Chapter I:
The Troubled Son of Biron
Strange Dreams
There are two kinds of people in the world, those who speak whatever comes to their minds, whether for good or for ill, and those who for good or for ill do not. Daryas Galvahirne was of this latter class, though his people, the Noras, were almost entirely of the former. The Noras, and the Galvahirne Clan in particular, were known for being bold and strong-minded, if not thickheaded and rash; they were prone to speak hastily and without any thought of their audience. But young Daryas seemed to be nothing like his countrymen in this regard. He expressed himself sparingly, especially when it concerned his thoughts and sentiments. He was certainly not the sort of person who looked to others for counsel or advice without cause. But lately Daryas had been troubled by strange dreams and he found that he could no longer keep his troubled thoughts to himself. So when the day was over and the sun sank behind the peak of Mount Coronis, he set himself before a fire and laid his dark thoughts out before his friend. The two of them had been scouting in the mountains now for three days, but they had not yet found any trace of their enemies.
'The dream is always the same,' he explained, 'No matter how many times I dream it. And no matter how hard I try, nothing changes. I am always left in the end with the same riddle and the same fear.
'In my dream I am always running. There are trees all around me, and the sun is hidden from me completely. Whether it is night, or whether it is the canopy of leaves that hides the light from my eyes, I cannot tell. Why I am running I have never discovered, but nonetheless I am frantic, panting. I look down at the ground and see that I am leaving behind me a trail of blood.
'Abruptly I enter into a dark and ominous place and I hear a voice, but I see no one. A quiet but malicious voice says:
'"Answer me swiftly mortal, for I am about to die. Forget Hell and Flame; forget god and gavel. Leave behind you all superstition and sympathy and answer me truly. Why should I, at the moment of my death, choose that which is right over that which I have always desired? For I have paid my dues and now I have but one last choice to make."
'I am startled and I awake, never seeing who the speaker is; never able to tell what the dream portends.'
As far as young men go, there did not seem to be anything special about Daryas. He was by all accounts an average man, but of good birth. He was neither tall nor short, sturdy or frail; in every way it seemed that he was the perfect mean; 'Exceptionally unexceptional,' is how some of his father's peers described him.
He had dark brown hair, shorn just above his shoulders and even darker eyes. His brow was quite severe, giving him on the whole a grim appearance. Even in front of the bright firelight there was no sparkle in his eyes. He wore a heavy green cloak over a thick brown woolen shirt, the edges of which were adorned with a simple sylvan pattern sewn with dark green thread, and cloth trousers over which strips of fur and leather were patched together for warmth.
'Another night is coming,' Daryas said nearly in a whisper, 'and another dream with it.'
Hassan Oastirne sat silent for a moment and then after some thought he spoke. 'It isn't like you to share your dreams, Daryas,' Hassan grinned. 'And it is not at all like a man of Noras to be troubled with nightmares. I would have expected more courage from a Cheftan's son.'
'It isn't the dream itself,' Daryas said, now beginning to regret saying anything, 'It is the return of the dream - the constant return of this same dream night by night that is troubling me.'
'Perhaps the dream means nothing.' Hassan suggested. 'I will tell you plainly, my friend, that I refuse to take any comfort in the thought that dreams portend things to come. That is the sort of thinking that will drive a man mad. I know what the sages say, but I pay it no heed. I've had too many useless dreams to believe in omens. Perhaps, if nothing else, you can take some comfort in that.'
Hassan was of the other class of men who speak quickly, often without giving his words a thought. He was as well known for his quick tongue as for his skill in battle.
Hassan was a tall, slender man with bright golden hair that betrayed his Knarse ancestry, for men of pure Noras blood were mostly dark haired. He was dressed in a similar cloak and wool shirt, though a bit lighter in color, and torn in a few places. He was unkempt and unwashed, even when he was not scouting in the mountains, though this generally did not seem to bother him. He was the sort of man who expected to attract very few friends, and this expectation of his was seldom disappointed. In fact, neither of the two seemed to be very interested in impressing their fellows. But for whatever reason, these two misfits found each other's company to be tolerable, and sometimes perhaps that is all that a friendship needs in order to born.
Despite his lack of friends, Hassan had a good reputation among the Noras, for he was very skilled with the bow and the sword. Some said that in all his generation there was not his equal in Noras, with the exception of course, of Daryas' older brother.
Hassan was called Sion by his comrades, though nobody knew the origin of this peculiar name. The only thing they knew was that it had some secret meaning, which only he understood, and that he hated his right name with ardor. His father was a Knarse sailor who set sail never to return when Sion was a very small boy. His mother, who was from a very ancient and honorable family of Noras, returned to her native country with the boy and was married to a Cheftan named Ponteris Oastirne. Her marriage to a man of noble blood restored at least some of the honor that had been stripped from her family during her ill-fated sojourn among the 'golden-heads'.
