LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 23

 

The mayhem (great pandemonium) of the crowds, meanwhile, kept on going long after they had gushed outside; running, running, until they collapsed or found refuge at the nearby food stands or teahouses where they (with tongues wagging) then began to spread the fantastic, hair-raising stories about the stranger Zonar and their brush with death.  By noon, Zonar's name and accompanying rumors had spread like wildfire to the farthest corners of the Prefecture.

The account of this fiery red-haired giant was tattooed on everyone's tongue and, by then, his features had become greatly exaggerated.  He was described as being well over fifteen feet in height instead of just seven, endowed with flaming, snakelike hair, flashing eyes and having a red reptilian tongue; he was also said to have the jagged, sharp teeth of a predator protruding from his purple lips, and all of this was framed (held) by a demonic dark azure (cerulean, cobalt) face.

01- Zonar's exaggerated image

Many claimed he possessed the supernatural power to command thunder, lightning and fire, and many also attested that he had the combined strength of a thousand men.  His single, menacing gaze had turned the bailiffs sent to apprehend him and everyone else in the courtroom to stone.  He had cast an evil spell which prevented people from moving a single muscle, or even blinking an eyelid, until he had had his say, then had called down a bolt of lightning which threatened to reduce the Prefect's court to cinders and, riding away upon it, had disappeared without a trace.  This was truly a supernatural phenomenon. 

They uttered gratitude to their protective deities at this point for having escaped such a catastrophe, hoping, praying that they would never lay eyes on such a monster or his like ever again.  They swore with subsequent conviction that the accused Fradel Rurik Korvald was in league with the evil forces and, therefore, was the one responsible for conjuring up this demon to scare the prefect into dismissing the case just when things had gone the worse for him.

"I hope His Honor won't be dissuaded from passing proper judgment on this villain." one of them sounded out his concern above the general hubbub.

"But first", another chimed in, "he had best call up the priests to properly exorcise the courtroom and rid the place of all evil influences before rendering the death sentence on this culprit, Fradel what's-his-name."  All nodded in concurrence.

"Too bad His Excellency, Provincial Governor Shuri, is indisposed," two, better informed, rabble (Arland and Bryner) whispered among themselves, off to the side of the crowd.  "Until the new Governor is installed in the post, Prefect Micen Do must bear the full burden of his final decision himself, bereft of guidance and protection from his superior."

"That could still take several months.  I certainly do not envy him now," the better dressed of the two, Arland, commented wryly.  "Just the same, I hope for my own sake that he proves up to the task."

"What do you have to worry about?  You're only related to him by a distant marriage," his close confident Bryner countered.  "Even if he fouls it up, your family won't be involved."

"That may be, but Micen's gotten in too deep with the Lukos.  If there is ever an investigation..."

"I hear what you are saying.  Their tentacles have spread exceedingly far.  Secret blather (rumor, natter) has it, even in this matter with Yenis; they lost no time sending their agents off to the Prefecture to dispense gold among our various officials and functionaries.  It's virtually assured that the prefect will arrive at the desired guilty verdict of Yenis and this scholar Fradel.  I understand his conviction, after all he is an alleged murderer, but why do you suppose the Lukos are so intent on ridding themselves of her?  Unless, unless they're trying to cover up something even more sinister."

"You're not hinting at that malicious gossip (hearsay) of a supposed illicit affair between Yenis and Shuri, are you?  I thought that matter had been settled (suitably resolved) long ago. Besides, weren’t they both exonerated from all suspicion and blame?"

"Who said so?" Bryner gave a meaningful smile.

"What is it that you know?"  Their natter (chat, gossip) had taken them away from the main crowd.

"Why don't you fill me in on those salacious details over a drink?" the Micen Do's relative Arland grinned, as he tapped his friend on the shoulder.

"Why not…  Just who am I protecting anyway?  Besides, all this talk has made me rather thirsty."

02-   ARLAND AND BRYNER

"What say you, we, stroll over to Tries Lane and ride those fillies in the Zhexi Tea-House, while you tell me all about it then?  It will be entirely my treat."

"You're too generous.  But you must allow me to pick first this time, you always get the best looking one for yourself."

"It's not my fault that I'm more handsome than you…Ha, ha."

"More handsome… the weight of your purse has nothing to do with it, I suppose., Ha, ha haa!"

As Arland and Byner’s forms gradually retreated into the distance, the (amassed) crowd was still engaged in a heated discussion.

The question of Fradel's guilt or innocence was of no consequence to anyone now, especially since the matter had been dwarfed by this new, supernatural threat.  Even those exceptional, intelligent few that, prior to Zonar's appearance, had decided on Fradel's innocence and had favored his release were now being swept up by the momentum of the crowd's ugly sentiments.

