12- LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE PORTENDED PERIL - SECTION 4

01- PM LAMONT GUDAREN 14-JP

On the fifteenth day of the eighth month, three days prior to the summons, with the original documents duly filed in the archives by the Imperial Chancery and the copy (document bearing the list, the order of appearances in court etc.) was expediently dispatched at dawn from the offices of Qarzten Caimund -the Senior Grand Secretary’s deputy the Grand Secretary Ronguyen Kenny now temporarily  filling in for Qarzten- to the offices of Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren, who essentially was held responsible for Fradel Rurik Korvald  (his timely appearance, performance, conduct and so forth), since it had been His Excellency who had recommended the esteemed scholar in Royal Court.

In its wake, two hours later another letter of consequence had arrived at the P.M.’s offices, with a dictum from Ronterron Zuke, ordering Fradel Rurik Korvald the subsequent day at a specific time and place to be (mandatorily) present at the headquarters of the Black Band Regiment in the North Palace for the purposes of, resolving one or two security clearance issues and to be instructed on recent addendums (appendixes) pertaining to court protocol.

02- RONTERRON ZUKE

Ronterron Zuke who happened to be one of the key administrative officers of the Black Band Guard Regiment, was an extremely cruel and shrewd warrior/assassin; as well, an astute official (for nothing escaped his discernment) with considerable influence in military and one who was highly regarded by Sovereign Zakhertan Yozdek. Therefore, the very mention of Ronterron Zuke was enough to sent hearts palpitating with fear. Though this odd precaution had given Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren a pause for concern, after few more minutes of contemplation however, he had quickly then brushed it aside, certain Ronterron would still not find any damaging or impeachable thread (evidence) against the Illustrious Scholar. Hence, this was deemed as Ronterron’s simply utilizing (flexing) his power, to instill further fear in the hearts of PM’s administrative staff. Two hours later, both letters with the added note (court instructions) attached to it, had been promptly, that same morning, was forwarded to Minister of Ceremony Zaur Stugr’s residence.

03- FRADEL RURIK CORVALD (NEVETSECNUAC) BATHES  (11)- JPG

Scholar Fradel Rurik Korvald (Nevetsecnuac), enjoying the hospitality of Zaur Stugr, had risen before the crack of dawn on that same day and indulged his weary tense muscles in a long, therapeutic (healing, beneficial) tepid bath; after which, seated at his private veranda, he greeted the sun’s first rays, as he breakfasted.

Neversecnuac, having seen to his other morning rituals and having the time then, he retrieved both correspondences (letters) resting on the silver tray, which had been prior placed at small end table by the fireplace for his perusal. Nevetsecnuac first picked up the leaner envelop which was from Ronterron Zuke and read it carefully. It was a formal letter ordering Fradel Rurik Korvald the subsequent day at a specific time and place to be (mandatorily) present at the headquarters of the Black Band Regiment in the North Palace for the purposes of, resolving one or two security clearance issues and to be instructed on recent addendums (appendixes) pertaining to court protocol. Nevetsecnuac knitted his brows with concern. He had heard of this powerful key administrative officer of the Black Band Guard Regiment from his host Zaur Stugr and knew that nothing escaped this much feared, extremely cruel, and shrewd warrior/assassin’s discerning scrutiny. Furthermore, he was an perspicacious official with considerable influence in military and one who was highly regarded by Sovereign Zakhertan Yozdek. The abrupt (unexpected) appointment with Ronterron Zuke, though labelled, (cloaked) routine (ordinary), warranted caution; therefore, he made a mental note of this and then set the letter aside.

Nevetsecnuac next, picked up the larger envelope and removing the contents from its protective cover, he dispassionately began to read: “On the fifth day of the first month in the eighteenth year of His Royal Highness Zakhertan Yozdek’s reign, the Imperial Chancery having received this order ….”  Nevetsecnuac pensively looked away; after exhaling a slow breath, he then grudgingly perused the rest of it. “Since the time by the special favor of Heaven His August Majesty had succeeded to his rightful place of rule, His Imperial Highness, the most enlightened and benevolent ruler of all had…”

Nevetsecnuac at this point (juncture) bristled and angrily bit the corner of his lip, fuming over the reference as the ‘benevolent and Heaven Ordained Ruler,’ of this dastardly Usurper. But moment later he laughed at his naiveté and for expecting things to be any different; for consistently and throughout the ages, hadn’t the victors distorted or at times completely altered historical archives (records) in their favor? Majority ancient documents were full of such falsehoods.

Long after the perused contents (of both letters) had been, as per requested, returned to Minister Zaur Stugr’s safekeeping, finally alone and spared from the prying eyes and ears of the serving staff, Nevetsecnuac with his head down, had paced to and for in his room.

04- THE MOUNTS IN COUNTRYSIDE

Those mounts dotting the countryside filled with thousands and thousands of innocents and, to date the eternal pain and suffering of those left behind still fresh in his mind, Nevetsecnuac had found it particularly hard to bear this farce of central government’s volte-face (change of heart) and the sham benevolence of the Imperial politics…  After countless years of persecution of the literate (erudite), the Sovereign now laying claim to be relentlessly seeking to grace His Royal Court with talented young men from all corners of the Celestial Kingdom. The last part of the writ (directive) had seemed innocuous enough: “In recognition of his worth, the distinguished scholar Fradel Rurik Korvald, who has been recommended by the Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren, is hereby summoned to appear in an audience at Court, on the eighteenth day of the eighth month of the twentieth year of His Highness Zakhertan Yozdek’s benevolent rule.”   

Nevetsecnuac was of course not too far off in his qualms and, would have been rather remiss to disregard his acuity that, beneath all the mundane layers of rhetoric of the summons and the abrupt appointment with Ronterron Zuke, though couched in standard (criterion) protocol (procedure), had nevertheless, a sly and dire inference (connotation). He was certain, his disguise had not been blown, which meant that the Scholar Fradel was the target of another dastardly evil ploy. But what other recourse had he, being Zakhertan and Ronterron’s determined prey, other than fearlessly walk into this multifaceted trap? Regardless of the outcome, he was in fact relieved, that the anticipated duel (combat, fight) with Zakhertan, might be sooner, even by a day.

Heeding his intuition, meanwhile, he decided on, before his appointment tomorrow with Ronterron Zuke, to at least be armed with the Immortal Zonar’s gift (the writing brush).