Cheft Ponteris seemed to resent Sion, as he served as a constant reminder of his wife's former lover. It seemed to Cheft Ponteris that it would have been better for the man to have died than to have simply run off. As it was, he could never quite rest easy knowing that somewhere on the wide oceans of the world sailed the man who was the rightful father of his heir. His own dreams were frequently haunted by the return of a vengeful man of the sea, coming to claim his son and bride.
There was also a great deal of gossip and whispering about the marriage of a noble-born Cheftan to a woman who was by no means a virgin. But for reasons of his own Cheft Ponteris took the woman as his wife and adopted her son as his own and granted him all the privileges of a Cheftirne, that is, a Cheftan's son. But of this we will learn more when the time comes.
For his part Sion detested his stepfather, and resented the fact that his mother's affections were wasted on him.
Daryas was sharpening the edge of his knife against a stone, which gave his anxious hands something to busy themselves with while he spoke. Sion, in contrast, sat perfectly calm, not seeming to notice his comrade's nervous motions.
The two men were sitting before the entrance of a small cloth shelter on the side of a hill. The Coronan mountain range loomed high above them to the west, casting a dark shadow over their tiny camp and all the lands that lay behind them.
Daryas sighed. He was no more eager to find a meaning in his nightmare than his friend. He paused for a moment and then continued, 'Still, it is hard to ignore such a consistent and alarming vision. And the same dream, so many nights in a row hardly seems like an unhappy coincidence. Can this really be the work of chance alone?'
'But if not chance then what?' Sion laughed. 'Are you a seer now?'
'Don't mock me,' Daryas smiled, trying to pretend he was not insulted, 'or I will not tell you your fortune.'
Sion laughed heartily.
'You see, you do not take me seriously. Now I cannot tell you about the beautiful wife you were going to have.'
'WERE going to have?' Sion protested.
'You have angered the gods, and now you have to marry a farmer's daughter.'
'And I shall be all the happier for it, I am sure,' Sion said as he rose from his seat and stretched his arms above his head. 'It is getting late and I do not want to anger the gods any further tonight.'
'Then goodnight to you,' Daryas said, growing more irritated. Sion looked down
at his comrade for a moment and then sat back down.
'Are you going to stay awake all night?' Sion asked.
'Perhaps.'
'But what about sleep? Even seers must sleep, right?'
'I try not to sleep these days,' Daryas said as he threw another log onto the fire. For a moment their faces were illuminated as the log ignited and the ashes and sparks were unsettled.
'Tell me Daryas, do you really feel that your dreams are some kind of omen?'
'If you mean to ask what I feel, I will have to say that I feel that they are omens. But if you want to know what I think, I cannot say. All I can say for certain is that if they are an omen then I am destined to be a very unhappy man, for the dreams terrify me.' Daryas shuddered slightly as he spoke. Sion tossed a few small sticks into the fire and stood up once more.
'I will not sleep tonight,' Daryas said gloomily.
'Fight it as you may,' Sion answered, 'but I do not expect you will last long. For in the end Sleep will prove to be the master. At any rate, I am going to rest. I will let you take the first watch, since you are afraid to shut your eyes. Do not fret your dreams my friend, for they are more likely inspired less by gods and devils than by the spiced meats and moldy bread we've been eating since we left Galva Hall.'
With those words he left Daryas and entered their small shelter. He flopped down on a blanket and was quickly overcome by sleep. Daryas remained outside staring at the fire as it danced and flickered. He sat there for a long time, until the embers died down and all the world became black. Yet he did not dare shut his eyes until the sun returned from its nightly exile to warm the eastern sky behind him.
Daryas was the son of a Noras Cheftan named Biron Galvahirne. They were descended from the ancient hero Galvahir of whose fascinating tale I shall have more to say at another time. Cheft Biron was the master of the largest estate in Noras, which had been in his family's possession for the past seven generations. Of the Nine Clans of Noras, those who were born of the sons of Galvahir were considered the fiercest and strongest. They were not much taller than their Noras brethren, but their features were more harsh and their shoulders more broad, giving them a more formidable appearance. For this reason they were customarily made use of in the defense of Noras. They were particularly intimidating when clad in armor and mounted on a sturdy Noras war-horse, though the thick woods in which they lived made the use of the Galvahirne Cavalry very rare indeed.
Their hair was almost always dark brown or black, which they traditionally wore at shoulder length, though some of the older men would allow their hair to grow almost to their waists.