At safe distance from court, as the size of the congregated crowd swelled, many anxious to show off their particular expertise in this matter, embraced the chance (in lively animation) to elaborate on the various ways of disposing the evil corpse: the most expedient way of doing it, after decapitation, is by digging out the entrails of headless corpse before committing both to fire ( incineration), or, by some other specific methods ( of discarding Fradel's remains according to the Ancient Ways: The segregated parts of the body, the flesh, bones, entrails and head must all be consumed by holy fires under proper religious supervision before the accused’s’ ashes be cast into various cesspools for the eternal damnation.) This would permanently eliminate any future threat from the perchance(possibly) resurrected evil corpse.

                                                                               ~

Meanwhile, back in his private quarters, Prefect Micen Do, in a foul mood, had for hours paced the floor nervously back and forth, all the while neglecting to take tea or lunch and refusing to see anyone before he finally settled down to review Fradel's case documents.

Unlike the ignoramuses in the crowd, however, he did not believe in this superstitious nonsense even though, in collusion with the local priests, he had often enough encouraged them in the populous in order to reap the benefits of their ignorance.  Rather, his anxiety was born from the clear understanding that Fradel Rurik Korvald was now under the protection of an able assassin, perhaps even a coconspirator that had thus far eluded his guards.

As things stood now, Micen found himself on the horns of a terrible dilemma; on the one hand, there was the powerful Luko family, insisting on justice and pressuring him to settle this case quickly, on the other was this serious threat to his own life from that formidable stranger and his deadline of three days to free Fradel Rurik Korvald.

Prefect Micen felt constrained to appease the Luko Clan since he had graciously, perhaps unwisely, accepted their substantial donations and gifts but, as in the past, he could no longer shield himself under Shuri's arbitrary decisions, which he could always manipulate into accordance with his own.

Micen Do again nervously paced the floor to and for.

He knew all too well, even if he was to do Zonar's bidding he must do it in a most underhanded way.  In order to preserve his prestige, he could not afford to appear intimidated by just one stranger, or even by a hundred like him.

“Things were sure a lot easier when I worked hand-in-glove with Shuri, but he had to go and offend the Censorate Hagu.  And I warned him about Hagu, too!”   Micen, abruptly stayed his footing as he reflected, and dismally shook his head.

“Who knows what kind of person this new Governor is?  Zuyi?  Zuyi?  I know practically nothing about him.  I suppose I'll have to wait and see when he gets here, then I can feel him out good and proper, till I know just what makes him tick.”

He had upsent mindedly stopped by the window to gaze distractedly at the view outside.  The inner courtyard was virtually barren with the exception of a few, sickly Scholar Trees beside an impressive man-made mountain and a cluster of flowers newly planted off to the side of the stone bridge. The flowers had all bent their heads, wilting pathetically, which depressed Micen still more.

 He had taken great pains to have this garden constructed just right but nothing seemed to grow, let alone thrive, in that cursed soil.  He had hired and fired so many gardeners and horticulturists he had lost count.

His eyes just then rested on the small pond by the bridge.  Oh well, at least the carp are thriving.  With a shrug of his shoulders, he went over and plumped himself into his well-padded chair. 

First and foremost, he knew he had to ascertain his subordinate, Ashrath's, claim about Fradel Rurik Korvald.

"Now, where are the devils of those papers?"  He frantically searched through the pile, digging them up from the bottom, and examined them, this time with greater care.  Taking the trouble now to unfasten the envelope containing Fradel's summons before the emperor, what he read there drained all the color from his face and caused his heart to skip a beat.

 “So, he was telling the truth after all.  I thought he was merely boasting.” 

Micen inwardly cursed that cowardly Magistrate for not perfunctorily resolving this sticky situation and having Fradel murdered in transport then blaming it on the renegade bandits.

As he perused over Fradel's sworn disposition, Micen was forced to concede the scholar's brilliance.

 Again, reviewing the recorded testimonies and the case documents, he now saw to his greater dismay that, other than the knife found at the scene, there was no real, solid evidence on which to convict Fradel of murder and robbery.  The adulterous affair with Yenis and his collusion with her in the murder were all pure conjecture and solely based on the testimony of the woman, an established liar.

“I suppose I'll have to have these contradictory statements of Latham and Hacket patched up before they're sent on to the Capital.  Still, I'm rather baffled.” He frowned.

“What earthly reason would these two have for giving false evidence, I wonder?  What is it that they are trying to cover up?  Oh, never mind.”  After a moment's pause, he dismissed the thought.  “I can clear this up later, when I can be discreet.  If I do it right, I may even be able to curry still extra favors from them.  That would be more profitable than just exposing them.  They can certainly afford it.” He wrung his hands imagining these riches already in his grasp.

