The Other Things 8-26-06

The Other Things 8-25-06

Without a doubt, it was Banana Bill

who would come out on top.

The Other Things 8-24-06

Henry decided not to stick around.

The Other Things 8-24-06

Horace the duck realizes that winning isn't everything.

The Other Things 8-23-06

The real reason the barn burned down.

The Other Things 8-20-06

The voice was definitely coming from somewhere;

but who was it?-- she wondered.

"The Sword of the North" Chapter 1

An excerpt from Part I
The Beginning of the Tale

Chapter I

The Battle of the Belfog Bridge

The mist was thick. The fires lit what the rising sun did not in the shadows of the wall. A blow on the garrison’s gate-horn alerted every man at the outpost. Scout! Someone called out in the morning light.

And behold, when the gate had opened, the poor soldier was carried in on his weary steed. His death was near. And so they dismounted him and lay him across the ground. He lay in terrible agony, for as they uncloaked his body, two broken arrows were revealed from his torso. His time would be upon him very soon. What lies beyond the borders of the mist, broken warrior?

They waited there for many minutes; the great door had been shut, and the defeated man had finally mustered his spirit up to a level that he could direct his arm to the south. He spoke in a battered tone, Thousand.

After a long silence filled with glances shot to and fro between the anxious soldiers, Trikkens.

The Rivoul River is a mighty current that has three contributors to its violent watercourse. In many places, the river is so wide that it is impossible to cross its raging tides. Here it is written ‘tides’ because the shores are nearly two dalgas apart. The water fluctuates in level often. This fact makes the Belfog Bridge the only way of passage. And this is where the Trikkens planned to cross.

In times of war, a canal was built. Not an extensive stream, but long enough to warn Centre in times of need. Whenever Belfog was under attack, and Centre would have to fend for itself, the waters that flowed in Rivoul would be unleashed to a stream that flowed into Centre. The waters were shifted. And so the men prepared for their eminent doom. For it was a saying in those parts that ‘to fight for Centre is noble, but to take one down in death is nobler.’ Filling their weary minds with this they put on their armour and their sheaths and their sword straps. For some these would be their burial shrouds. Nevertheless, these men were willing to die for their country, to defend the realms of Sytorx, to defend their families, to defend all good.
Consequently, the Trikkens would be ready. Their fierce blades were determined to cleave into any off guarded victim. They were anxious to. And they would go to any length to do so, even if it meant doing their part in that saying of men.

Aletron was commander of the hundred and fifty men that guarded the station. He was not young, but not old. To be young and a commander was rare; it was equally rare to pass in life as a commander without being let go or dying as such. Aletron climbed one of the watchtowers. There he found his elf friend, Evcrolk, staring into the night. The day had expired and now darkness befell the land.

"Our end is as certain as the day ends, dear friend. What will be is happening, I only wish that it would have happened later." Aletron murmured.

Evcrolk answered back in a knowledgeable tone, "Verily, what you say is true. But the latter of your speaking none but anger. To have fought at Centre would have been a great thing indeed, but as you said, what will be is happening. You cannot help this."

Aletron sighed, "Words of wisdom. An elf’s mouth is always filled with arcane knowledge. Thank you, insight into my inner being will relieve the strain and anguish that this upcoming battle will bring." He held back for a moment. "Evcrolk, I am in anguish. Nothing can be done or said to prevent this. I feel the presence of the enemy’s blade shimmering in dim light behind my neck. The air is chilled with the presence of evil and like a dog my hair stands on end. Comfort me friend, when you are free. Come and speak more good sense into this weary head of mine."
The elf made an attempt to speak but their ears rang with the echo of the watches that shout into the night. One voice rang out of the confusion of utterances. "Summons! Summons to the higher tower! Summons!" Aletron felt a hand on his shoulder as his head fell down again from the gaze he set upon that tower. The hand was Evcrolk’s.

"Life fills those who look after and preserve it for others. That is my last bit of advice, for the time being." Aletron lifted a smile, a thanks.

The man took off for the higher tower. He ran up the steps with anticipation and when he rounded a bend he stumbled. Gathering his senses, Aletron sprinted up the winding set of steps. He felt the warmth of the noon light every now and then as he passed a window. Without any thoughts, he came to the top and succumbed to the watchman’s tidings. He relieved the watcher to a more effortless pose. "Commandant, time is precious now. All watches coerce the reality that the enemy does draw near. The air is filled with clanging metal, and groans, and glimmering armour. Look beyond, if you will yourself."