To say that the Galvahirne were forbearing would not give their legendary strength and endurance nearly the notice it deserves. It was often said among the Noras that, 'As the minstrel loves song and the miser loves gain; so ardently and avidly do the Galva love pain.'
Such was their reputation among their fellow Noras. The stories that have circulated about the manner in which certain admittedly brutish members of their clan discipline their own children would have appalled any outsider. From their earliest history down to the present day it seemed that this group of men were fashioned with iron for bones and leather for skin. Those who rose to prominence among them wore the scars of their nightmarish childhoods like trophies or prizes.
In this peculiar setting, Daryas was born. He was the second and last son of Cheft Biron, born to him by his wife Marima, who was of the noble Cossirne family. In her youth she was considered one of the most beautiful ladies in Noras, and so her joining to Cheft Biron was no small incident in Noras. Her family sent her to Peiraso, for that was what Lord Biron's estate was called, adorned in a brilliant white dress made from the finest silk. On her head she wore an elaborate crown of silver and diamond. With her came a train of servants bearing gifts and presents for her new husband. Nearly two thousand Noras attended their wedding; nearly all of them from the more important families.
It was not long after this that she bore her first son, whom I will describe at another time. And about six years after that she gave birth to her second son, Daryas. Cheft Biron insisted upon this name in honor of the astral lord who was said to have saved the world at the end of the Arbori Wars. He was so named because on the night of his birth a star fell from the sky and streaked through the air like a flaming whip, before splitting in two and burning out.
Lady Marima was opposed to the 'pretentious' name, but Cheft Biron's will was immovable. He explained:
'I looked in the eyes of our child and I saw the reflection of a star. It was bright, as bright as the great constellations of which the poets sing. But something was lacking, for with every sparkle of this star came a twinkle of darkness. This light waxed and waned like the flickering of a candle tossed about by the breeze.
'Each life is like a falling star, gleaming across the span of the sky in brilliance and flame. Some light up the world in the light of their wisdom. Others flicker for a moment and pass on. Some burn up in the air long before their journey's end.
'In the dark of night it appeared; an erring orb of flame. Dashing to and fro, rising and then descending. Bright red in color, brilliant, swift, but treacherous in movement and reckless in flight. Finally, it came to the outermost edge of the sky and burst into flames. At once its outside parts were burned up, revealing the inner parts. As I watched I saw a stone of immense size and of an obscure form now split in two from its violent intrusion on the Mortal Realm. The finer part descended slowly and serenely over the wooded lands in the north while the baser part screamed into the west like a hawk searching for its prey. I know not where it fell. On that night, under a spectacle of astral beauty, a soul was born. I name him Daryas, after the Lord of the Stars, who leads the armies of heaven in battle against the darkness of night.'
As a name, it was a symbol of the strength and preeminence of the Galvahirne people. But Daryas never quite fit the description. He was constantly ridiculed and taken advantage of as a child. He was not weak, but for whatever reason, he refused to defend himself. His father taught him and his brother to fight, but Daryas would never put what he had learned into practice. Against all the conventions of his people he refused to defend his honor, which to all others seemed to be more important than life itself. To his mind, solitude and silence seemed more virtuous than a good name.
He was quiet and obedient, but nevertheless a poor student. It was not that he was lacking in wisdom or intelligence, but for whatever reason he seemed to be cursed with a sort of apathy that kept him from striving for the honors that his birth and education were expected to bring him.
It was always in his father's mind to train his sons for the defense and preservation of Noras, even as his own father had done. Every day they were trained in the arts of combat as well as the politics of Eastern Weldera. Daryas' brother learned all of these willingly and enthusiastically. Daryas, however, was driven through his education like a beast of the field. In his youngest years his mother quite literally had to restrain him and teach him his letters by force. As he grew older things remained much the same, and the only thing Cheft Biron could do to coerce him into studying was to threaten him with depravations.
Regarding Goblins
But whether Daryas was prepared or not, war had come to Noras. Scouts arrived in Galva on the fifteenth day of Primus with dreadful news. Goblins had been seen on the slopes of Mount Coronis and the villages of Wesla and Cronla were all but abandoned.
'Only the burnt husks remain where the homes once stood,' the scouts reported. 'Only those who were too old and sickly to fight now remain. All the others are either slain or taken. Many men lay dead upon the ground, but of the women and children we have seen no sign.'