                                                                                            ~

Nevetsecnuac, abruptly halting by the window just then, he pensively, with a blank stare, gazed at the enchanting garden that stretched out endlessly with all its winding pathways, bridges, and ponds. This architectural marvel had been designed to, with the harmonious colors and shapes, illusions of depth and vastness, populated with frolicking rare birds and exotic animals, to bring tranquillity (solace) to one’s soul. Nature was so beautiful, peaceful, and serene; humans however, had never known lasting peace. They were an incessant blight in the natural order of things, with their insatiable wanton greed for power.

05- FRADEL RURIK KORVALD  (NEVETSECNUAC) JP 1

Nevetsecnuac, now addressed the serious dilemma that had long been plaguing his mind: The accrued info and all his experiences in Chapital Channing during these last few months in the end, like a parasitic growth germinating into doubts and then having taken permanent root, unfortunately swayed (derailed) his heart from his prior, most steadfast objective.

In his sheer exasperation he virtually (almost) clawed the air as he same time gaged (judged) the same nagging concerns (issues):  

What held the higher precedence: filial piety, duty to Ancestors, (as liegeman) loyalty to one’s sovereign, obligation of retribution for the aggrieved or the paramount tenet of Nation’s welfare?

 Once he had held in his heart the certainty that they were all one and the same under the pennant (ensign, banner) of loyalty; but his discerned ongoing political power struggles (agendas) in capital and, Wenjenkun precariously resting in the cusp of at least two that he knew of, portentous (threatening) nations- vacillated his sound (solid) cognitive logic of the present reality (truth) which put National security and the welfare of the State (overriding all) paramount in importance and forced him to reassess (review) his ardent, lifetime’s aspiration (goal, ambition).

Nevetsecnuac thoughts had, subsequently, turned to another vexing concern and one that had of late perpetually haunted his peace. His culminated experiences and understanding (from all that he’d heard, read and observed) thus far had revealed that Zakhertan Yozdek’s grip on the Nation though odiously fierce, with so many powerful factions vying for power, he was the necessary glue, if Wenjenkun was to triumph over (trounce/ vanquish) the joint invincible armies of both Kontu and Korion in the impending Great War. Hence, on the brink of this imminent and decisive war Nevetsecnuac was to succeed in his aim, Wenjenkun nation robbed of its vital, key element, the factional infighting in the Capital in conjunction with the provincial insurgences, would certainly cast the nation in utter turmoil, resulting in the eventual, catastrophic decimation of Wenjenkun’s once peerless defenses. After the ensued copious bloodshed and violence on an unprecedented scale, the remnant resistance force along with the citizens, would be made to suffer a lifetime of servitude and ultimate debasement at the hands of foreign aggression.

06- IMPENDING WARS WENJENKUN WILL BE IN

In the end, after the day of reckoning when all was said and done, would his actions liberate the wronged, would it free their tormented souls, or cast them into furtherance abysmal, eternal lamentations… Judged and condemned as he and they (those who supported his cause, the loyalists, the patriots) might all be, if the result was catastrophic or inimical (detrimental), by all the future generations?

At this point Nevetsecnuac in a perturbed (agitated) state sat down and closed his eyes; for he knew eventually he would, still bound by loyalty and filial obligation, go through with the assassination. He could not in good conscience forsake those multitudes, among which were Lord Asger Thuxur Marrog Zhon, Lord Shonne Gulbrand and the beggar, who had suffered incalculable hardships and torment on his behalf to enable him, this singular chance! A task unfortunately, only he alone could attain (manage, make it happen). How could he do otherwise, and dash (shatter) all their hopes, that for so long had (hung,) rested on his shoulders?

Thus, Nevetsecnuac, was resolved to stockily bear (carry) the entire burden of guilt while his conscience had incessantly wrested with his heart, emotions, mind, and reasoning, casting his soul in utter turmoil, for he no longer was certain his aim (his future action) would be in accordance with Heaven’s will.

Nevetsecnuac was beset, moreover, with burgeoning shame, shame at his very questioning of the validity of his role (part) in all of this! And so, in deep vexation Nevetsecnuac had again started to endlessly, like a caged tiger, to pace the room back and forth, at times (occasionally) stamping his foot in fury and shaking his fist into the air as he muttered indecipherable words (to himself), or relenting, swore in silence an oath of vengeance on behalf of all his ancestors and the countless thousands of others who had been so grievously wronged all these years by this tyrannical, unconscionable fiend Zakhertan Yozdek.

 

 

(END OF SECTION 4)                                                                       ~

 

 

 12- LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE PORTENDED PERIL - SECTION 3

At this point Sovereign Zakhertan was startled awake by the howls of human voices; covered in sweat and gasping for breath he at once sprang to a sitting position in bed. His stern gaze now hinged on the fast asleep Sejon, who lay peacefully curled up beside him with that infuriating complacent broad smile plastered on her rosy lips, Zakhertan contemptuously scoffed and looked away.

01- LADY  SEJON  ASLEEP  (91) b

On second thought, as he had brushed aside his dark thoughts, Zakhertan’s eyesight had unpredictably just then clouded over, and his head same time began to swim. Subsequently, a strange purplish miasma filled the room, and when it parted, it revealed the floating, deceased Sovereign Zuronghan Alric Therran Valamir, surrounded by the murdered Princes, their Royal robes all drenched in blood. All the Princes pointing at him with accusatory glare, they called out with silent screams, to be avenged and demanded an immediate, ignominious end to Zakhertan's life.

Outside the chamber violent gusts of wind shook the walls, threatening their imminent collapse. Zakhertan quickly getting a grip on his senses however, jumped up from the bed and, grabbing the hilt of his State Sword, blade now unsheathed, he began stabbing and hacking at the apparitions, only to strike the empty air.

"What is it, my Liege?"  Sejon having just then awakened, her gentle, sweet voice recalled Zakhertan back to reason (sense, sanity).

 "Are you having another terrible nightmare My Lord?" Her subsequent hypocritical angst and persistent queries however, grated on Zakhertan’s nerves and so, his icy fierce glare just then pivoted on her, froze the very life’s blood circulating in her veins. She winced, her tongue stilled, she quickly retreated (withdrew) back into the shadows to conceal her involuntary quaking.

At his point, catching his reflection in the large bronze mirror and realizing his almost humorous state, Zakhertan Yozdek grimaced then, with a huff of derision turned his back to her.

