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At noon a palace maiden knocked on the door to Aliana’s room and informed her that His Majesty King Solin required her presence in the throne room. Surprised by this, she finished packing her meager belongings for the return trip and hurried through the well-guarded hallways that led from her bedchamber to the grand throne room.

The moment she entered the impressive space she was fascinated by the beauty and majesty of everything that surrounded her. It was a room of immense proportions, with an exceptionally high oval ceiling decorated with rich tapestries in blue and silver to match the royal colors. Splendid paintings and portraits of the royal family dressed the stone walls on one side while vibrantly colored epic murals of great feats of the past adorned the other.

The room exuded both elegance and soberness, in keeping with the character of the Rogdonians. Tall rectangular columns rose up to the ceiling forming a regal corridor leading to the imposing throne. The royal guard was situated all along the length of the corridor of pillars. Aliana noticed that additional guards were posted against the walls and on both sides next to the throne. Ever since the attack on the Prince, the castle and the entire city had been sealed off and fortified to guarantee the royal family’s safety.

She approached the throne, noticing as she proceeded that those present seemed to be carrying on a heated discussion. She recognized His Majesty King Solin and Her Majesty Queen Eleuna who were seated on their magnificent thrones wrapped in colorful velvet and adorned with fine embroideries of pure gold.

Gerart was next to his parents, and in front of him were two people Aliana did not know. The man who was on the Prince’s left was dressed in ornate silver armor embossed with gold that dazzled in the light pouring in from the high windows. His face was covered by a thick black beard that nearly reached down to his chest. From his broad shoulders hung an elegant blue cape with the emblem of the kingdom. He looked to be about fifty years old, and looked as though he was an experienced soldier.

She then focused her attention on the man to the right of the Prince. He was small, his body fragile and aged, with hair as white as the snow. She could not tell his exact age but guessed he was around sixty. He was arguing with Gerart and his voice sounded sharp.

“I’m sorry, my Prince, but we cannot presume that the attack on you was the work of the Nocean Empire. We need more evidence than what we currently have before we arrive at that conclusion. That is my take on it.”

“A poisoned Nocean arrow that nearly ended my life is enough evidence for me!” responded Gerart angrily.

“The dangerous game of intrigue and politics is terribly complicated and confusing, my young prince,” said the old man.

“I assure you that the ones who attacked my cavalry column were Nocean archers. They had dark skin, short bows and scimitars—all typical of the southern tribes. They were men of the desert and their clothing was Nocean. I am not some young fool; I can think and use my judgment perfectly well. My guard killed several of the attackers and they were Nocean—most definitely. Of course, I am not as astute or as experienced in political intrigue or matters of the court as you are, Royal Advisor Urien, but I know how to recognize a Nocean.”

The old man nodded, turned away as if formulating his response, then continued.

“I don’t doubt that your men saw Noceans, and even that those you killed were Nocean. What I really doubt, though, is that the Nocean Empire—currently experiencing difficulties in the Southwest with riots and internal uprisings—would want to start a war with the northern kingdoms. Our spies have informed us that several of the regions under its yoke are at the foot of war and the riots are causing problems for the regents of the Empire. It doesn’t fit... This isn’t the right time... They have nothing to gain and much to lose by starting a war,” reasoned the Royal Advisor.

“I agree with you on that point, Advisor Urien,” said King Solin. “What do you think, Drocus? Does it make sense from a military point of view? Give us your opinion as First General of the Army.

Drocus cleared his throat before answering.

“No, it does not make much sense. Especially knowing as we do that we signed an alliance with the kingdom of Norghana years ago. With the support of the men of the snows, they would be defeated, beyond a shadow of a doubt. All it would take would be one royal missive to the Far Northeast—to the snow-covered lands of Norghana—for their devastating heavy infantry, the Invincibles of the Ice, to back us up. With them at our side any attempt at an invasion on the part of the Nocean Empire would be doomed to failure. Think about it... It also doesn’t make much sense that there would be an isolated attack against a member of the royal family without the backing or repositioning of their army. Their troops started maneuvering
after
we closed the border, not before,” concluded the veteran general.

Solin stood up from his throne, his face drawn.

