Landor jolted along to the rhythm of the horse's hooves  hitting the ground as it galloped the final stretch to Blasca. He was astonished at the speed at which they travelled, in contrast to how slow he walked before, and he found it surprisingly relaxing to listen to the quick thumping noise. The river flowed beside the Road, growing steadily wider as it neared the sea. they had left Rïduren in the morning the day before, and, travelling at speed to gain distance from the Arka, they had already left the mountains behind them and the landscape had changed to gently rolling hills and green fields.

It was only as the rose over the brow of the final hill that the sea finally came into view. Landor had never seen the sea before and and it seemed to him unimaginably huge. He couldn't even see the horizon, the sun being in his eyes. From the hilltop, the water looked almost completely flat, but if he looked closer to the shore, he could see the tiny wrinkles that covered its surface. Some of them were dashed with white foam that erupted over the rocks when it rolled in.

The horse slowed to a trot at the first house. It was a large house, made of stone, and surrounded by a garden and a neatly trimmed hedge. Landor was impressed by the size of it too. Blasca had larger houses than Rïduren and everything was more spaced out. It was so quiet on the road that he could hear the sea.

The port was quite busy, however, and the wooden piers were bustling with boats of many sizes. There was a particularly large one in the center that was packed with barrels of beer. Most of them were empty because their crew had gone for supper. The place for that appeared to be The Anchor Inn, a spacious building that had a colourful outside seating area. As Landor and Verta entered, they could overhear a sailor talking in a loud voice.

"I saw one of the king's ships as I sailed past Thiblon. Nasty looking ship it was too. Huge and bristling with all sorts of weapons such as I've never seen th' like of before! The crew were all onboard and it looked like it might be coming 'ere soon, maybe by the morrow. Gave me a bad sort of feeling it did - real nasty piece of work if you ask me."

There were murmurings throughout the inn following this remark. "There's some dirty work afoot, I'll bet!" someone shouted. This was followed by nodding heads and noises of agreement.

Clever bunch, aren't they. Why else would a ship full of weapons be sailing around? Landor thought. The sailor shouted again.

"I just hope that it doesn't get in the way of trading our cargo - if they scare away our customers, I will put up a fight!"

"And us!" a few people cried. The barman interjected.

"Now don't you get into any trouble! If I were you, I would stay well away from the likes of them. Too dangerous to mess with."

Verta aprroached the barman and booked a room for the night, before sitting down at an empty table and taking out a map. Landor walked out into the street and down to the harbour.

The boats bobbed constantly on the waves, rocking gently from side to side and jerking on the mooring rope every now and again. Wooden frames creaked and splashed quietly in the breeze. Landor strolled down to the beach and took in the panoramic view across the bay. The water was as still and flat as a mirror, and it softly reflected the deep orange of the setting sun. The sky was streaked with purple and crimson smudges that stretched from the sun and slowly faded into shadows. Islands had become black silhouettes; bumps on the horizon. The sheer beauty of the scene stunned Landor into silence, and he felt as if he could have stood there for hours just looking at it, forgetting everything else.

The shadows grew and the colours hid behind the advancing clouds, whilst slowly, the great orange ball dipped below the horizon. Out of view. Into the night. Landor walked past the harbour once more, in the darkness and entered the brightly lit pub. Verta had a route drawn onto his map. It started at Blasca, went through Loddfin to Antrim and then across the Eastern Barrier Mountains to Lithuas. Landor remembered how highly Dûrost thought of Lithuas and wished he was there already.

"Tomorrow morning we start. We don't want to get caught up with the Empire's sailors and the sooner we get to Loddfin the more time we have to arrange things. It's too risky to stay in any one place for a long time," Verta said, folding up his map carefully and putting it in his cloak. He stood up form the table and porceeded up the stairs to the room.

The room had worn furniture and looked well-used, but compared to sleeping under a rock, it seemed luxurious. The carpet was faded but soft, and the bed plain. Landor took off his boots and dropped onto the bed. He as utterly exhausted from his journey so far and relished what little sleep was available. Verta sat in an armchair by the window and stared out into the night. He had that same watchful look on his face that Dûrost had the first night in the forest- both concentrating and yet detached at the same time. He sat motionless for a while, observing the darkness. Landor had already fallen asleep. He needed his rest, for the next day was going to be just as tiring as the other.

