-A Menagerie of Perspectives-
The tunnel plummeted deep into the earth. They followed it until their spell protections wore off and many hours afterward. The caves were natural, worn by the passage of time, and did not evidence the presence of creatures. Veins of fool's gold and quartz twinkled murkily in the dusky torchlight, and their footsteps fell flat and echoless. The wolf Dagys whined on occasion as though it felt the oppression of the rock around them, and at those times Mordecai stopped and whispered to it. Soon after the wolf would fall silent, which bemused Falco. Mordecai's rapport with the animal impressed him. It was life affirming.
The cavern led them far below the mountain. Sometime, interminable hours later, the dwarf grunted and spoke. "It's late. Wanna camp?" The others replied with groans of assent.
"Let's find a safe spot off this main cave," suggested the druid.
"Sure," replied Garlok, "If you wanna backtrack for an hour."
Mordecai didn't.
"Hard to tell night and day down here," observed Falco. "How do dwarves do it?"
"They don't," replied Garlok, "Why d'ya think they're so surly when they go topside t'meet humans?"
Falco grinned.
"Ehh, my clan're hill folk, anyway, we don't truck with deep caverns. Ain't nothin' wrong with a bit o'sun on yer face."
Falco smiled at that. "Amen."
"Wake me up for a watch later," said Erak as he bedded down. Within minutes he breathed rhythmically, lying on his back in his mithril breastplate. Falco could not fathom how he could look so peaceful while sleeping in his metal carapace. He had given up putting down for the night in his mail after developing sores. He shrugged out of his chainmail, summoned a light spell by which to write, and settled into an uncomfortable nook in the cave wall. Mordecai drifted out of the light's radius, but Falco noticed Garlok sitting in the shadows, head cocked as if listening.
After recording the day's events in his journal Falco prayed - for the success of their quest, for their safe return, and for the blessed illumination of Pelor's purpose. When he finished he unrolled his kit, lay down, and fell instantly asleep.
After no time at all, Erak shook him awake. Bleary-eyed, he blinked several times in the torchlight, then stirred. Breakfast consisted of salted venison, hard tack and water. He chewed carefully, not noticing the blandness of the meal, although some of the others grumbled about it. A coney would be nice, thought the priest wistfully, but it'd be a rather impressive display of woodsmanship to catch one all the way down here. After breakfast Mordecai, Dera, Erak and Travis meditated, studied, or prayed for spells, as was their method. Not for the first time, Falco wondered what exactly it was that Travis did. He'd evidenced no spell power since they'd met, and was obviously not a combatant. The others accepted him into their midst, so surely he had talent in something. It was hard to imagine what, though; the man appeared rather ordinary. He was pleasant and honest-seeming, at least.
An hour later they continued their trek downward. As they'd set out Garlok had informed them that they were miles below the earth. The thought of all that mountain above him had made Falco intensely claustrophobic for several minutes, but with prayer the feeling passed. Today turned out to be a more difficult journey than yesterday, as larger tunnels began to appear, branching off from what he thought of as the main tunnel. Also, the passage began to switchback with random cunning, as if the passage of some earth god had swirled the stone in its wake. Several times Garlok called a halt as he read the signs only he could see. Eventually he would choose a path, but Falco couldn't discern the criteria by which the dwarf judged what was a worthy route and what wasn't.
Although cut off from the sun, Falco knew when it was time to replenish his spells. They called a halt and he prepared, praying for blessings that would make his companions hale and accurate, as well for various abjurations and conjurations. As he did every day since achieving his current status within his god's hierarchy, he asked for daylight as one of his most powerful spells. While not always tactically advantageous, he felt that this spell, more than any other he had access to, symbolized his faith, his commitment, and his mission of furthering Pelor's will. Through it, he honored his god.
"Shine Your Light to dispel the darkness from the path as I walk in Your wake, Lord" recited the priest, "Amen." He rose from his prayers to find the others ready to march and trying not to appear too impatient. He appreciated that.
After several hours the tunnel's ceiling began to sweep higher, and the floor of the passage widened such that they could walk four abreast if they chose. Garlok led them cautiously, often stopping to creep ahead and listen. A dim orange glow refracted off the minerals in the walls ahead when he whispered, "Hear that?"
They listened. Oblivious to subterfuge, Erak ventured, "I don't hear anything."