“In fact, something doesn’t fit in this whole scenario. I think we are being manipulated. Someone is trying to create instability in the West. The question is, who?” asked the King, sounding displeased.

Just then, he noticed that Aliana was at the far end of the room and motioned for her to join them.

“Welcome, Aliana. Please come in and allow me to introduce you to Drocus, First General of the Army, and to Urien, my closest Advisor. Gentlemen, this is the young Healer, Aliana, from the Order of Tirsar, to whom we owe Gerart’s life.”

Aliana greeted them with a nod and the two men bowed solemnly—a time-honored gesture of courtesy in the court of Rogdon—before the young Healer.

“The reason I have called you together is that we need your help once again,” explained the King without preamble.

“I am at your disposal, Your Majesty,” she humbly replied, lowering her eyes.

“We have a complicated problem we need to solve given the current political situation which, as you know, is especially turbulent. War with our cunning rivals from the South could break out at any moment. But that is not why I have summoned you here. There is another delicate, extremely important issue you may be able to help us with.”

The King looked at her intently and she cringed a little, wondering how a simple Healer like her could help people as powerful as the ones assembled there.

Solin softened his expression. “I believe you know of a charismatic traveler known in this kingdom by the name of Haradin...”

Aliana was surprised to hear the Mage’s name. “Yes, I do... Haradin has made regular visits to the Temple for years... He and the Master Healer share a close friendship and I am fortunate to consider him my friend.”

“Excellent. That could be helpful to us. Well, the unfortunate news is that Haradin has disappeared. It has been at least three months since anyone has seen him, and we fear something may have happened to him. We urgently need to find him, especially now that the kingdom may be going to war. Haradin is a powerful Mage, one of the most powerful on the continent—though from his looks and his joviality you would never know it. And he may look like he could not be more than thirty springs, but I assure you he has quite a few more behind him than that. In my opinion he is the most powerful Mage in all Tremia, beyond a shadow of a doubt. But he does not like to make a show of it and keeps that under wraps. We honor his wishes of anonymity since we consider him a friend of the royal family besides being the Battle Mage to the King. A few months ago he went off on one of his customary explorations from which he has not returned and we have not seen any signs of life from him since.”

“If war finally breaks out, we will need his expertise on the battlefield to deal with the Nocean Sorcerers and counteract their spells. Those magicians are tremendously adept in the dark arts. Mulko, the Regent of the North, has at his service a supremely powerful Sorcerer named Zecly, who acts as his Advisor and Master of spies,” said Drocus.

Urien cleared his throat. “The Gift, unfortunately, is not very common in our land, nor is your healing talent, Aliana. Very few people possess it in Rogdon, so it is crucial that we count on the few fortunate ones who do for the kingdom’s survival. I have summoned Mirkos the Erudite, our kingdom’s other great Mage of Power, to abandon his tower in the East and hurry to join with us here in the capital so that we can stand up to this threat from abroad. I am sure he will not relish the need to leave his studies but he will undoubtedly attend to the request of his King,” the aged advisor calmly explained.

“We are terribly worried about Haradin!” the Queen anxiously exclaimed. “He is one of our best friends and allies. And he has been both friend and defender to the royal family and the kingdom since I was young. I am so concerned! What could have happened to him? He is not normally away for such a long period of time without sending any news. I have to wonder, will he be found safe?”

Aliana nodded as she thought it through. “I understand the seriousness of the problem, Your Majesty, but how can I help?” she asked, taken aback by the request for her assistance.

“The last thing he said to us before he left was that he was going off in search of an artifact of great power. He did not specify its location, but he mentioned that a document in the library of the Temple of Tirsar had provided a valuable clue that he had to pursue.”

“I see; now I understand. With the Sisters’ help I can try to find that document in our library and see if I can come to some conclusion about that clue and where he was headed.”

“That would be wonderful!” said the Queen. “Perhaps we will be able to find it. We will make available to you whatever might help you with the search. I am sure the key is in that library and with the divine grace of the guiding Light we shall find it.”

“Let’s hope so. I refuse to believe that something terrible has happened. Not to him. He is too intelligent and powerful,” said the King.