Aletron did so, and he grew afraid. Indeed, the light that reflected in the dark of the shadows that was cast by distant trees reached his eyes. The enemy had come. His life reflected throughout his mind and he saw everything he aspired to be. There were those who waited to shatter that. O, the frailty of life. How fragile indeed. And now was the time it would be decided whether frailty would give in. And as to prove the point, the watcher was killed, right before his very eyes. He heard the whish of the arrow, the tip entering his face, and leaving again. But not with the death that it carried. Aletron’s head turned in time to have the bloody face fall upon his. In disgust, and bitter mourning, he fell against a stone pillar supporting the roof above. He struck the floor with an amount of pain that made him wince. There he lay, staring up at the limits of the tower. Not a second passed after he fell when he heard a vehement decree. "To arms! The enemy is at our doorstep! No man will be left alive in the end if we do not fight it. Lift your weapons! Lift each other’s spirits! Archers to the wall. Swordsmen to the gate! Spearmen to the bastions!" This voice did not relent. And the words that were bellowed into the keep; shrewd decisions were being made. It must be Evcrolk.

He gently pushed the body off of himself and lay it on the cold stone. He said a prayer for the victim of cheap sadism. How easy it must be to hate. Aletron knew the answer to that, for he hated the one that did this. Putting his hand upon the watcher’s heart, he wept and resolved to give an eternal respect to the man. He took his hand away from his chest and gripped underneath the arm so that he might lift. He dragged the corpse over to the border of the tower that was meant to protect from falling. He released the body and it fell into the river below where it drifted rapidly into the current and disappeared in the foam.

He ran down the steps that spiralled downwards through tower. Bracing himself on the stone walls and every now and then, he looked out of the tall, narrow openings that lined the wall. His eyes met the blinding light off of a sword that was revealed from behind a tree. With a shout, the Trikken ran out and dozens of others with him. The same Trikken that led the attack stuck his weapon into the dirt and drew another from behind him. He could tell that he was aiming high and decided to watch a second longer. But to his surprise the Trikken shifted his intended target to the tower, and released. Aletron stepped back, and to his own benefit. The arrow struck the wall behind him and it shattered into numerous pieces. He was shocked that the Trikken was able to manage such a shot. With contempt, Aletron thrust himself onward.

He flew out of the door and the first thing that he saw was a group of readied soldiers standing a considerable distance from the gate. He ran up and took charge. "Aletron speaks! Where is the elf that has taken authority of the keep?"

A soldier ran up to him from the crowd and addressed him. "I am Gonesh, my lord. The elf is on the wall, managing the archers. But it is chaos up there, sir. I suggest that you remain here to manage us. The men are without hope."

"No, Gonesh. Permit your zeal, if you have any left, to inspire these men." Aletron shouted above the all the shouting. "Men, listen to me. I must go upon the wall and give what help I can. Here is Gonesh, listen to him as you would me. I trust him to lead you into our last defence, if it is to be so."

Aletron began to turn, but Gonesh stopped him. "My thanks to you, great sir."
Aletron nodded and ran to the stairs that led up to the walls defence. He drew his sword and looked upward to the top. And he climbed. Men were falling, stricken with arrows they had not earned. Each individual seemed to fall beyond the extent of the stairs but one. This one rolled down the stairs and was almost upon Aletron. He fell against the back of the wall and saw the body tumble passed. He ran again up the stairs until his head reached over the top. He saw feet covered with boots, then he saw garments, and then he saw cloaks waving in the afternoon wind. Finally he tossed his head back and forth until he saw the profile of a face he knew well.
"Evcrolk!"

The face turned and indeed, it was Evcrolk. But he did not let down his guard. With shield raised he ran along the garrison and as he approached Aletron, he spoke, "Aletron! I took command when I saw the trial that you and the watchman went through. The blood that is on your face serves as evidence that he has died then."

"Yes."

Evcrolk hesitated, "I saw you shove the body over the edge to let it plunge below."
Aletron’s eyes reddened; he could hear the shouts of men in pain and others in storming fury. "I would not let them desecrate his body, if the keep should be taken. No, not that. The scum may be victorious, here. But they will not be allowed to bring defilement upon the already spoiled." He looked to the enemies below. "So let us destroy this repulsing, abhorrent filth that we call a threat. What say you?"

