A cry of rage echoed through the valley, deafening in contrast to the eerie silence that followed. A fleeting moment of stillness that seemed to hang in the air, before the troops were in uproar. Soldiers shouted and ran towards the noise, eager to know what had caused it. It sounded like a goblin -and if it was, then that inevitably meant bad news for the Leader. It meant something had gone badly wrong.

But what, or who, could have done this? What had they even done? If it was the fault of one of my soldiers, then they are in for a beating. Leader thought.

"Stop! Patience!" he roared. The troops fell silent for the third time that night. "Somebody tell me what has happened."

A stumpy little soldier approached the Leader. "The boats are loose from their moorings, Leader," he piped.

"What did you say?" asked the Leader, unsure of these nautical terms.

"They're gone, Leader. Drifted off, it seems, from what we've heard from the scout." The leader began to turn purple with rage.

"Drifted off!? How could boats just drift off by themselves?" he paused, and then with half the volume, but twice as menacing, he turned to the troops and asked, "Who... tied up the boats?"

At the look of threat in his eyes, the soldiers around him backed off, forming a circle around the Leader. The stumpy goblin cowered behind the others. No one dared to step forwards. Glances were sent back and forth, searching for the one at fault, until - at last - a petrified soldier was pushed into the centre. He was shivering with fright. "I... I don't understand how th-this could have h-happened." he stammered. "I am s-sure that I tied up the rope properly, Leader."

"Of course you don't understand! You are far too stupid to understand, so you make mistakes. Mistakes are punished severely!" Leader shouted, and at that, he drew out a whip. The poor goblin curled up into a ball and rocked back and forth, whimpering pathetically. The whip was raised, and was about to be brought back down with brute force when a shout came came from the direction of the river.

"Leader!" it said. It was the scout, carrying a small goblin, a lantern, and a few lengths of mooring rope. "I found the guard tied to a tree, with a cloth over his mouth. He told me a very odd account of what happened. He said that a strange man with a dagger appeared in the boat with no warning. The strange man threatened him, tied a cloth over his mouth and brought him to shore. The man then lashed him to a tree and made off with the boats. That was all he saw." The guard nodded in agreement, obviously slightly traumatised.

The Leader lowered the whip and dropped it to the ground. He was no longer bursting with rage, and looked quite bewildered.  "Well," he said awkwardly, "that puts a spin on things."

The tension broke and the troop laughed nervously, also very confused. Who could the strange man be? Why would he steal the boats?

"Troops!" called the Leader, back to his usual, gruff tone. "Who do you think would be hanging around here, waiting to cause mischief? Does anyone come to mind?" No answer. Just blank expressions. "Well..? Have all your brains been switched off this entire raid?!" the Leader growled. It began to dawn on them what he meant. What the raid had been for.

"That filthy little spy from Ithelly - somewhere!" one goblin shouted. A look of fire entered his eyes. "He deserves a whippin'! A whoppin' good 'un!"

"Let's get 'im!" The troop roared in unison, raising their voices and their weapons. The troop surged forwards, enveloping the Leader in a swarm of limbs and weapons.

"Wait! Stop!" the Leader shouted over the clamour. "How many times must I have to shout? You can look for 'im all you want, but you won't find 'im unless you search in a proper way! Follow my orders, and fame will be ours!" he paused, "and think of all that gold..." he said, turning to the impish soldier he had embarassed earlier. The impish soldier looked up sheepishly, muttered something to himself, and set off towards the river bank.

The troop had now split up, and were heading off in different directions to search for the 'spy' (who was, of course, Landor.) Some searched the river bank, whereas others ventured into the forest nearby. A few remained with the Leader, who waited for news.

"Leader! We found the mooring rope - or what's left of it," a shrivelled looking goblin said, holding up the frayed remains of the mooring rope.

"So? It's a rope," the Leader answered, not really understanding why that would be so important. The other goblins looked frustrated at that.

"It means that we know that we have got the right man - well, will get the right man anyway, because the way the rope was cut means that he was using a sharp dagger or sword, as the guard said. So he must've been prepared for fighting, like a spy would be," he explained, and so quickly that he said it all in one breath.

The troops in the forest had no luck - the thin, spread out pine trees offered little cover for someone to hide in, let alone make a stay for the night. He would not be there, or have left any belongings there. The goblins searching the river bank were in a similar position. It was very unlikely that he would hide amongst the willows nearby, although soldiers had looked further downstream for any sign of him or the boats. They came back after a while, empty handed, and the goblins had no choice but to return to the Leader, defeated.

The Leader was surprised to see the troops back so soon, but seeing the looks on their ugly faces, he guessed what had happened. And he didn't seem to happy about it, either.

"Leader, we -" the biggest of the river troop began, before he was cut off mid-excuse.

"You didn't find him, did you? We were so close to getting the spy," the Leader said, and began to raise his voice. "but then you failed the orders!"

" - we searched everywhere. Every probable hiding space, Leader. I am sorry, but we did all we could do!" The big goblin finished.

"Everywhere?" the Leader asked doubtfully, looking straight at the big goblin in front of him. And then they both had the very same idea.

"Not the island," they both said.

* 

Landor felt vulnerable, despite being hidden underneath a rocky over-hang and behind a wall of branches. The voices of the goblins, surprisingly loud for their size, seemed far too close. They did not even move downstream to look for the boats.

