The silhouette of the jagged mountains stood sharp against the purple and orange- hued sunset, which rose and faded into the growing dark. The highest peaks stood tall and majestic, almost as if they were the guardians of the valley. Landor looked up at the sky as he passed through the gate, and with a heavy heart, walked towards the forge.

So as not to be noticed, he scrambled up the bank and skirted the edge of the forest, until he saw the smoke from the hearth, hardly discernible against the low lit sky.

Landor cautiously descended the bank, edging forwards, digging foot-holds with his heels. The ground was wet and slippery from the recent rain, and Landor's pack was weighing him down. It had provisions in it, as well as his water bottle. He also had his bow that was four feet long, and a quiver of Dûrost's finest arrows. Isirin was hidden in a pouch in the quiver, the pommel hidden by his hood. Dodging the mud-patches, he came to the door of the forge.

"Dûrost? Are you there?" he whispered through the key-hole.

"Landor? Come in." said Dûrost, his voice muffled by the door. "I was just waiting for you to come- have you everything you need?"

"Everything. I am sure of it." Landor replied, as he came into the warm room. "Provisions, water, bow and quiver, myself and of course..." He indicated the sword hiding among his arrows, "Isirin." His whisper was barely audible.

"I've got all I need- enough food for the both of us, and more, as well as my humble sword." Dûrost laughed quietly as he drew his sword from its scabbard. It was similar to Isirin in size and shape, but there were less intricate patterns woven into the hilt, and there were certainly no precious stones adorning it either.

"Your sword- what is it called?" Landor inquired, a look of interest lighting up his tired face.

"My sword?" Dûrost chuckled. "It has no name- only the greatest swords of a most fine lineage have a name. But it is still a good enough sword for me!" he smiled, but suddenly frowned. "I just hope I don't have to prove its worth- but I have a feeling both your skills and mine will soon be tested in battle." Dûrost sighed, worrying for what was to come. "It is inevitable, I suppose." Dûrost said, trying, and failing to sound cheerful. "There is not time, nor is there a place to learn great swordsmanship for many leagues around." Dûrost added, giving up completely on his attempted optimism. "But I will tell you this: you cannot fight at close range, with just a bow. You would need to be incredibly quick of arm to reload and fire accurately before you are savagely cut to death. You will need to use a hand-to-hand weapon, such as a small sword or dagger."

"What about a small axe? I've used those for chopping firewood before, so it would not be completely new and strange." Landor suggested, but his smile faltered at the disapproval on Dûrost's face.

"An axe? No, that would definitely not do. A small one is not powerful enough, but the more powerful axes are far too heavy, and the balance is completely different to what you are used to. I don't make battle-axes anyway; they are too hard to make light, and the handle tends to break under the strain. If you want an axe, go to the Dwarves. Their skills in metal-work and stone-work are near impossible to rival. Their King has an axe that penetrates almost as well as a sword, and smashes like a mace; it is a deadly weapon. But enough weapon talk- you need a fighting blade. Come with me." Dûrost gestured impatiently towards a door.

Landor followed Dûrost into a dimly lit room. It was lit by lamps on the wall, which gave a faint golden glow. The yellow light was mirrored by the polished blades and the wide array of tools and weapons hanging on the walls. And the swords! Landor looked around himself in awe. I have never seen so many in the same room. Single-handed swords, broadswords, double-handed swords and scimitars. And above them, on a shelf were many arrows. Rather like my own, actually. Landor grinned to himself.

Dûrost walked past these, and towards a darker corner of the room. Landor could make out the faint outline of dozens of knives and daggers, and the occasional glint of cold steel.

Dûrost carefully selected a dagger from the shelf; and held it in the light. It had a leather grip, and the wooden handle had a weighted core, judging from the heaviness and power in the hilt. The long, thin blade curved elegantly, narrowing at the tip. Intricate, twisted patterns flowed along the length of the blade.

"My very finest!" Dûrost said, his voice filled with pride and grandeur. "And it looks rather nice, if I do say so myself. Try it!" He beamed enthusiastically at Landor, waiting expectantly for him to take the dagger.

Landor reached towards the dagger, and held it in the palm of his hand. A flickering lamp was reflected for a second, but then disappeared just as suddenly as it had come as Landor turned the blade around. He mimed stabbing an inivisible chest, before withdrawing the blade, and returning it reluctantly to its sheath on the table nearby.