"Shh!" hissed the dwarf. The echoes of the man’s speech bounced around the cavern.
The warrior-mage cringed and whispered, "Sorry."
“I can take a look,” offered Mordecai. Falco heard his boots crunch quietly on the gravelly floor of the cave.
Several minutes passed, then they heard the quiet crunching return. Mordecai appeared and reported. “Some sort of structure ahead, possibly the dwarf fort.”
“Mining hold,” corrected Garlok.
“Whatever,” shrugged the druid. “There’s a trench, a metal drawbridge, and a big set of doors on the far side. The bridge is up but there appears to be some sort of device on our side. There’s also a bunch of goblins with various weapons.”
“Goblins,” snarled Garlok. He fingered his axes.
The druid shrugged. “There are half a dozen of them. Not sure what they’re doing.”
“Dyin’,” suggested the hill dwarf. He started forward.
Mordecai caught him, “Heh. They have bows.”
“Bah!”
Falco sighed, “Sorry. Had I known I’d have prepared some entropic shields.
“Look,” said Garlok, “They’re just goblins. Let’s kill ‘em.”
“Be kind of hard if they’re on the far side with bows,” noted Travis. “Can we kill them with magic?”
“I have offensive magic, but I don’t know if I can kill six goblins,” said Dera.
“There may be more,” Mordecai hastened to add, “Six was all I could see.”
“Anyone have a crossbow?” asked Erak.
Nobody did. Erak barked a laugh. “We are well-prepared.”
“Rakahn was the archer,” sighed Mordecai as he squatted and rubbed his face. The morbid irony wasn’t lost on Falco.
“Somebody got a plan then?” growled Garlok.
“Sounds like we have to get the bridge down,” replied Travis.
“Explain to me everything you saw around the bridge,” said the dwarf to the druid. Mordecai did. “Hrmm,” reasoned Garlok, “So there’s a winch on both sides. Wasn’t built for defense, then. Probably fer trade.” He stroked his tangled whiskers absently.
“And?” blurted Erak.
“And,” grunted Garlok, “If we can winch down the bridge we can charge ‘em and maybe breach th’ doors.”
“So who’s going to work the winch under fire?” asked Mordecai.
“I’ll do it,” offered Falco at the same time Dera said, “Don’t look at me.”
“Nah,” drawled Travis. “I’ll do it.”
“That’s uncommonly brave of you,” opined Mordecai. “How do you intend to accomplish that?”
The man shrugged and nonchalantly replied, “I’ll make them think I’m a goblin and convince them to let me across.”
Falco raise an eyebrow. The casualness with which Travis had presented his idea made him seem well skilled in duplicity. He reappraised him but couldn’t fathom how such an honest-seeming person would be skilled in subterfuge – it seemed incongruous. Clearly, something was off, but he lacked the guile to discern the truth.
Travis took his kit off his shoulder and squatted. Excitedly, Erak asked him, “You can shapechange?”
Instead of replying, Travis grinned mysteriously. Without answering, he dug into his pack and produced a small box. Kneeling, he opened it and rummaged about. Falco watched with interest. The man produced a small leather pouch and squeezed it until a reddish paste spurted out into his hand. He began to apply the substance to his face.
Garlok raised his bushy eyebrows. “You gotta be kiddin’.”
--
Travis ran over the details in his mind while Fib tried to distract him with garrulous jibes.
“You’ll regret this for the rest of your life,” chirped the gem happily.
Travis affected a shambling, hunched-over gait. Goblins were far smaller than humans, so his disguise would depend largely on confounding their sense of perspective. He had never had occasion to study the vile little creatures, but they couldn’t be that dissimilar from kobolds.
“They’re like kobolds, right?”
“No,” huffed Garlok. “This is a stupid idea.”
“Okay. Let’s hear yours,” offered Travis. The dwarf glared at him with rheumy eyes and said nothing.
He took off his cloak. “So what do I need to know about these things?”
Mordecai briefed him on goblins.
“Cowardly, viscous, not especially bright. Got it,” replied Travis. This should be easy.
“Do you want to be buried in the Suel tradition or the islander way?” crooned Fib.
He ripped the hem of his cloak to tatters before draping it back over his shoulders. “If I die, so do you,” he projected. Digging out his extra tunic, he wadded it up and stuffed it between cloak and back, producing what could be mistaken for a lumpy knot of flesh. He hunched over again.
