11- LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - EVIL PERSONIFIED - SECTION 3

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - EVIL PERSONIFIED - SECTION 3

 

“Was that it? Was that the end of it?”  Sovereign Zakhertan Yozdek placed the last of the reports onto the stack and leaned back to stretch out his limbs. A slight nod brought his ever vigilant and trusted aide Neru forward at once to pick up the key and the stack that Zakhertan had set aside on his desk. Neru then took the documents to a large metal vault where they were locked up for future reference. The key was returned to His Highness to join the others dangling from the Sovereign's belt. 

The second stack by far the larger contained the reports that were deemed to be trivial, uninteresting, or expendable and it was on these that Neru next set to work, tearing them into fine bits and then feeding them to the flames within a large brazier, specifically designed to reduce any remnant to cinders.  

01-NERU

Each night’s routine was the same; at an unspecified hour Zakhertan Yozdek, pending no unforeseen crisis or upset, would set aside some time to peruse all the crucial documents submitted by The Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren, other officials, as well as the reports from Internal Security. Through his special branch of moles, Zakhertan had continually kept apace of the activities of his Ministers, Provincial Governors, Generals as well as his own personal retinue and family, within his realm. No one eluded, evaded, shunned, averted, or circumvented his scrutiny, not even hermits, or the recluse of scholars, such as Fradel Rurik Korvald. 

Zakhertan Yozdek had always lived by two unassailable adages: one was to be vigilant in concealing least sign of weakness from all; the second was to never rely on or place absolute confidence in anything or anyone. A measure of confidence could be shown outwardly but never acted on or believed inwardly. 

History was riddled with examples of Sovereigns ruined through treachery by the, oftentimes a most trusted vassals; Zakhertan Yozdek therefore had always endorsed the principle (criterion) that to persevere, no minister, priest, general or Prince of the realm should ever exceed, in the open or in secret, in any one of the areas of power, influence, acumen, awe and reverence, held in the person of the Sovereign.   

The two stacks swiftly dealt with, Zakhertan presently turned his attention to the third bundle and picked up the top envelope, broke open the seal, removed the document within, and read it carefully.  These detailed accounts were submitted by an indomitable, invisible Shadow Brigade (division of Black Band Guard Regiment), whose sole purpose was to monitor the Censors, informants and spies themselves. This dual system of surveillance had served Zakhertan Yozdek well thus far; hence, he had kept close tabs on all within his kingdom, and yet at the same time was afforded a measure of truth sufficient to appease his suspicious nature. As it were, the only cliques Zakhertan had allowed to exist in his dominion were those that he easily manipulated; and periodically, he did enjoy at being their puppeteer and making them do his bidding. 

Moreover, far from employing only the most servile of vassals, the civil and military courts had been staffed with men, all as ruthless as wolves or tigers and more cunning than vipers and foxes. These specially picked individuals acted like vultures, doing very much more than their duty prescribed, yet nevertheless they were very much cowed and succumbed to Zakhertan 's every whim. This effect had been achieved through incessant pressure, unrelenting fear, and artful manipulation; actually, he respected those most that had been the hardest to break. Individuals that posed the greatest menace were the ones he kept at closest proximity; constantly monitored, for any nuance (hint) of seditious activity; they were in the truest sense of the word, only a hairsbreadth away from the executioner's blade. Their already perilous existence was moreover tested by periodic rumors that accused one or the other of subversion against Sovereign or The Wenjenkun Nation. This was not done merely to keep them toeing the line or to incessantly feed Zakhertan’s rapacious sadistic nature but to accurately gauge the rest’s true disposition towards that individual or perceived incidence (occurrence). 

Unfortunately, too seldom for Zakhertan’s liking, one would advance an idea or theory he knew it to be unsound; akin to a beast toying with its prey before the killing stroke, Zakhertan would then pretend to be taken in, merely to see how far the dupe would go; he would subsequently, delight in making veritable mincemeat of the fool.   

Conversely, every so often he would refute a valid suggestion by, one of his generals, courtiers or other and, advance plausible yet purposefully flawed viewpoints. As these events occurred between long bouts of predictable stability, Sovereign Zakhertan was able to appear even to his liegemen, as elusive and cryptic. 

02-ZAKHERTAN YOZDEDK  (40) JP

Two decades now, he had maintained his unbounded, omnipotent rule; his subjects (firmly) believing that all under Heaven was his personal domain (including nations that were under his suzerainty) and that, all his decrees and proclamations were the mandates of Gods.  

After all this time, could he finally relax his vigilance? Could he dare be complacent? He absolutely could not; must not, not for a single moment. Zakhertan through clenched teeth quickly answered his inner query; his tight fist eased as anger slowly, gradually ebbed. Yes, he had maintained his iron hold on the realm (kingdom) thus far but in the deep recesses of his heart Zakhertan had of course known, the futility of it all.  

A Sovereign may subjugate most of his subjects with impunity, govern his vassal's bodies and outward acts, and even sway or manipulate their minds to some degree but there would always be one who would prove to be an exception to the rule who could slip through the controlling net, or escape it entirely.  There would emerge some renegade, a folk hero or martyr who would stoke the smoldering ashes of dissent into a spark that would ignite the searing flames that would scorch the whole Kingdom bare. If that is, he was not snuffed out, right at the start.  

Zakhertan inclined his head to stare absently out the window at the artificially illuminated garden, layer upon exquisite layer of floral beauty; his mind perfectly composed, his face wearing an emotionless mask of serenity. Misleadingly, he inwardly was in fact, taking meticulous stock of his most recent and severest measures, which as a rule incorporated further stringent laws and their equally brutal punishments, to determine if they would suffice to rout-out or curb the latest, anticipated, impending trouble.  

Moreover, the ’Divide and conquer’ strategy had consistently proven to be a most effective policy. His thoughts veered (turned) to past recourse that warranted akin to action. He may employ it again: First, his subjects were led to believe that he, Zakhertan Yozdek, was (ostensibly) by far the most generous Sovereign, rewarding meretricious acts as handsomely as he was severe in his punishments. But then, Zakhertan mischievously grimaced, reflecting quietly on how, every now and then, he unexpectedly rewarded an individual or an official or two for no apparent reason, to sow discord, disconcert or perturb others.  

Eventually the targeted individuals became estranged from their friends, colleagues, and family. Thoroughly demoralized and seeking only to safeguard their own hide, the seeds of treachery would easily then be planted in them, to be harvested in future. Zakhertan by manipulating the most basic emotions of insecurity and mistrust, of any individual or a group, albeit powerful and influential, those pegged troublemakers were then, easily and without fail got purged (eradicated). 