"It feels fine- not too awkward or heavy." Landor said appreciatively.

"Well, what is the delay? Put it on your belt, near your hand, so that you may draw it when danger is near. Very near, literally, as this weapon has a very short range. You must never throw it. If you do, you will either miss and have it thrown back at you, or lose it. Don't even try it, for you will certainly get yourself killed."

Landor nodded in agreement, and he and Dûrost made their way out of the dim room and the forge, and entered the now dark night. A few dim lights shone through the dirty windows of the houses, illuminating the street. Landor and Dûrost stuck to the shadows to avoid being noticed. Most people were asleep or inside, and the village was silent. A lone owl hooted in the distance.

Landor and Dûrost walked under an overhanging tree, and clambered over the sagging fence, marking the boundary of Arnas, Landor's home town. He had often crossed this fence, going hunting for his family, but this time he was less open. It did not feel right, hiding. He was leaving everything he knew behind.

"Come on!" Dûrost whispered impatiently. "There is no time to look back. I know it is hard to leave. I find it hard to leave this place myself, but it must be done. There is a long, long journey ahead, and we cannot afford to linger. You are coming of age; be ready to let go of the past, and embrace the present. Do not let the future worry you until it is necessary. Too much fear causes cowardice and death. Do not be more afraid than you have to be."

Landor nodded, hesitated, then crossed the border, telling himself to keep calm. I have Dûrost to guide me- why should I be so worried? Embrace the present. Do not let the future trouble you. Do not become victim to your fear, Landor. Be strong. Landor told himself firmly. Yet he still struggled silently with his emotions. He showed only an expression of deep concentration, furrowing his eyebrows in a deep frown, feeling conflicted.

They approached the edge of the forest, leaves crunching under their feet. Darkness was setting in, and the silhouettes of the trees were hard to define against the inky midnight blue of the sky. A slight breeze gently waved the branches in the canopy, creaking and rustling. Slowly, the dwindling light of Arnas grew fainter, obscured by the trees. Landor took a last look behind him, and then turned away, running to catch up with Dûrost, who was stridently walking on in front. He did not slow or wander from his path.

"Dûrost! How do you walk so fast and straight?" Landor panted as he came level with Dûrost.

"Practise!" Dûrost answered simply. "-and a long story." He added, obviously not in the mood for talking much. Landor got the feeling that Dûrost was trying to avoid talking about his past. Perhaps something bad happened that he wants to forget, Landor thought to himself. Despite that thought, Landor decided that he couldn't resist a story to take his mind from the endless, wearying night time walk.

"There's plenty of time for a long story- three whole days!" Landor persuaded. "When did you learn to travel so fast? Was it in secret?"

 Dûrost sighed reluctantly. "It is a grievous tale..." He tailed off, and was silent for a while before continuing. "But, I suppose if you are to understand, then it must be told, whether I tell it now, or later."  He decided with grim determination. "It was like this: shortly before the great battle, on what is now known as the Fields of the Dead, the realm Lithuas was preparing for war. Each of the Five needed an apprentice to help them. I was your father's apprentice at the time of Zurin's uprising. It was a stressful apprenticeship, to say the least, but I learned a lot. I observed his fighting technique during practices. His tricks often saved my life, and they might just save yours. Your father was a clever, brave man, and I will always look up to him, even though he is now... gone."

"The battle took place in a large, flat valley, hemmed in by the sea and the surrounding mountains. There was nowhere to retreat, so the losing side could not flee. We underestimated Zurin's strength. He had gathered to him thousands of wicked men and evil creatures that I shall not name here. And, when we met him on the shores of the sea of Arten, we were  hopelessly outnumbered. It was a disaster. That dawn was the most terrible I have ever seen."

The dawn. What was a vibrant amber smothered by dark clouds, with streaks of blood red littering the horizon, as if the sky had been splashed by the blood of all the fallen men. The ground seemed soaked in blood and tears too. The sickly grey light that shone faintly through the clouds only served to make the faces of the dead men clearer. To make their expressions of agonising pain and hopelessness completely unmistakeable. And the cacophony of screeching laughter, of victory from the Azkrin, and all of Zurin's army that thundered in our ears, haunted our thoughts and sent shivers of despair, fear and hatred through all of us yet living. Dûrost shuddered and pulled his mind away from the memories.