Next reviewing Yenis's confession from beginning to end, he again paused.

“I find this most puzzling.  Why, at death's door, would she have to gain, what is her motive, for framing Fradel Rurik Korvald?  Surely, it's not because she still wishes to protect the identity of her real lover; not after he, so heartlessly abandoned her?  Or did he?  What grudge could she possibly bear this scholar that she insists on spinning such tales in order to snare him in a capital offense?”  Stroking his beard, Micen mused.

“Had the two encountered Fradel in their flight and Fradel, disposing of her lover, had later, as she claimed, forced his violent attentions upon her?  That certainly could be one plausible explanation for it.  Still, this Fradel hardly strikes me as one who could become infatuated with her.  I can't pinpoint it, but there is something definitely odd about him.  It’s as if he's come from another time.  Perhaps it’s his indifference to pain, to life, to law?  Whatever it is, it totally escapes me.  When I examined him during the trial, what was it I detected in his eyes?  Yes, indifference, perhaps contempt and curiously, pity… yes, pity?  This is most peculiar and irregular, but not a shred of lust.  It's unfortunate that his servants, as he claimed, were lost during that sudden storm while crossing the Mulor River, that I can believe, I know how treacherous those waters can be.” Micen shifted in his seat.

03- YENIS

“I'd rather not inflict torture on one as beautiful as she, Yenis… unfortunately, as things stand; she's my only means of getting at the truth. Hmm, as for Fradel Rurik Korvald, good riddance to him, I say!" Micen scoffed, already having resolved to absolve the scholar of both the charges of murder and robbery once the woman's confession was wrung from her by torture.  “That certainly would be a lot less trouble than explaining why I convicted him. 

Of course, this means I'll have to produce the real culprit or, preferably, his corpse in order to wrap up the case.”

“Confound it!” his face darkening; Micen slammed his fist on the desk. “He's still guilty of the trespassing law!  This charge won't be so easy to dispose of, since it has already been disclosed to that imbecile of a Magistrate Turo, his entire staff and half the population of this Prefecture.” 

Fingering the indictment papers and documents from Turo he pondered, “For once the cursed fool has done a proper job of it, too.  The proof is indisputable.”

“Great; I'm sunk either way.” Micen again squirmed on his chair, nervously scratching his head to relieve the sudden tightness of his scalp. This fresh quandary unleashed a throbbing headache that could not be so easily rid.

“The punishment set for trespassing is decreed by His Royal Highness Zakhertan Yozdek and can only be rescinded by His Majesty.  The death verdict, then, it must be.  Yet, even if I double my guards and ensure my safety from this threat by the assassin, how can I put to death one that is expected for an audience at the Imperial Court, and carries a warrant of (regardless) safe passage from His Majesty?“ Micen let his gaze linger on the summons, placed just to the side.

“While upholding one ruling, I'll be forced to violate another!” 

The feeling of dread mounted in his heart compounded his urgent dilemma (sticky situation); in a state of intense agitation, he suddenly sprang to his feet and began pacing to and fro.  As he did this, he deliberated on his options, while animatedly sawing (cutting) the air with his hand.

“The importance of this prisoner, alone, still constrains me, in the absence of the Governor, to consult with the Legal Office of the Board of Punishments before rendering a final decision.  Yet, waiting for instructions could prove detrimental, even disastrous, since the lack of time precludes my waiting during any such action.  I must act responsibly at once.  What to do?  What to do?”

Prefect Micen Do (for hours on end) continued to wear down the carpet in serious contemplation until, spreading his hands out before him, helplessly, he (arrived at) reached the only plausible option (resolve):

“Fradel Rurik Korvald, (with suspended or pending guilty sentence,) under heavily armed guards’ custody, in all due haste, must be transported to the Capital Channing. Of course, with the official letter of explanation and all the amended trial documents accompanying him, Fradel could then be tried in Capital by the Legal Office itself, after the scholar's mandatory audience with His Majesty.

There remained only one snag (hindrance) to this otherwise perfect resolve:

 On route, should the prisoner escape custody because of interference from that formidable, red-haired devil-assassin or, band of ruffians, Micen could then be accused of incompetence in addition to his brutal treatment of the accused while the scholar was held in custody under his jurisdiction.

“Could I make amends by fairer treatment of him now?  Not likely,” MIcen shook his head.

“Everyone knows how these pampered literati sort, carry lasting grudges over slightest indiscretions. After my mistreatment of him, I am certain not to be spared of his wrath.