“Sometimes even the greatest men suffer unforeseeable difficulties,” commented Urien, keeping his tone as even as possible so as not to unduly alarm anyone. 

“Father, Sir, if it is agreeable to you, since this is a serious problem for the state, I would like to lead the search,” Gerart volunteered.  

“Are you sure you are well enough to carry out this task?” asked his father, looking at him fixedly.

“I am, Father. I have been training and practicing with the soldiers for days now, and I feel perfectly fine,” assured the Prince.

“Are you sure, Son? You were on the verge of death; only through the miraculous intervention by the Sisters of the Temple of Tirsar did we not lose you,” pressed his mother, noticeably worried.

“I am. Please don’t worry. Aliana has done an incredible job of helping me recover in a short time. Besides, I need a bit of activity, and the mission should not be dangerous.”

Solin looked at his son for a moment, undecided, then finally agreed.

“Very well, so be it. Choose your men and leave for the Temple. When you discover the course Haradin took, organize your search and rescue. Keep me informed of what you find out. In the meantime, we will secure the kingdom and prepare ourselves for a possible invasion from the South. Let us hope that you find the Mage of the Four Elements before the army of the Nocean Empire launches an invasion offensive. If not, we will be at a clear disadvantage. I am leaving this in your hands, Gerart. Find Haradin. Rogdon needs him.”

“I will find him and bring him back, Father. You have my word of honor.”

The trip toward the coast of Rogdon was going smoothly and Kayti, Hartz, and Komir were moving along the wide dirt path at a good clip. The morning prior they had left the thick forests behind them and now the countryside was opening up before their eyes, revealing a large flatland carpeted in different shades of green. It was covered with high grasses and spotted with small rocky formations of a sparkling gray.

In the late afternoon they came to a fork in the path and, undecided about which way to go, stopped to consider their options. Komir rooted through his well-worn travel sack and pulled out the old map printed on leather that Suason, the tribe’s Healer, had given him. He studied it for a moment, trying to establish their current position.

“Based on the number of days we’ve been traveling southwest in Rogdonian territory, I would say we... are already close, a little north of the big port city of Ocorum. Maybe a day away, no more than a day and a half, if my estimation is correct and we haven’t veered too far off course... I’m not really skilled at using maps and my sense of direction isn’t great... but I think once we get to the top of those hills we’ll be able to see the sea on the horizon and definitely the great Egia Lighthouse that’s a half day north of the city, from what Amtoko told me.”

“The trail splits off in two directions—toward the south and toward the west. Which do we take?” asked Hartz.

“Let’s head west; it should get us to the cliffs on the coast. From there we should be able to see our destination, the lighthouse. The path heading south probably leads to Ocorum, or maybe it continues inland toward Rilentor, the great capital of the kingdom.”

“Why are you going to that lighthouse, if I may ask?” Kayti asked softly.

Hartz looked at Komir.

Komir, reflecting for a moment on his response and seeing the worry on his friend’s face, answered slowly. “I have a mission to carry out. It’s personal... and very important to me. That lighthouse is part of the path toward what I am seeking. The first stop on my quest.” 

“Hmmm... I understand. I’m sorry I was so bold—I didn’t mean to be intrusive. The reasons that led you to come here is none of my concern, especially if they are personal. If you wish, I could accompany you to the lighthouse. I would like to help you if the opportunity should arise. After all, you saved my life; I owe you a debt of gratitude. Perhaps I could be of some use on your mission, and since Ocorum is the closest city, it’s not really out of my way,” the young woman offered.

“I don’t mind if you go with us, I welcome your help. But remember that we are in charge.” Komir began walking westward again, not waiting for a reply.

Not long after they reached the summit of the hill and the never-ending sea welcomed them with its beautiful azure smile. Its sky-blue vastness, like a magical dream, enveloped them in a blanket of calm. The landscape was spectacular, and the three travelers stopped in their tracks, completely enchanted, to take it all in. They were at the edge of a high cliff from which they could see the ocean stretching infinitely out toward the horizon. Twilight was gently settling in, embellishing the sunset with its soft golden hues. Ikzuge, Goddess of the Sun, was making her inexorable descent toward the sea, concealing herself in it in her perpetual cycle as she gave way to her sister Igrali, Goddess of the Moon, who would soon be decorating the heavens surrounding them. As the golden Goddess slipped into the sea, she bathed the skyline with a stunning cape of golds and ambers. Little by little, she sleepily tucked away her warm presence. The sky, a living mirror of the sea, was momentarily saturated with a soft orange radiance that submerged them in peace and tranquility.

