Landor trudged through the freshly tilled soil towards the mule. It grunted as it pulled the plough through a particularly rocky part.

A blackbird swooped down and perched on the ground nearby, peering at him inquisitively. Landor knelt down to clear some pebbles from the path of the plough. As he did so, he heard the sound of metal on metal. He spun around, expecting to see someone behind him. There was nobody.

Curious, he looked around. He saw, to his dismay, that the plough had buckled on one side, which was dragging in the ground. He unhitched the plough, and stooped to inspect the damage. To his amazement, it seemed that the metal blade of the plough had been completely sliced through. The cut was clean and had no splinters.

His first though was of disappointment:

A perfectly useful plough, rendered useless! But how?

His curiosity arose and filled him; he found himself looking down, digging up the soil.

No common stone could have done this. Something strange abides beneath this soil, reason told him. But what is it?

Landor's fingers, groping, touched something cold and hard. It was too far down to dig by hand. Tools. He needed tools. And they were in the barn, in the village! He stood up and ran across the field, leaving the mule and the plough to show where it was. He ran through the forest, dodging trees and overhanging branches. He leaped over a small brook, bubbling noisily across his path. Across fields and over ditches he went, thinking only of one thing.

What is it that I have found? It feels like metal, but what metal can be so strong and yet so sharp? I have only heard of such things in legends. An old wives' tale about five leaders, who each have a sword, the likes of which could easily penetrate anything. I've never seen such a thing anyway. Just normal things. At least, not until now.

The smoke of the forge rose up below him, warm and familiar. Landor scrambled down the bank and entered the village. It was mainly inhabited with wooden bungalows, most of which had their own vegetable plot in their front yards. Towards the centre of the village, there were some markets. A leg of wild boar and other game hung in the butcher's stall. The smell of bread, warm and fresh, wafted through the streets that were near the bakery. Various herbs were strung up in the apothecary as doctors were expensive and hard to come by. Landor made his way towards the barn, on the edge of the settlement. It lay separate, in a clearing surrounded by the forest, which was next to the river that marked the border of Arnas' territory. No one had passed it and come back alive. Or dead. The river was where no one dared to cross.

The barn was in a corner of the clearing, under the shadow of one of the great oaks in the forest. The doors were closed, but not locked, so that animals could not enter but humans could. Landor unlatched the door, and entered the barn, shutting the door behind him. A few thin rays of light shone in through the narrow windows, lighting up the rows of shelves on the walls, full of tools. He searched them until found what he wanted: a shovel. Slinging the shovel over his shoulder, he left the barn.

Landor passed through the clearing and walked into the shade of the forest. A few low branches hung over the path, reaching out towards him. Broken, fallen trees lay covered in moss, mottled green and brown. The path twisted around a little pool, shimmering in the Spring sunlight and then straightening towards the village which was now in sight. Landor, wanting to stay unseen, traversed his way through the reeds and shrubs outside the town, slowly making his way towards the field where he discovered the mysterious object in the ground. As he walked, he again pondered the possibilities of what he had found. It was cold and hard to the touch.

Metal? Perhaps. It cut the plough, so it must be incredibly sharp. An axe, maybe, were they not so blunt. A sword? It could be, although it would have to be extremely keen-edged. Or it could be that the plough was already cracked?

Landor was deep in his thoughts when he came to the field. The mule and plough were still there, waiting. He walked over to join them and pushed the shovel into the ground, dug up the soil and dumped it aside, and in this way he made a hole until he his shovel hit something with a loud clang. He took a large cloth from his pack and with it, he reached into the hole he had made and grasped the tip of the object in the cloth, pulling it out slowly. He would find out what it was once he had gone to see his friend the forge-master, who would tell him if it was worth anything. He needed food, and he intended to sell the object if it was worth much.

Trudging back towards the track, he stepped over a ditch and, climbing up the slippery bank on the other side, walked over to the level grass on the edge of the forest, tense with anticipation. He passed oaks and ash trees as the path winded through the wood towards the forge, and over the small, noisy brook, bubbling its cheerful course down from the mountains to the forbidden river.

A/N: And here's the next chapter! Sorry if it was a bit uneventful (and short), my story has a slow start, but please stick with it! It will become loads more interesting soon and move your fingers to click the vote button. I mean, seriously, it's not THAT hard is it? :P

 As always, I welcome constructive criticism, or just anything you think about my book, please comment, or I won't know how to make it better for you! I will be updating next week, see you all soon :D