*

Dûrost had left Rïduren the day before, but only now were The Black Mountains beginning to show true to their name. Most of the light was blocked by the mountains, and the dense pine forest let little light filter past its leaves. It wasn't really the mountains themselves that were more black than others, it was the forest in the valley. A s soon as shadow came over it, the darkness seemed to spread like a contagious disease. Dûrost could easily see how legendary creatures sprang up in its midst. In every sense it was ominous - the wind made a low moaning cry as it blew through the trees, and there was no fresh scent of woodland; instead there was the scent the stench of rotten, wilted leaves decaying on the floor, one that saturated the air.

Dûrost's boots didn't make a crisp crunching sound on impact with the leaves, just a soft squelch. The atmosphere  made him feel sick.

Was this really the right decision? Dûrost thought, shaking his head. Where am I going to find shelter? This doesn't look like the driest place in the Empire, to say the least. Perhaps under a rock or if I'm lucky, a cave.

Dûrost didn't have much time to find shelter. The daylight was already dwindling into night. He searched around for any shelter, and all he saw was a large boulder on the mountain above him. It was above the treeline and exposed to the elements, but it was shelter nonetheless.

It'll have to do.

He dug his boots into the muddy ground and began to drag himself uphill. His stomach pained him and his legs were sore and tired. His throat stung and it made it hard to breathe. The mountain was steep and Dûrost had to stop every few minutes to take some rest, or his legs would give way. It was exerting and Dûrost cursed frequently when he slipped on the icy slope.

If this doesn't kill me then the weather will.

It may have been spring, but the Black Mountains appeared to ignore the rest of the world. The coldness pierced through through Dûrost's coat and froze his body, devouring what little warmth there was left. It was that horrible weather that doesn't make snow or ice, but just leaves everything stiff and painfully cold to the touch. Dûrost was numb and the fact that he was shivering weakly made it even harder to climb.

The boulder was on the only level part of the mountain above the treeline - the rest was a rock face bereft of gripping holds. If there were any, they were obscured by the darkness. Dûrost moved forwards cautiously along a fissure, straining every muscle to keep his balance. He almost stopped breathing for a while as he concentrated on not slipping to his death from the mountain. He could barely see what he was doing in the dim light, struggling blindly forwards until his hand brushed up against the boulder.

Dûrost let out a sharp breath in relief, and crawled under the boulder. He shuffled around until he was facing the exit. Below him were the phantom shapes of the treetops, perched on the mountain. They looked grey and almost translucent like an apparition. The wind made ghostly whisperings, as if spirits of the night were conversing in a strange tongue, warning Dûrost of his danger. He could feel an unearthly presence palpable in the air. No weather made noises like that.

Once again the thought of legendary creatures sprung to mind, accept now they seemed much less legendary. Much more real.

I've heard of a bear-like creature, said to have supernatural strength. Legend exaggerates, but it is said to pick up trees and knock down victims in one swipe. At times you can hear it-

A deep throated cry echoed around the mountains.

-do that.

Dûrost froze for a moment, but then realised that sound carried far in the mountains and it could be miles away.

What if it is quite close, and tommorow in the daylight it sees me? Do I run or what? With a normal bear you just make yourself look big and walk away slowly- normally they are more scared of humans than we are of them. But with this one it just wants a meal. I can't run, it's too fast. There's nowhere to hide. I have to avoid it or else I stand no chance.

He shivered in the cold and lamented his decision to go by Asturen. He could fight a couple of goblins on the Road, but here he could do nothing.

At least the Arka won't follow me here.

The cry sounded once more. Dûrost shuddered; it was a hellish noise that chilled him to the bone. It was bith savage and mournful at the same time. the only sound worse was the shriek of the Azkrin, but then again they disempowered the mind and spelt certain death. Dûrost was lucky enough never to have heard it himself, but he knew that the Azkrin killed Eradnì if even by it's own demise.