Of course those who were taken had no hope of rescue, for the goblins are not human enough to demand ransom. That would require a sort of cunning with which nature has not equipped them. 'Of the women, they will too soon learn the ways of the goblins, and the children will too soon forget the ways o
f mankind. My only hope,' lamented Cheft Biron as he spoke to the Galva Council, 'is that they will learn and forget swiftly, and suffer little. But we must be mindful, my brethren, that whatever course we take, whether we march or stay, we can do nothing for these poor stolen lives. If we stay, we leave them to their misery. But if we march, we bring Death upon their heads by our own hand.'
'Nevertheless,' Cheftan Ponteris added, 'we cannot leave such crimes unavenged. These goblins must be stopped, lest we find ourselves gathering again to discuss the ravaging of Oastir-la and Lavri-la in a year's time. These children and these wives and mothers - we must think of them as we do our own beloved families. Would we leave our blades sheathed if it was our own towns and cities that were being razed and robbed by these wild men?'
With these words and many others Cheft Ponteris and Cheft Biron moved the Council to action. 'We must act with urgency,' Ponteris said impassionedly. 'For the other Clans of Noras will not be so eager to come to our defense should these goblins encroach upon our lands. As it has been from the beginning, it is to Galvahir and his sons that we must look for our protection.'
He spoke these words to the Galvahirne, and he knew that they were well received. For the sons of Galvahir, more than all of the other Clans of Noras, understood the dangers these devilish creatures represented.
But there are many these days, particularly in areas far removed from the haunts of these wild men, who have only a very inadequate notion of what a goblin is. To listen to some talk, you would think there was very little difference between a goblin and a man. On the other hand there are those who see them as stupid animals and no more. But as is very often the case, the truth lies somewhere between the extremes.
Those who belittle the goblins as simple brutes are both unwise and unskilled. The creatures are lacking in reason, but they are clever nonetheless, and only a fool would belittle the danger of an enemy who combines strength and cunning with passion and instinct.
Many otherwise great warriors have met their end for being of this unfortunate opinion. Old Cheft Ghinges, who led an army of two-thousand men into the Megd-la pass to drive out the goblins in that region some two-hundred years ago, was of this mistaken belief. With two thousand he entered the passes, but scarcely four hundred men returned, all because he took their nature for granted. Thinking them to be less than human he marched against them expecting his brilliant stratagems to grant him the victory. But goblins do not respond very graciously toward strategies! The natural passions of the wild men combined with their unpredictability are more than enough to frustrate even the most carefully crafted plans. Many proud incursions on their territory have been quickly transformed into humiliating retreats for lack of this consideration. It is true what they say in the Dadron schools, 'In all the arts a little knowledge can be more perilous than a great deal of ignorance.'
This is, as most of the lore of Dadron is, very sound counsel. But equally true, though said in less refined terms, are the last recorded words of the misguided Cheft Ghinges: 'These devils have no regard for strategy! They are an army of madmen.' A lesson learned, but at too late an hour!
And of course goblins don't care about things like strategy. Aside from the basic animal concerns like food and water, goblins are primarily motivated by two principles: Envy and Emulation.
It is basically understood that goblins will do nearly anything for something shiny. They will pay any price, risk any danger, and suffer any torture for the sake of something that happens to captivate their desire. This concern forms the foundation of their societies.
The goblin who possesses the most wealth becomes what we refer to as a 'hob-goblin'. And his rule is established by cleverly sharing his excess with the groveling hordes of goblins that want what he wants but don't have the strength or courage to take it from him. He accordingly gives the most presents to the strongest goblins to 'court' their loyalty. These 'Orcs', as they are commonly called, become his bodyguards and protect him from the weaker goblins.
This is a delicate system, however, since the moment it seems apparent that the hob-goblin is vulnerable and that another can take his place, he is swiftly and mercilessly overthrown. Hob-goblins do not die of old age.
Such is the motivation for the 'higher' goblins. The lesser, for whom power and privilege is unattainable, are guided by a pathetic sort of imitation. They 'emulate' each other, copying to the most minute detail the behavior, attire and even the noises of the other goblins; especially the 'higher' goblins.
Aside from those, like poor old Ghinges, who are confounded by their underestimate of the brutes, there are others who find themselves just as perturbed by overestimating the wisdom of their foes. Those who see goblins as more human than animal are wholly unprepared for the horrors that follow in the wake of a goblin conquest. For all intents and purposes, goblins have no conscience. With a little thought, anyone can come to this conclusion by his own reflection; but I think that we often take it for granted exactly how horrid a creature as clever as a goblin can become. Human soldiers, as hardened as they may become will by necessity retain some fleeting sense of humanity. But it is precisely that humanity which the goblins lack. They do not think of the future; they do not consider the consequences of their actions; in fact they do not consider much of anything that is not an immediate concern of their senses.