A flurry of arrows passed without there notice. A dart stuck itself into Evcrolk’s still raised shield. They stared at each other until Evcrolk spoke, "Let us do just that."

Evcrolk withdrew the flimsy arrow and snapped it in half with one hand. Aletron ran down the line and screamed as he went, "Fire! Release your death upon them." Evcrolk followed. Turning his head to give orders to the swordsmen, he was stunned by what reached his eyes before he could holler out the order. What he saw would tell him for the rest of his life how absurd the Trikken’s logic could be.

"Trikkens on the river!"

All of the soldiers on the ground turned. Trikkens were rapidly making there way down the river. Soon they would be on the Bridge, if it weren’t for the spears they had tied and set adrift earlier.

Apparently the Trikkens had not yet noticed the spikes. But they still did their damage. The enemy released two full waves of arrows. Evcrolk watched in horror as man by man dropped in ruin. But for every man lost a Trikken was lost. The boats that they were situated in were ill made and they shattered easily. The men on shore yelled in delight as their predators plummeted into the rush of the water. The waters were quickly streaked with blood. And those that were not skewered were washed away. Yet again, there was another victory for the Rivoul.
But it was not theirs. Still bewildered by the recent attack, Evcrolk ran up to Aletron and was ready to help his friend at any moment. He too sensed that the man’s end was come. And perhaps his own.

Aletron turned and faced his friend. "We are losing this battle, they will be upon the gate soon. Yet I know not how they will open it." He flung his head over to the forest.
"What is it, Aletron?"

He did not speak. All he could do was block out the noise of the world and focus his attention on the forest. The trees shook. Trikkens were waving blades in delight, and they began to fight more vigorously. And for what? What gave them such a sudden burst of energy? They would not open the gate, he said to himself. Or would they? All surrendered to the low groan that emanated from the small patch of woods.

Dracrogs are large beasts. About five meters tall, they tower over their prey with malicious intent. They have four sets of grim teeth, and they display three protruding thorns that they use to pierce the hardest of armour. They are hairy monsters; they can withstand the coldest temperatures. And the giant paws that root from their legs are like pillars of stone that take foundation in the mud when they please.

These beasts were that and more. This was how they would knock down the gate.
One Trikken was situated on one dracrog. The Trikkens tugged on the reigns that were latched, perhaps even hammered into the deep skulls of the animals. Aletron almost felt sympathy well up inside of him. These animals had been drawn into the enemy cause. And yet he was also afraid. If half of what he had been told before were true, these animals would have enough power collectively to force down the gateway. With a deep regret, Aletron gave the spearmen the order to unleash their weapons. One by one, the Dracrogs fell; he numbered that there must be at most twenty dracrogs. He watched with a growing sense of hope that these new enemies were faltering. They made their way to the gate, and they knocked with such a force that those above lost their balance. The spearmen that had pitched their javelins began to rain debris upon the foes below. Heads were crushed. Bodies began to heap and Dracrogs created their retreat. The men were just too much, for now. Those behind the gateway heard the call to retreat. The raspy voice had to be that of a Trikken. They rejoiced.

***

Valcor shook his head in bitter shame. It was all so flawless. He had planned the entire attack. He had gained the alliance of the Shriian dracrogs. And now they had to retreat. He ordered to the Dracrog beneath him to make for the woods.

After setting up camp in the woodland, Valcor took his opportunity to think. He stared into the torch that had been stuck into the ground for his light. Darkness had fallen over the land and many of the wounded were already healing. He gathered how many casualties they had suffered, and he grimaced.

"Sir, those who stretched around the forest suffered very little loss. The enemy was apparently surprised and was not able to divide their forces. They have regrouped further up the river. We however suffered greatly. Of the three hundred men in the main attack, eighty-four have been lost." Valcor’s chief advisor dithered momentarily, "Now, if our main attack had not been so straightforward so soon, we may have been able to pick off more men."