The three gazed at the incomparable sunset as they sat resting on the grass, having something to eat from their provisions: dried meat, hard bread, a bit of cheese.

A short distance to the south, they could make out a fire burning at the very top of the impressive Egia Lighthouse. It was located where the land jutted out from a steep cliff that dropped into the sea with not the least bit of fear of its fury. It was a gigantic construction made of white stone, more than forty yards high and rectangular in shape. The windows were placed in twos on each of the four the walls of the edifice. Beneath a pointed roof at the top burned the fire that warned ships heading toward the city of Ocorum of the lethal rocks and cliffs of the coast.

Komir was surprised at the magnitude of the imposing structure. It was much bigger than he had imagined it from what he’d heard in his village. To put up something of those proportions would have taken an enormous amount of design and construction work—years of hard labor. The Norriel were not notable builders; their buildings were basic and functional, so this impressive structure fascinated him. How could the people of Rogdon have built something so immense?

In the lower part of the lighthouse were two metal doors. Protecting the doors at the base of the structure, a high, thick, circular wall rose up to form a barrier that prevented access to the lighthouse and served as a defensive perimeter in case of attack. Fortunately, there did not seem to be a garrison of Rogdonian soldiers stationed in the tower. 

“What do we do, Komir? Do we go now or wait until daybreak?” Hartz asked as he looked toward the lighthouse.

“Let’s wait until morning. At night, in an enclosed tower, we won’t see much—even with torches.”

“All right. Then let’s make a small fire and get some sleep. The rest will do us good. But I think it’s best if we keep watch like we have been doing. I prefer to sleep less—but safe,” Hartz said, half smiling.

“I’m with you.”

Hartz organized the plan as he gathered some dry sticks for the fire. “Kayti, you do the first watch, then Komir and, lastly, your faithful servant.”

“You don’t always have to put me on first watch, you know. That kind of chivalry makes me doubt if you two are really the wild mountain men you say you are,” teased Kayti.

“Ha! I do believe you are completely right about that. We are not honoring our reputation as brutes and savages that we Norriel have worked so hard to earn,” replied Hartz, between laughs. His deep laughter was so contagious that Komir could not help but start laughing, too. Kayti watched them a moment and then joined in the fun, laughing along with the two Norriel.

They set up camp with renewed enthusiasm. Though the night air was mild next to the vast open sea, they lit a small fire to keep themselves warm and then lay down to rest in the comfort of its dancing flames. They could hear the rhythmic drumming of the waves tirelessly washing against walls of the cliffs with each tide. Sleep came quickly under the attentive watch of the lighthouse’s ever-vigilant flame. It seemed as though nothing could happen to them, as if they were completely protected and safe from all harm.

And embracing that sense of peacefulness, Komir dreamed.

He dreamed of a better time, a time of joy, at his beloved father’s side.

He was immersed in one of their happy days of hunting together, recalling each moment as if it were really happening. His heart was full of a joy that he would never know again.

It was the day when they had returned from hunting the dangerous wild boar of the northeastern forests, past the foggy barren plains. It had been an emotional—and dangerous—day since their prey had suddenly turned on them and they thought they would surely be met with tragedy. But luckily the two arrows—father’s and son’s—hit their target at the last second, eliminating the threat.

If hunting a wild boar was never an easy task, transporting it was even less so. Komir dreamed how they had proudly carried their kill on their shoulders and somehow managed not to collapse under its weight. He dreamed of how, on the trip back to the farm, Komir had asked Ulis about Norriel traditions—one of his favorite topics. He never tired of hearing about them.

“Tell me, Father, is the legend of Enesis true? Or is it just a myth made up by our ancestors as part of the tribe’s folklore?” he had asked in hopes of getting his father to tell him the familiar story again.

