles.
—I have no doubt it can...I'm glad to see you in one piece,—Esrael laughed and, having suddenly remembered the dragon's question, instantly changed the subject:—Anyway, as you can see, I'm safe and sound. No limbs are missing.
—It's more important to have your head sane,—the dragon, having leaned on the hard oaken wall, laughed.—You simply can't do without it.
—What's up with Gilroy?—Esrael unexpectedly asked. The silence broke into the conversation. The dragon stumbled, downed his eyes and, seldom looking at Esrael, began clumsily trying to avoid the question. He didn't want to tell the truth.
—There's something wrong, isn't it?—Esrael was desperate to know the answer.
—When elves brought us here,—the dragon began,—the prince ordered to transfer all the survivors to the healing sights. It was a really long way here from Eldoras...—at that moment he heavily sighed and sat near the bed of the startled comrade.—As far as I know he passed away this night. I didn't manage to say some farewell words: his soul was already in the Hade's domain when I knew about his death.
At that moment, when the dragon ended his short monologue, the smile of admiration faded from the Esrael's face. His best friend, his devoted comrade, who had become his closest relative, with whom he had faced all challenges of life in the little northern border town, was gone forever. Tears of grief unwillingly started to run across Esrael's face. All of a sudden he tried to dash forward, but in that same moment he fell back on the bed: the unhealed wounds still radiated pain into his brain. The dragon hastily ran towards his friend, and in that very moment, he saw a little tear of desperation and weakness streamed along Esrael's cheek. Breathing heavily, brave hero of Eldoras stared at the ceiling with sore eyes, drawing tiny particles of air into the chest, squeezed with overwhelming grief. He wanted to cry, burst into tears, but he knew that the warrior's pride and man's honor won't allow him to do that.
—We all lose someone — that's the cruel natural course of events,—the dragon, having sat on a large chest near the bed, said.—It only matters how each of us accepts the loss. Someone lose heart and retire into a shell, others continue to fight and, finally, succeeds. Everything, that has occurred to our world, is a sort of a challenge. And we must win it. Otherwise, the gods will wipe us out of this world.
—But how we're supposed to do that?
—End this war once and for all, my friend,—the dragon replied.—Gilroy and everyone, who has fallen at the walls of Eldoras, sacrificed their lives in Tempestwind want us to exile the enemy from these lands. We mustn't lose heart, because it's only in our power to stop the enemy. We've united everyone, now it is time to find their leader.
—But who is worthy?—Esrael wondered.—Only the true leader can do that. It won't be that simple. Everyone has to state his opinion, vote or to show his will in any other way.
—Well, on the one hand, you're right,—the dragon agreed.—However, if we give them the right of choice, they will slit each other's throats to come to power. I don't think it will do any good.
—Then, what are we gonna' do now?
—It is said that the source of infinite life is hidden somewhere in the Loriel's forests. It is believed that the one who drinks its water and survives, will become The Keeper of the Good. Remember? I've told you that before.
—For sure,—Esrael agreed.—It's very hard to forget...
—I think we should find out, where it is as soon as possible: we're running out of time. It can be too late when the enemy comes here. Besides, if there's no source at all, we're just wasting our breath right now. We should go immediately and find anyone, who knows where that place is.
—But who knows?—Esrael, putting on his wide pants, wondered.—I don't think that everyone is aware of the location of that scare object.
—It's not the matter of people, but the thing,—the dragon, observing Esrael putting on his leather boots, replied.—The Great library! That's gonna' help us to find that source!
—Brilliant!—Esrael, having put on a clean white shirt, exclaimed. At that moment the pure excite sparked on his face.—I should have guessed myself!
—Are you ready?—the dragon, observing Esrael taming his hair, asked.
—Yup,—his friend replied.—Let's go.
Having exited the spacious elvish nobleman's room, filled with bright sunlight, our heroes passed the large living room, opened the tough oaken door and appeared in the streets of elvish capital, lost in the precious dense forest, — Loriel. The fresh forest air, spinning in the untamed whirl, instantly dashed into the stuffy elvish den and filled our heroes' lungs with the marvelous freshness of nature. The city was surrounded with the peacefulness of the morning time: proud elvish noblemen, observing the unbelievable beauty of the local nature, wandered through cozy narrow streets. Loriel was remarkable for its precious unity of nature and anthropogenic objects, exhibiting marvel, worthy of the gods' miracle. Having traced a linden leaf hastily caught in the slight whirl and landed on his head, Esrael started to admirably examine every corner, every building of that remarkable elvish city. It seemed to him as if he was wandering through the grass of Elysian fields — heaven, described in the holy books of Uniearth.
