Relma was going fishing in her spare time.

Of course, fishing alone was never as good as fishing with a friend. So she dragged Ronald along with her. Ronald, being a halfling, was not very fond of being near large bodies of water. But the red-haired boy wanted to appear bold. So, he would never bring the facts up.

It was a bright, sunny day beneath the gaze of the Black Mountain. There was a gentle breeze that kept things from being too hot. Unfortunately, it wasn't strong enough to drive away the storm clouds. They still loomed over the Black Mountain. She'd seen them every morning as she left the house her entire life, and they never ceased to gall her. Still, other than them, only a few whiffs of cloud could be seen in the sky. Not that Ronald was enjoying it.

"Relma, we're not supposed to be out this far. Your Aunt Pan doesn't like us going near the river without supervision." So Ronald was approaching the stage of second thoughts, was he?

"Ronald, I have scrubbed every pot in the cellar a million times," said Relma. "I can handle getting a little wet. And so can you."

"I know, but Pan doesn't do these things without reason," said Ronald. "And Father always tells me to listen to her."

"I want to do a bit of fishing, okay," said Relma. "It's not like the river is renowned as a place of monsters. We're miles from the border, and the satyrs haven't dared cross it in years."

"I know," said Ronald. "I know." He said again.

They reached the bank, set their bait, and cast their lines. Ronald didn't seem as nervous now that they were by the water. They talked about things. The comings and goings of the farms. The latest runes that Aunt Pan had set up.

And then Ronald sat up with a start. He looked toward the woods, then to Relma. "Did you see that?"

"What?" asked Relma, following his gaze. She saw only the underbrush.

"I thought I saw something in the woods," said Ronald.

"I don't see anything," said Relma, hoping something might be out there. Then she got a bit. It hauled on her line and nearly pulled it out of her grip. She held on for dear life. "Wait! I've got one! I've got a huge one!"

She strained to pull the fish out. But whatever it was yanked hard, and she lost her footing. "Relma!" cried Ronald.

Then Relma was pulled into the water. She beat her way up as best she could, trying to keep her head above. But, unfortunately, she had never been any good at swimming. She was being pulled downstream. Finally, she saw Ronald running after her and offering her the end of a long branch. "Relma, take the stick! Come on, quick!"

Relma reached out to snatch it, but her fingers slipped, and she was swept away. Pulled under the water, Relma hit her head, and everything went black.

When she next awoke, her head didn't hurt at all. She was lying on a bedroll beneath the shade of a tree. She could hear the river running by her. As her vision cleared, she saw someone looking down on her. He had long blonde hair and angelic features. He was the fairest person Relma had ever seen. She sat up with a start, feeling a blush creeping across her parts. He smiled. Relma felt a warmth at his smile. "So, you've awoken?"

He was wearing armor. The most beautiful armor Relma had ever seen. It gleamed in the sun and was adorned with the symbol of a Sword surrounded by lightning bolts. The royal crest of Ancient Harlenor.

"Where am I?" asked Relma.

"On the island of Gel Carn," said the man.

"I know that. I grew up here," said Relma. "I meant, where on it am I?"

"Somewhere along Smyngoth's River." said the man with a smile. "I'm not sure where. I pulled you out of it an hour ago."

"You pulled me out?" asked Relma. "Why?"

"You looked like you were drowning; I thought I might help." said the man. "Would you have preferred I stay my hand?"

"Right, that is a stupid question," said Relma. "Who are you?"

"Anoa the Bright," said the man.

Relma smiled despite herself. She almost laughed. "Oh, come on. Everyone knows Anoa the Bright died ages ago. Besides, you don't look at all like him."

"Interesting, you should say that," said Anoa. "What makes you so sure?"

"Well, Anoa the Bright was the greatest hero ever to live," said Relma. "I don't think he'd wear fancy armor and fine cloaks like what you are wearing. He'd dress in simple clothes, and you wouldn't know him to be royalty until you saw a sort of inner nobility. You're a bit too finely dressed for the part."

He laughed. "I suppose so. One changes over time. You never are the same from one minute to the next. What is your name?"

"I'm Relma," she said. "I'm a farm handover at Fulsofs Farm. I live with my Aunt Pan."

"And what is your last name?" asked Anoa.

"I..." Relma paused. "I don't know. I'm just Relma."

"And no doubt your Aunt Pan is keeping some great secret from you. One that, when revealed, will shock you to your core," noted Anoa with a smirk.

"Aunt Pan doesn't lie," said Relma. "Though if she did know a great secret, she probably would never have told me."

"Ah, so you don't trust her?" guessed Anoa.

