The forest northward from Olmwood was old and thick. Trees seemed to block the way on every other step. There was no path. Slowly the land rose. Terrain was climbing upwards toward the Dwarven hills. The forest was an unusually quiet one. Alfred couldn't hear a bird sing, nor an animal walk through these woods. The trees became more and more varied as he went. Pines started to appear among the more common oaks and birches. The ground was covered with bushes and large ferns. He walked through the thickening forest until dusk. He then made camp under a large oak, and fell asleep. He slept well, and nothing disturbed him in his rest. He woke up early in the morning, and had some meat from his backpack. He then continued his journey.

For five days he traveled through an ever thickening forest, while the ground rose steadily up. Birch and pine took over for oak trees, and the ground vegetation grew more and more sparse. However, the forest grew darker. Alfred didn't see or hear any animal at all. He fed himself from his supplies, which dwindled somewhat, but he still had food enough for three weeks. He wasn't going as fast as he expected, and he tried to hurry up, but his advance grew slower and slower as ground rose more and more steeply. Finally, on the morning of the sixth day he came to the end of the forest.

The forest ended here and grassland continued in its place. The north wind was strong here, and Alfred shivered with cold. From his vantage point he saw that he was already deep in the Dwarven hills. Forest continued in pockets for a league or so further but soon the harsh winds became too strong for even the strongest of trees and Alfred came to the region of grass-covered highlands. After passing over several stony ridges, Alfred came to a small valley, covered with grass, and with a small group of trees in it's lowest part. There was a stream flowing toward the center of the valley, where it formed a small pond. Next to the pond Alfred saw a small wooden cabin. From the other side of the valley he heard the bleating of the sheep. He started for that end, and not much after he saw a small human figure, accompanied by a large sheep dog, approaching him. The shepherd was of average height but strong. He was clad in the shepherd's clothes: long trousers, a shirt and a warm waistcoat over it, all made of wool. He held a long staff made of wood in his right hand. A beautiful wooden flute was tied to his belt. He approached Alfred, looked at him suspiciously and spoke to him:

-Who you be, friend or foe, to arrive to Dwarven hills in a set of chain mail, ready for battle? Introduce yourself and state your business.

-My name is Alfred son of Eyral and I am on an urgent mission of a personal nature. I come in peace.

-So does everybody else. But you look to me like an honest lad, despite that chain mail and the fancy equipment you carry, and villains usually don't come from the forest, for the Forest Master lets no one pass through his realm without his permission. If he deems you trustworthy, I do too. Welcome to the Dwarven hills, Alfred son of Eyral. My name is Golen of Aramid, and I am, as you can see, a shepherd. But come, let us sit down and then we can talk properly.

Golen led Alfred to a small group of stones from where he kept an eye on the sheep, and sat Alfred down. Then he sat himself.

-Alfred, son of Eyral, it seems to me that you are a brave person, for even if you had Forest Master's approval, not many people would dare travel without company in these dangerous times. And please call me just Golen.

-I know, Golen, for orcs have raided my castle and killed everyone in it. I was lucky to escape with my own head intact. But I came here looking for information, not comfort. Could you tell me about the roads in the northern valley of Froas, and paths here in Dwarven hills?

-Yes, I could, and I will do so. Northern valley of Froas is infested with large bands of raiding orcs. No village is safe there, and neither are the roads. Several castles have fallen, their lords killed, and there seems to be no one in the north to fight the orcs. Path here in the Dwarven hills are mostly safe, and there are several more valleys where we shepherds dwell. The dwarven mines are located two dozen leagues northeast from here. Beware of the area north of the mines, for several groups of brigands have their hideouts there. You will be pretty safe for several leagues around my valley, for orcs don't raid the highlands, and brigands don't get this far south. After you come down into the forest in the west and north, you will pass from the Dwarven hills into the valley of Froas. To the east there are the dwarven mines, and further east is the Thunder Mountain.

With that the shepherd grew quiet and stared at his flock.

-Thank you Golen, you were really helpful.

-You will need more than friendly advice to get wherever you are going, for the whole north up to the Misty Mountains is crawling with evil things. Now tell me about your homeland, and about the Forest Master.

So it was that Alfred talked to Golen for a long time. They exchanged tales of their homes, and Golen played his flute. He made beautiful melodies with it, and sang long ballads. Hours passed quickly. Alfred found himself wondering how did he forget the urgent nature of his quest. It was late afternoon, and the sun had fallen below the hills in the west. Golen stopped playing, rose and said:

- It is getting dark. We better start collecting the sheep, and go warm ourselves in my cabin.

