Dream of writing your own Epic Fantasy novel? Here's how to get started

They say the journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step - and so it is with writing. 

I've been writing and publishing for over a decade now, but for years before that I had half a dozen ideas for epic fantasy adventures floating around in my head. I would seize upon what I thought sounded like a really interesting story line, write fifty (or even one hundred) pages before throwing it aside, bored and dispirited. It took a few years of this before I developed a few habits, and came to a few realisations, about what it takes to plan, write AND FINISH an epic fantasy novel.

So, if you are wrestling with getting past Chapter Three of any epic fantasy you start writing, or struggle to even get started, here are five pieces of advice that I wish someone had given me ten years ago (believe me, I have learnt the hard way). Keep in mind that although my advice is for those specifically interested in writing epic fantasy, some of what I have to say applies to any genre. 

1. Commit to it. My father has a saying (that he was particularly fond of hurling at me when I was a teenager): "Samantha - there are two types of people in this world. Those who talk about doing things, and those who actually do them." Yes - he was brutal. However, I took his words to heart. Don't talk about writing that novel - do it. If that means scheduling an hour in the morning before work, or last thing at night before bed, then so be it. Let's face it, writing a 70,000 to 100,000 word manuscript takes time and commitment. But if you have a dream of writing that epic fantasy novel, make it a priority. Once you do, a funny thing happens: you get so caught up in the creative process that you start looking for excuses to get back to writing! What are you waiting for?
2. Create a story idea without relying on stereotypes. This is a tricky one for anyone embarking on epic fantasy. Let's face it, this genre is full of trope and cliche. The wise, enigmatic wizard, the sly elf, the taciturn dwarf, the young boy who suddenly comes of age, the arch-villain who seeks to destroy the world. The risk when trying to be original, is that you reject anything that remotely appears to be an epic fantasy trope - and that in doing so you alienate your potential readers. Yes, while it's true that fantasy readers don't want to read endless rehashes of The Lord of the Rings, they also read epic fantasy because they love the genre and all that goes with it. What epic fantasy fans do love (and I should know, since I am one), is a clever reworking of the stereotypes. This doesn't require that you completely turn the cliches on their head, but rather that you subvert them slightly. For example, a strong female lead (I'm not just talking Xena warrior princess here but something more subtle), is very popular with fantasy readers; as is an antihero protagonist like Jorg in Mark Lawrence's Broken Empire trilogy. You can have wizards, apprentices, assassins and dwarves, but give them quirks that make them unique and memorable - which brings me to the next piece of advice.
3. Remember that characters are the core of any good story. Spend time creating, and developing, your characters. I tend to write extremely character-driven stories. I love my characters but delight in pushing them into adventures that will make them change over the course of the story. When creating characters, I enjoy subverting stereotypes. For example, in my first book The Children of Isador, one of my main characters is a wizard. However, I make him young, flippant and more interested in seducing women than in wizardry. Coming of age is also a tricky one to put a new slant on, but in my current series, The Paladnith Chronicles, I have three brothers who suddenly discover that they the last of an ancient bloodline of sorcerers. The difference here is that they are all men in their early to mid-thirties, which makes this an altogether different story than if a naive seventeen year-old makes the same discovery.
4. Plan your plot. One of the issues I had when I began attempting novel-length fiction, was to find an idea, or theme, that would last an entire story. I had an aversion to planning, so once I thought of something half-way clever I would sit down at the computer and start typing. The problem was, I hadn't thought my idea through - which meant that I came to a grinding halt at page fifty! The solution for this is to PLAN YOUR STORY BEFORE YOU WRITE IT. I know this sounds boring. You probably think (as I did) that this will cramp spontaneity and creativity. One of my favourite excuses was: "If I know the story before I write it, I'll get bored and won't finish it." Fortunately, for me, I realised this was complete rubbish. Planning your novel, before you write it, gives you plenty of scope to be creative, and - even more important - it allows you to see if your idea will actually work.
5. Build a unique world. Excellent epic fantasy needs a richly drawn, believable world - and anyone who has ever tried to create one knows that this isn't as easy as it sounds. The temptation is to throw everything you know about epic fantasy - every book you've ever read, every fantasy film or T.V series you've ever watched - into your world. You end up with an overly ambitious, cliched setting that doesn't ring true to anyone. One of the reasons that The Lord of the Rings is so popular, is that Tolkien makes us believe that Middle Earth actually exists. However, if you actually study the geography of Middle Earth you will see that Tolkien was not overly ambitious with his use of landmarks, seas, rivers, lakes, mountains and forests. You will see that the temperature from north to south does not change drastically, and the cultures of those inhabiting Middle Earth change gradually from place to place (as in our world). Tolkien did his homework, and let's face it, few of us have the time, energy or desire to create an entire language for our new world. However, it's important to draw a map, create a history, detail the magic system, decide on the dominant religion, outline the social hierarchy, and decide upon the cultures that make up your world. If you skip this stage at the beginning, you will live to regret it! It's annoying to reach page one-hundred, only to realise that your readers don't have any idea about the use of magic in your world (other than wizards spout fire from their fingertips), because you don't have a clue yourself. How can you convince your readers that your world exists, if you aren't convinced yourself?