"No, I trust her," said Relma. "But she doesn't really tell me much. Not even about my parents."

"Oh, them. I remember them," said Anoa. "You do?" asked Relma. "But you didn't even know who I am."

"I wasn't sure who you were at first," admitted Anoa. "If I recall... yes, now, I remember. They were Resca and Hadleim. Hadleim was a soldier who won glory for himself fighting the satyrs of the eastern marshes. And Resca was beautiful.

"I remember she had hair like yours and was very humble. She always thought too little of herself."

"What happened to her?" asked Relma. Why did she believe him?

Anoa remained silent. "...A sorcerer of great power, who went by the name of Tuor, found them. He slew Hadleim and Resca. But Pandora the Sorceress stopped him from killing you, and he was forced to withdraw."

"Where were you during this?" asked Relma. "Why didn't you help them?"

"A fair question," said Anoa. "The truth is I went beyond this world a long time ago. It is no longer my role to help people. I have a different task now."

"How do I know you're not making all this up?" asked Relma.

"Ask your Aunt Pan," said Anoa. "I expect she knows the truth. Or don't. She'll tell you sooner or later."

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"Are you really Anoa the Bright?" asked Relma.

"I left my old self behind long ago," admitted Anoa, eyes growing distant and taking on an uncanny gleam. "What remains now is a shadow, a memory that can scarcely be recalled."

"You're right in front of me," said Relma.

"I've been thinking about who I am a great deal of late," admitted Anoa. "Now, you'd best be returning to your Aunt Pan. I'm sure she'll be worried sick about you."

"Relma! Relma!" cried Ronald's voice.

Relma looked up and would have run toward him. Then she halted and looked to Anoa. "Thank-" she began. But Anoa was gone. So was the bedroll. "-you."

Had she seen things? But then why wasn't she wet? And how had she gotten out of the river?

Ronald came out of the trees before she could think about anything else. He was sweating heavily, and his pink cheeks were particularly red.

"Ronald," said Ronald.

"I went to get Pan, and she's here," said Ronald.

And then Aunt Pan stepped out of the trees. Or perhaps the trees made way for her. Her dark hair was flowing about her as she approached. Her eyes were narrowed, and Relma shrank as she approached.

"Well, you've been busy, haven't you, Relma," said Aunt Pan.

"I uh... yes, I have," said Relma. "I pulled myself out of the river by the roots."

"Well, you can pull yourself back into dry clothes," said Aunt Pan. "You've gotten into enough trouble for one day, I think. Otherwise, you'll catch your death. Come with me."

"Aunt Pan, who were my parents?" said Relma.

Pan halted. "Relma, I thought I told you we'd have this conversation when you're old enough to understand."

"Well, when will I be old enough?" asked Relma.

"I'll tell you when," said Pan.

"Well, what were their names?" asked Relma. "I want to know who I am. Can't you tell me anything?" If Aunt Pan told her that much, she could know if Anoa was telling the truth. "Your mother's was named Resca.

"Your Father's was named Hadleim."

Point one for Anoa telling the truth. "Was he a soldier?"

Pan looked at her sharply. Relma knew she'd struck a nerve. "What gave you that idea?"

"So, he wasn't?" Relma pushed her.

"No, he was," said Pan. "But he didn't like fighting, so he retired and became a farmer. That was when he met Resca. Now, let's pick up the pace. You might catch your death. The other answers will come to you in time."

Relma decided not to push her luck any further.

The rest of the week passed like any other. Relma went through her work in the scullery, pondering where Anoa had come from. And if he really was that legendary old king. Did he often appear to people like that? It seemed a kingly thing to do, but she hadn't had any stories.

Either he did. Or she was someone special. Would his ghost really know the names of two commoners? He seemed like he had a personal interest in them. Elranor, she could see doing that; he was a god. But mortals could only remember so much.

If Anoa did have a personal interest in her parents, he might have a particular interest in her. That would be wonderful. And she was distracted by the prospect. While drilling with the halfling militia, she fell out of formation and got a stern talking to.

What about this Tuor fellow? Who was he?

If he had killed Relma's parents, he probably had a reason. Maybe he was an enemy of Aunt Pan, obviously Pandora the Sorceress. The name was slightly different, and it wasn't as though she had bothered to hide her abilities. She just pretended they were a lot weaker than they actually were.

Or at least Relma imagined it to be so.

Come to think of it, if her parents had been killed by Tuor, why would Pandora decide to raise Relma as her own? They must have been at least friends. Which probably meant that Tuor killed them to get at Pan.

Or perhaps Relma was utterly wrong.