In his youth Zakhertan Yozdek had avidly studied history and learned from its mistakes; subsequently, as a monarch, he had never failed to utilize timely measures and inject acute fear into the hearts and minds of all likely (budding) dissenters, way before trouble manifested. Through artful manipulation he had also fostered the belief in his subjects that he, their omnipotent Sovereign Zakhertan Yozdek, was all seeing, all hearing. That nothing, however trivial or inconsequential, escaped his attention. One of the means with which Zakhertan had achieved this end was, by engaging Censors, which conducted semiannual tours of the countryside. The sole purpose of these mobile forces was to check on the performance of the Provincial and Military Governors and Magistrates, and Tribunes. Demotions, promotions, rewards, and reprisals were all dependent on the outcome of 

Censors’ report. Of course, the concept of Censorate had been created during the reign of 

Sovereign Zuronghan Therran Valamir. This Censorate predecessor was vastly different from Zakhertan’s incarnation however, for one thing the Censors of old Dynasty were appointed from the ranks of the Nobility, Military, Bureaucracy, or Intelligentsia equally. The sole purpose of the Censorate had been to keep all officials, high and low, under strict surveillance and report any wrongdoing or illicit activity to their Liege and in this capacity, Censors were empowered to criticize, if needs be, even the Sovereign. Although they had little direct political power, they were not constrained to divulge their sources of information even to the highest authority and, for their fifteen-year term, they were immune to criticism or punishment for their actions. The granting of these liberties, as well as their proximity to the ear of the ruler, had left ample room for corruption, and these posts invariably had left their holders wealthy and influential beyond measure. The deficiencies of this system were never given the chance to correct themselves before the overthrow of Sovereign Zuronghan Therran Valamir, and it was Zakhertan who took this branch of the bureaucracy and reshaped it into its present form. In the revised version, Censorate officials were now appointed solely by Zakhertan  Yozdek for seven year terms and, unlike their forerunners, they could be indicted, subjected to interrogation, including torture and, if found guilty, they and their families would be punished twice as harshly as anyone in a normal position.  

More importantly, they were prohibited from ever criticizing present Sovereign  

Zakhertan’s policies; memorials of this kind having been prohibited ever since Zakhertan Yozdek had assumed (usurped) the throne. On demand Censors were expected to produce their evidence, sources and all pertinent information to the Sovereign's special staff who would, in turn, present it for Zakhertan Yozdek’s final analysis and judgment. Meanwhile, the identities of these officials were kept a closely guarded secret, known only to the Emperor, the Shadow Brigade and one other, Senior Grand Secretary Qarzten Caimund. Each Censor was identified on the special documents only by a serial number which was assigned upon their appointment to the position. If they were ever exposed, they could expect no leniency; they would be summarily dismissed, and therefore subject to the reprisals of their victims, banished to a remote province, or summarily executed for violating the first duty of their office. Within the Censorate itself the officials would be moved about at randomly set intervals so that they could never grow complacent, relax their vigilance, acquire a sphere of influence, or establish cliques as had been the norm in the past. 

Of course, Zakhertan could not take full credit for these measures. “Let’s give some credit where credit is due,” Zakhertan throwing a furtive glance at Qarzten Caimund, who was seated at the far desk his head down overseeing some matters Zakhertan had allocated to him, donned a sinister smile. Indeed, some of it had been adapted from Qarzten's excellent proposals. 

Returning his gaze back to the garden, Zakhertan mused on another concern:   

Back then, when he had revised the legal statutes, he had assumed that he had left no room for those skillful manipulators of the letter of the law to contravene in it.   

He had the statutes so clearly worded and exactly defined that there had been nothing left in doubt; furthermore, he had been explicit, that all would be offenders, without fail, would be most rigorously prosecuted. Obviously even the best effort had its failing.  

Zakhertan shrugged, relieving the frustrations of those bygone days. Sure enough, it had looked good (sound) as written principles on the statute books, yet it had not been as effective, especially in the outlying areas, when constrained by the incredible number of legal restrictions, deception and corruption, turning it into new criterion (hallmark) and instigating dangerous discord (strife) between the different levels of Government.  Having learned to act swiftly and embrace change, Zakhertan had amended the laws in good enough time, eliminating these dangerous practices before they became the norm.  

“Pigs and fishes; one and all” Zakhertan inwardly jeered with utter disdain. In fact, a large part of his time had been taken up with constant monitoring of the usage of his laws within the Empire. 

“Virtue… Bah,” Zakhertan again inwardly scoffed. “Talk about an overrated, foolish concept.”   

 Back in the early days, the situation had been such that anyone uttering that word “virtue,” would have been scorned, accused of shirking his duty and then duly punished. Zakhertan Yozdek had always clung to the truth inherent in the ancient saying, "The man of inferior virtue clings to virtue and so has no virtue."   

It could be said that Qarzten Caimund had never practiced virtue. Zakhertan thoughtfully reflected as his eye caught a bird in the garden, wrestling an insect out of a tree trunk. Yet, Zakhertan had long suspected that Qarzten was the most virtuous of men. Or was that only another facade of his?  

03-QARZTEN CAMUND (5)

Zakhertan turned his stealth, suspicious gaze back onto Qarzten Caimund, studying him with penetrating eyes until a cold smile brushed his lips and he dismissed these speculations peremptorily. 

Zakhertan reached for a blank sheet of parchment, picked up his brush, and loaded it with the ink that Neru had prepared earlier and began to write. Once the first set of orders had been quickly dispensed, Zakhertan applied his crimson seal to the bottom, folded it into three, and wrote its destination on the back then sealed it with, wax from a purple taper and the impression of his signet ring. Before the molten wax around the ring could set, his mind had returned to the past. Once the amendments to the laws had been put in place and rigorously enforced, he had gotten the situation under control, except for, in the furthest regions of the Kingdom.   

Wellnigh unchecked, the situation there (in such a short span) had grown extremely volatile and at the most inopportune of times as well. The bulk of Zakhertan’s militia had been engaged in a difficult and demanding campaign in Korion and the remainder of his forces had been reserved for the police actions against the northern nomads, to end their persistent incursions into Wenjenkun's territory.  

Zakhertan Yozdek had been strapped, caught short handed hence, in effectively bringing a swift resolution to this far region. What he had needed at that time, short of another army appearing from thin air, an able vassal, one most ruthless and cunning, who could conduct this challenging task with the minimum of arms and workforce. That man appeared in the person of Qarzten Caimund, who had been an unknown minor official until then.  

“Oh, but you were a sly one right from the start, Qarzten Caimund,” Zakhertan mused. 

 “Imagine getting none other than Egil Viggoaries to recommend you for service when in fact you were the proponent of Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren the whole time.”  This very fact had intrigued Zakhertan Yozdek right from the start and had won Qarzten Caimund the certain singular distinction he rightly deserved.  