Valcor held in the anger that suddenly rose up within him. It eventually blazed like a fire in its apex of heat. "I understand, Chief Advisor. You wish to tell me that I was wrong in my plan?" The wicked tyrant shuddered in disbelief. "Chief Advisor indeed. You are bold, too bold. Well, I do not accept your criticism, Chief Advisor. I have forthwith reduced your rank to that of a messenger." He strode over to his moveable writing desk and began to write. He enjoyed the sudden breeze that came so seldom in the wood. It fluttered his paper and he grew more gleeful with every pen stroke. "Your first task is to deliver this to my head judicial commander. Please tell him to read it immediately, with no delay. I am sure he will be pleased to do my bidding that I have enclosed straight away. You tell him that. Think of it as good merit." He placed his finger in the hot wax that lay by his pen, and then very slowly placed it on the edge of the document that was folded over. It was his seal.
"Here you are."

The new messenger gripped the paper uneasily and bowed. "Thy will, majesty and ruler of Binal."

"Yes. Uh, one more thing." The courier had stepped out of the shade of the canopy into the streaked sunlight that entered through the forest roof but turned his head at this new calling.
Valcor breathed deeply, "Don’t aspire to ever be anything better for the rest of your life." When the messenger had left Valcor undressed and lie for the remainder of the day and the rest of the night.

Valcor woke up with much happiness. The new day promised victory, even in this land. He rose up out of bed and put on his garments, and then his armour. He walked outside to see a sight he had fancied about. The messenger had come back.

Each of his hands were severed from his arms and stuck onto the butt of two spears that were struck into the ground. In one of the hands was tacked a bloody paper that read.

A good joke. I never much liked the fool either.

Valcor raised his arms to stretch them and sighed. Victory lingered in the air of the camp. He took a walk throughout the encampment and looked first-hand at their loss. It was true, what the Advisor had said. The loss here was great. He had to get an envoy to the other camp up the river soon. He planned to attack early this morning. The enemy would not have thought a surprise attack possible, so they shouldn’t have fortified the northern wall. He would have the other camp come down and start the dart attack.
But did he have enough power now to knock down the gate?

Evcrolk woke with a start. He was given a vision.

Two men were standing in a narrow glen. They were opposing one another and yet none could succeed. One had lost his head, and the other had lost his eyes. Eventually, the one who lost his eyes ran away and was then chased by his foe. The runner stumbled down a cliff and died. But his spirit rose out of him and pressed on, while the pursuer was ever on his feet. Eventually the spirit yielded to the chaser and was consumed.

In all his wisdom, he could not interpret the dream. He cloaked himself and went to the battlements. Aletron was there, already suited up for the assumed second attack. Aletron turned and greeted his friend. "Evcrolk, you are well rested?"

The elf nodded, "Indeed, sleep was good for me I believe. My fall from the top of the fortifications still shakes me."

"Thanks be to the man that stood below to catch you."

"Yes. It was not chance that here was there, Aletron."

The man had a confused expression. "Aletron, I was given a foresight into, something. I cannot interpret the dream. I almost do not wish to, for it alarms me."

"Do you desire to tell of it?"

"I do not. Please do not be offended, Aletron, but the shock of it is still too close for me to do as much as speak of it." He lowered his head to the point that his gaze fell upon the hilt of his sword.

"Perhaps the new developments of the keep will bore you. Or do you wish to hear of my new plan? Yes? Then come friend."

Aletron patted the elf on his shoulder and beckoned to follow with his hand. "I have decided that we lost too many men due to our carelessness up on the ramparts. We must keep our men on the ground, ready for the enemy to come in if they can. They will easily be able to enter. But there are only at most two hundred Trikkens that stay at bay right now in the woods. When they come in, we shall release such a fury that they will have wished they stayed on their petty lake in Binal."

Perhaps, the elf said to himself quietly.

"With luck, the one hundred men that we have left will be able to withstand them." Aletron said with hope, rather than aspirations of good luck.
Evcrolk raised his shoulders and adjusted within his armour. "Are you telling me that you’re just going to let them in, just like that, with no resistance?"
Aletron was quick to defend himself, "Now Evcrolk, I know that it seems fanatically ambitious-"

"Fanatical, yes. Ambitious? No. What is ambitious about readying your men to die? As soon as they enter your men are going to turn themselves around so quickly that the Trikkens won’t have anyone to fight. And that’s the way they want it. If your numbers are correct, you are hopelessly outnumbered. Two Trikkens for every man, at least. There is no hope in this effort."

"Nevertheless, that is the way it stands." Aletron had never heard himself speak this way to his friend before. He expressed his regret immediately. "I am sorry Evcrolk. But that is the way it must be."

"Aletron, do you feel that the enemy is still upon your neck?"
Aletron studied his face and concluded, "No, Evcrolk, I do not."

