The heat of the forge warmed Landor's fingers as he came into the room. It was a sturdily built brick building, with one large hearth in the corner, leading up to a chimney. The worktables were many, and there was a multitude of tools hanging on the wall near a range of machinery. The loud clanging of the hammer on metal stopped, and the master of the forge, Dûrost, rose to greet Landor. Giving him a hearty slap on the back he cried; "Landor, my lad! It's good to see you; I've missed you for too long! Now, what are you in want of? My help? Or my hammer?"

"Dûrost, you see, I have just found something in the fields, and I wondered if you could tell me anything about it?" Landor said.

"Something in the fields, eh? A rusty spade or somewhat of that sort, I'll wager. Well, let's see it then!" Dûrost said.

Landor reached into his pack, and drew out the cloths. With care, he unfolded the cloths, revealing the object to Dûrost. It was a long sword, with a double-handled grip. The weighted pommel gave power to the swing, and the blade was extremely light and strong. It curved inwards slightly, before widening and tapering to the tip. And, set in the cross-guard, there was a single vibrant blue sapphire, smooth and perfect.

Dûrost gave an involuntary gasp, and then said in a low and completely serious tone, "Do not show it here. It is a secret between you and me. Guard it well."

"But why? Is it such a dangerous secret?" Landor inquired, confused at Dûrost's sudden change of mood. "Have you never heard the prophecy?" Dûrost sighed.

The son shall find the sword and leave home behind

But there is one thing he must surely find:

A black tower on a white night

Containing knowledge to save his plight

For with the message comes Zurin's bane

The stone that was lost shall be found again.

"This is the sword in the prophecy. You are the son." Dûrost explained. "The King will want to kill whoever bears that sword, because they are his death. He succeeded in killing your father."

"Who... Who is my father?" Landor asked.

"I knew your father." Dûrost said. "He was a great man. He was the last of The Five Leaders, the ancient group started to reinforce order on what used to be our land. Now half of it belongs to Zurin, that evil king. That sword was passed down through the generations to him. The others had been killed in war, but you father lived on longer than any of the rest. So Zurin ordered his servants, the Azkrin, to kill him. Your father killed one, and died in the act, the other Azkrin fled. Isirin was lost.

"Isirin?" Landor asked, puzzled at what it could be.

"Your sword." Dûrost replied. "But we must not speak of that openly. Danger is at hand. Be wary of your precarious position. I will answer your questions on the road."

"On the road?" Landor now felt extremely alarmed and bewildered. "Why are we leaving?"

"It is no longer safe to be here. News travels fast if not kept quiet." Dûrost answered. "And horses travel quicker!"

"But where do we find these horses?" Landor asked.

"Cross the Fords. Go to Rïduren. It's a three day journey from Arnas." Dûrost explained. "We take the Great Road at sundown." He paused, his forehead creased in thought. "On second thoughts, we shall take the lesser known path that runs next to it, for our secrecy. Hide the sword so that we may not be found out. The journey will be perilous, but we aim to follow the river to Bläsca, the fishing village, where we may find a suitable boat and then plan where to go next. Probably south to the far reaches of the Barrier Mountains. Long and hard." Dûrost mused.

"Is that really the only way?" said Landor, hoping for something less suicidal.

"It is, unless you want a faster way to meet the King. And not in victory." replied Dûrost.

Landor leaned against a wall, pale with shock. He had, a few hours earlier, been none the wiser about the goings-on of the Empire. Just a simple farm-hand. But he had been thrown into the deep end of this war with no warning and no help, apart from Dûrost. He realised he would have to leave everything behind, not just possessions, or even family, but his own identity. He had found out who he was. Or at least -Landor thought- who I am meant to be.

How could I be a great warrior? I am nobody. I am no longer even a simple villager. Now I am a hunted fugitive. No skill. No hope. In short, I am dead meat. Landor laughed mirthlessly to himself. A great warrior? More like a great failure.

"I know it seems dismal." Dûrost empathised, seeing the agitated expression on Landor's face. "But there is hope yet; the King has yet to know that Isirin has been found again. He thinks himself safe, preparing to invade Ithèlïon!"

"Ithèlïon?" Landor enquired.

"The safe lands to the East." Dûrost said."That is our hope; but it is the Empire's weakness and folly. We are preparing an alliance of all the races to attempt to resist, and possibly defeat, the strength of the King. Perhaps.

" So there is hope?" Landor said.

"You ask so many questions, Landor. If there is hope, it is in this alliance. Zurin will not expect it. He thinks that we are blind to our danger. He thinks we will do nothing. Nothing! As if we were total fools,"  said Dûrost, rephrasing his previous remark.

"How do you know all of this?" Landor said.

"How do I know all of this? It was my job to help the Five, as we called them. I started as a blacksmith's apprentice, but I felt that I could not just sit by and watch Zurin rise. I had no idea what he would become, yet I already sensed that he was a threat to us. I knew I had to help the Five. I was never great enough to be one of them, the great warriors, but I was proud to assist them in the things they did.

After countless battles that I survived with your father, he decided to retire from war so he moved here and settled down. I followed him here and, now that your father is gone, I remain at my work in this modest forge. But I am also a spy for Ithèlïon. It isn't as glorious as being a swordsman, but I quite like this forge. It reminds me of the weaponry at Lithuas, the capital of the safe lands. Truly the most beautiful city you can find. I will be glad of the day we arrrive, if all goes well. But there are many leagues between us and Lithuas. If you ever want to get there, we must leave as soon as is possible. Start quickly, while my advice is still fresh in your memory, or you may never start at all."

"May I ask you just one more question, Dûrost? How do we protect ourselves if it is too dangerous to reveal Isirin?" Landor asked.

"Have you hunted much?" said Dûrost.

"Yes." Landor answered.

"Are you any good with a bow?" Dûrost queried.

"Of course!" Replied Landor.

"Use a bow then. It shall serve both as protection and as a means of getting food." Dûrost decided.

"And you?" Landor looked curious.

"Me? I still know how to make swords- quite good swords, if I do say so myself." He grinned. "I have had a lot of time to perfect my technique!" Dûrost said, with a wink.

"So, we pack and meet in here at sundown to journey, go to Rïduren, find horses, ride to Bläsca, and take a boat?" verified Landor.

"I couldn't put it better myself!" said Dûrost, going back to his usual cheerful manner. "I'll see you later- I am sorry that this has been thrust upon you so suddenly- these times are strange, and fateful."  Dûrost looked sympathetically at Landor, seeing how bewildered he looked. "If it helps -" He added gently, "- I feel rather shocked myself."

Landor nodded numbly, before clearing his throat and giving a shaky smile to Dûrost. "Strange times indeed!" He paused a while, before heading to the door. "I'll see you at sundown, then." Landor picked up his pack, and left the forge, shutting the door firmly behind him. He walked slowly into the cold evening, contemplating everything he had just learned of, and how his life had been turned upside down in one afternoon. He was not who he thought he was.

A/N: Things are starting to get more interesting, and longer from here! Please vote, and comment to tell me what you think of my story! I will be updating next week, enjoy your week, and thanks for reading- it means a lot :-)