It’s certain that, once in Capital Channing, Fradel Rurik Korvald would use his influence on first secure pardon from His Majesty, after all, being a stranger to these parts, why wouldn’t such a valuable literate be absolved, for his ignorance, of a twenty-year-old trespassing law? This attained, he would then devise the means to beget (effect) my downfall.  In light of this, if I were to enable him a safe passage to Channing, wouldn’t I be hastening my own destruction or, at best, live the rest of my life in fear of the impending reprisals (retaliation) from his elite, powerful associates?”

“Hmm….  I would be much better off if this Fradel were to expire on the route to the Capital and... Fail to... meet... his... summons.  Yes!  Why the hell not!  Especially if he were to meet his demise after crossing into Tenzo Province…Ha!  His death would then become their problem. “

Prefect Micen gloated in self-satisfaction, sitting down once more to lean back confidently in his seat.

Success was dependent however on cunning strategy to effectively curtail or prevent any interference from the fiery red-haired menace.

Infuriatingly, another encumbrance (hitch) just then came to mind and Micen impatiently drummed his fingers on the desk, until he satisfactorily resolved (dealt with) this aspect. Even so, he was bit antsy about taking Mouro, (the best candidate for the job), into his confidence but unfortunately, both Zuko and Ro had suddenly expired last month, leaving Micen bit short of competent confidants.

04- MOURO KERR

“I wonder…can he be entirely trusted?  He has proven invaluable to me in the past, still; the gravity of this case constrains me to exercise utmost caution.  After all, I can't be too careful. I'll screen him first. “Micen made a mental note to allay (dispel) his fears.

Having resolved this hurdle also, he relaxed and lazily stretched his arms; his appetite regained, he called out to his orderly to bring him some tea and pastries.

 "Oh, and send a word to Mouro that I wish to see him at once." Micen, in afterthought, ordered. The orderly nodded in compliance and quickly withdrew.

 Micen Do rose confidently and strode over to the window.  Casting his gaze onto the withering Scholar trees he mused aloud, "I should have chopped them down and replaced them.  Perhaps some common poplars would be better?"   A sinister smile (smirk) visibly just then smeared his lips.

 

                                                                                       ~

(END OF SECTION 23)

 

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 9

Dokurak most thankful of the fact he had a sympathetic ear, with a secret purpose in mind had ceaselessly unburdened his heart: “Beginning a new life with only a measly pittance I had concealed from the authorities, I first purchased some worthless piece of land and after initializing irrigation, proper crop rotation and a great deal of work, managed to turn my luck around.  Soon the land began to yield a good return, enough at least for me to properly care for my children. “Dokurak, falling silent for a spell, looked down.

“Unfortunately, the former owner who’d sold the land to me for a song now regretted his hasty decision; additionally, most envious of me for the beget bounty (profits), have harbored a personal grudge against me.  That was the precursor of my fresh troubles.” Dokurek pensively shook his head.

"When my eventual pardon arrived, and I was allowed to settle permanently in this region I ignored my neighbor’s envy and animosity and falsely thought that the past had finally been put safely behind me. For a short while things looked promising. My sons, meanwhile, going against my will and ignoring my good counsel, chose not the agrarian (farming, rural) livelihood (occupation), but that of erudite (literate).  Then again, there was a measure of leniency in the law and a few good posts and desirable government positions were once again being made available to promising learnt (scholarly) candidates.    Gradually I relaxed my vigilance and even allowed my heart the joyful pride when one of my sons, Kuer, was promoted to a good position in the Magistrate's office.”

02- KUER

"How was I to know?  How could I phantom that some unscrupulous, grasping officials would, within a decade, instigate yet another onslaught against the Literate?  You see, in their greed, they had come to realize the immense profits that could be reaped from the land and property holdings of the successful intellectuals (scholars).”

"Zakhertan Yozdek, a military man and an autocratic landholder, had, despite his outward policies of leniency, still harbored in the crux of his being a deep contempt for the scholars because of their analytical (logical, critical) way of thinking and their accrued (amassed, retained in mind) vast reservoirs of knowledge of past rulers.  Meanwhile the extensive military campaigns he had waged to secure his throne and Wenjenkun’s borders had nearly depleted the treasury.  The Office of Revenue was already hard pressed to come up with additional sums via (by means of) burdening taxes and forced labor, and besides, extra funds were now needed for the new campaign against Korion.

“It took only a little persuasion and a staged incident by the new Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren, to make the literati into scapegoats once more.  Thus, the holdings of these affluent families were laid open for pillage and were sold at auction once the unfortunates had been blamed for the discontent, turmoil and hardships that plagued the country.”