Golen issued a sharp order to his dog, which ran quickly toward the sheep and started gathering them, running around and barking sharply when a sheep stepped out of the path. Alfred helped Golen collect his sheep, and they headed together to Golen's cabin. There they closed off the sheep in a fenced coral, and entered the cabin. Golen lit the fire in the fireplace and soon the inside of the cabin was warm and homely. Outside it was dark already. The cabin was a simple but comfortable one. Made of stout oaken logs, with wooden shindles on it's roof, it would be a comfortable abode for anyone who dwelled in it. There was a fireplace on it's northern side, a low bed covered with a woolen blanket along one walls, and a large wooden table in the middle. Several trunks with Golen's belongings were in the back. Outside there was also a small shed attached to the wall of the cabin where Golen kept his tools and where he stored his cheese. Golen made a simple supper made of cottage cheese, some dried lamb meat, and milk. They ate together, and then Golen asked Alfred to spend the night at his home, which Alfred gratefully accepted, for the night was cold and dark. Golen went to sleep in the bed, and Alfred slept on a straw mattress. Soon the only sound to be heard in the cabin was the even breathing of two people.

Fire had gone out hours ago. The cold was getting stronger. Golen's sheep dog was wide awake. The moon was in it's quarter, and cold wind was blowing over the highlands lighted by the pale moonlight. A pack of wolves had smelled the sheep, and were getting closer, stalked by a terrible hunger. They had come from the frozen north when the food there had become scarce, and they passed through the Northern pass following the orcish raiding parties. The catch they had in the cold northern highlands was small, and they were famished and determined to eat tonight. Aggravated by the smell of sheep they started howling. Golen's dog started barking strongly. Alfred and Golen woke with a start. Golen quickly lit a torch, and looked through the window. He turned towards Alfred and just said:

-Wolves. Let us hurry outside.

They clothed quickly, Alfred donning his chainmail shirt over his shoulders, and Golen putting on a stout jerkin of leather, while the wolves kept getting closer. When they came outside, wolves were already no farther than fifty paces from the coral. The sheep had heard the wolves and were now bleating frantically inside the coral. Golen released the dog but kept him near him. He and Alfred lit several more torches. Alfred tightened his grip on the hilt of hlongsword. Wolves turned their attention toward people. They were large, grey northern wolves, and they weren't afraid of anyone, be it man or beast, and these men stood between them and their prey. There were about two dozen of these strong beasts. The leader of the pack came closer to Golen, and then he charged. The rest followed suit after a moment of two. Alfred evaded the first charge, and then waved with his torch, and set fire to wolf's fur. He kept waving his torch, keeping the grey beasts at bay. Soon several of them were running madly around, trying to extinguish the flames. When his torch ran out, he fought with his longsword, hacking wolves left and right. Some of them tried to jump at Alfred from his back, but he evaded them and hacked their necks when they tried to attack him. Finally one wolf, a huge grey beast, managed to get on Alfred's back. The weight on his shoulders forced Alfred to the ground, and he fell with a dull thud. His armor saved him. While he fell his longsword dropped from his grip. He wrestled with the wolf, and tried to take out his dagger and stab the beast. He felt the wolf was slowly biting through his armor and he couldn't hold him off for much longer, when suddenly a long staff fell on the wolf's head. With a yelp, the beast released it's hold on Alfred. This gave Alfred time to grab his sword and roll aside. Jumping back on his feet, Alfred had just enough time to make a frantic wide slash at the wolf which jumped at him again. This time however his aim was true and Alfred's slash cut the wolf's neck and the beast dropped at the ground. Golen had saved him. Alfred turned around and saw that all the wolves were either dead or dying. Golen had several wounds on his hands and his back, and his dog was bloody, and limping on three legs. But they were both alive.

-Are you all right, Alfred?

-Thank the heavens. You saved my life. He almost had me.

-I saw it just in time. You fought like a trained knight. Look! There are at least a dozen wolves around you. You killed them all.

Looking surprised, Alfred turned around. It was true. There were at least eleven grey bodies littering the ground next to him. He placed his hand on his neck and felt the place where that wolf had almost bitten through his armor. His hand felt a dent in the rings of metal covering his neck. The thought of what could have happened if Golen hadn't come in time made him shiver. He then turned to Golen and said:

-It seems I did. But let us leave the talk for later, and go inside. I am cold, and your wounds must be tended to.