02-  ZAKHERTAN YOZDEDK  (74)

 ~

 

Subsequently, Zakhertan mounted on Night Thunder and riding like the wind, at no time at all, he was back at the North Palace. Though he did not give much credence to superstition, the incredible consistency of prince Herleif’s predictions (the sudden manifestation of a new star which outshone that of present regimes, plus the prophesized resurgence of the old Dynasty after the cataclysmic upheaval and subjugation of Wenjenkun) in conjunction with Zakhertan’s most recent nightmare were such that, they could not be so perfunctorily dismissed.  Both had forecasted the actualization of Zakhertan’s long time innate dread:

That one day a serious peril to his existence would arise from a loyalist assassin or forces colluding with his eternal bane and ardent nemesis Lord Asger Marrog Zhon, who had not only to date successfully eluded (evaded) capture, but had also in all probability, shielded and fostered the last carrier of royal blood, the grandson of Late Sovereign Zuronghan Alric Therran Valamir.  Therefore, Zakhertan had good reason to feel ill at ease, for Prince Nevetsecnuac Valamir would be somewhere in his twenties by now; and, if not him, the prince was old enough to have (fathered) spawned other fair-haired (blond) princelings, one of whom could be the prophesized star that would outshine his in the constellation.

That aside, Fradel Rurik Korvald’s strange appearance in his dream, regardless, had at present marked the passive/ aggressive Scholar for certain ignominious death… Zakhertan, whose life these last few months had been sedentary (indolent, lethargic), he’d been languorous far too long, akin a voracious (insatiable) feline on a hunt for a perspective prey (a mouse, a bird) now, was very much elated (ecstatic) at the chance of hunting, though firstly toying with, this allusive yet noteworthy scholar (the game, target).

Hmm… Zakhertan grimaced (smirked) viciously, A secret summons from the PM, few days prior to the original date, should suffice.

Subsequently, Zakhertan’s thoughts moved to far more irksome concern, namely Qarzten Caimund. Now, why had Qarzten appeared as a traitor in his dream? This had puzzled Zakhertan for, despite his inner foreboding (apprehension), he was (absolutely) certain of the Senior Grand Secretaries’ loyalty.

Would perchance there be an unforeseen future act or event that would cause Qarzten to shift (vary, change) his allegiance to him (Zakhertan)?

  No! after a spell, Zakhertan doggedly (resolutely) shook his head to purge the gnawing bud of suspicion and the consequent dangerous prescience (forethought) from his mind, for as far back as he could remember, he’d always held the firm belief that all men, despite the circumstances or the meddling of the mighty Gods in Heaven, could still chart, sway or alter their own fate; and consequently, should be held directly responsible for that which befell them. 

03- QARZTEN CAMUND (8)jD jp

 Mindful of the recent aberrant events Zakhertan nevertheless considered that it might be more prudent if he recalled Qarzten to the Capital immediately, where he could be (monitored) kept under closer scrutiny. As for the other urgent matter, the (almost) impossible task Qarzten was to oversee after resolving the situation in Bacau and Subain… well perhaps the task could be deferred to another, and Zakhertan had just the person in mind. As it were, Zakhertan could not entirely root out all suspicion from his heart; he believed that the more improbable a thing, the more likely it would happen (transpire); especially with one as resourceful (a vassal) as Qarzten, who would be the perfect candidate to betray him. But then, on second thought, Zakhertan Yozdek quickly (abruptly) rescinded that resolve.

No, it must not be put off; moreover, it was imperative that the precarious situation was discreetly and promptly brought under control; and who better than Qarzten Caimund to manage (handle) that arduous task. Admittedly, Qarzten was still the most competent one for the job; besides which, his hasty recall to the Capital might be the very catalyst that would accelerate or fulfill the dream prophesy; or would it be his (Zakhertan’s) inaction itself that might be the harbinger of evil?

To his further annoyance, Zakhertan Yozdek had just then realized how much despite all, he still depended on Qarzten Caimund’s rare abilities; neither could he deny the strange affinity and near admiration he felt for the Senior Grand Secretary. Zakhertan nevertheless, after a brief consideration settled on sending a covert elite group to monitor Qarzten’s activities and, upon receipt of their report, then take the appropriate action to deal with Qarzten Caimund.

Zakhertan’s thoughts turning next to Lenny Sukzor, a wry grin briefly manifested on his lips; Lenny had proven thus far to be both competent and incorruptible, quite the same way as Qarzten Caimund once had. Despite this, Lenny’ future advancement still depended on his competence at handling this most difficult tasks ahead.

Bearing in mind just then, that in few minutes time he would have to conduct the morning audience, Zakhertan picked up his pace and entering his private quarters, had a brief wash, had a change of clothing, and quickly breakfasted, before heading out again.

 

                                                                              ~

 

Egil Viggoaries quite unperturbed by the previous night’s minor setback of Nijel Pinng’s sudden demise, had typically enjoyed himself this late afternoon at an impromptu shindig.  Much earlier on, a highly acclaimed soothsayer had been abducted, of which there was no scarcity in the Capital since the disappearance of the Mighty Dwengzur, to cast a prediction for them. The mystic warrior Kekos, who happened to be an old veteran priest, a sole survivor, of one of the long ago eradicated (abolished, eliminated) religions, though he seemed ageless, had survived these many years by being adaptable and therefore, now served as an innocuous priest to one of the lesser known, though sanctioned religions in Channing.  

04- SEER KEKOS  -23JP

When the mystic warrior Kekos, cast the oracle bones and then looked over to see their outcome, he had grown ashen of face, akin that of the previous mystic Morke, who had the misfortune of not too long ago casting similar oracle bones at another one of Egil Viggoaries’s bashes. Though quite unsurpassed in the accuracy of his divinations (prophesies) Morke had made the singular mistake of being forthright about the dire predictions and this had consequently, soured (tainted) their night’s enjoyment. Outraged Egil Viggoaries (being quite intolerant of any such disparaging thought/belief to foster and take root during one of his notorious letting-off-steam bashes) had hence, condemned the poor unfortunate soothsayer that very night to a most lingering and cruel end. Of course, the subsequent day Morke’s demise had been routinely covered up and made to look quite accidental on the official records. With a similar fate facing Kekos at present, how could he find the courage to speak of the ominous revelations of the oracle bones before him? Hence concealing at once his dread, his left foot with one agile shove, had misaligned (garbled, jumbled) the two specific bones so as to alter the outcome and make it more ambiguous.

Egil Viggoaries who had in fact some clear understanding of the oracle bones readings and an even quicker eye than the talented seer, had observed Keko’s desperate attempt (an unforgivable breach) to deceive him, only he chose not to let on and later still, before the evening’s entertainment got fully underway, had allowed the soothsayer warrior Kakos to return in safety to his humble abode in the shrine. 