"Zurin destroyed many hopes at the end of that day, but he started by killing Bèrain, one of the Five, and took also his sword, Eriac. The rest of the Five realised their danger and fled north, into the mountains. Zurin slaughtered the army, hopeless without the Five, and then realised his mistake. The Five weren't there. Furious, he sent his servants, the Azkrin, to hunt them down. I had to walk many miles, following your father through the mountains, towards Arnas. A long, gruelling journey that took the strength out of my limbs. When we eventually found Arnas, it was quiet and secluded. We just knew it would be the perfect place for us to hide in. Your father sought out a normal life here. You were born. But, eventually, he was found by the Azkrin in this very forest. He managed to kill one of the Azkrin, but this took his life force from him. He was the last of the Five, and Isirin was lost, along with our hope.

That is, at least, until now. You are what the prophecy spoke of. The final hope. You are why I stayed. The only reason. I knew who you really were, but I was unsure of whether you really would fulfil the prophecy or not. I had to travel far and fast to avoid being caught, and to be informed of news from Ithèlïon. I know the roads well." Dûrost  recounted, looking pained at mentioning the Battle of the Fields of Èletarí. He looked down to the floor, his eyes full of sorrow.

Landor could almost feel the grief emanating from Dûrost's account of those tragic events, and he too walked on in silence, fully realising what this meant for Dûrost. And what it meant for him. He was the last man. The last of the Five, now that his father was dead. He took a deep breath of the cold night air and trudged on next to Dûrost.

They had reached the centre of the forest and the trees were closer and higher. The moon shone occasionally through a small gap in the forest roof, lighting up the track through the maze of oaks and towering sycamores. A few small flowers grew along the side of the path, seeming faint and colourless in the dark.

Landor could only see things close to him. The path seemed to be swallowed up by the darkness of the night, only to appear when close enough to be made out. It was easy to stumble on the many fallen branches that lay across the track, as if there to trip weary travellers.

On either side of them, the forest rose up into the mountains, a vast, dark, shape casting shadow over the valley. The path kept on twisting and coming out of the darkness, never seeming to end. It became more and more overgrown, as it was old and disused. Dûrost cut through bush and bramble with his sword, ploughing through the vegetation with many a loud swish. Landor cut with his dagger any branches which had escaped Dûrost's methodical chopping.

"It is hard going here, but there will soon be a place to rest." Dûrost told Landor, after a while of slow progress.

"I like the work- it stops me from falling asleep!" Landor answered with a grin, cutting the thorns with renewed vigour and throwing them aside aimlessly.

Dûrost then halted, looking around himself. He began to pace forwards and backwards, examining the trees and the path as he went. "This is where we leave the track." said Dûrost, turning aside and entering the denser mass of trees around the path. Landor followed closely behind, treading closely on the obstacle strewn ground. It was much darker, as there wasn't a single gap in the overhead branches, and so more treacherous. He often hit his foot against rocks and logs that were in front of him.

Eventually, they found their way to a small clearing. It was brighter from the absence of overhead branches. And Landor could see many constellations dotted across the black expanse that was the sky. Dûrost took off his pack and laid it on the ground. He still held his sword and moved towards a pile of brushwood in the shadow of the trees.

This place has been used before, thought Landor, noticing the neat pile that Dûrost was using. Dûrost knows of it; he must have used it. Maybe he made the pile of wood. He said he 'knew the roads well'. I wonder if this  counts as a road?

Dûrost had set the wood in the middle of the clearing. He took the tinder-box out of Landor's pack, and lit the wood. It began to crackle merrily, and soon there was a fire burning, giving a flickering, golden light. Landor warmed his hands near it, and then slowly rested his head against his pack, falling asleep.

Dûrost laid a hand on his sword, watchful of the forest around them. His eyes roved the mountains and the trees. All was dark.

A/N: Yes! Finally! They are going somewhere! Things are beginning to pick up speed now. Please vote and comment. If you are a lurking reader, please make yourself known to me! It would be so encouraging to know I have you reading my book :D Anyway, my next chapter will be coming next week as usual! So, until then, adios amigos!