—Amazing, isn't it?—the dragon suddenly interrupted Esrael's meticulous observation.—I wonder how elves managed to build this brilliant city without cutting any grass.
—I guess it will remain mystery forever,—Esrael grinned.
—Well, your words make sense,—the dragon agreed. Having sighed heavily, he looked around and, having kicked his sharp teeth with double-edged tongue, said:—Alright, I guess that's enough leaf-gazing for today. We have work to do.
With these words, our hero, having walked down the springy wooden steps, headed towards the center of the forest city. Esrael, having brushed up his memory for questions, asked his friend pretty necessary question:
—Umm, do you know the way?
The dragon stopped.
—Nope,—he answered, having followed the way.—But one thing is certain: the less we chatter, the sooner we find it.
—Now I see the Eldorase's chatterbox is speaking,—Esrael reminded the dragon, having kicked a little stone off his way.
—It was necessary,—the dragon objected.—It was "chatterboxing" that encouraged those men to fight.
—Not more than swords, mate,—Esrael responded.—Without them the words would be useless.
—Your words make sense,—the dragon, having stepped on the little bridge over the narrow river, streaming through dozens of little smooth stones, agreed.—Alright — let's just forget it. We are to find the library.
—You know, sometimes I just can't understand elves: every damn house is a copy of the other one. As if they were all created by the same architect,— Esrael, having taken the wrong turn, irritatedly complained.—How will we find it now?
—I think, we've just answered your question,—the dragon replied and suddenly stopped, having pointed on the beautiful wooden building, which represented a dreamlike mansion, which could be probably seen on the pages of elvish books: it was truly gigantic structure, richly festooned with dozens of bas-relieves, which represented beorns, Griffins and two tall ents, holding a book in their branch-like arms, wrapped in the violet ribbon. The roof of the house was occupied by the glorious statue of a blue-winged eagle, which spread its wings in the west and the east; that eagle was the symbol of elvish wisdom, rationality and reasonableness. Straight under that bas-relief, an inscription, formed with rubies, said: "Books are the only source of the world's enlightenment".
—That's incredible!—Esrael, examining the glorious statue of Ruthram's eagle, admirably exclaimed.—Now I see how true respect for knowledge and education looks like.
—That's the main reason they were called "the chroniclers of the Gods",—the dragon, slowly coming up the precious aspen steps, explained. Before entering the library, he took his human disguise.—As far as I'm aware, half of Uniearth's chronicles are written by elves. It is said that they were first to follow Zeus's admonition and swear to protect every single being of this world, write its history and remember the world's most fatal mistakes in order not to let them happen ever again. I don't know if it is absolutely true, but it sounds pretty fascinating, doesn't it?
—For sure it does,—Esrael, having opened the door of the main temple of the world's knowledge, enthusiastically agreed. He was instantly whirled by the unique smell of old book pages, imprisoned in hard bindings of thousands of books, which had been standing on the accurately-made stiff aspen shelves for hundreds of years. The ceiling of that temple of the cultural inheritance of the world was decorated with dozens of colorful frescos and paintings, which represented glorious moments of elvish history. Inside it was bright as if it was the middle of the daytime. There were no molted wax candles, no classic dirty mine torches, no wide lusters, filled with candles — the only source of light radiated through the wide windows, which penetrated through the dense foliage of Loriel's forest. But the most admirable part of this place was, of course, the volume of books, left in that glorious temple of wisdom: the scratched shelves were crowded with straight streams of books of all kinds and colors, which greeted our heroes with their accurate bindings. That was probably the largest library our heroes had ever encountered in their lives. That's why they were trying not to get lost. And they clearly understood that their searches would be fruitless, if they dared to seek an old map with the image of long-forgotten source of Infinite Life; nevertheless, they had no other option than to rummage in the enormous pile of books and scripts, so they meticulously examined every shelf, trying to reach their aim. It seemed that their quest was signed with the mark of eternity: no ancient history book had even the smallest piece of information about that mysterious place, long lost in the dense bush of Loriel's forest. Exhausted after hours of fruitless search, Esrael and the dragon seemed to lose heart, when suddenly a cheerful voice addressed to them:
—Greetings, strangers! What can I do for you?
