I felt like a coward. I hadn’t done a thing to help the fight the previous day. I know I’m not most charitable person. But I do like to think I can contribute when my life is on the line. I’d looted a couple of daggers from some of the corpses. I was playing around with them in the hope I’d be able to make enough of a fool of myself that Moira would be give me pointers out of pity. No luck so far.

The ground itself was getting rockier as we reached the mouth of the valley. Gregor’s Holdfast controlled the pass between this valley and the next. And he charged a pretty penny as a toll to get through. From what Gorn had said the next three Holdfast’s were on the main road to Dragon’s Cleft and had facilities dedicated to travellers. With Gregor we’d be lucky to spend the night inside the walls.

My feet were killing me. I might have run marathons as a hobby. But I wasn’t a hiker. And the weather was chilly despite it supposedly being autumn. I was about to ask for a break when a voice behind me startled me. “Sara, how are you holding up?”

“I’m perfectly fine Mrs. Ferucci. I’ve survived plenty of marathons. Are you sure you’re Ok. You look a bit knackered.” Rachel was breathing heavily and looked like she was trying to disguise a limp.

“Oh no my dear. I’m fine. I can survive until lunch.” She replied after a moment.

Fuck I thought. She then continued. “You should stop playing with those knives. If you trip and fall you could seriously hurt yourself.”

“I’ve got to learn sometime. If Moira won’t teach me I’m afraid I’ll have to figure them out for myself.” I don’t think I was completely unable to keep the frustration from my voice.

“I’ll speak to Gorn,” she said. “He convinced Gen to teach Sinom.”

“I wouldn’t want to be a bother.” I said in my sweetest voice possible.

“Nonsense,” she said. “If you’re going to play with knives you need to learn how to use them safely.”

She walked off to speak to the dwarf.

After lunch Moira decided to start my lesson by stabbing me in the back. I gave a start as I felt a pricking sensation against my spine. “Thanatos,” she said. I swung both my daggers at here while she deftly dodged out of the way and laughed. Then kicked me in the shin and I fell to the ground. The next few hours were hell. She refused to leave me alone as I did my best to dodge her incessant bullying. It was late in the afternoon when I finally managed to stab her in the gut. At that point she said “very good,” in English and walked towards Gorn for healing. I was starting to realise that her method of teaching made Mr. Miyagi’s chores pale in comparison. When she was done with him she walked up to me. I had my dagger pointed at her the whole time. “Tomorrow make feet good. No feet good no fight good.” She said cheerfully. I was astonished at how well her English had progressed in under a week.

Maybe an hour later with had reached Gregor’s Holdfast. It was an imposing edifice of stone five meters tall. To each side was a cliff face that looked like they had been chiselled smooth to discourage climbing. High above I could see platforms that might be used to drop rocks on unsuspecting assailants. Flanking the iron bound wooden door of the holdfast were two men talking to each other. They each had long blonde hair and beards, nut brown skin and almond shaped eyes. They were each about three meters tall, around nine feet in American unit, had on brown jerkins studded with spikes. And they each carried a spear and a round shield. When they saw us they gave a start and stood up to attention, spears facing towards us.

Gorn had already given a rough explanation of the situation. Before Mama Lindisfarne found the shortcut to Dragon’s Cleft the entire valley was their personal hunting grounds. When she decided to settle there they were intent on declaring her a trespasser and were about to take arms against her. After they realised the new pass was too narrow for wagons and froze in the winter they’d managed to negotiate a deal where they shared the valley and Gregor could take a toll of all goods passing through the holdfast. Thirty years later and relations were still sour. The pack goats Mama Lindisfarne used could easily navigate the new pass and while Gregor still got a cut of the winter trade it was much less than he was expecting.

After much arguing with the gate guards I gathered we ended up giving them a quarter of the troll liver in exchange for passage and an uncomfortable night in the barn with the goats. A meeting with old man Gregor himself was not on the table and we were provided no real provisions to help us on the journey.

The next morning I was kicked awake. I was about to mumble “piss off mum” before I remembered where I was. I grabbed my dagger and was halfway to my feet when a kick knocked my leg out from under me. I rolled and sliced at the leg of my assailant. But she deftly stepped away and laughed. Fucking Moira.

The next two hours were hell. She showed me how to position my feet and every time I made a mistake she knocked me to the ground. She then showed me how to hold my daggers. And every time I screwed that she jabbed at my wrist causing me to drop them. The only thing keeping my going was the thought of stabbing her while she slept.

After a quick breakfast we were summarily shoved out of the gate of the holdfast and we beheld one of the most majestic sights I had seen up until that point. The valley was huge. The mountains in the distance looked to be hundreds of kilometres away and the valley floor was blanketed in the green canopies of trees. There was a blue line cutting the length of the valley that Gorn said was the river Tiberius. It was supposedly named after General Tiberius who founded the various holdfasts in the region. According to Gorn he was a full giant; unlike the mixed race giant kin who populated places like Gregor’s Holdfast.

The town we were heading towards was situated to the north where the river entered the valley through a series of waterfalls. It would take us three days to reach the river and another three to take a barge upstream. According to Gorn the rest of the journey would be cheaper than the one night at Gregor’s. Most of the valley was charitable towards travellers and especially towards priests of Vaeldric. I got the impression that clerics of any kind were rare in the holdfasts and most healing was done by hedge witches who lacked the education of a properly trained magic user.

As we were walking down the switchbacks leading from Gregor’s holdfast I found myself speaking to Gorn about why he’d come to the region. “Well; there have always been stories of great treasures hidden here and my party wanted the opportunity to discover them. These mountains are cursed for dwarves. But I hoped Vael would protect an honest traveller. And it seems so far he has. No treasure yet, but we’ve only been in the foothills. When the weather clears we’ll have ample opportunity for adventure.”

“Why are these mountains cursed?”

The dwarf had a deer in the headlights look before he took a deep breath and said, “It seems sacrilegious not to tell the story in proper verse. I don’t know if my translation will hold up. But it can’t hurt to try.”

“Sevens of thousands of years ago the world was bound in chains

And all that dwarvenkind knew was the ancient giant reign

“

The story kept going on for hours. I was bored to tears after five minutes. But Sian seemed fascinated.

To cut all the bullshit short. All of the mortal races were slaves of various titans, demons and eldritch abominations. The Jotun ruled these mountains; which were also the ancestral dwarven homelands. Eventually a group of mortal figured out how to become gods and led a rebellion against their overlords; banishing them to the corners of the world. And that was part one of the story.

Part two was that each race worshipped their own deities. And when deities warred millions of people died in natural disasters caused by their conflicts. So a group of gods decided to ignore racial divides and found the Pantheon. Maybe half the dwarven gods joined. The others decided to remain independent. That led to the first war of the gods.

The Pantheon was successful in most of the world but the dwarves which followed them were cast out from their homeland. After years in the wilderness they discovered new mountains to settle. But the dwarves of the old homeland survived. Over time some cataclysm devastated them, Gorn refused to speculate why, and the mountains became barren of civilisation. At which points trolls and other monsters moved in to fill the gaps. Maybe a couple thousand years afterwards other intelligent races followed. But very few dwarves were among them. It sounded like superstition but in this world I couldn’t take anything to chance.

We reached the holdfast we’d be staying the night a few hours before sunset. This one was populated by humans with dark skin and almond shaped eyes; but not the blonde hair of the giant kin. I could still see the relation. As soon as we were settled and I was about to doze off earth a boot rammed into my stomach and Moira dragged me off for round two.