Nhalbar, too, on the other side of the rusty bars, contrasted visibly with the dark scenery. Sitting cross-legged, eyes closed and hands clasped in prayer, with his candid hair and white dress trimmed with shining gold, he emanated so much light that he looked like a full moon in the dark womb of the firmament. He replied before even opening his eyes to meet those of the sovereign: &ldquo;You call me that, but the White Thief is only one of the masks I have worn. Just one of the names that stuck around me. Before that I was called prince. They call me a druid now, but I even passed myself off as an embalmer once. But who am I really?&rdquo;<br />It was with that last question that Nhalbar&#39;s intense pupils, framed by blond irises like crowns of sunbeams, planted themselves in the king&#39;s soul.<br />&quot;What is your name?&quot; the other asked, vaguely disturbed by that mystery.<br />&ldquo;That&#39;s the wrong question, sir. Do not be misled by who I am, but try to understand in whose name I have come. Because I do not come for myself but on behalf of another&quot;.