During the entire interview Qarzten Caimund had admirably withstood the grueling mental tightrope and impressed by Qarzten's astute rationalism, his vast knowledge of the legal statutes, his courage, wit, and martial ability among a multitude of other talents, Zakhertan Yozdek had allowed himself to overlook those minor flaws, the prejudices, and biases barely discernible in Qarzten’s character, and had appointed (assigned) him to the unenviable post.  

Rising the challenge to complete the subjugation of the north in a set time upon peril of his life, Qarzten had requisitioned and received Zakhertan Yozdek’s approval for a free hand in rectifying the situation. Qarzten Caimund’s subsequent, steady progress had read like a textbook case, but what had really interested Zakhertan Yozdek, was the ingenious, though unorthodox measures the new commander had taken. While appearing lenient, Qarzten had been, from the very beginning, selectively ruthless. As good as his word, he had laid stress on severe implementation of the full rigors of the law, even to the Royal relations who had grown too overbearing and daring away from the prying eyes of Zakhertan. Given free reign

Qarzten had killed men summarily, tortured suspects until they confessed or died and practiced other most effective measures to spell out his message to one and all.  He had personally cut off quite a few of the heads of convicted officials and had made mincemeat of several (not a few) formerly lofty citizens.  

In a noticeably short spell, Qarzten Caimund had brought all within his authority(jurisdiction) under his absolute control. Once law and order were restored, he moved on to the next region and then the next; his reputation preceded him until all areas were pacified. Qarzten Caimund’s savage reputation for adapting bold, ruthless tactics, had naturally won him Zakhertan's favor, especially since every step, every victory, was secured well within the established time. 

04-QARZTEN CAMUND (16)

Of course, there had been copious amount of (flood of) litigations and hundreds of indictments from these regions, which had to be passed over to the Chief Justice due to their importance and, despite the increased amount of nightmarish paperwork that had to wind its way through the sluggish bureaucracy.  Zakhertan had taken no action against Qarzten; in fact, been secretly pleased deeming these as proof, of his appointed vassal’s competency. Fortunately for Zakhertan, Qarzten’s beloved wife Bren had died just then from a bizarre accident leaving Qarzten free to marry. As it was Zakhertan’s way, after the appropriate time for the mourning had passed, Zakhertan’d proposed, more like dictating a propitious marriage between Zakhertan’s distant relative’s (cousin’s) beautiful second daughter Kelda and Qarzten Caimund.

 Qarzten Caimund, competent as he had been in everything that mattered; he had never been, fortunate in matters of love, family, or marriage. To date, a well-kept secret, especially from Zakhertan, this arrangement unfortunately had been a loveless marriage from the start, as Kelda had already been secretly betrothed to a young warrior Adrian Kenzor, whom she had been infatuated with since childhood.   

In fact, Kelda’d been secretly impregnated by Adrian at the time her family forced this marriage with Qarzten Caimund on her. Qarzten was of course no fool and had quickly found out about this; nevertheless, taking pity on her had kept his silence and when a healthy, infant son (named Stokner Tchort Caimund) was born, he had pretended that he (Qarzten) was the natural father. This happenstance had suited Qarzten Caimund well; for in childhood Qarzten had had a terrible accident that had destroyed any chance of him to ever propagate (reproduce, breed) later in adult life. This had been a closely guarded secret that no one, not even Sovereign Zakhertan Yozdek, knew at that time. 

When a son, Stokner Tchort Caimund, was born to him, Qarzten playing the part of a dutiful father had provided the boy, with every available means of education; however, from earlier on, he had been disappointed about the boy’s aptitude and innate character. Not liking what he saw, he gradually distanced himself from his son Stokner and quickly packed off his estranged wife Keida and son Stokner to a distant province where Qarzten Caimund had a vast estate.

05 - QARZTEN'S UNFILIAL WIFE KELDA AND HER LOVER ADRIAN KENZOR -JP (78)

 

Alas, when Qarzten Caimund’s learned that his wife had secretly renewed her old liaison (relationship) with Adrian Kenzor, enraged Qarzten had Kelda, Adrian Kenzor and anyone who knew of this, at various times of course, murdered. Five perished because of a terrible accident; three swiftly passed away from ingesting poison while few others expired from a fatal illness. Only his son Stokner’s life was spared. Meanwhile Qarzten Caimund playing the role of a mournful (grieving) twice widowed, unlucky in love official, vowed never to remarry and from then on gave his undivided attention instead, to state matters and, to his official duties in Capital that had markedly increased by then.  

Sovereing Zakhertan Yozdek’s focus (concentration) at the time had been totally taken (preoccupied) by the difficult governance of Wenjenkun and the renewed foreign aggression; as a result, he relied heavily on Qarzten’s brilliance and ruthless efficiency and to date, he had not been disappointed. Unfortunately, at the right time Qarzten Caimund had created so much enmity, especially among the prominent nobility that thirty-five grievous slanders grew around him, though to no avail. Naturally, having foreseen this outgrowth of his work, Qarzten Caimund had kept meticulous records and had not shared any of the vices that had caused the downfall of so many of his predecessors. Though Qarzten was a person of diverse interests, he had neither any real attachment nor damaging aversions; he had no sexual perversions, took no bribes, did not drink to excess, and curbed any ambition or greed, through cerebral forte (strong suit) and a healthy caution. To date Qarzten Caimund had upheld a modest lifestyle and kept a Spartan house in Capital. While he could be the most unassuming of pacifists, one could also meet with dire woe should one incur his anger or cross his wishes. Zakhertan understood Qarzten held long grudges and was intolerant of stupidity that misrepresented itself.  

It often amused Zakhertan to observe the way Qarzten struck back with such pernicious (spiteful) precision, at the foe that dared to cross or encumber him.  Caught off guard, the adversary invariably succumbed to whatever weapon was chosen: the deadly strike of the sword, or a severe tongue-lashing from Qarzten Caimund. Yet, overall Qarzten advocated peace and perseverance; it could even be said he was deeply religious. He detested liars, yet when and where warranted he was not above acting the hypocrite to get the more vital job done.  Yes, by employing his many unconventional methods Qarzten had, within that specific time, checked all crime and restored the complete rule of law and order to the far (rebellious) regions. In other words, Qarzten Caimund succeeded where others had failed miserably. Impressed by these results, his unrelenting zeal, boundless energy, no-nonsense attitude, and impartiality where it counted most, Zakhertan had steadily promoted Qarzten Caimund in a brief three years' time to the position of Chief Justice to Military Tribune of the Capital Region then to the exalted posting as Senior Grand Secretary.  No other Civil Minister could boast of such a feat. What was more, his unmarred efficiency and impeccable record to date had given Zakhertan absolutely no cause for complaint.  Still, even though Zakhertan Yozdek relied on Qarzten a great deal more than the others, the truth was that Qarzten Caimund’s position was neither more nor less precarious than any of the others.  

                                                                              …..  