-Yes, let us go inside.

They went inside, and Alfred cleaned Golen's wounds, and then took out his spellbook, and the healing herbs. Under the amazed look of Golen, he recited the words of power, and the wounds that were open closed themselves, and then Alfred put healing salves on them, and both Golen and his dog were as good as new. When he finished, he put the book back into his backpack. Working magic is tiring work, but even knowing that, Alfred was surprised at how quickly cast a few simple spells had drained him. They were both very tired, and Golen went back to sleep, after checking on the sheep one more time, and setting the dog to guard. Alfred lay down on his bed, and then started thinking. What will he do, if he met more then wolves on his way to Ebening? Orcs, and who knows what else. Alfred felt really small, and considered if it was likely that he would survive another open fight with more then a dozen orcs, and he decided he didn't want to find out. Still uneasy, he slowly fell into deep slumber.

Sun slowly rose behind the Thunder Mountain and spilled its light like a golden liquid into the valley. As the rays of sunlight touched the grass, sides of the valley glittered like diamonds as light reflected of the droplets of dew on blades of grass. The sheep soon started bleating for food, and that sound woke Alfred up. Golen was up already, and after saying good morning to Alfred, went out to release his sheep out of the coral to graze. Alfred washed his face, and then started packing his things. A minute later Golen came back into the cabin, and prepared breakfast, for sun had already gone up and it was early morning. After breakfast, Golen asked about the magic Alfred used:

-Alfred, you seem a real mystery. You not only travel alone and in fancy equipment, but fight like a warrior and posses strong magic. I see the Forest Master didn't as usual let just anyone through his realm.

-My magic is not all that strong. My stepfather, Sage Eyral, Duke Harnslow's advisor, taught me magic, and his captain of guard taught me swordplay. That is how I know both.

-It is unusual that magic and swordplay be united in one person as strongly as in you. But, I forgot to thank you for helping me fight off the wolves. I couldn't have done it on my own, and they would have slaughtered my sheep.

-I thank you, Golen, for saving my life.

-Then we are equal. That is a good base for a long friendship. And because of the courage you showed I will give you this.

Golen took out a piece of parchment out of one of his trunks. It was old and withered, and looked like a kind of old map. It was covered with dwarven writings.

-This is a map of the old dwarven mines, made when they were first settled by the dwarves. It is out of date for some tunnels, but most have stayed the same since the map was made. I give you this for I don't plan to visit the mines. You seem to go in that direction, and it is told that the old mines are full of treasure.

-I thank you again, Golen. Although I probably won't visit the dwarves, I appreciate your gift even if I search not for treasure.

-Well, I hope you will be able to use it anyway, or trade for it with someone. I am only sorry for not having anything else to offer, except a welcome place for you at any time your travels bring you to Dwarven hills.

-Thank you, and I really have to be going now. My mission is urgent and I am afraid I've lost too much time already.

Alfred put his backpack on, together with some meat and cheese Golen gave him, and went out. Golen followed him to the valley rim. There they said their goodbyes, and Alfred turned his back on the friendly valley behind and headed into the hills northwards.

At first he went northwards, but then he turned more to the east. He decided to visit the dwarven mines after all. He needed his chain mail armor repaired and his sword sharpened. Also, he found the weight of the gems he carried with himself a burden, not so much of weight of stones, but of weight of responsibility. After thinking a while, he came to the conclusion that his mission is probably to be more delayed by having orcs capture him, or wound him, which was surely to happen with the state his chain mail armor and his longsword were in, than by having him visit the dwarven mines and have those two repaired. The land was getting drier and rockier as he went. He walked till late afternoon, and passed several low-lying ridges. The grass was sparse, and there was not anything living to be seen in the highlands. The darkness caught Alfred at the entrance to a small valley high in the hills. As the stars started shining on the night sky, Alfred readied his blanket, and lay on the ground. He then made and ate a small dinner of cheese and dried meat, and drank water from the nearby spring. Alfred slept soundly in the small valley between the hills, near the cold spring. The lonely hills left a strange feeling in Alfred's heart. It seemed that not only they never supported life, but also that they detested it. Old they were, older then time surely, for it took a long time for weathering to grind down these proud stones down, but ground down they were, so with a grunt he suppressed all evil thoughts and went back to climbing. Ground rose sharper than before, and soon the ridges grew hard with stone outcroppings, as the grass receded into the valleys, where it could collect the little protection it could from the dry, cold wind. Every step Alfred made took him farther away from home, and his thoghts frequently went to his homeland as he walked in solace and quiet high in the hills. He walked for two days through a country that got higher and rockier by his every step. The land here was so much different from the green valley where Golen had his cabin. It was steeply sloped and facing the far-away lands of the golden sunset. The ground was being more and more lost in a stone cliff face. The rock here revealed to a sharp and knowledgeable eye an interior rich with metal ores and precious stones. At last he reached the entrance of the dwarven mines by the late afternoon of the second day. This was the famous Western Gate, the western entrance to Akkliseoth, the underground kingdom of the dwarves. Strangely, the big doors which were usually open for the trading caravans were closed, and not a living soul was to be seen. Usually the space in front of the gate was occupied by several caravans and merchants waiting to trade with the dwarves. Today, however, everything was empty.