That is not to say that goblins have nothing that resembles a conscience. It is well known that they empathize with their own kind. Some goblins have been known to even risk their own lives to rescue their companions, especially their own kin. It is said that a goblin mother is the fiercest of all protectors; and in far away lands, where goblins are seldom seen, children's rhymes have even been written about these ferocious mothers.
But aside from these guttural sensitivities the goblins have no real sense of justice, no sense of honor, and no sense of decency; at least none that resembles the more developed moral faculties of human beings!
On the battlefield this characteristic has a terrifying effect on even some of the most hardened warriors. Brave though they may be, there is no way to prepare for the terror that comes from an enemy that does not hesitate in its strikes, and does not wince at the sight of blood.
But in terms of mere appearances humans and goblins are actually quite similar. They are both somewhat ape-like in form and both rely more on cunning than on strength.
The chief difference then would seem to be the strength of reasoning that our spoken languages provide. It would be very alien to my purposes here to give a full explanation of the dependence our superiority over the brutes has on our ability to utilize language, but suffice it to say the mental capabilities of humans and goblins are almost in every way the same, save for this one difference. But as history has shown, it is mankind who raises himself above the other beasts and lives in stone-hewn walls with roaring fires to warm his feet while the goblin lives in frigid mountain caves with the rotting bones of his ancestors tucked in every reeking corner.
There was a well-known case that occurred sometime in the previous century in which a young goblin child was captured by hunters in the southern part of the Noras Forest and came to live among the humans for a time. As might be expected, he was at first carted around in a cage from town to town to be shown to gawking women and children. 'A True Wild-man from the Mountains!' was the way they announced their spectacle. And for at least two years this scheme was quite successful. But inevitably the people lost interest and the child was abandoned. He survived, it was believed, by stealing fruit and meat from some of the merchants in Daeva City and by catching fish in the Libron River.
Some wealthy widows who lived at the time in the country just outside of Daeva took a liking to this boy. They paid a great sum to have him apprehended and carried off to their estate about a half a day's journey north of the city. The ladies pampered the boy 'mercilessly'. At least that is what they were accused of, however peculiar an accusation that may be. They gave him every comfort that their great
wealth could afford. He was bathed and groomed, and his hair was neatly cut and combed. In every way they attempted to change him into a human child. They even had a switch made of soft wood that they would use to 'discipline the brute'.
And as goblins excel in emulation, their design almost seemed to work and the boy once again became a spectacle. In his early adulthood, he became quite handsome to look at, a quality that attracted no small amount of attention from those idle rich women whom have little more to do than whisper and giggle about secrets and scandals.
He never quite learned to speak, though he came to understand what was said to him with almost perfect clarity, or so it was believed. He even seemed to be able to imitate some of the more gentlemanly behaviors like bowing and kissing the hands of noble women. He became so proficient at this that there was even talk of having him take a wife and live on his own. Some stories, all of them from many years later, even describe him memorizing and reciting speeches and poetry to seduce various maidens and princesses. While that is almost certainly untrue, it does allow us a glimpse at the degree at which his reputation for imitating all things human had arrived.
But all of this dreaming came to an abrupt closure. One particularly harsh winter was all that it took to reveal that the brute was in fact, still a brute.
The roads to the ladies' estate were impassible due to an enormous snowfall. And for nearly an entire month the estate was completely cut off from its source of provision. This depravation proved to be too much for the brute and he 'just went mad' as the servants later described.
I'm afraid that I must close my description of this creature here; for the crimes, if it be right to call them crimes, were so gruesome and so disturbing to the rational mind that it would not be fit to even hint at them.
There was a trial and a sentence and for the last time the poor goblin was made a public spectacle. Naturally he showed no sign of remorse, except that throughout the whole trial he hid his hands behind his back. Some of the servants of his ill-fated benefactresses later explained that he was always struck on the hands with a switch when he was 'a bad child'. Apparently this youth was cunning enough to understand that what he had done would bring him some sort of punishment. But he was certainly not rational enough to comprehend the shame and wickedness of his betrayal. He was hanged the morning after his trial.
Hopefully this anecdote will suffice to illustrate the nature of these creatures to those who may have had little experience with them. Experience is the master teacher, however, and I'm afraid that no matter how well I describe them I will leave only an inadequate idea of what they are truly like.
The Land of Noras
It was not uncommon for goblins to be seen in the Coronan Mountains. They had lived in the secret paths and caves of the western mountains for several thousand years, even before the coming of the Noras. But before I say anything more about these, I had better make my reader a little more acquainted with their land and its surroundings.
In the Northeastern corner of the continent the Ancients named Weldera there is a land called Falsis.