 

 

(END OF SECTION 3)

11- LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - EVIL PERSONIFIED - SECTION 2

LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - EVIL PERSONIFIED - SECTION 2

   

For some time now, Egil Viggoaries had employed a heartless, homicidal surgeon Lubin, one of only two in the whole Wenjenkun who excelled in the sadistic skill of prolonging the duration of the meted punishment to the maximum the body would stand. The other one Egil could not touch, for he was actively in the employ of Sovereign Zakhertan Yozdek.   

01- SURGEON LUBIN

 

There had been few precursors to Lubin, but all four had been abruptly terminated and then discarded by Egil Viggoaries when an unsatisfactory application of the blade had brought about a hasty end to the unfortunate victim. Egil Viggoaries was intolerant of least incompetence; furthermore, he often indulged in tormenting people as it provided him with the highest form of entertainment, and Lubin was his ringmaster.   

Lubin provided Egil Viggoaries with just the right dose of exhilaration to satisfy his perverse appetite for at least one briefer spell, before yet again the insatiable hunger (craving) resurfaced in the Dark Eunuch’s bottomless vile soul. Then the evil savagery and malice would recap (repeat) all over again.  

Zhadol Borym had never once in those abhorred compulsory (obligatory) episodes, where he had born witness to Lubin’s savagery, expected to be the next prey (target). Each time he hardened his heart, being so coerced and therefore believed (was sure), that those faceless phantom brutes, the barely human forms, were well deserving of such penalty. Nevertheless, and this he would never admit to anyone, his misled warrior’s conscience (scruples) and tempered soul still had to be forcefully willed to a distant, way faraway place,  before he could stomach (tolerate) the unfolding scene before his very eyes: Lubin in each case, had wielded the blade skillfully as if skinning a fish, ensuing days and weeks he would then painstakingly (meticulously) cut away, each strip, leaving only a jumbled mass of nerves to collect and transmit black ropes of pain that pulsed through, with fading life; all the while ensuring that the victim did not prematurely expire until the very end of this tortuous ordeal.  

Zhadol at present shuddered involuntarily, as he could not shut out the parade of gruesome images from his mind's eye; mindful of the fact, that Lubin's expert application of the razor-sharp scalpel (surgical knife) would soon be poised on his (Zadol’s) very flesh. He furtively glanced once more at Egil Viggoaries. The Eunuch's face was dark, and his jaw firmly set.  But what had seemed like an eternity to Zhadol Borym had in truth, been only a few minutes.    

“Was this the fate Egil Viggoaries had planned for him all along? No! He could not meekly accept such an ignominious punishment... He must contest this vile verdict! “  

 

Commander Zhadol rising to his feet, menacingly stepped forward but was instantly jerked back, as the chain about his neck was viciously yanked by one of his guards. His steadfast resistance only resulted in the metal biting deeper into his existing wounds. Blood oozed freely out from the corrugated scabs layered atop his blistered flesh. Undeterred Zhadol Borym stayed his ground, looking defiantly up at Egil Viggoaries, his eyes burrowing ferociously into Dark Eunuch’s, he then in resounding voice, loudly challenged him to one-on one personal combat; this was his right, Egil owed him this more befitting a warrior’s end, and that he refused to accept nothing (short) less.    

“Still, no reaction; all right then, he will defy Egil by other means. Pending something better, he   would goad (provoke) the Dark Eunuch using insolent words.”  

 

"You stupid fool!" Egil Viggoaries beat him to the punch however, as he abruptly just then, exploded in a bark. Then rising slowly, he menacingly approached Zhadol Borym until he was only but a hairline away. His right fist clenched, poised to strike. He glowered at his former Commander and then spat contemptuously into his face. "Even now you remain ignorant of your true crime."  He turned and gave a swift, brutal kick to Yennic's head. Stunned, Yennic fell backwards, blood spurting from the deep gash on his scalp. 

Egil Viggoaries’s head snapped back and pressed his face right up against Zhadol Borym's. Gritting his teeth and pointing the accusing finger down at the huddled mass on the floor, Egil Viggoaries spat out the incredible words Zhadol Borym wished he would never live to hear.    

02- EGIL VIGGORIES 11- JP

“You disgust me; for you were played all along; your strings were jerked, like a despicable puppet, by this wretched, insignificant maggot!"  Egil Biggoaries gave a derisive snort and once more violently kicked Yennic Zhiborym hard with the back of his heel just for the sport of it. 

The Dark Eunuch then swung back to Zhadol and rasped, "Your abject weakness sickens (nauseate) me!" Egil with a disdain spat on the ground and haughtily turned his back to his long-time friend Zhadol. His steps thereafter with deliberate slowness mounted the platform, and he returned to his seat.  

Aghast, Zhadol Borym turned his questioning gaze sideways and looked down at Yennic Zhiborym slouched (curled, doubled over) on the ground, then, tilting his head upwards to face Egil Viggoaries, he indignantly demanded, "This is nothing more than a dastardly plot to discredit me. I know it is!  State clearly the crime which I am truly accused of!  Furthermore, I challenge you to muster any proof which would substantiate your implicit (roundabout) claim? False confessions extracted under duress and torture does not count!”   

"Proof," Egil Viggoaries’s thundering bark shook the room.    

"He wants proof." Dark Eunuch addressed the assembly after a derisive laugh.   

 "Proof." Repeating the word third time, at first thoughtfully, then stone faced, Egil Viggoaries reverted his venomous eyes to rest for a time on Yennic Zhiborym, before turning it back again on Zhadol.  

Egil’s face then surprisingly placid (calm); lips formed an eerie, menacing smile. "I had wanted to spare you ignominy (this terrible disgrace, shame), but proof you asked for and proof you shall have."  He shrugged then leaned back and motioned to a guard waiting by the door.   

Zhadol Borym's heart filled with apprehension at that instant with what he might hear. He swallowed dryly; his stomach suddenly tightened into a hard knot; but now it was too late to stop it. The guard had already re-entered leading two members belonging to the “Wraiths” division of Black Molochs. These incorruptible eunuchs, clad in black and wearing face masks to hide their identity, were most proficient at gathering evidence.  They came forward quickly and abruptly halting before Egil

Viggoaries, reverently bowed to him. Such was their status that they were answerable only to the Leader of the Order. From their preamble it turned out that, for some time now, Yennic Zhiborym had been kept under close surveillance.  His every word, action, and habitual need, however insignificant, had been routinely and meticulously documented in the minutest detail. In the interest of brevity, however, Egil Viggoaries ordered them to summarize their findings.   

The spokesperson for the two then recounted the high points, most of which proved extremely embarrassing for Zhadol Borym.  In a very brief time they presented overwhelming evidence, far beyond any possibility of doubt, that Yennic Zhiborym was an informant for the Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren’s Office. However distasteful, Yennic's heinous designs, and Zhadol’s unwitting part in them, were all exposed.   