The entrance was located at a place where a small valley ended by a sheer rock face. In the center of the rock stood a gate wrought of mithril-steel, twenty five feet tall and twenty wide, and a foot thick. The valley was covered with grass, with a small stream going through its middle. This high up in the hills, the rock walls closed in on the valley, and the only way out was either back down into the hills, or into the mountain through the Gate. When Alfred approached the gate, he began noticing the littered ground close to the gate. The earth was covered with carnage, from a battle which seemed to have occured here several days ago. There were bodies lying all over the valley, and their stench was easy to note as they started to decompose. Flies were buzzing fiercely around corpses, feeding on the dead flesh. Some bodies were dwarven, and there were a couple of human corpses. But most of them were bodies of orcs. The battle must have been fierce, for some of the bodies were missing their limbs, and blood was everywhere. Broken pieces of weaponry, arrows and upturned caravan equipment, such as carts and broken wagons, and small wooden stands for display of goods, were visible in the litter on the ground. All items of any value, however, including the caravan's must-have-been cargo, had been taken away, presumably by the orcs. Alfred cautiously walked to the gate, and looked about it. It had some dents on it, as if orcs had tried to break it. Anything that can make as much as a dent in a foot-thick mithril-steel would give him shivers, Alfred concluded. Then, collecting himself, he banged on the door three times with a large metal ring set in the left half of the door. There was an identical ring in the right side of the door as well. The sound was deep and echoed deeply in the mountain. But nothing happened. No voice, no sudden creak of the door, nothing. Alfred tried several more times, but the response was the same each time. The frightening silence that seemed to envelop the whole valley in a hostile gaze, warning away any unwanted visitors. What could this mean? Was there no one to guard the door, and has the gate been left unmanned and closed, presumably for a long time? Were in fact orcs victorious in breaking down the Gate, and have they entered Akkliseoth unbidden? These and other questions swarmed through Alfred's mind as he tried to make sense of all things seen here so far.

Pondering on this, Alfred rummaged through the valley. Only now did he notice the carnage of a smaller and earlier battle in a corner of the valley. Here an obviously smaller human force was attacked by a large number of orcs. Alfred examined the bodies, and they told him that these were armored knights that fought here, well supplied with sharp steel swords and bright scale mail, fighting the orcs. This posed another mystery. What were armored knights doing here? One dead horse and his equally dead rider told him that they were probably men-of-arms for some feudal lord who commanded them, but such people usually didn't come here, for there was nothing here for a warrior to do. Sometimes merchants hired these knights for protection, but usually only a couple of them at a time, because they usually demanded high rewards. Here at least a dozen warriors found their doom, including their liege lord. He found a symbol engraved on a broken shield, an eagle with a spear beneath it. He couldn't recognize the banner, but copied it onto a piece of parchment so that he be able to later compare it with a book of heraldic symbols to ascertain the identity of the fallen noble and his men. After that Alfred followed the tracks that went from here to the main gate. Now at least a part of the mystery was unfolding. Few of the knights from the first group had managed to get to the gate and to raise the alarm. It was clear that orcs followed them and the result was a battle in front of the Western Gate. But that didn't help solve two real mysteries: What was a group of knights led by their liege lord doing in the valley, and why was no one answering at the gate?