I could go on... But, I think the above five are enough to get you started with planning and beginning your epic fantasy novel. Remember the five keys: Take action, develop an original story idea, create strong characters, plan carefully and build an unique world. 

Best of luck with your epic fantasy adventure - and remember - keep writing!

www.indiwall.com

LOTR fan fiction: The Witch of Angmar - Part #10

The Witch of Angmar

Legacy of the Fellowship

Part Ten

The Chieftain of Farnost

T

he pale morning light filtered in through the high window, rousing Rose from a deep sleep. She sat up in bed, for a moment trying to recall where she was and how she had come to be there. Then everything rushed back.

The city glowing at sunset.  The approaching darkness.

The goblins. Salrean and Ethorn shouting at her and Peri to run.

The Gates of Farnost booming shut behind them.

The screams. The Darkness.

Rose shuddered and climbed out of bed, her feet slapping on to the cold flagstone floor. Her clothes were where she had left them the night before, hung over the back of the large wooden chair near the door. The chair, like everything else in the room was huge – nothing here was hobbit-size. Rose felt a pang of longing for her own bedroom back in her parents’ hobbit hole. Everything belonged to her there – and she belonged to it. This room felt cold and strange in comparison.

She dressed quickly and let herself out into the corridor beyond. Like her room, the hall was lofty with grey-stone walls and a dark flagstone floor. Rose made her way along it, towards an open door at the end. She walked through into a small room dominated by a large worn table. Peri sat at one end, perched on a chair four sizes too big for him. He was digging into a huge plate of fried eggs and bacon. An enormous basket of fresh bread sat before him.

“Good morning Rose,” Peri tore off a chunk of bread and stuffed it into his mouth. “Take a seat. There’s plenty more where this came from. This is my second plate.”

Rose climbed up onto the chair next to him, her stomach growling at the sight of his breakfast. It reminded her that after all the excitement, they had not eaten the night before.

At that moment, a harried-looking woman, dressed in a grey work-shift, apron and head-dress bustled out of a side door. She carried a plate of bacon and eggs.

“Here you are,” the woman slammed the plate down in front of Rose. “Eat up before it gets cold.”

“Thank you.” Rose did not need to be told twice. She and Peri ate in silence, exchanging glances as they did so. Once her plate was wiped clean, Rose took a gulp of water from a wooden cup and wiped her mouth on a rough grey napkin.

“‘Tis such a colourless place this,” she observed. “Everything is grey – even the table cloths.”

“The food’s excellent though,” Peri sat back in his chair and sighed contentedly. “That’s the best breakfast I’ve had in years.”

“So this is where Salrean grew up,” Rose mused, glancing round at the featureless grey walls. “No wonder she smiles so rarely.”

As if hearing her name, a familiar figure appeared in the doorway.

“Salrean!” Peri called out cheerfully. “Good morning.”

Following their encounter with the goblins the previous night, Salrean appeared remarkably well. A cut to her forehead, which had been neatly sewn, was the only sign that she had been in a fight. This morning, Salrean was dressed differently than usual. Unlike the leathers and heavy cloak she usually wore, she was dressed in grey leggings, long boots and a long white tunic belted at the waist. Her long, dark hair had been washed and fell in glistening waves about her shoulders. For the first time, Rose realised that Salrean was actually quite beautiful.

Despite herself, Rose felt a stab of jealousy.