Dokurak suddenly stopped talking and after his long, dubious look at Fradel, his voice tinged with jealousy, he said:

“You have really been most fortunate, Serek Vern (Fradel Rurik Korvald), to have escaped these disasters… these genocides.  I wish that I had been empowered to do the same for my sons.  You see, I had the foresight; right at the beginning of it all, I had read the signs and predicted the outcome. The ill-fate hovering at cusp (verge, edge), over the horizon, had left all too prevalent signs for anyone intelligent or discerning, to be wary.  Foolishly, though, I imagined that my pardon and the quiet, model (exemplary) life I had led, would exempt me and my two sons from all of this impending (looming) catastrophe” Dokurek shook his head then sullenly bit the corner of his lip.

"My second mistake was to place too great a store in my influential friends and the Magistrate that had mentored Kuer.  I could not envision that they, too, would collude with my enemies and turn on me for a share of the gain.  Of that, I am sure.  That oversight, unfortunately, was my gravest mistake and for years I've been eaten alive inside, bit by slow bit, by the burden of regret I've carried in my heart.” Dokuek desisting tears, wrung his hands.

"My heart aches so sorely (agonizingly) whenever I think of my two boys…my poor, innocent boys!  When the disaster fell Kuer had been married two years and, what's more, his beautiful, virtuous wife, Luokil, was carrying my grandson. “

03- KUER AND HIS WIFE LUOKIL

"But alas, my world once more collapsed when Kuer and Ruek were arrested and taken away in chains.  I knew that the charges brought against them were pure fabrication, that there was no solid evidence at all to convict them on, so I immediately dispensed generous sums in bribing the right officials trying to buy justice and extricate my sons from (false) blame. “

04-KUER AND RUEK FALSELY CHARGED 

 “All my efforts were in vain, however, for they wanted it all.  My property was confiscated in the blink of an eye and sold for the state's gain to the very same people who had laid the false charges against us.  I was again, shortly after,  reduced to a beggar's state.”

“Kuer was well liked and had countless influential friends but none; none dared to speak up on his behalf when...” Dokurek, abruptly stopping,  bit hard the corner of his lip; anger and despair registering in his pupils, he looked yet again  in the direction of the large mount, quite oblivious of the trickling blood that slowly made its way down his chin.

"You can't imagine the anguish I felt at seeing my boys, as they were dragged mercilessly down the street in chains, then …. Then… buried alive under that accursed big mound." Dokurek swallowed and pointed.

"But not a whimper escaped their lips.  My heroic sons!  I would have ended my own miserable existence right then and there, but I summoned all my courage to live on, enduring misery and humiliation in order to care for my unborn grandson.” Dokurek swallowed hard, and eyes brimming with tears, he dismally (gloomily) shook his head.

“Alas, as cruel fate is, he and his mother both died in childbirth. She went into labor soon after she had witnessed her husband's murder, you see."  Pointing to the two smaller mounds under the weeping willow tree, adjacent to the big mound, Dokurek lamented in a choked voice, "They lie there, close to my son Kuer and Ruek.  I cared for their graves all this time and offered continuous prayers for their comfortable existence in the afterlife.  Now I'm old, too old and too feeble to be of much use to anyone.  I would have joined them long ago, but I have not a soul to count on to bury these old bones and I have nothing left to barter with."  He buried his head in his hands.

"Oh, all those years, how could I have been so foolish? How could I have been so utterly beguiled?” He lamented. “It’s taken me a lifetime to see the error of my ways.  My eyes are finally opened. But what good is all that now? If only I’d listened to my younger brother’s words for, he was right all along, right about a lot of things.  I’m filled with endless remorse that eats at my soul?”

“Still Heaven, it seems, has at long last taken pity on me."  Dokurek abruptly looked up, smiling wryly and, with the back of his hand, wiped away the deluge of tears that soaked his pallid cheeks and neck.

 "For here you are … Good sir, can I impose on you, can I rely on your compassion and good graces to perhaps trouble you, to do me this one last great favor?"

Fradel was nonplused by Dokurek's imploring gaze and, understanding his meaning, frowned.  "I shall not be party to your murder sir.  Surely you have many long years still ahead.  Do not despair.  You have persevered this long, undergone so much; perhaps an emancipated future..."

Before Fradel could finish the old man had flashed a blade he had concealed deep within the folds of his rags.  With a swiftness that belied his age, giving Fradel no chance to move, Dokurek buried the knife hilt-deep into his chest. But missing his heart just barely, he lived long enough to still implore Serek (Fradel).

"I do not deserve your kindness, sir. Ugg…. Still, I know you will not disappoint me.  Far too long have I endured this loneliness, burdensome guilt and unbearable heartache?  I make no excuses now and accept full blame for my past miserable life choices. Having paid some penance; let me embrace fate and join them now.  Please, pray that we all find peace in the… afterlife." He gasped his last breath and, (blood oozing from his mouth,) was no more.