The presence of anyone in the library in that part of the day was unexpected for our heroes, so they startlingly looked back. They saw a young elf, about twenty years old, whose blue eyes peacefully and kindly stared at the strangers with pure curiosity. His long golden hair, accurately brushed with a copper comb, slightly touched his narrow shoulders. But the most remarkable part of his appearance was the fluffy raccoon's tail, attached to his narrow leather belt.
—Good afternoon. We really appreciate your help,—the dragon replied, having scratched back of his head.—Well... We're looking for the map of the forest: we are in search of the Source of Infinite Life, and we need something useful to orientate. We need to find the Keeper of the Good.
—Oh! I see! Just hold on for a second, will you?—the elf replied and, having rubbed his hands impatiently, hastened somewhere, nearly tripping over little columns of books on the floor. Meanwhile, our heroes were admirably examining the interior of the reservoir of elvish knowledge, the librarian was rummaging through dozens of books, trying to find the necessary scroll. Hardly had Esrael and the dragon pass to another shelf, the elf, having grabbed a tractate about healing herbals from Esrael's hands, the page of which the hero of Eldoras was going to use as a toothpick, elf cleared his throat and, having put the necessary scroll on the table, proudly concluded: —At last, I've found it! It looks beautiful! May I make some things clear — who are you and what has led you to this place? I'm really sorry for my curiosity: guests are not frequent visitors out here.
—We... Um... We are the heroes of the battle for Eldoras,—the dragon replied.—We were lucky to survive those doomed days of the siege. Fortunately, your troops arrived just in time to save us all. We're very grateful to your prince.
—Wonderful!—the elf, having squeezed startled dragon's hand, exclaimed.— It's a pleasure for me to help you in searches for such an important person. His presence would be vital in these hard times.
—You're undoubtedly right,—Esrael, having put his hand on the table, agreed.—Let's get back to business, shall we? We have a little request — could you please show you the place, where we can find him?
—Let me see,—the young librarian, having bent over the map, curiously replied.—Well, well, well... What do we have here... According to the chronicles the source is located, "where light surrounds itself with the heat, where spirits are proudly singing. Where ents sing songs with a neat, where spells of evil are fading".
—And what exactly that place is?—the dragon wondered.
—Oh my... That is the most sacred place, the source of life for our forest and all nature of our lands,—the elf delightedly lengthened.—No mortal can touch its treasure — only the Keeper of the Good has the power to do so. The chosen one.
—And how we're supposed to know who "the chosen one" is?—Esrael clarified.
—No mortal is worthy to know that,—the librarian replied regretfully.—Only the gods have the power to decide, whose soul is ready to accept such a heavy burden. Forth! And do not be afraid: Zeus will lead you.
—Accept our most sincere gratitude!—the dragon replied, smiling.—Thank you for the map and such a hospitable welcome!
—Not at all!—the librarian, having given our heroes the map, replied. Having accepted the gift, Esrael respectfully bowed and headed for the exit. The dragon did the same kind gesture and followed his friend. But hardly had they faded out of sight, the voice of their new familiar stopped them:
—And remember — only the pure soul will accept the gift of the gods of Uniearth! When you meet the Keeper of the Good, don't let the selfish wishes overwhelm your mind for there's no salvation for those, whose souls are not clean!
—Understood,—Esrael replied and, having waited for the dragon, obscured behind the tough wooden doors, having left the librarian along with his thoughts.
Having exited the library and walked down the flexible aspen steps, Esrael elbowed on the railing, meticulously untied the knot on the scroll and, expecting pure excitement, slowly unwrapped the ancient charter of elvish ancestors. But how surprised he was, when instead of clear representation of landscape and marks he saw hundreds of strange sings, which would be probably impossible to solve even for the head of Tirualian academy. Everything written was pretty familiar to the ork's love letter (reader, please, forgive me for such a racist comparison), rather than to the result of meticulous work of the best pates of elvish race. All the attempts of our heroes to see any marking by turning the map in every direction were fruitless.
—Oh, no,—the dragon, having scratched the back of his head, sighed.—That is not an easy task to accomplish. We're done with the scroll, but we can't read it. Oh my... Our skills of typography leave much to be desired.