Dûrost tried to divert his thoughts from bears and Azkrin, and curled up tightly to conserve heat. The coldness bit at his face and nipped at his extremities, but he curled up further underneath the boulder and shut his eyes.

The wind slowly subsided and the whispering stopped. The creature gave one final despondent cry, and slowly fell asleep.

*

It was surprisingly warm in Blasca when Landor and Verta left the inn. A moist breeze was blowing in from the sea , but there was a catch to the mild weather: the fog.

It obscured the outer bay and it's islands in a grey veil, smothering the sea and joining it to the clouds. It had been advancing for hours, and every few inutes, another island, anothere boat was devoured, getting closer to Blasca itself. If there was an Empire ship, it would be impossible to see it arriving. It was a predator, crouching in the shadows, waiting to pounce.

The air was heavy and dense, and Landor could feel it bearing down on him. He untied the horse from the post outside the inn and led it out onto the road. Verta climbed on and he followed. The horse's breathing was heavy and even it found the air stifling.

"We have to ride quickly. If the fog reaches us before we reach Loddfin, things will become treacherous. We may easily get lost." That looked likely, as the wind was already whipping up a mist and blowing it over the hills, forming a glowing halo over them where the sun lit up the water vapour. The pale blue sky, still hopeful, was shrinking away from the relentless advance of the fog. Landor set his eyes to the path and the horse galloped forwards.

They passed a few more houses before they reached the top of the hill, and from there they could see the dales ahead of them. The dales stretched out far to the west, to Thiblon, and south, to Loddfin. The fringes of the coast were already enveloped in a grey blanket, and the mist covered the valleys in white. Verta, seeing that little time was left, lashed the reins, and the horse plunged into the first valley. Landor could feel the wind subside as the dales shielded them.

The horse made swift progress along the valley floor, taking its twists and turns in its stride. Verta tried to steer in a southerly direction so that they would go towards Loddfin.

Landor was struck by the beauty of the landscape, how the hills were draped in a fresh, green velvet, so different to the drab, barren peaks around Arnas. The slopes were covered in a sparkling arrray of of dew drops, so that it appeared that the dales were shining emerald.

I regret not travelling now - I should have gone further from Arnas, thought Landor. As he wondered what the rest of the Empire looked like, his old curiousity returned.

"Verta, why am I so important?"

Verta looked surprised. "You don't know? Well, I'll explain as much as I can. A long time ago, when Eradni was still alive, there was a huge battle between Zurin and the free people in the Fields of the Dead. It was a massacre, and the Five fled, but not before Zurin killed Berain, and took his sword Eriac. But the swords were protected against this by a spell. The stone was enchanted away to a place only the Five knew, leaving the sword without its power. Zurin has since used his sorcery to place charms on it, but, if one of the Five has the stone, they have power over Zurin. That is why you are important. The other Five hid their swords, but then they were hunted down and killed. You are now the only one who can retrieve the stone. The only thing is, to take on Zurin, you need an army, the other swords, the other owners, and you need to find the stone."

Landor's eyes widened at the last statement. "How am I supposed to do that?" he asked.

"I cannot possibly answer that - you will have to figure that out once you reach Lithuas." Seeing Landor's distressed face, he added "you won't have to do it all yourself; there are plenty of worthy people in Lithuas who will gladly help, if not all Ithelïon!"

Landor softened up a little, and said, "at least that is much clearer now. Before, I was confused and unsure of my purpose, our aim, but now I understand better."

"And just think of the reward: a nation united once more, fear dispelled, and the Five in power again, including you."

"In power? Me?" Landor said, confused again.

"Being one of the Five changes you. And trust me, by the time this is over, you will have been through a lot, and you will be a lot older. After seeing what Zurin does, it makes you want to change it." Landor nodded, and set his eyes on the path before him. The horse rounded a corner and galloped into a different valley. Its silvery-white mane flowed in the wind, like the wisps of vapour blown off the hilltops in the morning. Even though Landor was faced by such a beautiful view, he could not help thinking about how much destruction Zurin had caused. Dûrost captured. His father dead. A whole army destroyed.