What is more ignominious to Zhadol Borym was that Yennic's inextricable link to the sabotage of one specific case. This assignment had gone terribly awry and had cost the lives of nine Black Molochs 's most competent men, among whom had been Zhadol 's only living relative, a distant cousin.   

At this point Egil Viggoaries lifted his hand and stopped the report. "You want more culpable (chargeable) proof?"   

Zhadol Borym ruefully (repentantly) looked down, "No, I've heard enough."     

He heaved a dejected sigh, now resigned to his fate. He so absolutely (thoroughly) regretted his past foolhardy ways with Yennic Zhiborym.  Zadol’s shame being far too great, he could no longer lift his head to look at his fellow members. More infuriating still, was the way he had been duped by Yennic and utilized to, in betraying the Order.  The love he had once felt for Yennic Zhiborym had suddenly got supplanted with pure, unadulterated odium (abhorrence, loathing).  Fire raged through his limbs now, as he stared belligerently down at this despicable spy.  If his hands were free, he would have violently torn Yennic limb from limb, and then plugging his heart from his cursed chest, just eaten it raw; however, curbing his fury Zhadol with certain resignation uttered, “Then my allotted punishment is too lenient; I deserve far worse for being so inept.”   

The members of the Inner Circle (of Black Molochs) were appalled at first but now disappointment was starkly written on all their faces, as their piercing, harsh gazes silently remonstrated with Zhadol   Borym.  

“You had so utterly failed us, failed the Order.  You deserve this cruelest end!”  

  

03- IRATE BLACK MOLOCK  AFFILIATES

 

Egil Viggoaries nodded and grinned; quite satisfied with the effects of his theatrics.  He’d anticipated that there might have been some of the Inner Circle who, if they had dared at all, would have debated against his decision to terminate Zhadol Borym in that way; one who, with that sleek tongue of his, would have argued that Zhadol was in his prime, just shy of twenty-eight years of age and was as yet a formidable fighter, still an asset to the Order.   

“Now they’re precisely where, I’d wished them to be.”    

Egil Viggoaries had bridled his temper just long enough to reaffirm his otherwise indubitable, absolute judgment. Now no one in the assembly would dare express the least objection (discontentment) with his next, more arduous agenda (plan, course of action).  Zhadol Borym, well, he was only a lateral casualty. It mattered little to Egil that he had used his long-time friend Zhadol heartlessly as sure bait, knowing full well his weakness and habitual response.    

Egil Viggoaries now laughed sourly and gave a slight gesture to the guards with his chin. 

Dispassionately he watched the bloodied backs of Zhadol and Yennic as they were dragged outside, never to be seen again.   

                                                                                        ~   

   

Egil Viggoaries could have arranged for Zhadol Borym to have a less painful way out; certain drugs which numbed the senses instead of Lubin's usual medicines which enhanced the suffering.  

“Why should I? No,”    

Despite what Zhadol had once meant to him, how much he had done for him. Despite all the daunting images from the past, Egil Viggoaries remained firm in his resolve. He could not allow his hardened heart to dispense least charity; he could not weaken his doggedness (determination) nor feel least compassion for his once intimate companion.  Zhadol Borym meant less than nothing to him now, especially since he had been growing too arrogant of late. At least now he was rid of Zhadol's irksome and sanctimonious presence once and for all, before the so-called friend became more of a problem.   

Egil closed his eyes, quite angry with himself for this sudden, unexpected twinge of conscience. Why was he now second guessing his earlier resolve; had it been Zhadol’s last look that brought this unexpected rush of feelings he had thought long erased (dismissed)? Zhadol Borym was pegged (marked) to be terminated, and that was that!   

Vindictiveness, in Black Molochs ... he was above such ignoble emotions. Egil Viggoaries lied to himself, only to have another thought gnaw at him unexpectedly.   

True enough, if Zhadol had wanted to, he could have made good for his escape, reinforcements, or no reinforcements. Of course, he would have inevitably been hunted down and apprehended, but not before he cost the Order (organization) a dire toll in both manpower (loss of men) and resources. With his competence, it was inconceivable to think that Zhadol, one day, be so gulled, so completely taken in by the likes of Yennic Zhiborym. And why had he surrendered so easily?    

He had deep affections for Yennic…Was that it? Had that fool allowed his capture solely to appeal to the other’s case or die with him?  If that was his reason, then he certainly deserved his ignominious end. He deserved to perish, if for no other (reason) bases than that most contemptable, of weakness. Egil Viggoaries inwardly scoffed, overlooking the fact that he’d so many years been the recipient of that very akin sentiment; those tender, affectionate means and deeds that had filled in the void and warmed the otherwise cold, unfeeling crux of his being. Again, he lied to himself, entertaining the thought that, fortunately, he was above all that.  He had no use presently, for such a base, useless emotion, at all.     

Egil Viggoaries again hard-heartedly shrugged and turned his thoughts to another.  In the next week or two he will be initiating his recent recruit, Yuchemos Mantus, into the ranks of the Inner Circle.

04- YUCHEMOS MANTUS

  

 Yuchemos Mantus, showed real promise, and what is more, he had already subtly ingratiated himself into the good graces of both Sovereign Zakhertan Yozdek and Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren.  Egil Viggoaries smirked, reflecting on the fact Yuchemos was the sole male offspring of, Demarco Mantus, head of the most influential family in Channing; hence, strategically placed, he would be most beneficial in fulfilling his (Egil Viggoaries’s) ultimate ambition.   

                                                                                           ~   

In the dark subterranean dungeons below, where the air was permanently rancid, and lichen (moss, fungus and mold) grew on the moist stone walls, Zhadol Borym that night had endured without a whimper the first measure of his punishment, and he had braced himself for the worst torment yet to ensue during the small hours of the same night. The surgeon had left his sight temporarily for repast, with his ghastly, lurid grin and a vicious promise to return and resume later with his special application, one specifically designed for Zhadol, whom he would administer, with definite zeal.    

No one, certainly not Zhadol Borym, had ever hoped or anticipated, the stray element (conduit), the mercifully unexpected reprieve from his ignominious end; this, by another powerful faction, the covert brotherhood of Kozurs, that dared to execute the impossible feat (brazen exploit, stunt).  

Nevertheless, this daring rescue had compounded ramifications; consequently, Egil Viggoaries would never cease (stop) his relentless hunt. Therefore, Zhadol’s Borym’s demise had to be staged so expertly that it would not warrant the Dark Eunuch’s least suspicion.    

In the aftermath of devastating explosions and the resulting seismic tremors, that had rocked the subterranean dungeons in the core capital Channing – that of which had completely obliterated (decimated) the cell which Zhadol Borym had been shackled to on the table, as well,  destroyed the perimeter (vicinity) cells around and above, all of it buried in ashen rubble- it its wake it had created a deep cavernous (yawning, gaping) sinkhole.