Rose the Fair, she thought bitterly. Oh how I wish I was. Salrean, on the other hand, did not seem to be aware of her beauty.

“Good morning Rose and Peri,” Salrean greeted them with an enigmatic smile. “I didn’t thank you both properly last night – for sending the guards back to help us. Without them, Ethorn and I would have been overcome.”

“Our pleasure,” Peri beamed, in a remarkably good mood this morning. “We couldn’t just leave you out there, could we?”

Salrean’s smile widened before her gaze settled on the remnants of their breakfast.

“If you have finished eating, my father would like to meet you,” she said. “When you are ready we will go to him.”

Rose noticed the change that came over the ranger’s face when she mentioned her father – a seriousness which made her appear older and harsher. For a moment, it dimmed her quiet beauty.

Rose, for one, was not looking forward to meeting Rendur of Farnost. After Barandur and Ethorn’s reactions whenever the Chieftain was mentioned, she imagined the worst. Yet, they were now his guests and could put it off no longer.

The hobbits followed Salrean through a network of grey stone hallways. After a while, they climbed a wide set of stairs, before passing between two massive oak doors, flanked by guards dressed in leather and iron armour.

Beyond, they stepped into a cavernous, echoing hall.

Rose paused on the threshold, gazing up at the high spider-vaulted ceiling. It was made of the same dull stone that was found everywhere here. Two rows of massive veined marble columns ran either-side of a white and black tiled floor. High above, small stained-glass windows let in a watery stream of light that illuminated the ceiling and little else.

“Come,” Salrean murmured, taking the lead. “He waits.”

Torches, hanging from chains on the wall, guttered as they passed, sending shadows across the columns. The hobbits moved like ghosts; the only sound was the whisper of Salrean’s hunting boots on the worn stone.

At the end of the hall, they approached a man seated in an ornate iron chair.

“Father,” Salrean bowed. “We have come.”

“Good,” the man rose to his feet, his dark, predatory gaze sweeping from his daughter, to her two charges. Rose bowed clumsily and Peri followed suit. There was something about his manner that made Rose want to cower.

The man before them was tall and broad shouldered, his size accentuated by the huge fur cloak he wore about his shoulders. He wore black fitting leathers underneath; the clothing of a warrior, rather than a man of his age and station. A mane of iron-grey hair rippled over his shoulders and down his back. The only sign of wealth, besides the plush cloak, were the heavy gem-encrusted rings that decorated his broad hands, flickering in the guttering torchlight.

Yet, it was his face that frightened Rose. It sagged downwards in a disapproving expression. He had a heavy brow, black, glittering eyes, a large nose and a thin mouth. There was no hint of softness in that face – none at all. Rose could not imagine him as a father, or a husband.

Rendur of Farnost was as cold and hard as the grey stone walls that surrounded him.

“So these are the halflings,” The Chieftain rumbled, his gaze spearing Rose, “and one of them is a female.”

“Hobbits father,” Salrean corrected him.

“I know what they’re called,” Rendur snapped, “but halflings are what they are. What are your names?”

“I’m Pericles Took,” Peri spoke up, his voice echoing timidly in the empty hall.

“And I’m Rose Fairbairn,” Rose added.

“Which of you had custody of the Red Book?” Rendur demanded.

Rose stared back at him, cowed by his aggressive manner. “I did,” she replied. “My father looked after the book – it was handed down through my family from Samwise the Great.”

“Samwise Gamgee,” Rendur’s mouth curved. “You carry his blood?”

Rose nodded.

Rendur glanced then at his daughter, who stood silently in the shadows, waiting to be addressed.

“And it was you, Salrean, who let the book be stolen,” he rumbled. “Why did you not take it as soon as you learnt of its whereabouts?”

“It was not mine to take, father,” Salrean replied stiffly. “I thought I had time.”

“And you were wrong,” Rendur shot back. “Your miscalculation has cost us something of great value. Now Morwyn has it. If she discovers its secrets, we are all doomed. If this comes to pass, you will carry the blame.”

Salrean glared at her father a moment, before dropping her gaze to the floor. Watching her, Rose felt a stab of anger at Rendur’s harsh treatment of his own flesh and blood. Her father would never have treated her thus.

“It’s not her fault,” Rose spoke up, her voice quivering slightly. “It’s mine. I tried to stop the thief but I was not strong enough.”