Now Falsis is one of the colder regions in Tel Arie. For at least three months out of the year the land lies buried beneath deep mounds of snow. The third winter month of Frohest is notoriously brutal. Were it not for the exceptionally fertile soil to be found in the eastern plains and the abundance of deer and other game in the northwest woodlands it would be difficult to imagine any group of people deciding to settle there.
For many ages this land was a neglected wilderness inhabited by barbarians, delvers, goblins and many other evil things. But a strange and bold race of men who were to become known as the Noras appeared on the eastern shores about two-thousand years ago. They grew in numbers and strength until they had either eliminated the barbaric men who preceded them or absorbed them into their own ranks. It is not known from whence they came originally, though it is most likely from some place in Olgrost or Vestron, which lie far to the east over the Kollun Sea.
But they were so fierce and strong that they swiftly overcame their enemies and subdued all the land from the eastern sea to the western mountains; altogether their country was more than seven-hundred leagues from east to west and just under five-hundred leagues from north to south.
In the northwest the Coronan Mountains marked the edge of their dominion. These mountains stretched from the Frozen Sea in the north to the Gap of Amla some three-hundred leagues to the south. But the mountains also stretched out toward the east along the northern shore for about one-hundred and seventy-five leagues. It was in the shadow of these mountains that the Noras met their doom and their destiny.
Coronis, or 'the Crown', is the tallest mountain in Weldera, rising high above all the other mountains around it. It was called Coronis because of the effect created when the sun passed over its peak on its daily journey. Each evening as twilight came, the 'Sun itself crowns Coronis, lord of Tel Arie, with its golden rays.'
Tucked between Mount Libros, the eastern-most peak of the Coronan Mountains, and Falguar the southernmost peak, was a great forest of pine trees called the Gavl Wood, from whence the name Galvahir is derived. In this enormous forest the Noras encountered the fierce devil Agon.
Being ignorant of the danger, and having been promised blessings and prosperity, many of the chief families of the Noras moved their people into the Gavl Woods. But they were deceived, and soon found themselves the slaves of an evil god, who demanded their very flesh as a sacrifice. For nearly five-hundred years they suffered under the bondage of Agon, until the Nine Heroes of the Noras appeared.
As terrible as things were within the forest, things had not gone much better for those on the outside. Time and war conspired against the Noras and they were soon beaten back by the swords and spears of Knarse invaders from Titalo. The Noras either fell on the battlefields, fled into the darkness of Gavl, or surrendered their cities and their daughters to the golden-haired conquerors.
But even these bold men would not dare approach the shadow that lay over the forest. They fixed their border at the Libron River, which flows south from Mount Libros. They left seventy leagues at least between them and the edge of haunted Gavl, where the last remnant of true-blooded Noras dwelt.
The eastern portion of Falsis became known as Daevaron and its people were from that day on a mix between the golden-haired Knarse and the stout Noras as well as many other races that later came to settle along the eastern shore.
Some fifteen-hundred years ago, with help from the Fortress of Dadron, the Nine Heroes of Noras appeared in the Gavl woods and fought against the devil-king Agon. They drove him out of his dark lair and over the mountains of Coronan, forever to dwell in the wastelands beyond.
The Nine Heroes divided the forest of Gavl, which they renamed Noras.
Each portion of the forest was named after one of the Nine Ancient Heroes. Nestled in the northwest corner of Noras was the land of Cossa-la, where lived the descendants of Cossa who were called Cossirne. To the east, from the crossing of the Gavl River to the edge of the woods was the land of Dae-la, where the sons of Dael dwelt. Their land stretched fifty leagues from the Northern Coronan Mountains south until the land fell away into the lowlands of Lavri-la, home of the Lavrilirne. The sons and daughters of Lavri held the largest piece of land in Noras, stretching from the border of Dae-la for over one hundred leagues to the south where the forest ended.
South of Cossa-la, running south along the western foothills were the lands of the Shaflirne and the Megdlirne. Beyond these lands the land of Coran-la, where the Coranirne lived stretched out under the shadow of the Great Mountains of Coranan, of whom Mount Coronan was chief.
If you were to follow the southward course of the Gavl River, which comes from the streams of Mount Gavl, you would come, after twenty-five leagues, to the region of Galva-la and the city of Galva which rules over the descendents of Galvahir. After passing through the city, the Gavl opens up and becomes a lake, which after twenty leagues or so flows i
nto the land of Oastir-la. After fifty leagues, Gavl narrows once again and rushes out of the land of the Oastirne into the valley of the Vivlirne, which is called Vivlir-la. Due to their advantageous position, the Vivlirne profit the most from the trade that flows down the Gavl on the way to the Falsi River. Dae-la and Lavri-la also did a considerable amount of commerce with the neighboring peoples, but the bulk of Noras' resources came from Galva-la, Oastir-la, and Vivlir-la. For this reason, and because of the renowned strength of their warriors, these clans were at times called the Pillars of Noras; it was said that it was, 'upon their shoulders that the structure had been built and preserved.'