Unavoidably, many prisoners and captives’ lives (those in surrounding dungeons) had also (been lost) expired due to the devastating impact of the explosion. Though this could be deemed more an act of clemency to those already lost souls, awaiting interminable (unending) mortifying tortures.   

This breach, naturally instigated (provoked) serious inquiry (examination) by all major factions, including Sovereign Zakhertan’s Black Band Guard (and the shadow Brigade); however, the results (conclusions) all pinpointed to a catastrophic yet bizarre accident, indubitably a fortuity/a fluke happenstance, by a carelessly positioned volatile element which had beget that catastrophic blasts. 

Even subsequent month’s ardent investigations, by the persistent few, still failed to prove otherwise, failed to expose this expertly conceived strike... The details of which had been covertly finalized during the Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren’s party given in honor of Scholar Fradel Rurik Korvald. During the time, which Nevetsecnuac had sought refuge and by capricious fate, had chanced on Zaur Stugr and Lenny Sukzor, that memorable night, in the secluded part of the garden.    

Zhadol Borym’s close friends and affiliates were of course stealthily (privately) elated at this outcome, the quick and more humane (lenient) demise of a well esteemed, brave Commander Zhadol, deeming it a mercy of Heaven; for in truth Zhadol was well liked and, he had a quality about him that fostered (beget) intrinsic and lasting loyalty (comradery and devotion) among his men.   

 The Dark Eunuch’s fury, meanwhile, had still demanded blood and so, during ensuing days besides the copious wretched prisoners, many hapless prison-guards that had been on duty that night, and had the misfortune to survive the blasts, had paid for their incompetence (ineptness) and the resulting breach, of the deemed impenetrable prison.    

Eventually things had died down, especially after the ongoing excavations, had produced (unearthed

(dug up, retrieved) several small pieces (fragments) of Zhadol Boerym’s supposed charred remains (corpse) with irrefutable, identifiable markers. These (presented in a box) brought before the still incensed Egil Viggoaries, had finally alleviated (eased) his suspicious and demanding nature.    

                                                                             ~   

(END OF SECTION 2)    

11- LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC– EVIL PERSONIFIED – SECTION 1  

"Son of Wushing", Zonar called him. “Did he know? How did he know?”  Lenny never had the chance to ask the General. His closely guarded secret identity was known only to Sovereign Yoshikan Sousing Nokuzuk Binchan and now it seemed, to one other. He only hoped that it would go no further than General Zonar Kuntzu.  

01- LENNY SUKZOR (12)JP

  

Though Lenny Sukzor had returned to bed immediately after Zonar's abrupt departure, sleep till dawn had averted him; in an agitated state he had turned and tossed all night long, reminiscing, in his head considering missed (avenues) opportunities and possibilities and then, going over alternate plans.  

Lenny Sukzor recalled vividly the day which he had learned of his true parentage. His mother Ingrit, who had survived his father by just shy of two years, had confessed this to him at her deathbed, casting his heart, for a lengthy period, into utter turmoil. Lenny had undergone a drastic change then, discovering that all those years of his life had been a lie. Yes, all those closest to him had betrayed his trust, only they had called it "protecting" him. More likely it had served their purpose to keep him ignorant; but however, you termed it; Lenny Sukzor was the product of a grand indiscretion.  

At the time of Minister Keko Wushing’s trip to the capital Channing in Wenjenkun to elicit support for Korion, he had stayed as the houseguest of Minister Dongue Youlu and the two had found they had much in common. Minister Youlu, the most generous host, had given many feasts in Wushing's honor. After one such dinner, and more inebriated than usual, Wushing had chanced upon in the Fuchisia Pavilion, the Minister's beautiful fourth daughter named Ingrit. Unable to help himself, and helped along by the wine, powerless to resist her charm. He had fallen deeply in love and going against propriety, had seduced this innocent fairy maiden. At dawn, of course, he immediately regretted his indiscretion of the previous night and was of a mind to set things right by formally asking for her hand in marriage and taking her back, as his second wife, to his home in Korion. Unlike Wenjenkun, it was the norm in Korion at that time, for the well-off gentry to have more than one wife.

02- INGRIT YOULU- LATER BECAME INGRIT SUKZOR

 Unfortunately, events took a wrong turn and, before he could reveal his honorable intentions to Minister Dongue Youlu, he was whisked away to manage (oversee) other more pressing concerns. As affairs of the state took precedence over affairs of the heart, the matter had then been temporarily shelved.  

Wushing never learned of her pregnancy until after he had already departed for Korion; nevertheless, he vowed to send for her. But once again other things took precedence, like the complete rebuilding of the nation.  

Meanwhile, as she was from an old, well-established family, when her condition became known to her father, she had been forced into a hurried marriage with another, hence the surname of Sukzor.  

The ensuing turmoil of the following years, Zakhertan Yozdek’s rise to power and usurpation of the throne, his punitive campaign against Korion. It had been as though fate had conspired to keep Lenny Sukzor from ever knowing the truth. Thinking Keikon Sukzor was his natural father, he had cheered on relentlessly when Korion was subjugated and its populous nearly got extinguished. He had been brought up to believe that Wushing was a monstrous, most cunning political leader (statesperson) whose only purpose had been to oppose Wenjenkun; hence he should be despised and spat upon.  

03- WUSHING, THE MINISTER OF INTERIOR B

As it were, (believing in the state’s propaganda)  Lenny Sukzor had been the staunch supporter of Zakhertan Yozdek from the very start and had been one of the youngest statesmen that had devised the ingenious stratagems that had brought about the near destruction of Korion and, the subsequent expansion of Wenjenkun's territories, through the subjugation of many other border states to the north and then to the west.   

At the time Lenny Sukzor had been baffled by his mother's silent brooding and her seeming indifference when she heard news of the conquest and then the humiliating subjugation of Korion. Lenny Sukzor again winced recollecting his unfair, remonstrations with his mother that had resulted in her (copious) profuse tears.  

Lenny sat upright and, after drinking two swigs (mouthfuls) of water from the jug to quench his thirst, he went over and drew aside a crack the thick window (coverings) curtains, wishing to gaze at the night sky to calm his mind and bring about sleep. The remaining hours however had passed in a wink with no such luck; when the first rays of dawn (sunrise) caressed his face, “Oh well, I might as well get up now.” Grumbling, he threw his covers off and bolted from the bed.  

Shortly after dawn that same day, Lenny Sukzor arrived at Yoshikon Temple as he, a devout Hexoc, so often did, to offer prayers and give sacrifice to the local deity. As was the custom, a monk was assigned to assist him in bringing the complex rituals to completion after which he was served a specially prepared tea by the same monk in a private corner.