Fradel had done the right thing by Dokurek and, although he had buried the old man's body in a mound next to his grandson and daughter-in-law under the same willow, all rites duly carried out, he still carried away with him the pain of Dokurek’s misspent life.

 

                                                                                    ~

Fradel was from then on burdened with a series of fresh concerns.  The guilt ate at him to the crux of his heart: guilt for being spared, for having led a privileged life of ignorance while so many had perished.  Fradel now pondered: Had he (Fradel) the right to do what he planned?  Wouldn't his intended actions unleash yet another bout of purges resulting in blood baths and fresh persecution of the Literati? 

This was at the root of Fradel's dilemma as he rode away from the graves beside the ruined hut.

Fradel, tersely now, as if with a special understanding, nodded.  Yes, things being the way they are, whatever I do will have little bearing.  The outcome would invariably be the same.  So long as evil reigns (rule) supreme and corruption festers like locusts on this land, salvation will be a distant dream for everyone.

 

                                                                                         

(END OF SECTION 9)

                                                                                              ~

 

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 7

For the remainder of that morning Svein, riding alongside Fradel, had respectfully kept his silence understanding that a serious grievance was at the root of Fradel's reverie. 

NEVETSECNUAC

Most appreciative of this quiet, Fradel struggled hard but without avail, to dispel the gruesome, vivid images forming in his mind's eye: The mound of earth, overgrown with grasses and bush, the old man sitting at its edge, perfectly motionless, the gnarled walking cane resting unused on the earth beside him; these visions still persisted in haunting his peace and try as he might, after all this time, he could not purge his heart of a dogged, all-consuming despondency and guilt.

Currently, Fradel’s mind yet again ruminated (cogitated, recollected) of that long ago, the unpleasant happenstance (twist of fate, quirk) which should have been ordinarily locked in his subconscious psyche. Fradel inhaled deeply and sullenly harked back to that time when on route to Terek  he’d, sighting a solitary seated figure some distance down the road, assumed the old man to be asleep or in a trance; but, when a shaft of sunlight suddenly peeped through the dense rain clouds, Fradel’s acute vision had then noted the glistening tears streaming down the man's pale, wrinkled, sunken cheeks.  Now ordinarily, he would have sent his stewards to make inquiries but, propelled by an unexplained, strange desire, he’d dismounted at the edge of the roadside. As he was hot, he first took off his garment’s (top) outer layer and, handing this and the reins of his stead to one of the stewards, meanwhile, (ignoring) paying no heed their strong protests, ordered them to stay put, then went forth to investigate.

 

 As he advanced towards the old man, he’d for a spell, experienced some trepidation but kept on with determined steps regardless, climbing the rocky, uneven hillock, till he had reached the sorrowful being.  Halting a few steps back, he'd respectfully bowed in greeting, introduced himself as gently and politely as he could, however, giving him a pseudo-name Serek Vern, which Fradel had adapted wishing to be anonymous during his travels, and then, inquired about the old man's health and possible needs.

The old man appearing oblivious to it all, had at first, remained perfectly still. 

Fradel (Serek), nevertheless, being reluctant to leave him in that state, he’d advanced ever so slightly closer and was about to accost him anew when the old man sharply raising his head, seething, glared at this bothersome, pesky stranger.

Dokurek, which Fradel Rurik Korvald later came to know his name, had initially acted with uncalled-for hostility.  His cold, gray eyes had burrowed fiercely, contemptuously into Fradel's and lingered there, scrutinizing him, for a long spell. 

At the time, the icy, hateful gaze, like a frozen blade, had stabbed at Fradel’s empathetic heart!

Even after some elapsed time, while Fradel had assumed he was making inroads with Dokurek, the old man, with obstinate hardness, had retained his original skepticism of Serek’s (Fradel's) ignorance of the common facts, of his naiveté and his motives.  But, gradually, bit by bit drawn out of his shell, he’d thawed, then eventually entrusted Serek (Fradel) with the truthful accounts and factual answers to his persistent inquiries. 

It turned out that Dokurek's two promising scholar sons had been buried alive beneath that nearby mound along with some three hundred and twelve other literati.

This revelation shook Fradel, then and to date, to the core of his being. He’d never been the same since.

"And, make no mistake about it,” Dokurek had nodded gravely, pointing a bony finger, "this mound is but one of many.  Yes, many, many, more, most containing even more corpses than this, exist scattered throughout this great country of ours."

