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)                                                                                       ~

 

 

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 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)