Either way, things changed in the middle of the following week. Relma had just finished her chores and was walking out when Ronald approached her. "Relma, Relma!"

"What is it, Ronald?" asked Relma.

"Aren has come," said Ronald. "I heard from Father he's come over the river and is coming to Gel Carn."

Aren, or Gail Arengeth, as he was known in legend, had not been down this way for two years. He often traveled, telling stories and meeting with kings and lords. He spoke to everyone as an equal, no matter their rank. Mainly because he didn't have a rank, or, if he had a rank at all, it was so far above everyone else.

He could have some of those Sornian Fireworks he'd brought last time. He'd said he'd make a batch of them himself. "Let's go meet him."

Ronald led her down the road toward the river. They moved quickly, and soon, they came across an old man with a long gray beard and shabby brown clothes. A gnarled old staff was in his hands, and on his head was a brown hood.

"Aren, you're back at last," said Relma. "We haven't seen you for two years."

And she hugged him. Aren returned the embrace. "I'm sorry, Relma. I meant to come back earlier. But there is always one thing or another that needs tending. Especially of late."

Relma looked up at him, and his eyes were troubled. That meant bad things were afoot. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I was delayed by the ambitions of Mighty Lords with many complex plans. Most of which they aren't half capable of achieving," said Aren. "Escor nearly had another civil war, you see."

"Escor always has civil wars," said Ronald.

"Yes," said Aren. "If nothing else, I can trust the reign of King Vortegex to keep things interesting. But, unfortunately, things have been going badly, I'm afraid. Petty disagreements that have been bubbling for years are nearly boiling over."

"Is Vortegex a bad king?" asked Relma as they began to walk.

"Oh, I wouldn't call him that," said Aren. "He is paranoid and not unjustly so. His forefathers left him a precarious throne. And House De Chevlon is always meddling in things they should have left behind long ago.

"How has the scullery faired?"

"You know as well as I," said Relma. "I met an... interesting situation a little while ago."

"Indeed?" asked Aren. "And what was that?"

Relma didn't want to lie again. But, unfortunately, neither did she want to tell the truth either.

"We were out fishing, and Relma caught a huge one," said Ronald. "But it pulled her into the river and dragged her downstream. We had to spend hours looking for her."

"A near thing," said Aren. "You really should be more careful about disobeying your Aunt. If you get into trouble, you'll need to go for her to help, and then you'll be kept on an even tighter leash.

"Speaking of leashes, have you learned to read yet?"

Relma blinked. Read? "Um, no. I wasn't aware I was supposed to.

"What has your Aunt been putting you up to all this time?" asked Aren.

"Aside from the scullery?" asked Relma. "Odd jobs."

"Well, that is it," said Aren. "I think I will have to have a word with her. I intend to do it before I meet with the Steward."

That confirmed that Aren and Aunt Pan had a personal investment in her education. Even if Aren dealt with unimportant people all the time, this was far too involved. Why hadn't Relma picked up on all this before?

"The Steward?" asked Ronald. "You're meeting with Steward Benarus?"

"Yes," said Aren. "One or two minor points that need addressing."

"What about?" asked Relma.

"The salvation of the world. The defense of the realm," said Aren. "What sort of crown one king or another ought to wear. The usual nonsense I have to contend with."

"That sounds much more exciting than what I'm doing," said Relma.

"Of course it does. New things always are," said Aren. "Unfortunately, I've been in this business since the days of Anoa the Bright. It has all become rather monotonous. Tyrants rise and fall, and no one is pleased with what they have until they lose it."

"Do you have the fireworks?" asked Relma. Aren made very good fireworks displays.

"I did," said Aren in an annoyed tone. "But they got ruined in an accident. Making them was more difficult than expected, and I didn't properly deal with the black powder. I'll try better next time. Making them is certainly more entertaining than making kings."

"Have you made kings in the past?" asked Ronald.

"That is a foolish question, young Ronald," said Aren. "But if I need to elaborate on my reputation, the answer is More than a few. Of course, Anoa the Bright was the one everyone remembers. But there were some other Kings I helped come to power who didn't see their realms last. And then, of course, there was that fiasco with the breaking of Harlenor. So, things became even more complicated.

"Really, things are impossible. Don't ever go into the wizarding business, young Ronald. It takes as much work as ruling a Kingdom, and you get even fewer thanks."

"Kings get thanked all the time," said Relma.

"Yes," mused Aren. "And if the people thanking aren't cowering in fear, they are usually clutching daggers."

Relma felt Arengeth would be much more important than Resca and Hadleim. She had to be sure to get into his good graces.