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| Phoenix had managed to slay three of the enemy rogues already, none of them burning but all three dead or mortally wounded. Rithevan, in his potential last minute, blocked a high swing and took the opportunity to hold the swords above them and body-check the bandit to the ground. Phoenix deftly plunged his sword into the bandits' chest. “Never miss!” He said sternly to Rithevan as he removed his sword. “How did you know I missed?” He replied in agitation. Before a reply could be made Rithevan spotted the fifth bandit running away to join Edvar and seven others at the other end of the yard. Rithevan hurled his short-sword through the air and hit the bandit square in the back. “Did I have to do that?” Rithevan said, he could barely believe that he even hit him. “He was running away- did I...” “There is no time for that now!” Phoenix was getting angry and cut him short. “You will not live to regret this day!” Edvar, still vigorous and his hair still smoldering, cried. “See!” Said Phoenix. He reached down to a dead bandit and retrieved another short-sword. “Here!” Phoenix thrust it into Rithevan's hand. Rithevan held the sword and gazed down at the fallen one's next to him. He wished now that he hadn't spent the time to learn their names for it would probably have made it a lot less painful to watch Trisker dying. He pushed all sympathy's aside and spotted another short-sword. “More weapons has got to be a good thing.” He thought to himself and fetched it up for his left hand. He looked forward and the remaining bandits were charging him and Phoenix. Phoenix triumphantly spoke, “Come what may Edvar the knave! The battle belongs to the Lord!” |
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| Order Of The White Flame |