Beams of light trickled down as the branches pulled back to show a clearing. To the far side, a vast grey crack displayed the joining point between the two giant mountains which towered overhead. Orei clasped her hands around her mouth and achieved a shrill whistle before slowly making her way into the centre of the clearing, all the while looking around her; she beckoned Alun to follow.

Alun was exhausted from his desperate flight from Stonehill. His legs dragged and his eyelids drooped. Luther became almost unbearable to carry and it was at that moment when Alun's foot caught on a root, sending him and the unconscious Luther sprawling across the clearing. As Alun lay there he heard several amused chuckles echo around the clearing, and as he watched, short men, like Orei, shuffled out from the trees.

Alun got to his feet, leaving Luther sprawled out on the forest floor behind him, and made his way over to the group. Orei was smiling as the other men walked over to her.

"Hello, brothers!" She cried, as she grabbed each one by the wrist and pulled them into an embrace, merrily slapping them on the back.

The first to speak did so in a harsh rasping voice that Alun did not understand. This short man's hair and beard almost glowed snowy white and was clad in wavy pigtails with strands of silver wire braided within them. His armour sparkled silver, and Alun could see his reflection in the breastplate.

Orei responded in the same rasping language leaving Alun to stand uncomfortably by her side. Feeling the foreign conversation turn to him, Alun watched the animated faces of the participants. It seemed that the short men in the area guarded the perimeter, whilst the elder man was in charge and conversed with Orei. The conversation came to an end, and Orei looked up at Alun with a smile.

"Alun, I would like you to meet Saurin, Master of the Western Gate."

Alun bobbed his head in Saurin's direction and extended a hand. Saurin regarded it for a moment then took it, almost crushing Alun's hand in the process.

Saurin turned and indicated the others to follow, and Alun looked over to see Luther being carried by the other men. He glanced down at Orei as they made their way into the shadowed crack between the mountains.

"Orei?"

Orei shot a look in Alun’s direction.

"What language were you speaking just then?" Asked Alun.

Orei smiled up at Alun beneath her glinting eyes. "’Twas Dwarvish, long shanks, the language of my people. Unfortunately, it is becoming rare to speak it now as we find it easier to communicate in the common speech of man, but some still honour the old ways."

Alun started when he heard the word Dwarf. Orei looked up at him questioningly for the second time, and Alun looked around, realising that everyone had stopped, waiting for him to continue walking.

Alun walked on and gave Orei a sideways glance. "Dwarvish – as in Dwarves?"

Orei smiled and frowned at the same time, giving Alun a strange look. "Aye Dwarves, that is us. What did you think we were, Alun, Hobgoblins?"

Alun gave a sheepish smile, and Orei burst into laughter.

All the while, the crack they walked in became smaller, and the walls became steeper until they found themselves in a thin corridor. Finally, up ahead Alun could see an end to the vast stony funnel. Carvings began to line the walls and murals decorated the upper reaches. Heroic battles were displayed dragons and other strange beasts fighting short, bearded, axe-wielding Dwarves.

Saurin sighed as he looked up at the murals. "Behold, Alun; the battle of Eldar-echt, or, in your tongue, ‘The Elves End’. A good day for all."

Alun looked up at the mural confused, and then stopped as the corridor came to end. A vast golden door glittered in the dying light of the day, making shadows stretch and distort. The murals became strange and demonic, and Alun itched to be on the other side of the gilded door. A strange thundering, grinding noise resounded though the corridor, resembling an earthquake and Alun looked up to see the golden gates swing open.

Saurin indicated inside with a sweeping arm. "Welcome, Alun, to the Dwarven city of Doflhiem."

...

Olaf's sword flew through the air as he spun around Marius. The sword soared over Marius's head and landed into Olaf's outstretched hand, which swung around and touched Marius's left temple.

"That is strike two, Marius. Concentrate now – again!"

Olaf had been drilling Marius for days now, teaching him the subtle moves of sword mastery, the positioning of the feet, the fluid movements of the body, and the gauging of the opponent. Each time they had practiced, Olaf had been completely different, displaying different moves, and doing different things in order to confuse Marius. With each session, Marius felt himself improve, but it was still impossible to touch his opponent. It had almost started easily, and Marius was sure that if Olaf went that easy now, he would be able to win, but Olaf increased the level with every session, causing Marius to constantly work harder. He swung his sword, but knew instantly it was too slow; Olaf deflected with ease and began to instruct him again.

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"Too slow, Marius, now lunge! Too slow– faster lunge! Faster! Again! Now block– duck! Roll! Good, now swing! Defend! Too slow! That is strike three, but well done. That will be all for now, let’s go and have some food."

Marius placed his wooden sword back on its rack next to Olaf's. Olaf went over to his real, giant, shimmering sword and hooked it on his back, then made his way out from the arena with an aching, shuffling Marius in tow. They passed through the Dragon skull corridor, where Marius occasionally glanced at a particularly gnarled specimen, but by now he was too tired to ask its history. They passed through the great hall and crossed it straight to the eating hall where a vast table wrapped around three sides of a massive fireplace that was set into the flagstone floor. Olaf clicked his fingers, setting the huge fire ablaze. He grabbed two bowls from the table, and sat down waiting for the broth to boil in a massive cauldron.