The Chieftain of Farnost glared back at her, his dark eyes glittering.

“Why are you here?” he growled eventually. “You come empty-handed, without the Red Book. What do hope to achieve, here in the north?”

“I asked them to come,” Salrean replied. Her voice was cold, showing no sign that her father’s harsh words had wounded.

“I didn’t ask you,” Rendur snarled. “Speak, halfling.”

“The man who took the Book, killed my father,” Rose lifted her chin. “I want vengeance, and will help your cause in any way I can.”

Rendur of Farnost laughed at that, the sound rolling like a drum in the emptiness.

“One small female hobbit,” he mocked, “I’m sure Morwyn’s servant fears you.”

Rose felt her face go hot. Although this man was frightening, his rudeness was now starting to anger her.

“Father,” Salrean’s voice was sharp. “The fact that these hobbits are here, so far from home, should humble you. They have both shown endurance and courage on the journey here. They want to help. We should let them.”

Rendur glanced back at his daughter, his craggy face impassive. For a moment, Rose thought he would rebuke her once more, but this time he looked thoughtful.

“Indeed,” he said slowly, “they might be of assistance.”

With that, Rendur of Farnost stepped off the dais, which did not make him any less imposing to the hobbits.

“Come. Follow me – all of you.”

Rendur crossed the shadowy hall, in long strides, his magnificent fur cloak billowing out behind him. Salrean and the hobbits fell in quickly behind him. They followed the city’s chieftain across the floor to a doorway. Rose had not noticed the entrance before, for this side of the great hall was cloaked in shadow. Rendur strode through the doorway and disappeared.

They followed him into a dimly lit chamber, illuminated only by two torches. The room was windowless and smelt of damp. It was empty save for a stone plinth in the centre. Upon the plinth stood a large black stone bowl.

Rendur strode up to the plinth and halted before it. Salrean and the hobbits stopped a few feet away, looking on silently as he unfastened his heavy cloak and cast it aside. He looked younger, and more dangerous without the cloak. His arms were bare, save for silver, inscribed arm-rings which glinted in the torchlight.

The Chieftain of Farnost stepped forward so that he was standing over the bowl. Then, he looked down at its contents, his severe face giving nothing away.

Rose looked on, confused.

“What’s he doing?” she whispered to Salrean.

“My father’s a seer, like Barandur,” Salrean whispered back. “He…”

“So the halflings have met Barandur have they?” Rendur’s cold voice interrupted them. “What did he have to tell you?”

“Little,” Salrean replied. “I’m afraid he spoke in riddles that I had trouble deciphering. He warned of doom and against travelling to Angmar. Yet, he did tell us of a secret way in to Carn Dûm.”

“He did?” Rendur replied, his eyes gleaming. “I will hear of this later, daughter.”

Salrean nodded. “Of course.”

Rendur’s gaze then shifted to Rose. “Yes, I am a seer – but not the same as Barandur. We are of the same breed but as different as an ocean is to a mountain stream. His powers of far-sight are weak compared to mine.”

That’s odd, Rose thought, for that’s not what I have heard. Your own daughter told me otherwise. However, Rose did not voice her opinion.

“Barandur uses runes,” Rendur’s mouth twisted. “Like a common fortune-teller who travels from village to village, warning of failed crops and pestilence – but I use the Waters of Skellith.” He motioned to the large vessel before him.

“Come forth female halfling,” Rendur’s gaze did not move from Rose’s face. “For an accurate reading, the Waters require your assistance.”

Rose hesitated. She glanced across at Peri, who had not spoken since they entered the chamber. He returned her gaze nervously, his earlier good cheer gone. Then, Rose looked across at Salrean. The ranger was frowning.

“Father,” Salrean began. “Is this necessary?”

“Silence daughter!” Rendur boomed, beckoning Rose forward with a ringed finger. “Do not question what you cannot possibly understand.”

Rose stared back into his dark eyes; they were as hypnotic and terrifying as the low, powerful timbre of his voice. Such a man was born to rule and impossible to resist.

Slowly, she walked towards him.

End of Part #10

Be back for Part #11 on 8 November!

The Citadel of Lies - all about the antagonists

Every good epic fantasy story needs some memorable bad guys. 