It was common in the Noras Forest to find maps drawn of their realm depicting their borders as different parts of one great tree. The eastern and western lands were green boughs hanging low, while the 'Pillars' ran up the middle along the Gavl River to form the all-supporting trunk. This was called the 'Tree of Noras' and it was embroidered on all of their banners and painted on the fronts of all their shields.
The Libron River originates on Mount Libros and flows gently down through the hills and cut its way south for a hundred leagues before it split into its two branches, the Southern Libron and the Daeva Libron. The Daeva Libron ran almost due east and gathered in the great lake of Daeva, where the city of the same name was built. The Southern Libron continued south until it joined with the Falsi River, which flowed from Mount Coronis. At the very point where these two rivers met, Dadron the Great was built.
Were I to write all that could be written about that city I suspect there would be no end to the books that I could pen. But by the time of my story, Dadron's glory was past and its original inhabitants had either been slain or driven deep into exile.
The Falsi River flowed down from Mount Coronis in a powerful torrent and cut its way through rock and hill making its way east toward the sea. After about one hundred and fifty leagues it joins with the Gavl River, which originates in the north, and these two wind their way southeast until they join with the Southern Libron in Dadron.
Falsis was once a prominent country with traders and merchants coming from all over Tel Arie. But the terrible wars of the last age had essentially cut them off from the rest of the world. In the conflagration that engulfed the region much of the history and sciences of Dadron were lost, and so most of the inhabitants of Falsis now had only a very imperfect notion of what lay outside their mountainous borders. The general belief was that to the north, beyond the Rocky Coast, was the end of the world or the land of the gods. To the south beyond the Solsis mountains they were convinced lay the ruined cities of the Ancients, filled with monsters and treasures and every other inhabitant of dreams and fairy-tales. To the east they were pretty sure there was an island called Kollun where they had something they called 'Democracy', but none of them properly understood the meaning of this. And beyond Kollun lay the ancient homeland of all mankind in Olgrost.
To the west was the Amla wilderness and the immense Amlaman Kingdom. Merchants and traders still traveled to and from Amlaman each springtime and harvest bringing furs from Noras and returning with spices and fruits from Amlaman. Beyond Amlaman, somewhere on the northwestern coast of Weldera, was the pirate city of Titalo. Most of what was commonly believed about this place was the result of imagination rather than truth, but the occasional sighting of 'golden-headed barbarians' sailing past the northern coasts was enough to keep this idea alive in the hearts and fears of the Noras. But the only real enemy the Noras had, at least at this particular time in history, were the goblins.
For some reason goblins love mountains. Since the ancient times they have survived in considerable numbers in the high-places of the Coronan Mountains. Despite several major campaigns aimed at their elimination they continued to thrive in the northwestern portion of the range where it is difficult for human armies to march. Occasionally one of these large groups would begin raiding Noras villages, usually during winter months when they lacked food or clothing. These were dealt with harshly; the only adequate solution seemed to be annihilation. So those tribes of goblins that remained would learn by experience, that is, by the experience of those goblins that were destroyed, to keep away from the humans.
So when the scouts returned to Galva Hall, just two days before Daryas' seventeenth birthday, the Galva Council was called to an emergency meeting. It had been a particularly harsh winter and they could not leave the crimes committed by these desperate creatures unrequited. In only a matter of two days, the Council decided on war.
The Spirit Mityai
Though he could not see her, Daryas was being watched the whole while by a slender sprite named Mityai, who lay hidden behind a tree. It was habit alone that made her hide, for no mortal eyes would be able to see her either by the light of moon or of the sun. Through the whole night she remained motionless; silently watching him as he fought a fierce battle against his own weariness. But the moment she saw the sun rise over the eastern hills she darted away, leaving Daryas and Sion behind. Her swift feet carried her down the hillside and across the Falsi River toward the Noras forest. As she passed through the woods she left in her wake a swift but gentle breeze, barely enough to knock the dried leaves from the branches as she sped through.
She came upon a clearing and stopped suddenly when she saw a farmer with his sons cutting down a tall fir tree. Without a sound she leaped out of sight and hid her invisible body behind the trunk of a tree. There she stayed for some time until she could convince herself that the man and his boys had not noticed her. When all their heads were turned she sprung from her hiding place and darted past them. Her passing made no sound at all and left nothing in its wake save the gentle shuddering of a few fallen leaves.