Marius felt himself drifting off, when Olaf tapped him on the shoulder and handed him a bowl. The broth, as always, tasted bland, and had a slimy texture, packed with essentials. Olaf said it was good for a stable diet, but Marius would sooner believe the concoction to be poison. He ate his broth regardless, then turned in for the night, leaving Olaf to stir the cauldron and smoke his pipe.

…

Marius awoke as the countless Vakringuardian birds outside played their shrill morning salute. He crawled out from his bed covers and shivered at the cold air. Shuffling over to his desk, Marius pulled on his leather tunic and boots which lay crumpled under his chair. The morning sun shone through the high windows as he pulled open his door, filling the gloomy hall with beams of fuzzy, dust filled light. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Marius let his weight fall on each leg as he descended the stairs. He looked up to see Olaf pull open his bedroom door and starting down the other set of stairs. A cup of steaming tea was in his hand, and his large leather overcoat was folded over his arm to show the faded, blue, woollen shirt that he wore underneath – and as always, the magical, glittering sword sat on his back.

Olaf met Marius on the landing, despite starting his descent later and further up.

"Good morning, Marius. I trust you slept well."

Marius sleepily nodded. "Yeah, it was a good, how about you?"

Olaf smiled. "Aye mine was good too. No more nightmares I trust?"

For the first few nights, Marius had had crippling nightmares of Stonehill, but rigorous training had pushed away those dark thoughts.

"No, none."

Olaf gave a gruff nod in satisfaction as they entered the eating hall.

Marius poured himself some tea from a small iron kettle, as Olaf hollowed out two loaves of bread and filled them with broth. Together, they made their way to the arena with both broth and tea in hand. Finishing his tea, Marius used chunks of his bread to soak up the broth. This was a better method of eating the slimy muck, but Marius still cringed as a particularly slimy chunk slid down his throat.

Olaf and Marius sat side by side in the arena, slurping away at chunks of sodden bread. When they had finally finished, Olaf stood up and faced Marius again.

"Are you ready?" He asked, in his booming voice that was far too bold for morning.

Marius dusted off the crumbs from his bread, and wiped the remnants of the slimy broth on his tunic's front. Giving a nod, he walked over to the weapons rack and pulled off the two weighted sticks that acted as their swords. Olaf put his overcoat down, and unhooked his sword from his back. Taking the training sword, Olaf took up his stance and circled Marius, who in turn circled Olaf, assessing every angle.

Marius pounced, driving the tip of his wooden sword in mid-air, thus producing a flying lunge. Olaf side stepped, and brought his sword up and under Marius's feet, causing Marius to sail past harmlessly, then hook face first into the sand. Marius rolled over and sprawled on the arena floor, spitting and coughing up the lungful of sand he had just consumed. Once he had recovered, Marius got to his feet, and assumed the position once again opposite Olaf, who stood leaning on the handle of his wooden sword, treating it like a cane.

Olaf shook his head. "Too risky, Marius. We should try something different, something that will teach you to be cautious."

Olaf went over to the weapons rack, and pulled out a steel long sword. He had taught Marius different types of swords as they were training, and how to hold each type; this was a hand and a half long sword, allowing its wielder to use a shield as well as both hands when needed. Olaf threw the sword at Marius, who yelped and jumped out of the way as it missed him, and embedded itself in the sand. Marius began to flush angrily, but then saw Olaf's serious face. He weighed the blade in his hands, and compared to his wooden sword. Although his practice sword was weighted with iron, the long sword was a significant difference.

Olaf gestured to the practice sword, and Marius threw it to him, half hoping he would be hit by it. Olaf caught it with ease, then sat down by his glittering blade, and pulled out his pipe; Marius followed.

Olaf looked up at Marius and acted confused. "What are you doing, lad?"

Marius stopped and frowned. Olaf gestured behind Marius, and as he turned, Marius watched two shadowy, black armoured knights begin to form out of nothing. Marius looked back at Olaf, and saw his blue tattoos glowing brightly. With a clap of Olaf's giant hands, the knights took up positions against Marius.

Olaf leant forward and touched Marius on the arm. "Watch out for the swords, lad, they'll give you quite a shock."

With another clap, the knights jumped into action, leaving Marius to defend himself as best he could. The shadowy swords flew past him, and Marius felt the change in weight as he tired quickly. He blocked and parried, taking up the defensive stances almost as soon as the round began, but the two knights pushed him back, and Marius struggled as he avoided the swinging blades.

Olaf was silent as Marius struggled. He sat and watched the young lad deflect each blow, and saw him slow down. The shadowy blades came closer to Marius with each hit; Marius ducked and weaved, and he managed to establish a rhythm with his defence as he doggedly fended both knights off and away from him.

Suddenly, the rhythm changed, and before he was able to stop it, Marius felt a surging pain hit him in his right side. Looking down, he saw one of the shadowy swords had slipped through his defence and caught him between the ribs. With a clap from Olaf, both knights disappeared into shadows and the pain went with them, leaving Marius to pant in shock.

Olaf got up and walked over to Marius to place a hand on his shoulder. "You did well lad. Have a rest, then maybe afterward we'll take it a little bit slower, ok?"

Marius nodded, stood up, and carried his sword after him. Olaf went over to the weapons rack again, and grabbed the sword's scabbard, handing it to Marius as they rested for a moment.