The challenge with fantasy is to create antagonists without entering into cliche and stereotype. My favourite 'villains' in stories are those who surprise me - and the most chilling bad guys (and girls) are the ones who appear like the rest of us - but are capable of unspeakable acts.

In The Citadel of Lies (due out this month on Amazon Kindle and in paperback), I really enjoyed creating my villains. In my stories I like to create different types of antagonists - those that are arch-villains, and others that are subtler, less obviously evil, but dangerous nonetheless. Here are the chief antagonists in the first two books of the Palâdnith Chronicles. To make it more fun I've pasted in a few images (courtesy of Google Images) to give an idea of what these characters look like.

Riadamor

rachelshockeystudio.blogspot.com 

Queen of the Esquill - banished to the underground prison of Moden, but desperately looking for a way out.

Defining characteristics: strong, cold, calculating and powerful.
Motivation: Riadamor is fueled by revenge and the thirst for power. She has two goals: the first is to kill the three sons of her arch-nemesis - Belythna; and the second is to return to the world she was banished from, and rule.
Weakness: Riadamor's quest for revenge at times colours her judgement.

Captain Roth Tobin

tudosobrerc.blogspot.com 

Captain of the Tarrancrest Guard, works for Realmlord Kaur.

Appearance: Bullish, bald and heavy-featured, ill-mannered, bully
Motivation: Tobin serves the Realmlord of Farindell - Lord Kaur - like a faithful dog. He has been charged with accompanying the Realmlord's disgraced daughter across the mountains to her new husband, and retrieving a precious talisman from the Citadel of Lies for his master.
Weakness: Tobin's blind loyalty to Lord Kaur means that he does not always see situations clearly.

The Moden Walkers

www.giantbomb.com 

Riadamor's servants - three Keepers of Moden that the witch sends abroad to track down Seth, Eni and Val Falkyn.

Appearance: Tall, long limbed, white-skinned with flat faces and formless features. They carry a lethal curved and serrated obsidian blades. They are much faster and stronger than men.
Motivation: They are bound to their mistress. They will not stop until the three men they have been sent to kill, are dead.
Weakness: The Moden Walkers have a fear of sunlight and fire.



If these bad guys sound interesting, try the first book of the series, Journey of Shadows (available on Amazon - Kindle and paperback edition) and get to know them! In this novel, we meet the three brothers: Seth, Eni and Val as they begin their adventure.

LOTR Fan Fiction: The Witch of Angmar - Part #9

The Witch of Angmar

Legacy of the Fellowship

Part Nine

Ethorn

                                                                                                                        

A

shadow moved amongst the trees – tall and threatening.

Rose’s heart leapt at the sight of it. Fumbling for Sting, she skidded to a halt, causing Peri to collide with her. He opened his mouth to protest but Rose swivelled round and placed a finger to her lips – silencing him.

Ahead, Salrean had also halted. She drew her sword, her gaze scanning the dense woodland that rose either side of the narrow forest path and formed a canopy above their heads. They were less than a day’s travel from Farnost – and their journey had been blessedly uneventful.

Until now.

Leaves rustled and branches shifted. Then, a dark shape stepped out from the dense foliage.

It was a man, shrouded in a travel-stained, dark cape. The cloak snagged on a branch and parted slightly, revealing a thick leather vest underneath. Rose recognised the clothing instantly, for it was the same as Salrean’s.

The shadow that had given her such a fright was a ranger.

“Ethorn!” Salrean re-sheathed her sword with relief. Then, her face broke into a warm smile. “Must you sneak up on folk like that? I was about to run you through.”

The man, tall and long-limbed with shaggy dark hair framing a swarthy face, grinned.  He had the look of a man who passed most of his life outdoors; his teeth were white against his tanned skin.

“Is that any welcome for your future husband?” his gaze settled upon Salrean’s face, eyes twinkling. His grin widened when she blushed.

“Idiot. I’m not marrying anyone, least of all you.”

The newcomer laughed, before he shifted his attention to Salrean’s two companions. As his gaze settled upon them, his good humour faded.

“You did it then? Your father will be pleased.”

There was no mistaking the sarcasm in his voice. Like Barandur, this man appeared to hold little love for Rendur of Farnost. Rose’s trepidation at meeting Salrean’s father increased. Did anyone, besides his daughter, hold a good opinion of the Chieftain of Farnost?