“Inconceivable!” retorted the psicrystal. Nevertheless, it shut up.
Falco appraised the disguise and chuckled. “At a distance, in poor light, and assuming they’re drunk, it’s possible that you could be mistaken for a large hunchbacked goblin.”
In goblinoid, Travis barfed an expletive at the priest.
Mordecai shot him a quizzical look. “I thought you weren’t familiar with them.”
“Goblins, no. Hobgoblins, yes,” asserted Travis. A satisfying expression of annoyance passed across the druid’s face. Just to compound it he grinned egregiously. Mordecai shook his head, looking disgusted.
“He’s your fault,” said Garlok to the druid.
“I’m ready,” Travis announced. A shiver of excitement mingled with fear shot up his spine.
Let the show begin.
--
When Mordecai described the drawbridge, Travis had imagined the standard variety found in human fortifications – hinged on the defender’s side and raised and lowered by chains attached to a pair of horizontal winches. What he saw appeared to be of decidedly non-human construction. For one thing, instead of raising and lowering, it parted in the middle, allowing each half to swing horizontally in the opposite direction of its mate toward the side it anchored on. Next to each half a mechanical device with gears and pulleys – Travis assumed it was a winch of some kind – had been mounted vertically to somehow facilitate the movement of each bridge section toward the other. Next to the device on the near side was a large brass bell, presumably rung to get the attention of whomever operated the far half of the bridge. He now understood Garlok’s comment about the bridge not being a defensive fortification; it took persons stationed on both sides of the cleft to connect the halves to allow passage across.
Travis took the gap to be about twenty-five feet, far too wide to jump. Beyond the ravine a squat stone structure housed a massive set of iron-wrought double doors. The left door stood propped open by a stone wedged between it and the cavern floor; beyond the portal he saw only darkness. Between the bridge and the doors, several goblins milled about just as the druid had said. Four of them appeared to be involved in some sort of game of chance, kneeling with their heads together and bantering in their crude tongue. To Travis they sounded like a clutch of squawking chickens farting with their mouths. A fifth goblin leaned on a shortspear and spoke to something within the darkened doorway. A sixth dozed fitfully near the bridge mechanism, licking snot from its nostrils and belching in its sleep. All had small shortbows close at hand.
The ravine itself ran diagonally throughout the entire cavern, with the bridge at the narrowest point. Its near end lay to Travis’s right, and the far side disappeared in the flickering gloom cast by the goblins’ torches. From his vantage in the shadows of the cave’s entrance it appeared rather deep, with steep cliff-like walls that fell out of sight. The floor of the cave consisted of dry, uneven, rough-hewn stone; if he had to flee it would be difficult to do so without twisting an ankle. He wished Mordecai had mentioned that. A trickle of sweat ran down his forehead, depositing red clay paint in his right eye. Adapting, he squinted that eye shut and hobbled out across the cave. He felt very exposed.
Ironically, the goblins failed to notice him before he arrived at the bridge. The four gamblers broke out in a tussle, and he heard accusations of “Cheat!” and “Liar!” waft across the gap. Bracing himself, he rang the bell and assumed an obsequious pose. Bending over helped disguise his true height.
Those fighting seized up and stared his way wide-eyed. The goblin by the doors straightened and frowned, and the sleeper continued to doze. In the harsh staccato of their tongue, Travis called out, “I’ze Rawnok.”
One of the gamblers nocked an arrow in his bow and stood up. He snarled, “We’ze no know Rawnok! Who’ze you boss?”
Travis nodded, “Himz boss, yez.”
“No, who’ze?”
“Me’z comin’ back. Do bridge?”
The goblins glanced at each other suspiciously and grumbled. Several unslung their bows. The sleeping goblin woke up and took in the scene.
“Done scoutin’, tellin’ boss,” said Travis impatiently.
“You’ze not Gunkfist!” accused the goblin by the door.
“Me’z other clan, but, um, work for you’ze boss. Do bridge. Me’z help.” Travis shuffled to the mechanism and began to study it. Hmm. Three levers and a dial. What the hell is this metal plate for? It dawned on him that he had no idea how to operate the bridge. Besides which, many of the iron parts seemed rusted tight upon close inspection.