 Dokurek, moreover, added with such bitterness in his voice: “They even built roads over some, so tread carefully young man, the next time your path crosses one of these.  They have no respect for the living, why should they have any for the dead?"  Inclining his head downwards again, he'd scoffed contemptuously, as hot tears once more glistened in his eyes, but he’d bit his lip angrily to stem them.

Noting disbelief in Serek’s (Fradel’s) eyes, he’d swallowed hard, then grinding his teeth, announced sourly, "And secretly, ever so secretly, it's still going on!" His face was contorted with pain and anger, yet he could not stop now.  "When the scholars suffered such a fate, you might ask, what became of their families?"  He shook his head vehemently, "I'll tell you what!  Some were banished to the frontier where they were sold into slavery, some into forced labor or killed outright and all, without exception, had their property confiscated.  And why the hell not…There is great profit to be had in this sort of vile undertaking by the greedy, grasping patricians (nobles, aristocrats).  In many instances they fabricated charges to fill their coffers and to construct a powerbase.   In these dark times, justice is always trampled underfoot by the selfsame rapacious bureaucrats.  A slander without proof in the ears of the right person would be sufficient for a court of law to proscribe the victim.  On pain of death, who would dare mount a defense or champion the righteous cause?”

It became clear to Fradel that the old man was speaking from bitter personal experience; and that he, too, had fallen prey to the greed of akin official.

"And I thought he was a close friend!"

 Fradel raised his eyes from the old man's clenched fist to see him staring once more in the direction of the mound. 

"And to think my son held him in such high esteem!  Bah!” Dokurek turned angrily to spit on the ground.  "Curse you, and a curse be upon your whole family!  May you and your descendants be cursed forever in Hell?"  Dokurek's chest rapidly rose and fell in fury, until he finally grew a bit calmer.

"The reason for these atrocities...  How is it possible, you may ask?  Ah!” he fixed his dubious, pained, angry pupils above his deep-set, gaunt(boney) cheeks on Serek Vern (Fradel Rurik Korvald).

 "Have you had no knowledge of these sort of vile deeds at all, none?  What about the foul happenstance (coincidence) that had reportedly claimed Taok Therkan’s life?” Dokurek asked skeptically.

"Taok Therkan?” Fradel furrowed his brow, and then confessed to, in his remote dwelling having scant news of the famed scholar, save for once, being lucky enough, to have come across one of Taok’s brilliant essays. Impressed, he’d sought to procure more, with no result; meanwhile, the mystery, the silence surrounding the scholar Taok Therkan had never been satisfactorily explained to Serek Vern (Fradel) and he, at present, implored Dokurek to enlighten him on this subject.

Dokurek shook his head, "It's inconceivable to think,” he looked straight at Serek Vern, considering: “how could your family have been spared this ferocious, evil tide that has swept the nation?  I know of this from the mouths of many, that these long years have been anything but brutal to all Literati. Why should you, your family be spared? And now standing before me you lay claim to knowing nothing?  No, you're false!  Worse, you must be an informant, a spy!  Is it conceivable that you are sent by that cursed Zaur to...?”

 Dokurek looked down to hide the sudden manifest disdain from his eyes then fretfully, stealthily looked about him.

 His eyes rested on Serek Vern 's servants, then narrowed into slits.  "And why should you be bothering with the likes of me?  Why not sic one of your dogs on me and have done with me?  Or is it your delight to first toy with your prey?"

 He turned an angry, defiant gaze back at Serek Vern only to meet the scholar's somewhat indignant, perplexed face.

 Dokurek immediately regretted his suspicious outburst.

Fradel had surmised later how, at this point Dokurek was filled with a great need, a burning desire to believe in someone, anyone, while the flames of his life-force still burned in him. His past misjudgments had cost him dearly and rendered him cautious, distrusting all; now and always seeking, expecting some sinister motive behind every kind of gesture. 

For a time, the old man had remained nonplused, shaking his head and mouthing half-crazed, barely comprehensible mumblings as he turned a deaf ear to Serek Vern's gentle arguments. 

"But there is nothing to be gained in trapping me.  It was not my will, my wish that my sons were scholars.  Besides, what do I possess now?  In my heyday, sure, I had substance then. Even ten years ago I had means, holdings to be coveted.  I commanded such respect!  But now…now I have nothing, nothing of any value or use to anyone.  Nor do I have any surviving affiliates left to be targeted.”

“But then, hmm, yes, you do look the kindly, honest sort. Suppose I take a chance?  Perhaps I've been too hasty in suspecting you?  I mustn't let my paranoia cloud my judgment.”  Dokurek continued mumbling to himself as though Serek Vern (Frade)l was not there.

Fradel, in exasperation having fallen silent, threw a cursory look at his impatient men and then thoughtfully looked down; in fact, he was (considering) of a mind to leave this insane old man when, catching the last part of what he had said, convinced Fradel to persevere just a bit longer.