Anger welled up within him. but he restrained and clenched his fists tightly. I do not only want to change this. I can change this.

*

The sky was a sombre grey, and Dûrost walked alone, along a desolate ridge in the Black Mountains. Weary and hungry, it was a struggle to keep walking. Needles of rock leered out below him, extending out from the sheer cliff that boredered the path. It wasn't really a path, but it was walkable. Dûrost was a dizzying height above the valley on the other side of the mountain. He didn't like looking down - it made him feel fainter than he already was.

The peaks either side of him were so huge that they dwarfed everything else  in comparison. He could see the power of nature and he felt powerless against it. When he commited to this journey he had only thought of the danger of hostility from the Empire , but now he was keenly aware of the risks involved in the journey itself. The Black Mountains could be as hostile as Lugnar when things got bad.

Up on the ridge, however, he felt distanced from everything. He was at the roof of the world, and he could see for miles. As far as the horizon, gargantuan summits of rock rising from the earth, and groping towards the sky. Knife-edge ridges, like bony spines, jutted out angularly between back teeth of stone. And all the valleys were bristling with the same dark pines.

There was also something that he had not noticed before; a huge, brooding storm cloud. It crawled heavily over the peaks behind him, rolling, twisting, churning. A muffled rumble shook the air. The cloud looked like a boiling brew, turned purple like a bad bruise. It appeared to be heading towards Dûrost at a frightening pace. Although he did not know it, he was in a very similiar position to Landor and Verta- trying to outrun the weather. But that could never happen.

The cloud picked up smaller clouds from beneath it and grew steadily bigger, widening towards the edges of the horizon. Every so often it was lit up from the inside by a flash of lightning, so that for a moment it looked like a candlelit tent.

 Up here, there is nowhere to hide. No rocks to take shelter beneath, no trees to divert the rain. Just me, the mountain and the weather.

But Dûrost could not risk being caught on a slope when the rain came, nor could he risk the forest and the lightning, not to mention the bear. And, just as the lightning might hit a tree, it might also hit the highest point- the ridge where he stood.

So I am trapped, he thought, searching desperately for even a meagre barrier against the elements, but he saw nothing.

A low rushing sound, like a distant waterfall, started behind him. It increased in volume, staring to vibrate the earth, before crescendoing to a roar.

The sound was like an explosion in Dûrost's ears. The wind raged around him, picking him up with it's invisible hand and carrying him along as easily as if he was made of paper. The rain battered him and he was blinded by the cloud. Everything had become a ghostly white. Thrown to the floor, he cowered on his knees and hid his face from the onslaught of rain that ceaselessly assailed him.

His clothes stung him as they flapped violently against his skin. He crawled in pain towards the slope, hoping he could make it down to the relative safety of the valley. He would have to risk the bear. The water vapour whipped past him, travelling at such a speed as he had never see before. In contrast, his progress felt so agonisingly slow, as he was trying to make ground against the will of the weather. The wind pushed him sideways, making every movement a struggle. A few metres could drain him of his energy.

Dûrost edged down the slope, waiting until he was protected from the wind before raising himself to his feet. He could still hear its endless roar, and see the water vapour flow upwards off the crest of the mountain, and feel the bite of the rain, but was safer than before. Almost.

The ground underfoot was treacherous. There was no grip, and rivulets of mud and water ran in torrents down the slope, forming miniature rivers in the valley and overflowing those that were already there. Dûrost was soon walking in a stream, trying hard not to slip. A slip had already cost him a lot so far, and another might kill him.

No wonder nobody lives here! And I'm not surprised that the Arka didn't follow me here. At least that's one good thing.

 It wasn't so cold in the storm, as it brought warm air, but the warm air brought rain. Dûrost's face was dripping with water, his clothes were saturated with it and his boots were filled with it. There wasn't a single dry patch on him. So, if it rained more, he didn't care as he couldn't get more wet than he already was.

He gripped a clump of soil nearby, balancing himself as he edged further down. He was basically walking on  a mudslide,  and the only thing possibly preventing him from slipping was his grip on the surrounding earth. in this way he precariously descended until the land became less steep and the forest grew over it. The sound of the wind had become distant and the rain made a sharp hammering noise as it hit the leaves.

