Disclaimer: I don’t own Beyblade.

I’m using the Japanese-version names:

Yuri = Tala    Giancarlo = Enrique  

Takao = Tyson     

Sergey = Spencer

Boris = Bryan

 

For All Who Gave Their Lives

 

Chapter 7: The Bard

 

Tomorrow will take us away

Far from home

Noone will ever know our names

But the bards' songs will remain

Tomorrow all will be known

And You're not alone

So don't be afraid

In the dark and cold

'Cause the bards' songs will remain

They all will remain

                                   (‘The Bard’s Song’ Blind Guardian)

 

 The four returned to the inn. The main room had gotten a deal more crowded. At one table sat a small young woman. Suddenly one of the more drunken patrons came near to her. It didn’t look to good for her.

-         ‘Ey, no need do zit alone, zolly. – he slurred.

-         Hasn’t your mother told you, not to bug ladies? – she answered, narrowing her brows. The man moved forward, when somebody grabbed his arm.

-         Go bug someone else. – Yuri growled. – Or even better get somber.

-         Iz tha… - the man wanted to tell something, but the redhead pushed him back so he landed on the lap of completely shocked merchant. The young woman looked at the half-elf with perky smile. She had big black eyes, which twinkled impishly. Her hair was black and braided into two long pigtails. Four shorter strands were left loose and died in bright yellow, green, red and blue – each in one colour. It wasn’t the only thing on her, which was in vibrant colours: her dress was bright blue with a green-yellow flower embroidered on the top. Underneath she had a white blouse. She seemed to have an air of childish innocence combined with perky impishness around her.

-         Thank you. – she said, sounding very cheerful. – It’s nice of you.

-         I agree. – another person spoke up – a young man, who just came in. He had pale blond hair and gray-blue eyes. His clothing was a combination of red, bright yellow and blue, which left only one conclusion – this fellow was a bard.

-         Gianny! – squealed the woman cheerfully.

-         Please dear cousin, don’t call me that. – the bard sounded slightly annoyed and maybe ashamed. – My name is Giancarlo.

-         Gianny sounds much cuter. – she pouted.

-         Anyway, it was nice of you to help my cousin, my friend. – Giancarlo said to Yuri. – But my dear cousin could have dealt with this sod on her own.

-         Ye be from Venezza? – Sergey chimed in.

-         Yes.

-         ‘E be tellin’ the truth, Yuri. – the sailor started explaining. – The lasses there be ‘avin’ those large knives, which be ‘urtin’ ye more when ye be pullin’ it out than when ye be puttin’ it in.

-         I have that. – the girl smiled. – But I’m happy, I didn’t have to use it. It would be so nasty!

-         Nasty?.. – Boris piped up. – You’d mess up the whole floor! Das wäre ein verfluchter Schlachthaus!

-         Cosa? – the blond bard asked.

-         Oh, stop that! – growled the half-elf. – You don’t want me to start talking northern. Now, can we sit down here? There are no free places by now, anyway.

-         Please do. – the black-haired woman smiled friendly.

-         I’m Yuri son of Louhi. The big ugly guy is Sergey.

-         Very funny, pretty boy.

-         The blue-haired one is Takao Kinomiya and the pale one is Boris. – continued the warrior ignoring the sailor’s annoyance.

-         Pleased to meet you. I am Giancarlo Donatore and this is my cousin Lucrezia.

-         You’re a bard, right? – inquired the redhead.

-         I’m a minstrel. – huffed Giancarlo.

-         What’s the difference?

-         Minstrels are only from Venezza and a bard can be from anywhere. – he said sounding slightly stuck up. – I am looking for topics for my poems and…

-         I’m practicing magic! – chipped cheerfully Lucrezia. Yuri blinked. It seemed it was his lucky day: first he met that thief, now he meets a mage, whom he could probably convince to join him. He smiled and immediately noticed the black-haired mage was grinning cheerfully to him, almost as if she knew what he was thinking.

-         Ye be from a merchant family? – asked Sergey.

-         Yes, but I’m a younger son and Lucrezia… - started the minstrel, but Boris broke in.

-         Don’t start raving about your family connections. – he growled. – Das geht mich einen feuchten Dreck an.

-         But you know the tale of Iron Hill? – Takao addressed Giancarlo, sounding both pleading and curious.

-         Ah-h-h… You want to hear about the greatest battle between orcs and humans? – the blonde Venezzian smiled. - Let me tell you than… The Grand War started because there were so many orcs that they had no place to live. Those foul creatures wanted to take the lands we humans rightfully owned. They attacked town and country folk alike, killing every living being: man, women and even innocent children. Soon humans reacted and started fighting back. There were many battles but the most important was that near a small mining town called Iron Hill. The human army was lead by the Lord General Siegfried von Meeresburg. The orcs didn’t seem to have a leader at all. It seemed that the human forces should win, but the orcs encircled them, when they were trying to attack them from the flanks. And than a miracle happened! The Gods dropped a great net and picked all humans up with the help of it. The orcs, being the stupid creatures they are, didn’t stop attacking and killed themselves, without even scratching one human.

-         The last part is utter nonsense. – huffed Lucrezia. – Everybody knows that mages helped them in the crucial moment.

-         My father always said it was either an army of elves or mages. – shrugged Yuri. – But I forgot the legendary part.

-         What’s wrong with the net? – wondered Boris. – It’s not as we’ll ever find out, so why worry?

-         Oh, ye all stop yer yappin’. – snorted Sergey. – I nay be interested in all that. Takao can be askin’ ye later, about whatever ‘e be wantin’, but without me.

-         Sure. – the half-elf nodded. – I said all I knew, anyway. Oh, by the way would you happen to know something about a lich named Balkov? – he said, unaware of how much his demeanor changed, of how dangerous he started looking.

-         No. – stated Giancarlo, looking taken aback. – Are you… looking for him?

-         Yes.

-         If it wouldn’t bother you we’d like to join you. – the minstrel continued. – If you kill him, I’ll have great material for a tale.

 The half-elf regarded them. The blond man seemed to be slightly nervous and probably would be of great use in fight, but his cousin – as a mage – would give them great advantage. The young woman smiled at him friendly, as if she heard what he was thinking.

-         Please do. – the red-haired warrior finally answered.

 

 

A/N

 Minstrels were Italian and French musicians in Middle Ages.

 Bard’s are typical for Celtic culture.

Translations:

Das wäre ein verfluchter Schlachthaus! (German) – That would a damned slaughterhouse!

Das geht mich einen feuchten Dreck an. (German) – ‘I’m not interested.’ Said in a rude way.

Cosa? (Italian) – What?

 

Go to chapter 8

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