Salrean shook her head. “I wasn’t entirely successful. I brought Rose Fairbairn and Pericles Took back with me – they are the descendants of Samwise Gamgee and Peregrin Took – but one of Morwyn’s servants reached the Red Book before I could make it safe. He killed Rose’s father and stole it.”

Ethorn’s penetrating gaze rested upon Rose.

“I am sorry to hear that,” he murmured. “This is ill news indeed. I am sorry for your loss Rose.”

Rose nodded back. Despite that they had only just met, she appreciated his words.

Ethorn then glanced at Salrean once more. “I’ve been looking for you for the past few days. This forest is now crawling with goblins. You must have encountered some?”

“We were attacked a few days out from the Shire,” Salrean replied, “but since Annúminas, we have seen no one.”

“Then you have been lucky,” Ethorn replied, his handsome face grim. “I killed four this morning. They grow bold. We have moved all the folk on the outskirts of Farnost within the city walls. Every evening, after sunset, goblins crawl from the woods and attack. We must hurry if we are to make it home by dusk. We cannot remain out here after dark.”

Rose felt her heart flutter against her ribs at Ethorn’s words. She was glad he had found them, for otherwise they would have continued, unwary, into danger. Yet, this news meant that the situation, here in the north, was worse than she had thought. It appeared that the Witch of Angmar’s influence had made the goblins ever bolder. They would seek to destroy what villages they could and strike fear into the hearts of men – making it easy for Morwyn to sweep south.

“Very well,” Salrean nodded, her face mirroring Ethorn’s. “Let’s move on.”

They picked up their pace, moving at slow jog along the forest path. Rose and Peri were a lot fitter now than at the beginning of their journey – but even so, they struggled to keep up with the rangers’ long strides. Salrean and Ethorn ran on a few yards ahead, hardly seeming to tire.

On and on they ran, and by mid-afternoon, the forest had grown sparser, with stretches of meadow in-between copses of woodland. This far north, autumn had already made its presence felt, for many of the leaves were turning gold and the air had a bite to it.

Eventually, they took a short rest in the middle of a wide clearing, where they found the remnants of a campsite. Whoever had camped here, had left the area in a mess. They had hacked at nearby trees for firewood and left piles of filth and food scraps scattered around the ashes of their campsite.

“Goblins,” Ethorn’s face tightened with distaste before he knelt down and examined the ashes. “I’d say they’re the ones I met this morning while searching for you. At least those goblins won’t be bothering us.”

“I hope it was them,” Rose replied, glancing around the clearing nervously, half-expecting goblins to burst out of the trees at any moment.

“Rose has a sword that warns you when goblins approach,” Salrean straightened up after scanning the clearing. “It glows blue. Rose, show him Sting – let’s see if any goblins are around.”

Rose slowly drew Sting free of its scabbard. The elvish blade glowed silver in the afternoon light, without a trace of blue. She let out the breath she had been holding. They were safe for the moment, at least.

“‘Tis a beautiful blade,” Ethorn stepped forward, his gaze tracing the elvish inscription, “and a perfect size for a hobbit. Pay close attention to it as we approach Farnost, for a little prior warning could very well save our lives.”

Rose nodded and re-sheathed the sword.

They continued their journey north-east, at a run. The rangers had picked up the pace slightly but, even so, the light gradually began to fade – and still there was no sign of Farnost rising up above the trees. Rose pushed herself on, her weary feet beginning to stumble on the uneven ground. More than once, Peri grabbed her as she tripped over a tree root, or when her ankle gave way.

“I’m not sure how much longer I can go on,” she gasped. Beside her, Peri’s face was red and coated with sweat.

“Neither am I,” he panted. “I can’t take much more of this.”

Fortunately for the hobbits, a short while later, the trees parted. They followed the two rangers out into a wide expanse of rolling, windswept grassland dotted with low trees. There, in the distance, rose the walls of Farnost.

The city sat at the southern end of the North Downs. Rose could see the shadows of the hills rolling away into the hazy northern horizon. Like Annúminas, Farnost appeared a collection of old and new. Ruined towers sat propped up against more recent ones, and inside the new city wall, Rose caught glimpses of the original crumbling fortifications. The pale stone of the city reflected the red glow of the setting sun to the west, making Farnost appear blood-stained.