At first Kekos could not believe in his good fortune, that he had been spared the Dark Eunuch's wrath; as the night progressed and sleep averted him however, with that night’s events still running through his mind, the more he thought about those (seemingly) insignificant gestures and innuendos, the more imminent became his portended doom. When the bones had been cast and just before his foot had misaligned them, the vivid recollection of that unmistakable fleeting glimmer of recognition in Viggoaries’s eyes revealing that he had understood far more than he let on, still wildly palpitated Kekos’s heart. And after Kekos had been granted leave and he bowed to the Dark Eunuch in farewell, the latter’s unforgettable, ephemeral cold calculating glance, even now sent spasms of shiver through Keko’s spine.

Kekos presently breaking into cold sweat and dismally gazing at the dark ceiling, he inhaled a forlorn, elongated breath and then let out a dejected, mournful sigh. There was no need to cast another prediction! Unable to erase that rancorous stare from his mind, he knew despite his present good health, he would not last another day. He had heard of the Egil Viggoaries’s abhorrent ways and knowing what awaited him the next day, he desired more than anything to rob the malevolent Dark Eunuch of his perverse pleasure. Why should he wait for the odious end, which would most certainly befall him. He had considered for a spell of fleeing, but where would he run to, he had no family, no other affiliates of the old order he could seek shelter with. All had been vanquished long ago; he was the sole survivor of an old religious order that no longer was.

05- KEKOS

Kekos walked over and gazed at his physical reflection a long while in the tall brass mirror mounted on the wall; by all accounts his bearing was still solid, muscular (burly, strong) but he knew it was all a sham, for he inwardly felt that he lacked his old resilient, invincible vitality, he was no longer the warrior priest of certain prowess, that he had once been…Years had been particularly cruel to him, gradually wearing down his strength and stamina. Suddenly Kekos, now seated at the edge of his bed, felt extremely tired of his prolong, lonely existence. It was time for him to join his ghost (specter) friends. Resigned to his ill fate therefore, two hours after midnight (well before pre-dawn) he walked over to his desk, then after lighting a ceresin lamp, quietly and routinely set all his affairs in order. After his prayers at the shrine, he then one last time climbed in under the warm quilt, closed his eyes, and then lay perfectly still, awaiting his end.

As his mind a powerful tool willed his demise, naturally in the small hours of the night, only an hour after he’d gone to bed, fever took him and he suddenly fell gravely ill; but the following morning at sunrise, his mysterious ailment could not be accurately diagnosed, and his condition steadily worsened despite any treatment he received. Finally, by mid morning his organs having failed him altogether, seer/ warrior Kekos was spared further torment and tragically passed away.

Egil Viggoaries was getting ready for the private late-morning audience with the Sovereign Zakhertan when the news of the soothsayer's demise reached his ears. Evil leer on his lips, he derisively chuckled: “Already I am so feared that a mere look is enough to kill a man. What need have I, of any assassins?”

A special dispatch marked urgent was delivered to Egil Viggoaries just then; recognizing the seal on it, he dismissed the guard who delivered it and sat down at his desk. After breaking the seal, he withdrew the contents from it and read it. The letter was from Heaven’s Gate Spiritual Temple. Finally, his ardent nemesis’s whereabouts had been found! A vicious, broad grin registered on Egil Viggoaries’s lips. He elatedly jumped up, most anxious now, to see Zakhertan Yozdek and to secure (gain) permission for an extended leave. He would personally manage this important matter and, the sooner he departed Channing the better!

                                                                                        

                                                                                    ~

(END OF SECTION 3) 

 12- LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE PORTENDED PERIL - SECTION 2

(SOVEREIGN ZAKHERTAN’S NIGHTMARE ENSUES)

 

Zakhertan, (still in the grip of a terrible nightmare), had just retrieved his sword when this time he found himself suddenly enveloped in a dense, purplish, spiraling fog. The strong rancid smell assailed his nostrils. His chest once more constrained and his head reeling, he nevertheless undeterred, blindly felt his way about, advancing at times on his hands and knees, to escape this current entrapment. When the fog at lower altitude eventually thinned out, he spotted too late the brigands lurking in the thickets, brandishing their lethal arsenals, their mouths set in a snarl of deadly intent, ready to slay him. A signal, a shrill pitch of a whistle slicing through the air just then, however, froze them in their stance. Horses’ hooves churning up huge clouds of dust in a flash next revealed a contingent of masked riders, clothed head to toe in black and heavily armed, at the scene. In dizzying speed, they dismounted and fanned out to encircle him. Their disciplined, precision manoeuvring impressed and deep down exhilarated Zakhertan Yozdek.

01- ZAKHERTAN YOZDEDK 999 (1)

Nonchalant (blasé), he at once assumed a martial stance to meet the challenge. At that juncture, one who looked to be their leader flourished his whip and let out a high-pitched shriek; that same instance, from an unexpected quarter another warrior leaped forward, somersaulting in the air, to strike a surprising blow at Zakhertan Yozdek’s back of the head.

Zakhertan’s reflexes being as good if not better he warded-it-off successfully, then went on to fighting for quite a long while valiantly (and fiercely) without a let up against the subsequent vicious onslaughts from every direction, keeping them all at bay. Inwardly though, he wondered how long he could keep this up, for the leader's exceptional prowess clearly matched his own. Zakhertan was about to instigate the most plausible recourse which would have put him at an advantage when, at that precise moment the leader's whip having wound around Zakhertan's neck, instantly turned into a most vile, very poisonous snake. The viper simply arched its ugly head and struck Zakhertan between the eyes.  Zakhertan had soon after lost complete consciousness but sure enough, he did not die from it. Zakhertan’s life was in fact spared by the timely administered antidote and when he regained full consciousness, he found out that he was tightly bound and gagged.

After an unspecified time, Zakhertan was (roughly) hauled up by the two stout, nine feet tall armed guards, lugged like a common, convicted criminal through a tunnel, and then brought (deposited) before a secret tribunal. On the dais, seated in the centre as the head of the tribunal, was none other than Lord Asger Thuxur Marrog Zhon, who now met Zakhertan's eyes triumphantly. He ordered that the prisoner’s gag be removed.

02- LORD ASGER THUXUR MARROG ZHON (182)JP

Zakhertan after leering menacingly at Lord Zhon, hurled curses at Asger but Zakhertan’s torrent of verbal abuses and curses fell on deft ears! Resisting that strong ominous foreboding gradually taking root in the depths of his soul, Zakhertan challenged Lord Asher Zhon and then each and everyone at the podium to engage him in mortal combat.

He would take them all on, simultaneously, if they dared!