"You feel inspired to fight, almost unshakably?"

"Yes."

"Dearest of my friends, please except this wisdom. Your confidence proves that your eve is near. Yours and mine."

***

Valcor decided to lead the attack this time. With his keen eyes he could see the other group’s dust rising up from the earth. He looked to the enemy battlements. No archers on guard. This was too peculiar for his liking. After debating for a while he decided to let out a false war cry. There must be men hiding at the ready. A misleading war cry would make them unconcealed upon the battlements. He motioned to his lieutenants who seemed to understand. He made sure that the Dracrogs, all four of them, were settled down. All was quiet.
And then he roared out into the morning.

***

Aletron tried to restrain himself. The roar sent a chill down his spine that he could not shake off. He saw Evcrolk shaking his head, which was drooped down. It seemed that he was in a constant state of despair. He needed to know what was bothering the elf. I shouldn’t probe, he told himself quietly.
The roar was rough and short. He knew what was going on. He knew what the point of the roar was. And it irritated him. This Trikken was cunning. But he would not meet arrows, not yet.

***

Valcor was puzzled. He refused to believe that they had retreated so soon. But he motioned for the army to make their approach anyway. They would have their day.

They cautiously moved across the open grass that was still littered with the bodies and weapons of the previous day’s battle. Valcor’s temper was enflamed when he noticed that there were so many Trikkens on the soil, and only a few men that lay around the base of the Belfog walls. He caught sight of his precious reinforcements coming to the north wall. But they would not see the enemy, this he concluded after not much thought. He motioned for a courier.

When the messenger had made his way within earshot, Valcor gave him the order to tell the commander there that they would regroup where Valcor was. And they must back off in case the enemy plans to open attack.

Exceedingly quiet, they all made their way to each other and the two armies converged. The commander from the other division confronted Valcor. "Sir, in all of my experience in war, I have never seen anything like this. It is beyond me that the enemy has already retreated. This is all I can conceive of as a possibility. By your crown, sir, I think that we should enter."

Valcor pondered for a while. "Yes. I agree. We shall lead our heavy weaponry, the dracrogs, and have them knock down the gate. How many do you still have?"

"Ten, sir. And that’s not counting the wounded. The wounded may still want to fight, but were running out of food, sir. And they are requiring more gold. Why, just yesterday night, when we were camped up the river, those beasts did not even help set up the tents. They just sat in the shade of the trees and watched us work."

"Yes, well. Maybe this next victory will lift their spirits."

"If we are to have a victory." the commander said with some bleak hope.

Valcor glared at him. Finally, he said, "We will have a victory."

The men grew more anxious with each passing minute, and Aletron saw it. Murmurs waved through the horde of men. Aletron heard the occasional ‘spirits above, what are we doing here’ and ‘only the most insane would give up their life like this’. He shrugged them all off. But he still felt the stares, and the nightmares coursing through their minds. And he had to admit to himself that he too was unsure of what he had done. He looked to Evcrolk, whose head was still hung low.

It was then that he heard the drums.

And when the gate was felled, Aletron knew that it would be over soon. The gate collapsed so fast that he suddenly knew the strength of the Trikkens, and the men would know as well. The gate hit the ground with so much force it was unimaginable. A shockwave rippled across the earth and men were driven off of there feet. Dust flew up from the rubble of the gate. Aletron had not counted on the fact that the gate may have been simply destroyed. They would have to keep a constant outpost until the gate was up again if they won this battle.

But it was silent. He knew that the adversary lurked somewhere in the dust. They were waiting, but for what, he did not know. He began to make out vague shadows that prowled for prey. And that is when he said to fire.

The first Trikken he could clearly make out was dead in an instant. A dozen arrows filled his chest and body. He fell to his knees and then to the ground. And then the Trikkens charged. A hundred roars filled the keep that he had determined so long ago to defend. Now the stronghold was infested with them.

Aletron braced himself with a sudden horror filling his mind. There were so many. He had been sure that they had killed at least a hundred. Now it looked like there was a legion of these Trikkens. Well, not quite a legion, but enough to make him think so. Belfog was certainly lost. He ran for Evcrolk while he gave another order to fire. But he did not make it in time. The enemy was already upon them all. They assaulted them as quickly as ants on an invader. There were countless Trikkens filling the keep.