Rose felt a pang of sadness at the sight of it. This part of Middle Earth had known much war, devastation and bloodshed – and now dark times had come once more. It seemed so cruel, so unnecessary. No wonder the Dúnedain were such a strong people; they had been forced to withstand so much.

Heartened by the sight of their destination, the travellers, including the two exhausted hobbits, quickened their pace. Rose’s heart pounded in her ears; her breath now coming in ragged bursts that tore at her chest with every breath. Yet, she pushed herself on.

The light had all but faded and Rose could see the people of Farnost had lit their fires; it was a welcoming sight after a long journey. Fortunately, they were on the last stretch and the city beckoned as it drew ever closer.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, Rose glimpsed a flash of blue. She looked down and her throat constricted painfully.

Sting had begun to glow.

Rose was drawing in her breath to shout a warning to her companions, when she caught sight of figures moving towards her, from the east, across the scrubby grassland. Even at this distance, she recognised them instantly, for they did not move like men.

“Make for the gates!” Ethorn shouted. He had also seen them.

The goblins let out hooting cries and scrambled towards the travellers, covering the ground with frightening speed.

Rose struggled to pull Sting free of its scabbard and, in doing so, tripped, nearly impaling herself on the blade.

“Peri!” she screamed. “Help me!”

Peri was already a few yards ahead, not having realising that Rose had fallen. He turned, the whites of his eyes bright in the fading light and sprinted back to her.

The goblins were drawing close now. The hobbits had just moments before they reached them.

“Salrean!” Peri shouted, his voice shrill with fear. “Ethorn!”

Peri heaved Rose to her feet. Trembling, they turned to face the first goblin that bore down upon them. Peri was unarmed; it was up to Rose to defend them.

The sight of the goblin almost caused her legs to collapse under her. She almost dropped Sting at the sight of its bulbous, glistening eyes, the open mouth crowded full of sharp teeth, and the sharp blade clenched in its fist that whistled towards her. She staggered back against Peri, holding Sting out before her. It was a weapon she had no idea how to wield.

The sight of the glowing blue blade pulled the goblin up short. It stopped, just a yard away from where Rose and Peri huddled, its head inclining slightly.

“Elf blade!” it hissed. “Where does a Halfling get one of those?”

Moments later, more goblins crowded up behind their leader, eyes with pinprick pupils glowing in the gathering dusk.

Suddenly, there was a whisper of boots on dry grass, and two cloaked figures leaped over the hobbits, providing a barrier between them and the goblins.

Salrean and Ethorn had come back for them.

“Run!” Ethorn commanded. His voice was flat and hard and he did not glance back at the hobbits. “They are closing the gates. Run and don’t look back!”

Rose and Peri did not need to be told twice. They turned and fled like hares across the last stretch, towards where the shadow of the city walls fell across the grasslands. Behind them, they heard shouts, the clash of steel, and the crunch of bones breaking – but, as instructed, they did not glance back. Rose hoped that the rangers would not be foolish enough to take on all the goblins. She hoped that they would know when to turn and run.

Ahead, the great gates of Farnost loomed; two huge oaken doors, studded with iron spikes. They were slowly drawing closed. Rose gritted her teeth and forced her exhausted legs to sprint the last distance.

She and Peri slid inside, just as the heavy doors boomed shut. They skidded to a halt, and looked up into the surprised faces of the guards inside. Like most of the Dúnedain, these men had never seen a hobbit.

“Wait!” Peri shouted, turning back to the gates. “Salrean and Ethorn are out there. They’re surrounded by goblins and vastly outnumbered. Help them!”

The guard stared at Peri a moment, as if he did not speak their tongue, before they realised that the Halfling was speaking of two of their rangers.

The guard closest to them, a broad-shouldered, heavy-set man dressed in battle-scarred leather armour, exploded into action.

“Open the gates!” he shouted. “Veldur, Gonthorn, Nathil – with me!”

Rose and Peri scrambled back as three tall, well-built men strode out of the shadows. Their faces were frightening and Rose was relieved their fury was not directed at her.

Slowly, the gates drew open, the gears and chains grinding. Then, when there was a gap large enough, the four guards slipped through and disappeared into the darkness.

End of Part #9

Be back for Part #10 on 25 October!