 “Yes, you may be my very last chance."  Dokurek suddenly ceased his mumbling and decisively looked up. His eyebrows unraveled and he made a genuine effort to smile in a friendly manner.

"Forgive my obstinate ways, sir, but you can hardly blame me.  It's all the more incredible that you are a bona fide scholar.  No doubting that.  I'd even venture a guess that you come from a long line of illustrious scholars."  Allowing Serek Vern (Fradel), no chance to agree or dispute his statement, he nodded vigorously, "Furthermore, my eyes can attest to the truth of your claim that you are a stranger to these parts and that you must have led a life of seclusion, that’s why I’ve never heard of your name, a self-imposed recluse perhaps?"

 Serek Vern’s (Fradel's) reaction confirmed this guess and reassured, Dokurek leaned back, smiling.

 "Also, your distinguished attire, your decorum and fine, polished speech makes it all too evident that you are a well–off gentleman, perhaps an aristocrat.  A recluse scholar from an undisturbed sanctuary who has managed to prosper in these volatile times, an anomaly?” the old man shook his head, amazed.

Despite the tinge of sarcasm in his tone, Fradel had read no malice in Dokurek's face.  This perplexed him more.  And what did Dokurek mean by 'very last chance'?

Dokurek cleared his throat then in a softer tone rattled on, "You are so unassuming, so patient and not the least bit arrogant.  You have a great disposition.  You are by all appearances a good man, not unlike my Kuer.  Still, all the more reason for you to beware!"  He fixed his intense gaze at Serek Vern (Fradel) and said a bit more forcefully.  "You watch yourself young man!  Guard your words, his spies are everywhere.  His policies may undergo yet another change, and quite suddenly, too.  Then you're gone.  Pouf!  In one day.  Or worse still, it may all be a hoax, a scheme to finally entrap you.  I'm curious, though, what part of the country did you say you're from?  Which remote region was it that you hid in?"

Fradel had made no such claim, but his denial was cut short by a gesture of Dokurek's hand.  "No, don't tell me.  I'd rather not know.  Such knowledge is of little use to me now, anyway.  It's enough to know that there is some small corner of this Empire that was spared, where the forces of evil could not wreak havoc."  Dokurek abruptly fell silent and looked away, his eyes resting on the two small mounds nestled under the swaying branches of a willow tree.

 After a time, Dokurek turned to face Serek Vern (Fradel) and with eyes brimming with fresh tears, reiterated his warning, "You must beware!  It's too late for my boys and it's too late for me.  I've got one foot in the grave already, but you..."  He smiled warmly at Fradel.  “I can't emphasize the importance of this enough.  He's like a jackal, a wild beast on the prowl.  His poisonous tentacles reach the four corners of the Empire, and it makes no difference what service you may have rendered him.  Disaster can befall you at the most unexpected turn. Under his rule, all manners of evil flourish and you can never, ever anticipate when the next catastrophe strikes!  So, it’s best you remain vigilant in safeguarding your life.”

Fradel was distracted just then by a debased snigger (snort, chortle) from his servants who had drawn close and were very much engaged with their heads pressed together in animated, amused mockery.  More infuriating still, Fradel’s ears picked up the steward’s disdainful ridicule, "Crazy as a Cakook!"  As if to demonstrate he then stood up, flapped his elbows, craned his neck and began drawing circles with his toes on the ground as he mimicked the bird.

 In mid twirl his eyes caught Fradel's fierce look of reprimand.  Chastised, the servant froze in his position. Similarly, the rest also cowered with stilled tongues and abjectly bowed their heads. 

When Fradel turned his eyes back to the old man, he found Dokurek keenly studying him.

"I'm right about you.  This time I'm right.  My salvation may just be at hand.” he mumbled then quickly looked away to escape Serek Vern’s (Fradel's) questioning gaze.

This time it was Fradel's turn for skepticism.  Had this all been a well-orchestrated performance, a charade on Dokurek's part?  Was he testing me?  Testing me for what?   Fradel had heard of cases where men touched by madness would slip into and out of reality, one minute sane as could be, the next, steeped in peril and precarious, imaginary fantasies.

As if surmising this, Dokurek looked up at Serek Vern (Fradel) and smiled wryly, "I wish it were so but, alas, my penance is to remain completely sane, mindful of all my past wrongdoings.”

“All right, I will tell you everything.  I've kept my silence long enough…but not here, not within earshot."  He indicated Serek Vern’s (Fradel's) servants with a wary look and a point of his chin.

 He rose and Fradel, signaling his men to stay put, followed the old man to a distant spot.

 

(END OF SECTION 7)