It was a marsh down in the forest. Each footstep squelched and oozed mud, covering Dûrost's boot's in a brown layer. The air was heavier even than before, and still carried the stench of decaying leaves.  It seemed almost as if the very air was rotten. Dûrost felt sickened once more but tried to walk steadily despite the nausea. It made him feel light-headed and sometimes he thought he could taste bile, however he could not stop. He doubted it would be possible to survive in the mountains much longer.

A flash of lightning lit up the forest in dazzling white for a split second, as if the sky had become a beacon. The valley was bright for a moment, but on the other side stood a shadowy figure. It was huge- maybe twice the size of Dûrost. Its silhouette exuded danger, the way it poised threateningly, towering above everything else. It was the silhouette of a bear.

The thunder sounded, a rolling, deep throated boom that shook the earth, and for a moment, there appeared to be silence. Then Dûrost heard the terrible cry of the demonic bear, shattering the silence. It moaned like a depraved creature of the deep, and roared like a hungry devil, all at once. It was truly a horrible noise to hear when he was dizzy, exhausted and wounded. Physically and emotionally stretched, almost to breaking point. The cry was whisked away in the wind, leaving in its place a dreadful stillness.

Dûrost instinctively shrunk back to the furthest edge of the trees, crouching slightly in an effort to become less conspicuous. It didn't make much of a difference apart from that it eased his mind, but he did it anyway. The sight of the bear had shook him. He had always thought that legends were far-fetched stories made up by people who had nothing better to do, but now he had one before his very eyes.

He panicked, thinking of what could happen.

What if it sees me? I am doomed, but I will put up a final fight. I always wanted to see Lithuas before I died, and I dearly wish that I could see Landor again. Safe.  But even if I don't, I just want Landor to succeed. His father was the greatest man I ever knew, and I can see the same things in Landor.

 With that thought, he marched on, ignoring the pain searing through his body, just using the deep instinct to survive to drive him on. He drew out his sword that he had stolen from the Arka, and held it out in front of himself. As he did, he lost his concentration and tripped upon a tree root.

Crashing into the tree, he cried out in pain and frustration. The silhouette  stopped. It raised its head, and then began to turn around to face the forest. Once again, the forest was lit up by lighting, but all Dûrost saw was its blood red eyes, staring straight towards him. The creature gave a roar, grating and unnatural. It broke Dûrost's nerves to pieces.

He resigned himself to his fate, and raised his sword in a final gesture of defiance.

 You may kill me, but not without a fight. No one will ever know this fight happened, but I care not. I will die in battle, the most glorious way.

It bounded heavily into the forest, muscles rippling. It headed straight for Dûrost, who stood firmly by a tree. Water flowed off his hair and down his face, mixing with blood and giving him him a bedraggled look. Dûrost didn't even know what he looked like, and neither did he care.

The bear rose onto its hind legs, and turned its eyes to Dûrost. They had a demonic fire in them, fuelled by hunger. He returned the stare icily, then, with a cry, lunged at the bear's stomach. It roared, and swung its huge paw at him. The paw caught his back and he was flung against a tree trunk, slumping to the floor.

A horn sounded.

I must be hallucinating. My head feels as if a hundred hammers are pounding at it furiously.

The bear-creature turned and bounded away, growling angrily. Dûrost saw what looked like a group of short figures running towards where he stood, some going after the bear.

 I must be dead. This cannot be real. Perhaps this is just my spirit, dismembered, watching. I can't possibly have lived through all that.

The short figures surrrounded him, gesturing for help. Dûrost could barely see; his vision blurred, and all went black.

*

Landor and Verta had been riding for a while, and Verta needed to see where they now where. It was easy to lose sense of direction in the twisting valleys of the Thiblon Dales.

" Landor- stay here. I'm going to have a look where we are."

He jumped off the horse, and light footedly began to clamber up the nearest hill, soon reaching the crest.