But Lord Zhon's maddening response had been to grin at him simply, condescendingly. The mocking, stifled laughter from the others goaded Zakhertan Yozdek further, to the breaking point. He lunged forward towards the podium to get at Lord Zhon but was violently yanked back and restrained most brutally (with super-human strength) by the armed guards flanking him.

Lord Zhon at this point inclining his head slightly said few inaudible words to the person on his left who, acquiescing (nodded) stood up and removed his mask. To Zakhertan Yozdek’s great surprise and consternation he saw that the person was none other than his most trusted minister Qarzten Caimund.

"You have brought this upon yourself," Qarzten Caimund bristled, his words spat out like acid, “pity you can only be killed but once!"

03- QARZTEN CAMUND (33)JP4

Zakhertan Yozdek’s ire had about reached its zenith; before he could unleash his vicious rebuke on Qarzten Caimund however, the masked man to the left of Lord Asger Thuxur Marrog Zhon had briskly stepped forward and, with a sonorous voice, his stare unyielding, dispensed his orders in an incomprehensible language to the guards. Once more to Zakhertan Yozdek’s deep dismay he realized that this voice too, had sounded most familiar…But who could it be?

"I am surrounded by traitors!" Zakhertan indignantly hissed and gnashed his teeth as he pivoted his icy, defiant gaze back on the masked man. Nevertheless, Zakhertan could not rightly discern (ascertain) the individual for which the voice had belonged to, even though for a fleeting second, he had about recognized those steel-gray eyes!

Zakhertan’s subsequent taunts were again maddeningly ignored, by which time the guards had already grabbed (grasped) hold of his arms and, unceremoniously, like a common criminal, ejected him outside. With his feet dangling about two inches off the ground, he was being hauled down the corridor towards the subterranean dungeons, when he had unexpectedly just then eyed (spotted) a scholar in one of the rooms they were about to pass by, which Zakhertan instinctively knew it was scholar Fradel Rurik Korvald. At this point, as if deliberately (by design), the guards stayed their footing long enough for Zakhertan to witness Fradel mounting the dais and wiping away all the incense bowls, candlesticks, and offerings on the Yozdek Ancestral Altar. The scholar had done this with one sweep of the sword that happened to be the twin of Zakhertan's own State Sword, save for the fact that this blade did not glow blood red but had instead, radiated with clear blue luminosity (emitted blue light). Fradel Rurik Korvald’s ensuant (consequent) strike then had decapitated Zakhertan Yozdek’s full size alabaster statue; the head with a loud thud had hit the ground and rolled till it had reached the doorway. Just as Zakhertan was about to be again carted away, the scholar’s glare squarely pivoting Zakhertan’s, he derisively sneered: "This is what awaits you: Hell, and damnation for all eternity! Very soon, you’ll be made to atone for your immense, appalling crimes. "

04- SCHOLAR FRADEL RURIK KORVALD (NEVETSECNUAC) (4)JP

“Impudent academic pest, you dare threaten me?” Zakhertan Yozdek with his (pent up) incessant loathing of the scholar class, in great fury akin to that of a wild beast lunged at Fradel Rurik Korvald, but once more he was violently yanked back by the guards, making the chains bite further into his flesh. Seeing red and spurting venom, his strength fueled now by his erupting rage, he jostled both guards and was about to best them with his super-human strength when, he was bludgeoned (assailed, bashed) hard at the back of the head by a third guard that had suddenly manifested on the scene. All the guards then rancorously (viciously) kicked and punched him in the head, ribs, and groin until Zakhertan doubled over in pain. He was, however, merely feigning defeat; suddenly in a violent burst, he snapped (shattered) his chains and agilely grabbed hold of the weapon fastened at the waist of one of the guards then in lightening speed dealt him a fatal blow just as the guard threw his head back and guffawed. The guard’s decapitated head with a loud thud hit the ground and rolled away. In a blinking of an eye, Zakhertan had next directed the cleaver (axe) onto the rest of the guards flanking him at three sides and instantaneously in three lightening consecutive strokes separated their heads from their necks. Their heads too, one after another tumbled onto the hard ground with loud thuds, bounced then rolled. Zakhertan’s fierce gaze now fell on the scholar Fradel Rurik Korvald.  "Prepare to meet your maker!" he bellowed.

The scholar however quite unperturbed simply held out his hand; he had such majestic bearing behind that formidable unspoken command that astounded Zakhertan involuntarily halted (stayed) his advance.

"It is Heaven's will that we shall duel, but not at present and not here." The illustrious scholar Fradel having then uttered these cryptic words in an even tone vanished into thin air.

"To Hell with Heaven's will…I demand that you be manifest spineless cur and face your doom!" Heedless of the God's wrath, Zakhertan brandishing his cleaver barked his challenge. Fradel Rurik Korvald however did not reappear, leaving Zakhertan Yozdek utterly incensed (exasperated). But then Zakhertan’s good sense taking hold, he knew instinctively that reinforcements would be upon him soon if he dallied in this spot any longer; aborting this fruitless endeavor hence, he swiftly made his escape. He advanced for unspecified time in pitch darkness, stumbling once or twice over a projection (ridge, knob) half- imbedded in the hard ground.

Suddenly, mysteriously Zakhertan found himself transported to the subsidiary highway at the outskirts of the Capital Province Holger. This main artery (thoroughfare) was thronged with dismal (miserable) fleeing citizens of all ages and status, incessantly trudging alongside their overburdened carts and animals, but in the opposite direction from Zakhertan. At the distance, an abandoned Village and fields could be seen still ablaze, intermittently darkening the sky with grayish tint. Amidst the deafening noise Zakhertan too, relentlessly pushed his way through the chaotic mayhem (commotion) which oftentimes sporadically intensified, by the barrage of missiles launched from a hidden enemy post, finding their mark. Zakhertan eventually passed through the battered and unmanned gate, bearing the obvious signs of frantic, decisive battle, to advance towards the second checkpoint. But here too were the prevalent signs of past violent assaults, the obvious mark of defeat and the consequential rampant genocide that had spared no being, animal, or solid structure. And when the incessant (unremitting) winds suddenly shifted, an all-encompassing volley (barrage) of dark smoke and haze anew rushed at him to suffocate his lungs, sting his eyes, and temporarily obscure his vision. Nonetheless, as he made his steadfast (unwavering) advance, he continued to espy (observe) the copious amount of death and destruction, scorched buildings, granaries, destroyed battlements, crumbled ramparts and ditches (trenches) filled with blood-red flow that also encapsulated countless chopped-up corpses in that sea of blood, indicative of the final defense which had failed to stem the gargantuan onslaught. This degree of trouncing of his once mighty forces and the ensued an all-out pandemonium which still raged in three or four sectors, sickened Zakhertan’s heart, and mounted his ire (indignation and fury).