Why would they stay here? Surely they need to start walking to their base in the mountains, Landor thought, but then realised his mistake; the guard. He must have told them what happened - although I cannot be so important to them that they would forego reaching their base by dawn. They do not know who I am or what I need to do.

The voices seemed to be worryingly close. It was almost as if the goblins were on the island. Almost as if - or perhaps they are. I hope Isirin will not be needed, Landor thought, but then cursed his self - doubt and cowardice. I must do this for Dûrost. He has put all his faith in me, and I cannot let him down. Let them come. If they think they have an easy fight, they are wrong. They have Landor, wielder of Isirin to deal with, not Landor the farm-hand.

Isirin shone faintly in the moonlight as Landor stepped out into the open. A blue glow emanated from sapphire set in the hilt, smooth and perfect. It rested in Landor's firm grip, ready to kill any deathly dreature that made an attempt to hurt Landor. Ready to strike fear into the hearts of the enemy. Landor felt different.  He felt that he was beginning to understand what being one of the Five meant. Except that there was only one left, one unknown survivor in the most unlikely of places.

A silhouette appeared amongst the trees. Only one - a large, stocky goblin that was the same height as Landor. He could make out the jagged outline of a scimitar in its hands. The goblin checked its surroundings, raising the scimitar, poised for attack. Landor could tell it meant business. The scimitar was a heavy, brutal weapon. It had a double-handed grip, a crossguard and a wide, curved blade that was chipped from previous battles. There was nothing fine or detailed about it. Just power.

Landor sheated his sword, and, taking a deep breath, he climbed out of the trench. The goblin who was the Leader, turned towards him. Landor stepped onto a stony ridge, carefully choosing the high ground, for he had an advantage: he knew the island; the goblin did not. The goblin strode forward until he was close enough for his ugly features to be recognised. He gave a snarl, and took up an agressive stance.

Landor thought that the goblin looked more like an Arka, since it was so large and strong. An Arka with brains. That's something to be feared.

He raised himself up to his full height, and drew Isirin from its sheath. Isirin retained an inscrutable sense of power and majesty in its grip. It almost felt alive, as if there was more to it than just metal, leather and stone, albeit carfed extraordinarily well. In fact, there was more to it than that, it was jst that Landor could not place a finger on exactly what it was.

The Leader hesitated for a moment at the sight of Isirin, but he regained his composure, and advanced further towards Landor. He seemed to have lost some of his swagger and confidence, but certainly not all. Landor held out Isirin in front of him, gripping it with both hands. He needed all the power he had against this creature.

I do not have the stamina to fight defensively until he wears out, so I must scare him with a surprisingly offensive strategy. Unnerve him.

The goblin was now at the foot of the ridge where Landor was standing. Landor raised Isirin, and brought it down heavily towards the Leader. The blow was expertly blocked, and the blades met in front of the goblin's face. Landor could see a look of malice in the goblin's glazed over eyes as he stepped back, and in a counter-attack, swung at Landor's heels.

Landor jumped out of the way, and took the opportunity to lunge at the Leader's chest with Isirin. Again blocked, Landor decided to move around, to try and get around the goblin's defense, also forcing the goblin to move himself. And the goblin didn't know the island.

The Leader, seeing what Landor was doing, instead attacked forwards more aggressively, forcing Landor to move backwards. Landor was now constantly edging back, playing a defensive game which was highly uncomfortable. The attacks were swift and hard, full of hatred themselves. And very difficult to defend for a prolonged period of time.

Landor's foot hit a tree root and he found himself backed up against a pine tree, with almost nowhere to go. There was a horrible glint of triumph in the Leader's small, dark eyes as he raised his scimitar once more. Landor felt the confidence drain from him as he watched the scimitar trace its path towards him, undefended. Instinct taking over, he ducked to the side, and closed his eyes.

Landor heard a dull thud and looked up. He saw that the blade of the scimitar had embedded itself in the pine tree, having missed Landor. He breathed a sigh of relief that was almost inaudible, and then jumped around the goblin, who was fervently yanking at the hilt of his scimitar. He stopped snarling when he felt the touch of cold metal against his neck. Landor held the blade of Isirin across the Leader's throat, his hand shaking slightly.

Again, Landor felt the emotional pain of the very same situation which he had encountered only a few hours earlier. It's me or him. He has seen Isirin. If he lives to tell what he has seen, I shall die.

Gritting his teeth, Landor quickly drew Isirin across the Leader's neck. The Leader fell silent, choking mid-growl, and with a tremendous effort, took one final breath, before slumping to the floor, lifeless. Twice in one day. What have I become? I feel like a murderer, Landor grieved, but he remembered that it was not what he had become, but what he was becoming. He was becoming one of the Five. A swordsman, a warrior.

A movement in the forest behind Landor disturbed the stillness of the night air. Landor turned around to see goblins, peering out from the gloom. One squealed at the sight of their limp Leader. The rest turned, and fled. He could hear the splashing of water as they returned to the river bank, heading for Lugnar. Landor suddenly felt exhausted, and leaning back against a rock, he looked up once more to the sky.

The clouds looked faded, tinged blood red by the rising sun.

Here's the other half of the chapter that I dedicated to Cynarr !

I hope you enjoyed, and please vote and comment. What did you all think of the sword fight?