Further search of the valley availed to nothing, so Alfred went to the stream in the middle of the valley, and lay to a rest. The task that now awaited him was gruesome, yet he steeled himself for it. He was lucky in that stone was abundant here, and making a cairn would be that much easier. Still, it was hard work for one man unaided. He first moved all the bodies of orcs to one spot on the side of the valley, and all the bodies of Men and dwarves to another spot. Then he collected large stones and small, and built atop each pile of bodies a large cairn, and afterwards marked the gravesites with some wooden sticks he found in the remains of the caravan. Feeling a little queasy from all this corpse-work, he sat down to rest for a moment and gather his strength. He ate some food from his backpack, and then rested for a while. When he stood up, he realized with a start that it was late afternoon. Alfred was surprised to see that it took him the better part of the day to build two stone cairns, but then again, such work was commonly done by many men with tools, and he was alone and without proper tools. Hoping not to be forced to dig any more graves in the near future, he sighed and shrugged at this strange twist of fate that brought him here in this moment in time. Wondering what to do, he suddenly remembered Golen and his map. He took it out and studied it for a while. It showed a complicated network of old tunnels, and several entrances to the underground complex. The main entrance was the Western Gate, which stood before him and was firmly closed. However, there were several small air in-takes both to the south and to the north of the Gate. Most of them were either too far around the Thunder Mountain, or marked as blocked off, but there was one nearby that was open, and not used, if the map was accurate. It was a small auxiliary entrance to the mining level labeled A-4, right atop the very first mine tunnel dwarves made here. Most of the area around it was marked as unused and some tunnels were even marked with a skull, marking a dangerous site. However, it was the only entrance close enough to make the trip worthwhile, so Alfred decided. From the map, it seemed pretty close. Thus he took his backpack and started going southwards, counting on reaching the entrance well before sundown.

Alfred was wrong. He walked until all the stars were bright in the sky and was still only a half of the way out. It was hard, even for him, as young and as nimble as he was, to climb steep cliffs, and jump deep crevaces under starlight. When he almost fell into a deep pit he couldn't see in the darkness, he decided it was time to stop and rest, until dawn showed him the way. He slept beside a small group of stones, on a sheltered porch facing the west. Alfred woke up gingerly to the rays of the autumn sun falling on his porch. The night had been cold with no fire to warm his body in the pre-dawn chill, but his clothes were snug under the chain mail, and saved him from the worst of frostbite. From where he stood he could see all the way to the river, and the sights his eyes were seeing were not encouraging. Downwards andto the west the hills descended slowly to the level of the plains, where dark forests continued in long stretches. From many places columns of smoke rose high up to the heavens, and Alfred saw several fires raging in the countryside, down by the river and on both sides of it. It seemed that the orcs were hard at their hateful work, pillaging and burning, destroying his land. Hate filled his heart, and it was trully hard for him to turn his back on his homeland, but he pressed on. It took him the better part of the following morning to reach a large ridge where the entrance into the dwarven Mines was located. As he went higher and higher, the only grass still found was growing in patches, here and there, and it looked pale and yellowish because of lack of proper earth to allow it to flourish. The ground increasingly turned to sheer vertices of stone, so the climbing effort grew harder and harder to endure. He was now high in the Dwarven hills, and not too far from the Thunder Mountain itself, which rose in the East, it's peaks, covered with snow, glittering in the sunlight. Alfred followed instructions on the map toward a small canyon two leagues south and higher in a large stone ridge. The canyon was placed so deep in the ridge and from the side facing the Thunder Mountain so that it was invisible from below, and hard to find even from a few paces out. The entrance itself was hidden behind a large rock outcropping. It was now clear to Alfred that without a map he wouldnút have stood a chance of finding the proper crevice in rock, and was thus intrigued at this turn of fate that supplied him, seemingly for no reason, with a proper tool to deal with this problem. The dark entrance opened into a small rock cave, with a size of about five by seven feet, and with a low ceiling. A dark tunnel led deeper underground. Alfred examined the tunnel, and listened carefully to it, but could hear nothing from the insides of the Mountain. Darkness was complete inside the tunnel, and it bent sharply down. Alfred was slightly hesitant to go down in fear of not being able to climb back up, for tunnel walls were smooth and slippery. So he decided to rest here for a while, studying the map. It was obvious that these old tunnels were both irregular and unlit, which made for a poor place where a lonely adventurer should be wandering without a torch, but Alfred, unfortunately, had none. Finally, he found a solution to his problem. Smiling, Alfred opened his spellbook and chanted in a low voice for several minutes. Then, casting a final look at the warm sunshine outside, he entered the dark tunnel in front of him, that led into the unknown reaches of the dwarven mines, and into shadows.