—Don't be sheepish,—Esrael, lively examining the scratchy piece of paper, assured.—We're gonna' make it. Let's just make the markings clear, shall we? Alright... It seems to be the north! Or the south... Or the east? What do you think?
All of a sudden, during Esrael's map examination, the large fluffy black clouds appeared over the Loriel's forest, shielding bright daylight with their dark curls, ready to pour furious flow of Zeus's merciless on our heroes' heads. The thunder broke the silence, and millions of tiny Poseidon's liquid creations barraged on Loriel, penetrating through its forest's foliage shield. Observing irritated citizens' fleeing to their tiny houses, shutting doors and windows, the dragon took his original form.
—I thought it couldn't get worse,—he grinned, observing little drops sliding his ultramarine scale.—We neither can read nor save it.
—We've been screwed! Damn it!—Esrael furiously threw the map in the ground.—It's just a cheapie! "Holy map", — he said. Screw that shit!
In that moment Esrael angrily clutched his fists and started furiously trampling down the soaked piece of paper, shouting:
—Glorious Zeus! Tell us, do we really deserve this curse? Why do you treat us like that? Do you wish our death, our suffering on this land? Give us an answer! I order you — answer!
All of a sudden, purely unexpectedly for both adventure hunters, the lightning stroke right into the map. The dragon and Esrael were thrown apart from the map due to the power of the blow. In the place, where the map had lied, a tiny pile of ash remained; it was rapidly being washed away by tiny water streams. Startled at the seen, Esrael literally dropped his hands. After that, having grabbed his head in desperation, he nervously laughed, emerging alerted dragon's reaction.
—Man... I'm the dumbest person in the whole world, aren't I?—Esrael said with nervous, nearly mad laughing.—I really do have the nerve to go against Zeus! But not the brain, not the brain! Who am I to do such things? Who am I against the Gods, against Zeus himself! What a shithead I am!
The dragon didn't pay any attention to Esrael's desperate monologue, which seemed to transform into a tragicomedy, and suspiciously examined the ashes. "The lightning couldn't hit the map by chance,—the dragon started to rationalize, having sat on the wet ground.—There are plenty of trees around... That's pretty ridiculous". Observation of the paper remains didn't have any useful consequences: black pieces of the burnt map were rapidly whirling in the air by the slight blowing of the wind. But all of a sudden our hero's eyes caught something suspicious and truly amazing, which could not be done by the mother-nature's will: the remains of the scroll, which seemed to be lost forever, instantly started to move and assemble into a tiny pile, forming a square piece of birch bark.
—Hey, Esrael, look!—the dragon exclaimed.—Can you see that?! This is crazy!
But his friend didn't utter a word: he couldn't believe his eyes. Everything that was happening before him at that moment with a simple piece of ancient writing, didn't have any logical or magical explanation. Hardly had our heroes got startled at the seen, their amazed eyes witnessed the magnificent apparition of the map, which now had hundreds of landmarks and routes. Esrael, shining with delight, instantly grabbed the map with shaking hands and started examining every corner of that piece of Uniearth's salvation.
—This is incredible!—he exclaimed, nearly crying of happiness.—The gods are on our side after all! They want to help us! We're saved! We're saved!
—Look!—the dragon, having pointed on the black circle on the map, surrounded by the image of the row of trees, exclaimed. That circle contained shapes of waves and whirls in it. It definitely was the Source of Infinite Life. The legend contained a quote: "The walk is bowed before the walker". Esrael gave the dragon an excited look.
—This is it...—the dragon murmured.—Without a fail!
—Unbelievable!—Esrael happily laughed.—It seems that the Gods are on our side after all! We... We should...
—Yes, Esrael,—the dragon, having clapped his comrade on the back, confirmed.—The sooner, the better. I'll follow your way.
Esrael nodded. His soul was again enlightened with hope. It sparkled even brighter than in Eldoras. Now he realized that at that moment it was more than just a sparkle: his soul was in the fire of joy and everlasting hope. Having drawn a deep breath and proudly straightened his back, Esrael unwrapped the map and determinedly headed to the city's gates, behind which the last remained the hope of Uniearth, hidden in the dense foliage of Loriel's forest, — the lurked source of Infinite Life. Our heroes had no doubt that it would save them and all the Uniearth from chaos. But their expectations were fragile: none of them supposed, which form their salvation was going to take.