There was nothing unusual in this peaceful exchange and time for soothing reflection, a time in which, the monk clarified the scriptures or resolved a particular concern of a Hexos’ devotee. But appearances can be deceiving. It was not entirely by accident, that this monk had been assigned to Lenny Sukzor, nor was it strictly religious doctrines that were, with hushed voices, being discussed. With spies rampant everywhere, Black Molochs had developed an ingenious, coded dialogue where a rich duplicity of meanings was encapsulated in religious terminology and metaphors. This was one of three alternate means with which contact ‘couriers conveyed a vital covert message to the secret affiliate. Thus far they had been most fortunate that this means of communication had escaped detection by the ever-watchful agents of one of the other factions.  

Although Channing at night was a beehive of clandestine activities, necessitating the rigorous vigilance of the Secret Police to track (track) most if not all of it, there was by no means any laxity felt during the daylight hours either.  

Whether it was a brazen act or a foolhardy one, Wenjenkun’s Minister of Internal Security- Egil Viggoaries held the most secret meetings of his coterie in broad daylight right under their noses, disguised of course as official acts or plausible social calls. This afternoon, the members of the Inner Circle of the Order of The Black Molochs that were gathered in the meeting hall were particularly restless. They were all bound together by an intricate system of complex initiation rituals, secret oaths, and ceremonial intermingling of living blood, and it was one of their own who would be tried before them now. At the proper time, the news of Zhadol Borym’s capture, and subsequent incarceration had reached them all. Whether they admitted it or not, Zhadol had ingratiated himself with all the members of the Order's Inner Circle and, as the veteran member of the group, most owed him a favor or two.  

04- COMANDER ZHADOL BORYM

  

Mindful of this stiff opposition, Egil Viggoaries had taken certain precautionary measures to curb all anticipated appeals on behalf of Zhadol. For some time now he had deemed Zhadol as expendable and already had his replacement waiting in the wings. As a means of demonstrating his incompetence and ineffectiveness, Zhadol had been assigned to a task that was doomed (with certain measure of certainty) to fail. When news of Fradel Rurik Korvald’s safe arrival in the Capital had reached him, Egil Viggoaries had neither been surprised nor particularly pleased. It had merely turned out just as he had anticipated it, although the subsequent reports of Zhadol Borym’s attempted suicide had taken him aback ever so slightly.  

Yes, that piece of news had disappointed, or rather, annoyed him, for he had at least expected, or hoped for a more fitting end to the old pro.  

Of course, Egil Viggoaries would never admit this, even to himself, and would have outright denied that a small part of him secretly harbored a certain fondness for his once lifelong companion. The simple fact was that Zhadol Borym had grown useless of late; he had softened up. Admittedly, the source of this weakness was his relationship with Lieutenant Yennic Zhiborym, and Egil Viggoaries was not above underhandedly manipulating this relationship to his own advantage. Once, at a rare moment’s weakness, Egil had regretted this ploy, but even so he could delude himself only so much. In truth, unable to purge his heart of this seething jealous anger, this dissatisfaction with Zhadol Borym. He had sought by this means to denigrate him, to pay him back for that insolent, ill-conceived act.  

As anticipated, it had been Yennic who had stopped Zhadol from terminating his own life while at the same time covertly abetted in Zhadol’s capture. Yennic thought he was invaluable because he could communicate with the ravens; a claim Egil Viggoaries did not truly believe, thinking it to be nothing more than a parlor trick. Ambitious cur that he was, Yennic had hoped to advance his own prospects through this act of treachery, only to find he had grossly underestimated the gravity of the situation and the dire outcome, not only for Zhadol but for himself as well.

05- LIEUTENANT YENNIC

  

“Did the worm really think that we would not find out about him; furthermore, that the Order would blindly foster his ambitions? He had some gall (some nerves, cheek). “Egil scoffed with utter disdain. For even if Yennic had been other than what Egil had suspected, he would still be of little use to the Order. Egil Viggoaries ate rodents like Yennic for breakfast.  

“Could it be that he did not understand the Ritual? He was motivated out of true affection?"  Egil Viggoaries, meanwhile, typically turned a deft ear to the sympathetic whispers about Zhadol.  

“Well, no point in delaying the inevitable.” Egil Viggoaries grimaced venomously as he descended the steps leading to the antechamber.  

As soon as he entered the room, they all snapped smartly to attention; heads slightly bowed in ritual submission. At the same instant, a strained silence took hold, enveloping the assembly. With deliberate slowness, Egil Viggoaries strode to the other side of the hall and assumed his position. When seated he scanned the faces of the eleven men before him, meeting their eyes as they stood rigidly erect, hands at their sides, motionless as if they had been cast in bronze.  

Egil Viggoaries’s eyes passed over Lenny Sukzor, resting for an extended period on this replacement of Lance Diostin as he stood farthest away in the circle, least in nominal order of importance. As he sized the man up, he noted how the recruit was puffed up with arrogance and he nodded coolly, absently as he donned a sinister grin. The starkly unoccupied chair to Egil Viggoaries’s right stood as a magnet for the ambitions spread out below him and as a grim reminder of the coming unpleasantness that awaited them at the end of this day's session.  

One by one, the more pressing matters on the agenda were swiftly dealt with. From this point on, the orders and instructions would be relayed to the rest. The eighty-nine subordinate officers who, each entrusted with small, strictly regimented contingents of their own in all corners of the empire, waited in the wings. It was indisputably the most efficient spy network, as well as a competent paramilitary force that was not to be trifled with. It was all the brainchild of one man, Egil Viggoaries, who had constructed the foundations of this network in theory when he was no more than thirteen years of age.

Briefly perusing the preliminary issues on the agenda for the next gathering, Egil Viggoaries then set up the ordinary business aside and motioned for the prisoners to be brought in to face their tribunal. Their trial and sure conviction had already occurred, in the mind of Egil Viggoaries and this scene was a sham, a mere formality to make a sure impression on the others under a pretense of fairness. It was a game Egil Viggoaries occasionally allowed himself to indulge in.

Despite the sure anticipation of Zhadol’s condition, his appearance all bound and gagged and his face bearing the sure signs of grievous maltreatment, which evoked in many of his former comrades the long forgotten, deeply buried feelings of compassion and pity.

06- WARRIOR FRIENDS (33)

No one cared about the inconsequential Yennic Zhiborym, whose face and body bore the traces of the most horrendous and brutal torture; and where once most of his refined, distinctive features attracted many, presently bore the marks of countless lacerations and ugly deep scars.  Yet this fact did not even elicit one furrowed brow; far from it, it pleased them to observe Yennic's obvious tortured state. He was so roundly despised for his role in the capture and vilification of Zhadol. They jeered and gnashed their teeth when viewing Yennic, yet heaved a secret, dejected sigh when stealing a glance at Zhadol Borym. Still, not a single whisper of protest mounted on Zhadol Borym's behalf escaped their tightly sealed lips, so properly intimidated were they by the wrath of Egil Viggoaries.