Aletron still looked for Evcrolk. He came across a Trikken who fell to his wrath quite easily. And then another. This next one would be a bit more difficult though, he thought.
Valcor braced himself for this next man, he looked like a commander. More experience. More drive. More of a challenge.

Aletron grew more annoyed with every blow that did not have effect. Yes, a swipe to the side. The Trikken retreated momentarily. But with more vigour he jumped back into the fight. Aletron took a hit to the legs and lurched forward. He fell on his stomach and felt the air gust out of his upper body. He knew the enemy would surely attempt to drive his weapon into his back, so he rolled to his left. Thank goodness, he had turned over just in time. He drew a jewel krin from his waist and flew it at the Trikken.

Valcor roared in pain. He withdrew the knife that was buried deep in his calf and flung it into the field of battle. He would flee for now, but only until he could find a pike to run this filth into his destinies fulfilment.

Aletron felt life flow through him again. He got off of his back and onto his legs once more. The battle was getting more gruesome. He longed to find Evcrolk so that he could send him off to safety. He coursed through the thickest of the battle without attempting any strikes. No one seemed to even notice him, and he was glad. The smell of blood filled his nostrils though, and he grew sick of the fighting. When he saw Evcrolk he thought to himself that he would gladly escape the battle with him. But he knew that he must stay and lead the final retreat to Centre if it was needed. He ran to Evcrolk now and yelled out above the shouting, "Evcrolk! Evcrolk!"

The elf rapidly turned his head to every direction at this calling and became aware of Aletron running to him.

"Aletron, how goes this battle thus far? I have been occupied with Gonesh the captain and his troops. Gonesh has died, but his troops are still thriving to protect the bridge."

"I knew of Gonesh; I gave him his command only yesterday. I grieve to hear of this loss. But thank goodness you are still here." He glanced over to his left at the sound of a call in native gorrigish.

Iogogundes when translated means simply demon horses. But this name is applied to the vicious dracrogs when they are in the heat of the struggles of war. And here they were. Fifteen dracrogs dashed into the mesh of Trikkens and men, destroying all in their path. Aletron foresaw their intent to hollow out the late Gonesh’s defences. He drew a spear from the ground and held it up firmly in his hands. The dracrogs still approached.

The man braced himself while he pole-vaulted the dracrog in front of him. Blood spewed from the animal’s chest and to his advantage he dived out from under dracrog with pike still in hand. But it was broken. He took the spear and swung it as he would a sword in the face of his upcoming foe. The dracrogs that had charged had gouged deeply into the crossing’s defences and were now go back over the same ground to finish them off. Aletron was ready. He moved back and forth taking down the monstrous being with each stroke.

When he was done with one enemy, he looked for Evcrolk. He grew fatigued from losing the elf in the madness of the last attack. He decided to run away to the north walls. He ran up and down the wall looking for his friend. He could see how the battle was coming along from this distance and he scowled. What a mistake he had made. He dashed off to hunt for his friend yet again.

He found him at the stables. The melée had not reached this place yet and they found some quiet to talk within. "Evcrolk, how glad I am to see you here. I have surveyed the battle, and Belfog is surely lost."

"Yes, Aletron, and that is why I am here." He answered back.

"To leave for Elf Capital?"

Evcrolk frowned, almost with a disappointed look, "To represent the Elves at Centre now that I have surely seen what the Trikken army is made of."

Aletron smiled. He helped him mount a horse and spoke after the elf was set in the saddle. "Evcrolk, I thank you that you have been here. And when this war is over, let us not lose contact."

Evcrolk hung his head low. Aletron managed a laugh.

"We will see each other again!" Aletron lost his smile when Evcrolk did not respond. "Or no?"
Evcrolk looked straight ahead. "I have come to trust dreams as of late, dear companion. And I will grieve when my latest comes to pass." He kicked the horse’s side and the horse sprinted off, and Aletron said nothing more.

Aletron was shocked at first but then sprinted off after the horse out into the open area of the battle. He saw Evcrolk ride as hard as he could toward the bridge. On the crossing there were at least five Trikkens attempting to block any passers. Three were on guard and the others were loosing the ropes that held the boats to escape down river. He saw two already going downstream. Evcrolk lowed his sword and he struck the two and trampled the other three. He turned on his horse and raised his sword to the sky. Then he, in the opposite direction, galloped to the other shore and Aletron lost sight of him for forever.