05- ZAKHERTAN YOZDEDK'S IRE 999 (9)

At least the inner walls of the core of Capital were not breached and the locked iron gates remained durably intact!

Later still, after stealthily unearthing the secret latch, Zakhertan with sure footing had quickly descended the stone steps then, advanced fearlessly through the snaking, pitch dark subterranean tunnels which he had had it constructed a long, long time ago for such an eventuality. After an indefinite period when at dusk he finally emerged at the above ground, an implausible (shocking) scene once more confronted his eyes; as his ears same time was assailed with the incessant shouts: “Run, run for your lives! Hedenko’s wrathful army will soon be poised at the gates! May Heaven have mercy on our wretched souls; may death come swiftly to us all and let us be spared from the extreme savagery of Kontu’s militia!" Consecutively blocking the path of eleven frantic citizens Zakhertan confirmed that, all of Channing’s defenses had indeed been breached and Royal armada had all but burned to cinders; furthermore, the winged regiments to the very last rider, (wiped out, eradicated) had been vanquished and, Wenjenkun’s armies on all three fronts had suffered heavy losses.

Presently, the firebombs from cannons raining down had continued to incessantly light up the skies and fostered still more chaos and cataclysms on core of Channing; this, lasting well into the small hours of the night. Civilians and gentry continued to run pell-mell, scattering in sheer panic and, doing their best to avoid the devastating, searing fires that engulfed everything it touched. The catapulted missiles of rock which exploded upon impact, however, still lodged their shards in soft flesh and rivulets of blood trickled down the cobblestone alleyways. By dawn (daybreak), shattered objects and severed limbs were seen strewn everywhere; the besieged Inner city too, was now engulfed in an inferno of burning, swirling debris that resembled scenes from Hell, once depicted in the paintings of extinct religious sects. Zakhertan knew the portended outcome for Wenjenkun all too well, having inflicted such devastation himself on an innumerable conquered state. Invariably it had led to first, their total capitulation and then, complete annihilation; this time however, despite all the measures he had implemented to prevent such course, his own cherished Channing was the one enduring such a brunt (impact), from a foreign (Kontu's) aggression.

“How could things have come to such an aggrieved state?” Zakhertan highly incensed, gnashed (ground) his teeth.

Suddenly however, Zakhertan Yozdek was back in the North Palace, transported there as if he had willed it by magic. Here too, similar chaos reigned. He accosted two or three panicked palace staff though, oddly, this time none had responded to his queries, commands, or threats, as though he was invisible and inaudible to all.

 Peering into a grand room which in the past had been used to discuss matters of national security and covert operations, he observed (and overheard) nine ministers, not the usual bunch, congregated around the huge round table, charting out a course of escape for those whose lives would otherwise be forfeited when after the anticipated total capitulation. Occasionally they would look right past him at the intensifying panic outside then return their overwrought, haggard gazes to the grim task of discussing the alternatives. It wrenched Zakhertan Yozdek’s gut to see the disillusionment in their eyes; they did not hear his subsequent commands however, or words of encouragement, nor his eventual reprimands and threats.

06- ZAUR STUGR  IN WARROOM JP (7)

Is that one, Minister Zaur Stugr?

But before Zakhertan could take a second look, responding to an alarm bell they had all rushed out of the room, one or two of them passing right through Zakhertan, armed only with their ill-conceived plans for escape.

Zakhertan turned and went down the corridor towards the milling crowd in the audience chamber, noting along the way how the four prized frescoes commemorating his two consecutive fantastic battles had all been shamefully defaced and vandalized. Other brilliant works of art, particularly marble or iron sculptures, by the famed artists of their time were also utterly ruined or carted away; shame of it all, this had happened even before the enemy had set foot in the Palace. Unmistakable signs of infighting explained in part, the failure of the Wenjenkun's strong defenses; furthermore, key evidence in plain sight and obvious to Zakhertan, disclosed that despite all his measures, traitors and subversives had still infiltrated his Court. Heaven knows how long ago Hedenko had planted these moles in their very midst to bring about this devastation?

Zakhertan’s rapid steps led him to the Ancestral shrine (temple); there too he noted how everything, memorial tablets and monuments, century’s old sacrificial vessels all lay strewn about in shambles and in heaps of rubble. Passing by a closed window he happened to see just then, the Royal Stables engulfed in red hot flames and his purebred black stallion Night Thunder being led out of the building with a cloth over his eyes. He at once burst through the windowpane to land at the patio, leaped over the low railing and, surprised that he was corporeal once more, threw the stable hands aside to swiftly mount his beloved horse. His magnificent steed obeying his command and charging in lightning speed, Zakhertan now wielded his state sword to vanquish thousands of the Kontu warriors, which had by then, on mass infiltrated the Palace. But eventually accepting the hopelessness of his situation, he made good his escape and outdistanced any dogged enemy’ pursuits. After entering a secret tunnel and riding at full gallop through the perilous course, he finally emerged at outside of the city walls and proceeded to put a safe distance between him and the ceding (yielding, surrendering) Channing. Mindful of the discussed info by his Ministers in the operations’ room, he spurred his horse towards the west for endless days and nights over the harshest terrain regardless of the danger attempting to reach this farthest point of his Kingdom. His Ministers had spoken of a prediction that there in the wasteland would arise in future, a (virtuous) righteous Dragon Lord. He was sure that it would be he, Zakhertan Yozdek, who would rally and regroup the tattered remnants of his once formidable militia, forming a new, more invincible army (encompassing cavalry, heavily armed infantry soldiers, guerrilla force and legionnaires, etcetera), and after a series of glorious punitive campaigns, retake the land (reclaim his kingdom) from the loathsome invader Emperor Deng Hedenko. Nor would he stop there, for he would exact revenge most foul, and wipe the entire nation of Kontu and all its allies from the face of the Earth!

 Zakhertan would have ceaselessly ridden on until he had arrived at his destination, but after nine days of non-stop gallop, Night Thunder had reached the end of his tether. Zakhertan, now finding himself at the edge of a forest where a creek wound its way out into a meadow, dismounted at a clearing to allow his favorite mount a well-earned respite. Feeling suddenly parched, he knelt at the edge of the stream on one leg and cupped his hands to lift bit of the pristine clear water to his lips; but the color unexpectedly turned to crimson, and that same instant, the water transformed into pure blood in both taste and smell. Shrugging, he nevertheless drank a good measure until his thirst was satiated (satisfied, quenched); unfortunately, he had little success in urging Night Thunder to do the same.