Ulis squatted down beside him, drank from the spring and, after vigorously washing his face and hair, replied, “It is not a myth, Komir. The legend is true, and that’s why it has been passed down from fathers to sons for many generations. All young people in the tribe begin their training as warriors at the age of six, according to the decree of this tradition that has guaranteed the survival of our people. That training—Udag—is vital for the Norriel people. Otherwise, the powerful kingdom of Rogdon and other nations more advanced than ours would have conquered and annexed us long ago. That we are still free is thanks to our formidable warriors who have fended off the last two invasion attempts.”

Komir nodded.

“This tradition was created and imposed by Enesis the Wise, the first great leader and unifier of the northern tribes, to guarantee the longevity of his people in an era when clans were constantly fighting among themselves for control of the territory.”

“Then, is it true that it was Enesis who created Udag after a bloody loss?”

Ulis sat down in the grass and invited his son to sit next to him so he could tell him the story, as his father had done with him and his father’s father before him.

Komir sat down and listened in delight. 

“The Norriel legend tells of Enesis, one cold winter morning, in the middle of a thick fog, suffering a bitter defeat in a bloody battle on the plains to the south of the Laihi River. During the battle, his only son, Ebar, was killed. His warriors had been beaten by a fewer number of adversaries who were more highly skilled. He knew then and there that his warriors’ training had to change. An expert, well-trained and well-prepared warrior was of more value than three inexperienced warriors. Mere numbers did not ensure victory. Enesis, seized by fury and grief, took Ebar’s lifeless body in his arms, walked to the middle of the plaza of the town under his protection and cried out to the heavens at the top of his lungs, overcome with anguish, cursing the day and swearing that nothing like that would ever happen again. Showing his son’s body to all the people gathered there, he proclaimed the beginning of a new era, an era of empowering the tribe in honor of his fallen son who would never take over his place as ruler. He organized a competition among all the warriors of the tribe to determine who was the best, most skilled fighter. The winner was sworn in as Master Warrior, a title that would carry great honor and responsibility. He created that position of privilege with the singular objective of teaching and training all the warriors in the tribe, men as well as children. The Master Warrior would renounce his former profession and his life would be dedicated exclusively to the study, perfecting, and teaching of combat. That would be his purpose from that day on. In turn, the Master Warrior would choose his assistants from among the warriors who demonstrated the best skills with different weapons and would so create a hierarchy of instructors. And so, the legend goes, Udag was born, and that is why today in each village there is a Master Warrior who conducts daily training for men, women, and children from the age of six on.”

“A wise man.”

“Yes, with a vision born out of pain from the loss of his son, but which served to strengthen the tribe. With time, Enesis became the first great leader of the Norriel people and succeeded in uniting almost all of the northern tribes, some through conquest and subjugation and others through blood oaths. He built up an extensive territory that stretched throughout the highlands, the present-day lands of the Norriel. Many of our current traditions and tribal laws that have been passed from generation to generation were created during Enesis’ reign; that’s where the nickname ‘The Wise’ came from. Remember these words, Komir. Remember the legend, because someday you will be able to proudly pass it on to your own son.”

Komir smiled and shook his head. “It will be a long time until that day arrives, Father, but I will do it—you can be sure of that. The legend is our tradition and an important part of our legacy and I will pass it on to my children—if I have some one day.”

“You will have them, young Norriel. Someday, you will have them. And always honor the traditions of your lineage so your offspring may be the guardians and messengers of your people’s knowledge.”

“I will, Father.”

They stood up again, carrying the precious boar on their backs and resuming their journey toward their village.

After walking awhile they stopped to drink from the river. The cool, fresh water, descending on its winding path from the soul of the high mountains, calmed their thirst and their spirits.

Komir dreamed of gazing at his father’s smiling face, enjoying the coolness of the water and his company. He had deeply loved that man... had learned so much from him and spent incomparable moments under his wing...

Knowledge from a Norriel father instilled in his son through oral tradition.

A time of joy and happiness.

An evocation of a better time.

That pleasant and comforting tableau, so vivid that Komir could not tell if it was just a dream, brought him the calm he was longing for. And for the first time in a very long time, he slept.

A restful sleep, free from nightmares.