“You’ve almost got it figured out,” encouraged Fib cheerfully.
Travis looked across the ravine. Four more goblins had emerged from beyond the doorway, and all the assembled creatures had bows drawn now. An arrow whizzed by over his head and clattered on the rocks behind him. He flinched and made a show of cowering. It wasn’t much of a stretch; the nearest cover was dozens of feet away.
“You’ze not Gunkfist! You’ze goin’ away or dyin’!” barked one of the goblins.
“Stick ‘im!” said another. “He’ze bein’ good shootin’ practice!”
The rest of the goblins apparently decided that this was a marvelous idea. Cackling and hooting with malignant glee, they loosed a chaotic volley of arrows at Travis.
“Sh*t!” he whimpered.
“Whee!” he heard in his mind.
--
Beyond the cave’s entrance, Erak squatted in darkness and listened to the goblins’ catcalls. He heard the distinct sound of multiple arrows whistling through the air, and then “Argghhh – arghh – ARRGGGHHHH!!”
“He’s hurt!” gasped good old Reverend Jon, there’s a fine fellow. Erak squeezed his eyes shut and wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his gloved fist. In his mind’s eye, fiendish shadows danced and beckoned. He shied away from their whispered promises and shivered. Distantly, booted feet clomped off, and he heard shouts, spells being cast, and curses. Above it all rang the battle cry “Pelor! Pelor!”
Oh, wait, that’s right. Travis was transforming into a human pincushion.
Erak opened his eyes and pushed himself up from the floor. He intoned a spell, carefully weaving his arms in the six-point pattern of – POP!. His right sleeve snagged on his breastplate and ruined the delicate movement. The spell fizzled.
“F*ck!” he yelled. That was the only shield spell he’d prepared that day.
From up ahead Garlok roared, “Getcher ass in here, wizard!”
“Shut up! I’m coming!” he shouted. Fuming, he mumbled, “I’m gonna freaking kill something.” He drew his bastard sword and hustled to the battle.
As he entered the cavern he felt a pang of envy as he witnessed Dera conjure a flaming sphere, which materialized right on top of a goblin. Within the sphere the creature danced, jiggled, and then died. Directed by her outstretched hand, the lavender ball of fire rolled sideways and enveloped a second goblin. It too ran in circles for a few seconds and then fell in a smoldering heap.
A seductive voice slithered through Erak’s psyche. "Acquiesce, and that power and more shall be yours."
He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth. “No.”
Garlok, shouting in what Erak assumed was the goblin tongue, ran up to the edge of the ravine and hurled an axe. It took a goblin square in the chest, lifting it off its feet and knocking it backward with a gurgling howl. Mordecai appeared to be rummaging in his basket and skirting the conflict, Dagys following close behind. Falco moved toward Travis, who limped toward the priest. The psion had three black-shafted arrows sticking out of his body – one in his right arm, one in his left leg and another in his belly. When they met, Falco began to weave defensively while casting a spell, and a familiar golden light washed over Travis’s form when he touched him. One, two, three arrows fell out of his body as his wounds closed. Then the priest turned furiously on the fight.
Although three goblins lay dead, two more piled out of the open door and began to fire black arrows across the trench. Garlok took one in the shoulder, and Falco ducked behind his shield as several missiles ricocheted off of it. Erak eyed the distance across the gap. That’s what, fifteen feet? He could make that. He kept his shield between him and the goblins and edged forward to take a look.
As Dera incinerated another goblin with her flaming sphere, Falco summoned a ghostly weapon, which manifested as a shining golden mace. It swung at one of the goblins as though wielded by an invisible warrior, but missed.
Mordecai arrived to the left of the bridge mechanism. In his hand he held an elaborate feather, dyed green and gilded in gold. He spoke a word and tossed the token high above the ravine. Aloft, it shimmered with green sparks and burst into the form of a massive tree, which came crashing down sideways to span the gap. On the other side, goblins scattered. The instant the tree stilled Garlok barreled across it, roaring in triumph. He made it halfway, slipped, nearly fell, caught his balance, and then carefully picked his way across the remaining distance. Erak laughed aloud. What a fool, he thought. Still, he admired the dwarf’s ebullience. Hefting his weapon and shield, he started across.