Nevertheless, in the averted eyes of a more enlightened minority, there were unmistakable indications (marks) of slight visible hint, as they looked for ways to exonerate Zhadol Borym from all blame. Truth be told, they had stealthily harbored the notion that their compatriot had been the unfortunate victim of an odious intrigue and that his failure was but compounded from that original failing.

07- FRIENDS OF COMMANDER ZHADOL

With a slight indication of the chin from Egil Viggoaries, the stone-faced guards pushed Zhadol Borym forward to fall to his knees before the Dark Eunuch. Egil Viggoaries had earned that distinction of being referred to as Dark Eunuch, because of the extreme cruelty of his innate nature and soul.  

Linked to Zhadol Borym by the heavy bronze chains, this action of the guards had also pushed Yennic Zhiborym on his knees, causing the manacles to sink further into the already gaping wounds in his neck, ankles, and wrists. But Yennic’s involuntary cry of pain had elicited only a brief mocking glances from few of the Inner Circle members of the Black Molochs; contrastingly, Zhadol's eyes had held a degree of compassion for the rag doll of a figure who had once been his friend. Looking away from Yennic, Zhadol Borym fearlessly glared round this circle of stone-faced leaders, forcing them one by one to avert their eyes before he next turned his burning, defiant, reproachful gaze to rest on Egil Viggoaries.  

“So, all these years of loyalty (loyal service) and intimacy counted for nothing? Now I am discarded like a dirty rag. I protest this injustice; I do not deserve this disgraceful treatment!”  

Despite the rush of memories Zhadol's defiant, intrepid manner had brought to Egil Viggoaries’s mind, he had remained outwardly resolute and pinned his icy, odious glare (eyes filled with loathing) on Zhadol. “There can be no absolution for your crime! You know the rules, yet you dared to stand stoically unrelenting!"  The Dark Eunuch’s furious roar suddenly broke the tense, eerie silence that had enveloped the room.  

"Death is death!" Zhadol Borym spat the words out of his bloodied, bruised mouth as he glared back at Egil Viggoaries. Bristling with anger, he cried out in a voice that crackled with hatred and revulsion. "My only crime is that prior, I tried to cheat you out of the great satisfaction my death would bring you. So why defer your perverse pleasure? Get on with it!” Then, scornfully, he added, "But have you considered all the possible ramifications of your actions?"  

Egil Viggoaries reared upwards like a viper (cobra) and hissed, "Are you finished?"  

"Finished; no, not by a long shot!" Zhadol Borym defiantly countered. As a condemned man he had little to lose, and he was determined to face his end with stoicism and a certain dignity. He spoke fervently, "We all know you sent me on that fool's errand knowing I would fail. You deemed I was expendable, and you wanted me to be supplanted (replaced, offed). But why should you go to all that trouble?"  Then Zhadol Borym gave a derisive laugh.  

All present in the hall quaked in their boots for his dared effrontery. Zhadol Borym may be a doomed man, yet they knew that Egil Viggoaries was not one to be provoked.   

“Such prodigious (immense, outstanding) audacity (nerve) Zhadol Borym had!”  All eyes were pinned on Egil Viggoaries, trying to gauge the cruelty of his response. Unfortunately, the Dark Eunuch's stone-cold face said it all.   

Even though Egil had remained outwardly, atypically placid, the threat was implicit in his eyes. Furthermore, his icy silence spoke volumes. Zhadol would pay, and oh so dearly, for this (impudence) outburst!  

08- EGIL VIGGOARIES - THE DARK EUNUCH

Lieutenant Yennic , unwisely (foolishly) at this point summoning all his strength, girded up his courage and edged forward, ready to use his glib tongue, while it was still attached to his mouth, to plead for both their lives. Before he could speak, however, he was struck flat by the stout, heartless guards. No one wanted to hear from Yennic at this juncture; he was nothing more than mere vermin.  

"I warned you," Zhadol’s reproachful and dismayed look said to Yennic, as he shook his head. 

"But would you listen? Would you listen to good counsel? (pay me any heed?)"  

   

Even though Zhadol knew it was useless, his compassionate heart nevertheless urged him to plead on Yennic’s behalf; Yennic might be spared small measure of punishment, if Zhadol humiliated himself enough, to appease Egil Viggoaries’s perverse sensibilities.  

Surmising his intent, Egil Viggoaries grinned. "You would do better to plead for your own self." He leaned forward to sneer (jeer, taunt, hiss) venomously.

"Would it do any good?" Zhadol Borym sternly asked.  

"No," Egil Viggoaries glowered down at him, "but it may amuse us and we may then possibly show some measure of leniency in the severity of and (length) span of time of “TK Cuts,” before your demise."  He was of course blatantly lying. There would be no mercy; his face contorted in a snarling grin as he leaned back once more to scan with narrow, pitiless eyes on the faces in the room.

“Ten Thousand Cuts,” Zhadol Borym winced and swallowed hard. "Why so severe a penalty?"  He then got a grip on his senses and, again defiantly, incredulously, shook his head.  His horror meanwhile was impromptu (involuntarily) mirrored on the faces of all those assembled. Suddenly, the profusion of images, those wretched beings, and the anguished cries of the past victims, which Dark Eunuch had doomed to this manner of death, now paraded before everyone’s eyes, and echoed in their ears.

Zhadol, despite his outward stoicism, inwardly could not help but recoil in horror, for he knew all too well; the prolonged suffering (of appalling shame, ghastly anguish) that awaited him in the depths of dungeons below before his life finally was terminated! His body, now defiant of his will, slightly trembled, and his knees threatened to buckle under him.  

“That’s a terrible way to die!” All eyes in the circle implored Egil Viggoaries. “This is not right; his crime is not grave enough to warrant such punishment. He is, or rather was, one of us.”  

Despite his ashen face, his quaking muscles, Zhadol Borym bit his tongue and clenched his fists, refusing to give Egil Viggoaries more of what he wanted, knowing in his heart of hearts that it would not do him any good. Even so, was there no one there brave enough to raise the slightest protest, the least objection for him? A fleeting tragic smile crossed Zhadol’s lip and then changed to a grimace of contempt as he looked. No, spineless cowards were all; he stood alone in all of this. After Zhadol’s eyes had searched the faces of his fellow associates, it had then abruptly caught Yennic's bewildered look and, fearing the worst for his partner, Zhadol turned his questioning stare back on Egil Viggoaries.

Answering the unspoken question with a venomous grin, Egil Viggoaries nodded.  

“How could I have expected any different?” Zhadol Borym lowered his eyes and ceded the point, pained that Yennic Zhiborym, too, awaited the same ill fate.  

  

(END OF SECTION 1)