A knight on his mount appeared on the battle grounds looking for something extremely important. He jumped off his horse on the bloody earth and lifted a couple of dead soldiers, split their pouches but there was nothing. He was about to rear his steed and return home when a shout mingled with a cry arose through the air, causing a couple of vultures to lift their heads from the carcasses. The knight lifted up his visor to see better and saw a soldier trying to pick himself up by sticking his sword into the ground and pushing against it. The knight arrived by his side, pulling the horse by the reins with him, held out his gauntlet which the soldier reached for, picked him up and lay him on the back of his steed. The soldier had a nasty wound near his heart and was about to die.

“Where is it?” the knight asked rather harshly.

The soldier spluttered some blood and coughed out his answer. “In Turunia,” and coughed some more blood on the knight’s tunic.

“Are you sure?” The knight asked eyeing his blood stained tunic.

“Yes, a man came here with his horse and also searched the grounds, found it near a general,” came the answer.

The knight threw the nearly dead soldier on the ground carelessly, looked at his blood stained tunic again, smiled and thought. That was all the information he needed. So it was in the old dump called Turunia. Too bad, for it won’t be there any longer. In a moment he was out of the battlefields and off to Turunia.

Chapter 1

Arthur Mayron picked up the last bundle of wheat, threw it into the mill and slumped against the giant piece of stone to take a few breaths of relief and looked at the beautiful Turunia, its rolling hills and cabins made out of wood. The thing that most annoyed him was that there was a group of naked children playing in the street of dirt.

“ARTHUR!! You little scoundrel! Sitting there like it doesn’t matter to you that you’ve got to finished this before sundown! You know there’s going to be trouble!”

That shout broke the quietness like glass. Arthur quickly scrambled to his feet at the roaring of his stepfather. A short, balding fat man with a brown robe which made him look like -in Arthur’s opinion- a monk stomped

into the mill and picked Arthur up by the collar. Arthur stared at him while his stepfather bellowed at him and Arthur got a whiff of his recoiling breath, which smelled strongly of tobacco and ale.

“Arthur, you cursed boy, didn’t I tell not to rest on your bottom!” The naked children stopped their playing and looked at them as though they were watching theatre night.

“Boris, I just meant to rest for a while. No harm done.” Arthur said coolly.

“Don’t you dare call me by my first name, you damned soul. Get back to work!” Boris threw Arthur on the floor and went out through the mill entrance, cursing.

Arthur picked himself up and examined his scratched hands which he had acquired after the throw.

“Idiot,” he murmured.

The fourteen year old boy worked throughout the rest of the day and well into the night. He arrived late at the cabin in which he slept. He washed himself and sat down to eat in his night-time tunic. His stepfather left him some cold chokaw, a delicious stew of Turunia which was suppose to be served boiling, stale bread which felt like the stones he was carrying today and some water. As he ate, he thought of the life outside Turunia, the adventures and action that was happening. Because of the war between the two countries, Borugo and Sarena (Turunia was in Sarena), lots of Arthur’s friends were getting drafted into the army and never returned. But one day he wished that he was drafted and became a hero. He finished his food and washed the bowl and mug and ran to his stepfather’s cottage, put everything in its shelve, ran back and fell asleep on his lumpy bed.

This, my friends, is just the beginning of adventures in Arthur Mayron’s life.

Chapter 2

Arthur woke up the next day by someone pounding on his door early in the morning. He got out of his bed -he was quite relieved, believe it or not- went to wash his face and opened the door. Stood there the most magnificent horse with a rider mounted on top. The rider had steel armor plate body and steel helmet with the visor shut, and what seemed to have a stain of blood on his woolen clothes, but it was quickly covered by a red

cloak which fell elegantly down his shoulders. He was a knight, no doubt, thought Arthur.

“Yes?” Arthur asked respectfully, making a small bow.

The knight looked at this boy with brown eyes and black hair, and looked no more than fourteen years old. It was foolish to ask him, still the knight asked.

“Boy, have you seen a stranger in your town? Perhaps showing off a precious stone?” The knight’s voice sounded hollow, because of the vibrations in his helmet, but still had a stern touch to it.

“No, I haven’t,” said Arthur, shaking his head. He was disappointed that he couldn’t help the knight.

“Very well, go back to sleep, boy” said the knight airily, as if it was the most normal thing to say that.

“Good day,” said Arthur angrily. He almost wanted to slam the door in the knight’s face. But he controlled himself and closed the door lightly. He heard the knight clatter away on his horse to another house. Arthur went to his bedroom get to ready for the day but then heard banging again, this time with shouting.

“Arthur! Come out now! Lazy scoundrel!” Boris banged some more times on the door.

Arthur opened the door and shook his head then sighed.

“Do you have to do shout everything with cursing? You’re embarrassing yourself.”

Boris looked at Arthur with unexplainable hatred. He raised a fist as if to show his point.

“Get to work now, boy.” Boris snarled, trying to keep his fist in the air.

Arthur went to work without another word. But only when Boris slipped on some wheat that was lying on the floor before the cabin door, and Arthur rolled with laughter, Boris did land three punches on him. Arthur limped all his way to the quarries in order to bring his stepfather stones for the new oven he was going to make for him. He picked up a pick axe and swung it over his head, and landed it on the rocks, making the stone fly into pieces,

particularly a sharp one which cut Arthur’s cheek. He rested the pickaxe and examined the cut. Blood was oozing but he ignored the pain, and was about to reach for the pickaxe when he heard something whisper to him. Arthur turned around and found a goblin peeking at him behind a large boulder. He walked over to him, cautiously. He found the small creature dressed in a green tunic with a giant snake skin jerkin and had a leather belt with lots of pockets. Out of one of them, something shined brightly.

“Can yeh keep something important for me?” The goblin squeaked, nervously wringing his three fingered hands.

“Yeah, what to do you want me to keep?” Arthur half whispered, afraid that his stepfather was nearby.

“‘Ere yeh go,” the goblin said, unbuttoning one of the pockets and taking out a stone. The stone shone brightly with blue light. The goblin handed him the stone, too glancing around him. It felt light and cool in Arthur’s hand.

“What is this?” Arthur croaked, holding the stone before his face.

“It’s called Argah, the purest metal there is. It’s usually made for swords.” The goblin explained.

“Argah,” murmured Arthur still holding the stone close to his face. He turned to the goblin, but he wasn’t there.

Arthur shrugged and slid the stone down his pocket. He wiped the blood that was trickling down his neck and wished that he would finish his work a bit faster, so that he can examine the Argah a bit closer. He began working with a quicker pace and finished much faster. He felt stronger and brought the whole lot of stones before his stepfather’s astonished face, who was drinking outside a bar.

“There, finished.” Arthur said to his stepfather, who was still gaping at the lot of stones.

“Impossible,” muttered Boris under his breath. “Fine, you earn your breakfast.”

Arthur walked toward his cabin, whistling, and kicking a pebble. He picked up his head at a strange sound further in the distance. He saw a knight pick the goblin Arthur saw just a half an hour ago by the ear.

“I know you have it!” The knight roared, still clutching the goblin by the ear.

“I swear I don’t have it,” the goblin cried, gasping for air.

“Don’t lie to me!” The knight shrieked. “That Owen gave it to you!”

Arthur made up his mind on who he was going to help. He ran forward to aid the goblin. But before he could even take his fifth step the goblin disappeared into thin air and the knight was left with nothing to clutch. Arthur saw that behind the helm was a flabbergasted expression on the knight’s face