By the time he arrived on the other side, Garlok had violently dispatched a pair of goblins with his twin hand axes. The others had fled through the iron doors and were pulling the open one shut. Erak barked, “Garlok, the doors!” and charged forward too late. The sturdy portal shut with a reverberating clang. Moments later he heard the unmistakable sound of a bar being slid across the interior of the doors. “Damn it!” he swore.
“Bah!” spat the dwarf. He banged on the doors with the butt of an axe, then kicked it.
“How do we get inside?” asked Erak.
“Come back across,” shouted Mordecai. They did. As they arrived Travis turned to Mordecai and gestured at the tree, “Why didn’t we just do that to begin with?”
“I didn’t want to use it unless I had to. Besides, you had a plan.”
“Heh,” said Travis.
“Now what?” asked Falco. “Can we get through the doors?”
Garlok shook his head and spat. “There’s good dwarvish steel, reverend. We ain’t got the sword that can break it.”
“There’s a tunnel at the far end of the ravine,” announced Dera. Her owl swooped toward them; apparently she’d sent it scouting again. “Tiki says it’s dry and there’s light down that way.”
“Hrm,” replied Mordecai in an expression of distrust. Erak concurred with that sentiment.
Falco asked, “Is there no other way?”
They searched the chamber; there wasn’t.
“Guess we go down,” sighed Erak, resigned. He had developed a bad feeling regarding this venture, and the constant weight upon his psyche didn’t help matters. Something chuckled darkly behind his skull, and he winced.
“You okay?” asked Falco.
Erak waved him off, “Fine, yeah.”
“Let’s move on,” suggested Mordecai, “we can use the tree branches to climb down.”
“Poor tree,” said Dera.
The druid nodded sadly. “Yes, it will die. That’s why I was reluctant to evoke it.”
“Others will die as well,” rasped the voice in Erak’s head. In a flash he descended into hell; tortuous and demented images, options, futures, choices barreled through his mind like a runaway steed. He witnessed Falco obliterated by a blast of malevolent black energy, and then Travis; he envisioned Garlok struck down by a torrent of freezing ice. He saw his comrades suffer and die over and over in horrible, unimaginable ways. Smugly, the voice crawled through his psyche again. "I can save them, if you but call me forth."
He reeled on the edge of temptation. He didn’t want this responsibility. He could save them all. He could…
An incongruity shocked him from his inner torment. “Erak, come on down!”
Reverend Jon, alive. For now.
Grabbing onto a branch for support, Erak broke out in a sweat that had nothing to do with physical exertion.
--
Mordecai followed his companions through the winding tunnel that meandered away from the underground ravine. By his side, Dagys bristled at the darkness and said, “Rowf!”
Mordecai agreed; he didn’t like the path before them either. Something about it felt wrong. From far ahead, refracted by minerals embedded in the cave walls, a pale blue light beckoned. Between there and here lay only darkness. They crept forward slowly, guided by the flickering fire from their torches and the sunny glow off Falco’s shield. After what seemed an eternity, the torchlight and the azure radiance from ahead began to mingle.
From the front ranks some fool whispered the obvious, “We’re getting close.”
He sighed, then tensed as the party members in the lead – Garlok, Erak, and Falco – rounded the bend from which the light seemed to emanate. Ritual words of defensive spells raced through his mind, and he mouthed them quietly as he stood prepared for further battle. What he heard from ahead surprised him, however, as someone declared, “Oh, wow.”
Dagys growled low in his throat and bristled. Mordecai felt no surprise; whatever lay ahead wasn’t natural, thus, it made the wolf suspicious. He frowned; unnatural things were often the work of Beory’s enemies. Curiosity got the better of him, though, so he sidled up the passage to take a look.
He peeked around the corner, then gaped in surprise. A dome-shaped crystalline room filled with mineral wealth reflected the light from the chamber’s centerpiece, a glowing magical sword thrust point-first into the stony earth. Its blade and hilt were ornate and bespoke of elvish or dwarvish craftsmanship, and draped about it was a shriveled, skeletal corpse. Elvish workmanship, he decided as he marveled at the sight. The body, in any event, was certainly not that of a dwarf. It had been there for a long time, and Mordecai felt pity for the poor soul who’d died forgotten in this deep mountain lair.
Awed, the party filed into the chamber and gawked at the spectacle. Dera spoke an arcane word, then gasped, “It is very powerful.”