Hearing a ruffling, crunching sound just then, Zakhertan dove fearlessly into the thick, tall undergrowth to investigate; he was hoping to encounter at the end of it a small campsite belonging to Wenjenkun’s remnant squadron, headed in same direction as him, having their repast (meal). In any case, there would be fodder (hay) for his steed. Homing in on the noise (pitch) of masticating, he ceaselessly advanced through the shrubbery (thicket) thick with thorns and thistles, which consequently, bloodied his arms and legs. Unfortunately, Zakhertan’s hopes were dashed when he finally cleared the dense bushes only to discover (come across) a solitary, dilapidated hut at the periphery of a coniferous forest. In bold strides he nevertheless advanced right up to the door and finding the door locked, kicked it open. Audaciously, quite unconcerned of any ambush, he then stepped confidently through the portal; but straight away his face blanched and he guardedly backed away a step.

07- ZAKHERTAN YOZDEDK  ENCOUNTERS HELLHOUNDS 999 (6)

 He was not dead yet; for what reason had he stumbled upon these hellhounds? Zakhertan inwardly queried, eyeing the two grotesque creatures ravenously feasting, tearing away chunks from deceased human corpses piled high in centre of the dimly lit room, as he same time warily retreated (drew back) now towards the door. Halfway, his attention was suddenly rapt (gripped) by the beast that was gnawing on the bleeding arm of, obviously the Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren’s, with his forefinger still bearing a signet ring. That same instance the much larger hound squatted beside it had turned his head to reveal in its maw, a partial torso, and the head (hanging from it only by the bare backbone) of Egil Viggoaries.

The single blazing eye affixed on Zakhertan Yozdek, the enormous hellhound predictably growled and started to rise. Now that he’d been discovered, Zakhertan opted to in haste flee from this terrible predicament but his legs in defiance of his will had turned obstinately sluggish; worse still, just before they were completely rendered immobile (turned to stone), he’d tripped (stumbled) on a jutting piece of hard metal, which send him flying face first through the rotted floorboards and into a deep cavity piled high with putrid, dismembered corpses. When he strove to climb out of this macabre foxhole, his progress at first was stymied (thwarted, hindered) by the limbs of the dead that clanged (affixed) onto him, as though they deliberately were trying to hinder (impede) his escape. He nevertheless quickly dug himself out of the pit of putrid bodies and sharp, fractured bones but as consequence his facial features and body was permanently marred, bore deep lacerations, in at least four or five places. His legs mercifully having once more regained their strength, he darted towards the door; meanwhile, he could hear the growling hellhounds closing in on him fast from behind.

 

(END OF SECTION 2)                                                                                       ~

 

 

 12- LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE PORTENDED PERIL - SECTION 1

01- ZAKHERTAN YOZDEDK  (93) AND SEJON

Sovereign Zakhertan Yozdek having sated his rudimentary carnal desire and now peacefully snug in Lady Sejon's arms envisioned the time when, the Royal court would summarily be purged of all parasites and he, mounted on his favorite black stallion at the head of a great army, would lead the final decisive onslaught against formidable foe Emperor Deng Hedenko of Kontu, who would also anon be vanquished.

02- ZAKHERTAN YOZDEK 78

The macabre battle scenes sequentially flashing before his mind's eye and thus with all the cares of the day gradually receding into his deeper subconscious, Zakhertan eventually succumbed (drifted off) to deep slumber. His sleep of late unfortunately, had been perpetually inundated by increasingly more brutal, more sadistic dream episodes; typically, thus, the complacent smile on his lips not long after melted away, turning instead into a vicious snarl. His face subsequently creased into a grimace of pain as he turned and tossed, thrashed this way and that, held fast in the grip of yet another dreadful nightmare.

Zakhertan dreamt that he was holding a late-night session in an archetypal Royal Court; below the dais extended, as far as the eye could see, two rows of, servile courtiers to the left, stiff, and circumspect high-ranking military personnel to the right. All were kowtowing to him and anxious to anticipate his every wish or whim, but when the night's session concluded and he, rising, turned to leave, behind his back they had all instantly transformed into growling grotesque beasts with razor sharp teeth, salivating at the mouth, ready to rush forward to pounce on him and to devour him. Perceiving this danger, when he turned with his brandished sword to confront them however, they had all, at the sound of a thunderclap, vanished in a puff of smoke and he suddenly found himself standing in midst of a desolate arid land with miasmic atmosphere.

03- ZAKHERTAN YOZDEDK 999 (8)

Sharpening his focus, he looked about him far and wide; at first there was nothing discernable but then gradually he was able to detect, just barely, the undulating (rolling) grayish hills at the perimeter. The hillside gradually becoming more visible, he noted that it was mottled (speckled) with stark trees with majority of the barren branches already having turned to charcoal.

The onset of seismic tremors at that moment however, forced Zakhertan to focus his attention on keeping his balance. When quakes finally ceased, scant time for relief, he was horrified to note that just where he was standing, his foot was precariously rested at the edge of a sheer precipice. Gingerly (with care) he stepped back, and just in time too, for no sooner had he done that, the ground underfoot simply gave way and large chunks of earth and rock debris tumbled into the abyss.

Zakhertan used the back of his hand to perfunctorily wipe the perspiration off his forehead, as it had suddenly grown unbearably hot, and then looked up at the sky to investigate the source. But the mounting radiance of the sun blinded him, as the intense, searing heat scorched his face and neck. Shielding his eyes Zakhertan instead, scanned the arid and inhospitable landscape for any identifiable marks, for suddenly he was beset with the nagging feeling that he had been there before; meanwhile, the hairs on the back of his neck had bristled with strong akin sense of impending doom.

His gaze offhandedly cast on the ground, where seemed to be an unusual small mud puddle in this arid environment, containing hundreds of shrunken, yet atypical, human skulls; moreover, there beside some discarded ropes, he detected a slight movement, then the emerging from the mud, four strange brown shapes, which he assumed were either some living bugs, shelled crustations or, simply dislodged odd pieces of rocks and pebbles.

Nevertheless, as this had piqued his curiosity, bending, he reached down and scooped up a handful of this portion of the mud which contained presumably squirming (writhing), live minute creatures that resembled rocks.