Only one valley before him was visible. The rest were hidden within a wall of fog. It moved swiftly towards him, like a huge ghostly apparition. It wasn't long before the ghostly blanket descended over the next valley and moved up the dale he was standing on.

"Landor! There's fog coming! Don't move!" he shouted, but his voice tailed off as the fog swept over him and down towards Landor. He cursed under his breath and started descending cautiously. The fog was so thick that he could barely see a rock about ten metres from him. When he was near the bottm he called out.

" Landor! Where are you?"

"Over here!" a faint voice replied, somewhere to the right of him. He walked over hesitantly to the direction of the sound, until the grey shadow of a horse and rider appeared.

"I can't see anything - we are going to have to ride until we reach some form of landmark."

" I'm not surprised! " Landor said, looking at the opaque fog. Verta saddled the horse and et off at a tentative trot. The path appeared to form out of the mist before them, and dissolve into it behind them. This made Landor feel isolated even more, for they could not see anything  beyond their immediate surroundings, and so there might as well be nothing there, but an eternity of white.

The path curved suddenly, and became wider ever so slightly.

" I can but wonder where in alll the Empire we are going!" Landor said, attempting to put on a humourous tone. " We might end up back in Blasca, or perhaps in the sea."

" I wouldn't count any of those options out, Landor." Verta replied, grimacing slightly. "Although, if we are lucky, the fog will clear by the afternoon, and if we are really lucky, we will have been going towards Loddfin the whole time. But you can never tell."

Landor nodded sarcastically. Like that would happen, with my luck.

Verta stopped the horse suddenly. He took off his hood.

"Ssh. Listen." They heard a faint noise, like wind rushing over a flat plain of land. "What is making that noise? " he said, confused.

" Probably a breeze blowing through the valley." Landor replied. Verta paused, before putting his hood back up and continuing to ride. " Where do you think we are?"

" I don't know, but from that noise, I think we are in the east of the dales. The wind only makes that noise on a flat surface, and the plains are in the east."

" I suppose you're right, but, as you said, we can never tell."

The land ended without warning.

" Stop!" shouted Landor. Verta tugged on the reins, and horse reared onto its hind legs, neighing loudly. Before them, the land dropped down vertically, disappearing into a white expanse. Then they heard the muffled roar of the sea, almost inaudible but unmistakeable.

"That was far too close!" Verta said, eyes wide.Landor simply nodded, shaken by the close shave with death. "We must have curved around and come back to the bay. If we follow the coast we should come to Thiblon fairly soon"

He rode away from the cliffs slightly, and looked out sharply for what lay ahead. "Landor - you look to the right. I'll look ahead. "

" Is Thiblon in the direction of Loddfin?"

" Unfortunately, no. It's about as far away from Loddfin as Blasca, if not further." Verta said. Landor cursed, impatient to get on with the journey. " Be glad you're still alive, Landor!"

" Sorry. It's just... this is so frustrating."

They rode for a while longer in silence, and soon they heard the eerie sound of a ship's bell tolling. It sounded mournful, and it was strange how the noise was clear, yet nothing could be seen of what made it."

" We're getting close, if you were wondering." Verta said. Landor rolled his eyes and smiled.

The first houses looked like phantoms  in the fog, but when they neared, Landor could see that they were much the same as in Blasca. In fact, Thiblon was much the same, apart from that it was nestled among rocky cliffs,  and the town was built on a steep incline, latticed with narrow, winding alleyways. In the port were larger ships than Landor had seen before. There was the fishing trawler that had it's bell ringing, but there was no sign of the Empire's gunship. Landor breathed a sigh of relief.

 " We shou;d stay here until the fog clears." Verta said.

" Doesn't sound too bad. I'd like somewhere warm- my fingers are freezing out here! "

Now it was Verta's turn to roll his eyes. He turned into a wide street, searching as usual for the local inn. There was one with a gren sign by the harbour. He tied the horse to a post, where he could see it from inside, and then he and Landor entered the inn, the warmth indeed being a much needed relief from the cold outside, and Landor began to warm his fingers by the fire as they waited or the fog to pass. They could be held up for days if it was bad, but there was no telling yet.

*