When her swift feet had come to the western shores of the Gavl River she turned abruptly and darted to the north. She did not stop running even when she came to the great wall of South Lake, the famous dam that held back the Gavl and formed the Gavl Lake.
The lake itself had been formed by the Noras over three hundred years ago. They built a log dam at the southern edge of the high-forest allowing the water to be collected in one place for the use of the Oastirne and Galvahirne. This also gave the northern lands of the Vivlirne a respite from the relentless flow of the Gavl, drying the land enough for several settlements to be built. It was made of logs and stones placed together strategically to stop the flow of the river. It was like most of the things the Noras built: more durable than it was beautiful.
The dam itself was something of a marvel. To the untrained eye it looked as though it would burst any moment and flood the lowlands in a torrent of raging waters. But the Noras were careful builders and took as much care in the soundness of their constructions as they did pride in their sensibility. Disdain for niceties and adornments was quite common in Noras, especially among those who were not among the nobility. Wealth has a way of softening even those with the thickest skins, and poverty, accordingly has its own ways of toughening up those who might otherwise prefer the pillow to the plow. Nobility will always involve a certain degree of comfort, but in Noras a reputation for practicality and strength was of greater worth than many fine and delicate possessions.
At the southern edge, where the dam was built, the land sloped down rapidly forming a natural border between the Noras Highlands and the Coronan Region in the south and west.
Mityai now climbed that mighty dam with ease and darted across the surface of the water toward the north, no more disturbing its surface than the gentle trickle of a spring rain. Even here in the full light of the sun she passed unseen by mortal eyes. Her long starlight dress flickered and danced on the surface of the water like fireflies blown about in the wind, but no more than this 'trick of light' could be seen of her.
She ran on until she came to Galva, on the northern shore of the Gavl lake on the eastern shore of the Gavl River. Galva was the largest city in the Noras Forest and one of the most prosperous, though even here the houses were not much adorned. The Noras loved
log houses and roaring fires; they never quite adapted to the methods of their Daevaron neighbors, who built houses of brick and mortar.
She made her way to the center of the city and found Galva Hall, the long council house of the Galvahirne. Warily she peeked her head above the windows and looked inside. There was a large fire burning in the great stone chimney, but the house seemed to be empty save for a few servants who were busying themselves elsewhere. Mityai gently lifted the glass from its place and slipped through the window into the council hall without a sound. She walked beneath the bright beams of morning light that were pouring into the hall from the east. Her silvery hair danced about like specks of dust as she disturbed the stale air of the wooden hall.
The walls of the hall were built of enormous logs, each carefully interposed upon one another and cemented with tar. There was a large fireplace on the southern end of the hall with giant stones piled upon one another all the way up to the dark wooden ceiling. On the east and western walls there were small windows set about four feet apart from one another along the length of the hall. The hall was large, but surprisingly narrow for its purpose. It could seat over one hundred men, but there was no more than a shoulder's breadth of space between the backs of their tall wooden chairs and the wall on either side. But this narrowness made the hall as warm as it was austere, which was an especially important quality in the middle of the fierce Noras winter.
On the northern end of the hall there was a broad opening, covered by a thick deerskin curtain. Beyond this was the kitchen, the pantry and the servants' quarters. The fire in the main hall was now quite low, though every now and again the servants would come and revive it with a few logs and a lot of fanning. But for now they had little need of heat in that quarter and focused their efforts on the great oven in the kitchen, where most of their work was to be done. There had been a small meeting early that morning regarding some trivial matter, and the dishes and bowls still remained on the table with scraps of food and half filled mugs. To the Noras it would have been unthinkable to do any sort of political business, however small and inconsequential it might seem, without having a good hearty meal to go along with it.
'You were expected three days ago, Mityai,' a booming voice startled her as she walked into the center of the room.
'I could not leave him, my lord,' she said shyly with here eyes fixed on the floor. 'He suffers so greatly, my lord. You must let him rest; you must free him from these awful dreams. I have watched him at night, when the spirits vex him. It makes my heart sick to see him so weary and so afraid. He fights sleep, master, and even Old Man Sleep cannot overpower his will.'
'That is not your concern, Mityai, you are a messenger, not a warrior or a counselor. If I send you for news, you will bring me news. It is not your strong mind that made me choose you for my servant. It is your swift feet and your keen eyes that made you desirable.'
'Yes my lord Pelas,' Mityai said sadly. Her heart sunk, and if she were able she would have wept.
'Do not fear, child,' Pelas said. 'I will not punish you. But many days have now passed since we've heard any tidings from the army of Galva. Tell me all that you have seen.'