“Doesn’t make sense,” said Travis.
“Aye,” agreed Garlok. “Who’d leave a magic sword lyin’ around?”
“Nobody,” replied Erak. Alert, they carefully scrutinized the cavern.
It was then that Dagys began to bark and snarl at the walls, and turn in circles. “What does he see?” asked Falco.
Mordecai didn’t know. Something unnerved the wolf, and that unnerved him. The hair on the back of his neck rose and he began to reply, but with an evanescent blast of displaced air a horse-sized spider appeared towering over Garlok. It crouched above him on eight powerful legs, sheathed in a blue and white carapace that gleamed eerily in the azure glow emanating from the magic sword. Before anyone could react the spider plunged its twelve-inch fangs deep into the dwarf’s torso. He jittered once, gurgling helplessly, and then the monster winked out of existence in a rush of collapsing air. Garlok staggered like a drunk…well, like himself anyway, but worse. He roared “Blargghhh!” and swiped erratically at the spot where the creature had appeared, hitting nothing.
Not one of his finer moments, to be sure.
Mordecai, a practical person by nature, retrieved a scroll of delay poison and stepped toward the dwarf. Falco began casting a spell as though he had a horde of enemies pressing him – the room lay bare except for the adventurers, the desiccated corpse, and the magic longsword – and succeeded in causing a warm golden glow to encompass his outstretched hand. As he moved toward Garlok the spider reappeared, phasing in from some other place, and crunched through Falco’s hauberk with its dagger-like fangs. “Arrgghh!” screamed the priest as the beast phased away again, and he stopped short and touched himself with his spell of healing. Then he, too, swooned as the venom wracked his body.
“The poison…weakens!” gulped the cleric, panting and sweating. His face had taken on a bluish sheen, and the veins in his necked bulged. Mordecai watched in sympathy as Falco retched reflexively. Potent, he noted.
“Move back!” said Dera. Erak, cowering behind his shield, agreed. “Yes! Everyone back to the cave entrance! Casters behind the fighters!”
“You a caster or a fighter today?” asked Garlok.
Erak shot him a dirty look and took a spot in the front rank.
They huddled up as the spider phased in again, but this time they were ready. Dera unleashed a trio of magic missles, and Falco, Erak and Garlok all swung fiercely at it. Falco missed, Erak sliced a shallow cut along its soft underside, but Garlok buried his axes deep. Reeling from the counterassault, the giant arachnid sunk its fangs into Erak before disappearing again. “Vaugghhh!” he screamed.
Mordecai sighed again, then dug out another delay poison scroll. At this rate he’d be out of scrolls in an hour.
Tense seconds passed as they waited. Unsure of what to do, they lingered in the tunnel they’d entered from.
“Well, this is a pickle,” said Erak.
“We wounded it,” countered Garlok.
Travis spoke. “It’s still out there somewhere. We need to finish it.”
“A wounded beast is all the more dangerous,” added Mordecai. As usual, he agreed with Travis. They had to get by this obstacle, preferably without further casualties. But how?
“Ya know what? Screw it,” spat the dwarf. He stomped back into the room.
“Garlok, no!” yelled half the group. He ignored them, waddling to the glowing blue sword jammed in the cavern floor. He reached for it.
Mordecai watched, fascinated by the dwarf’s bravado.
Garlok drew the sword.
--
A ghostly wind roared in Garlok’s ears, obliterating the shouts from his companions. All around him the world whirled flat and gray, a vortex of colorless sound that engulfed him in a vicissitude of alien sensations. His beard and hair whipped about him as he drew the sword up to his face and examined its brilliant sheen – one which, it seemed, came from within and not its steel exterior. It pulsed in his callused palm as though it was a live thing, and it felt very warm against his skin. The danger momentarily forgotten, he gazed at the cavern walls in amazement. Everything appeared hazy and indistinct, as though he viewed the world through several layers of silk. He turned slowly, marveling at the sensation of movement, and saw his comrades clustered against the opening through which they had come. He started in wonder as he realized that he viewed them as luminous beings of multi-hued light, each of who were somehow distinct in the patterns they emanated. He also spied the phase spider hunkered against the opposite wall, its life energy sputtering through shades of violet and dark blue. They’d wounded it more than he’d realized.
Smiling grimly, he advanced.