04- MUD AND SUCH

Upon his closer scrutiny, his brows knit, for he’d just then realized that all four invariably resembled tiny mud-humans; and, when he endeavoured to have a closer look, each of the four upturned heads that had where their faces should be- a pair of glowing eyes suddenly blazed and shot out rays at him. He had instinctively, however, pulled back, and the rays instead, singed (scalded) the few unruly short hairs that stuck out from his bearded chin.

 That same instant an abundant fetid larva gushed out from the sockets of what used to be eyes, noses, and mouths of six or seven skulls that had laid halter skelter and partially buried in the muddy ground. Few of them with mouths bearing serrated teeth and elongated incisors (fangs), leaped onto his palm and at once begun aggressively burrowing down their fangs and (sucking) feeding on his blood. Riled, Zakhertan took out his short knife from his side pocket and began digging out these annoying miniature skulls one at a time from his now disfigured, bloody palms; he then simply scraped the blade clean on his sleeve.

The all-pervasive eerie silence meanwhile had begun to grate on his nerves; it ended abruptly however, when unexpectedly the rising winds drove the flotilla of clouds to instantaneously mantle (shroud, blanket) the sky and earth in pitch darkness. The armada of clouds above violently collided in tumult as the air was cleft (split, fissured) repeatedly by bolts of lightning, three of which missed him, only just!

The gyrating streams of air on land meanwhile, had churned up clouds of dust and debris to blind and suffocate him. And then, the resultant downpours turning into a terrible deluge, the sweeping currents whirled everything about round, trapping his legs in knee deep dense, murky waters; he was submerged within minutes of it, but now in what resembled the turbulent waters of the vast ocean.

05-SWEEPING CURRENTS WHIRLED ABOUT ZAKHERTAN

His situation soon became dire, for the levels rising ever so steadily, it had already reached his chest and shoulders; Zakhertan now tossed about, the churning waves threatened to within seconds entomb him in that watery grave.

He exerted great effort and swam for a long while till he reached the rocky shoreline; there, keeping afloat and seeking to extricate himself from this terrible predicament, Zakhertan‘s eyes coolly searched for any probable goats’ path.

If he could hang on to protruding rocks, laborious though it may be, he could climb the wall of vertical, steep rising cliffs to reach safety.  

06- THE STEEP (JUGGED) HILLS AT SHORELINE

But then suddenly Zakhertan was transported back on land and furthermore transformed, he stood, looking more like a demigod, a giant of a man towering well over forty or, maybe more feet, and intriguingly, it looked nothing like him. Zakhertan’s incredibly muscled chest was bare, his wavy (curly) hair and beard which sported silver streaks, were waist long.

Meanwhile, the hurricane force air swirled around him (demigod Zakhertan) as constant (continual) tremors rocked the very ground (making it unstable and most difficult for Zakhertan, to maintain his balance), as it created rising mounts and dents.

Mammoth fissures (cracks, crevices), titanic splits (tears, openings, rifts) hazardously, figuratively in a single breath of Heaven, manifested on ground that could instantly swallow unyielding colossal boulders and enormous portions (chunks) of land.   Earth trembled incessantly (as if in fear) and suddenly all becoming extreme, amazingly, it birthed (delivering, giving birth) pyramidal rocks which violently jutted upwards, rising from the red earth.

07- ZAKERTAN AS THE DEMIGOD IN HIS DREAM

An abrupt deafening boom, akin to detonation, directed Zakhertan’s attention just then to the yonder (far away), undulating hills. He, once more his old self, watched with annoyance, for his feet were suddenly, weighing like led and were now solidly mired in the dense sludge; meanwhile, the fast-approaching violent torrents, which had now turned into an avalanche uprooting charcoal trees (he’d seen prior) churning and merging them with all kinds of rubble and sharp metal debris. Refusing to (concede) accept his ill-fate, however, Zakhertan, stoically strove to free his limbs from this obdurate entanglement and finally succeeding, swam towards the only stationary object, a huge odd-shaped boulder that had just then come into view. By then lightning had stopped, but the pelting rain still would not let up.

Zakhertan quickly climbed on top of this boulder which was well above the rushing deluge; squatting he barely caught his breath when a groan emanated from the depths of the rock, and it began to shift. A head popped on the north side of it, then two more hideous heads popped along each side, the thing now resembling a numinous turtle with three heads (creature) and, all of them turning to face Zakhertan, they menacingly grinned at him.

08- DEMON TURTLE IN DREAM

At that very moment Having exchanged one catastrophe for another, Zakhertan Yozdek was contemplating jumping off or, somehow subduing the demon turtle when just then, a huge winged black bird swooped down from the clouds (sky) and his claws fastened on Zakhertan’s flesh, whisked him up in a whoosh, into the sky. And so, Zakhertan was spirited away, hitching a ride with winds rushing past his ears at that dizzying speed and altitudes, for an undetermined length of time. Finally, he was dropped into a nest crowded with bird headed humans.

After staggering to his feet, for the parent bird had already flown away in search of more food, Zakhertan did his best to fend off the ferocious attacks from the famished hatchlings (fledglings) that were trying with their sharp beaks to tear off pieces of his flesh and to devour him. Holding fast to his position tenaciously and wielding his sword wildly, Zakhertan chopped off their heads one after another in a whirlwind of consecutive (successive) strokes; except that each time he did that, another head sprouted in its place.

 He soon discovered however, that when he sliced them vertically into two halves from head to waist, the parts could not unite. Fighting fiercely, his clothes in tatters and covered in blood, Zakhertan Yozdek eventually emerged from the nest leaving in his wake squirming heaps of wiggling body parts. But before he could catch his breath, anon Zakhertan came face to face with another grotesque creature, half wolf, and half tiger, with scales running down its back.

Pre-empting Zakhertan’s deadly strike the creature with an unearthly growl and in lightning speed, leaped onto Zakhertan and pinned him to the ground, his enormous weight almost suffocating, robbing Zakhertan of all precious breath. To be sure this time things appeared pretty bleak for Zakhertan, especially since his sword which had been torn from his hand, lay some distance away; the beast meanwhile, had opened wide his maw, in readiness to gobble him up.  Zakhertan Yozdek in terror gazed at the protruding razor sharp fangs but he was not one to give up so easily; recalling the dirk hidden in his right boot, he wiggled his hand free and reaching down to grasp the handle, in a flash he buried deep the long straight poisonous blade in the creature's pumping heart. Zakhertan then struggled to free himself from under the expired (dead) beast's massive carcass and succeeding, climbed back to his feet.

 

(END OF SECTION 1)

(SOVEREIGN ZAKHERTAN’S NIGHTMARE ENSUES IN SECTION 2)                                                                                               ~