LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 13

It was Nevetsecnuac's intention to ensure Fradel's safety by trailing him from afar until Fradel had reached Toren.  Only when, at dusk, the city walls had come into view had Nevetsecnuac spurred Fradel's horse towards the hills where he embarked on a shorter route to Channing. 

At first Nevetsecnuac, forgetting that his mount was not Fiery Comet, pressed on with speed through the night, taxing the horse's strength.  When he realized his folly, however, he showed more restraint and took more frequent rests.

01- FRADEL RURIK KORVALD

Fradel, entering the city gates, his first task had been to accost a respectable-looking citizen, to gain directions to the Magistrate's Office; but being pegged a defenseless stranger who, by some good fortune, had dodged (evaded) the habitual attacks of the bandits that had incessantly plagued the region, unwittingly instead, drew a large crowd around Fradel.

Many of the curious onlookers, approaching him now, probed him incessantly for information while others, seeing Fradel was uncooperative, spread their own wild suppositions at the back of the throng.  As the milling crowd became more restless, officers of the law suddenly appeared on site, to disperse the unruly public and pushed their way to the center to seize the presumed instigator (troublemaker).

They allowed Fradel no chance to air his grievance or tender his request, they instead, forcefully hustled him straight to the Magistrate's Offices.  Since the Magistrate had by then retired, they incarcerated the scholar for the night under lock and key, despite all his protests.

As the more sensible officer had explained the next morning, the mysterious disappearance of other plaintiffs in the past had necessitated these kinds of drastic measures. 

After being given a basin of water with which to wash up, Fradel was brought before the presiding Magistrate, Yakove Zewe, in order to lodge his complaint. 

The Magistrate gave a start when he read the name of Fradel Rurik Korvald as the plaintiff standing before him, then raised his eyes to scrutinize Fradel.  He knitted his brows in skepticism then ordered him to approach the bench for questioning.

 Forced to remain on his knees for the entire time, Fradel was most thoroughly and rigidly interrogated by the long-faced Magistrate as the facts were duly recorded by the Judicial Secretary.

In the telling of his ordeal, Fradel vehemently poured out his indignation at the cruelty and barbarism of the bandits and their leader who had nearly succeeded in killing him.  Embellishing the details of the fight that had ensued between the bandits and the stranger who had suddenly appeared out of nowhere, Fradel told of how the masked stranger, with remarkable bearing and superior skill, had vanquished the bandit's leader and many of the felons, forcing the rest to flee for their very lives.  Then, having delivered Fradel from this dire, desperate predicament the stranger had, in turn, robbed Fradel of his baggage and valuables, including his identity papers and summons, and had left him destitute, stranded in the middle of nowhere. Of course, Fradel took credit for his servant's full, and the bandit's partial burials in order to explain his delay in presenting his accusations to the Judiciary.

"You’re Honor, without my papers how can I dare show my face at the Capital?"

 Fradel, in a convincing ploy, broke down and wept.  He then implored the magistrate to apprehend all the felons and bring them to justice in the shortest time possible.  He also asked for the Magistrate's assistance in furnishing him the means to send words to Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren in order to explain his current circumstances and beg forgiveness for his unavoidable delay while he returned to his home province of Birgershing to obtain new documents.

02- -MAGISTRATE YAKOVE ZEWE

“Who does he think he is? The nerve of him; expecting my help, when even the question of his identity has not yet been confirmed. The Magistrate was incensed. Still, this is most serious. If these allegations prove to be correct and he is who he claims to be, I'll be in a terrible fix.  I would then be forced to assist him in forwarding his report about this lawlessness in my domain, being the reason for his delay.  His Honor, Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren, is most powerful, I dare not be remiss!”  Magistrate, Yakove Zewe at this point vacillated.

“Yet, the letter would still land me in terrible trouble.  The personal consequences would be immeasurable. According to this so-called Scholar’s testimony, the other robbers were all bested and then buried. Am I supposed to take him on his word that this arrogant, pampered Scholar took the pains after being robbed to do the honorable thing, like bury those culprits, albeit shallow graves?  I’ll surely be laughed at, may even be dismissed from my post and struck from the official list for incompetence, for believing in such a ludicrous story or, for failing to do my duty and not bringing bandits and this outlaw (one who has robbed him of his ID papers) to justice. I am sunk either way! Any investigation would reveal how outlaws had run amok for two years, robbing and injuring good citizens in this region.  Heaven knows how I've tried every means to annihilate them, but those cursed bandits seem so well organized, so prescient that all measures were ineffective.  I've already lost too many good men in the process.  His Excellency, Rexi, has so far been most tolerant of my circumstances and lenient with my shortcomings, but they would not see it that way at the Capital.  I've striven so hard and for so long just to get this post, I'll be damned if I lose it now.  Now why couldn't I have someone like that powerful stranger, if he truly exists, on my staff?”

Yakove Zewe heaved a sigh, "No one is going anywhere until we have ascertained all the facts."  He sternly raised his hand to cut short Fradel's protests then proceeded with more questions.

When asked why the stranger had also not taken his horse when he took everything else, Fradel claimed that, at the time the horse had spooked and ran away, returning on his own accord further down the road.  When (lone surviving) Fradel had finished relaying all of the purported facts, Magistrate Yakove Zewe then dispatched six deputies to the scene of the alleged robbery to investigate further and verify the facts.

Next, another warrant was signed, and a large force was dispatched to scour the surrounding countryside for the bandits.  The order was also given to draw up pictures and notices about the robbers, according to Fradel's description of them, and to post these notices at all the major intersections of the city and junctions of the outlying roads.

 A hefty reward was offered for any information leading to their capture and threats of a heavier penalty were issued for anyone caught shielding them or withholding any information that would in any way hinder their apprehension. 

Though skeptical of Fradel's identity, the Magistrate still ordered the detainment of Fradel at the government Hostel rather than the jail.  There Fradel would be furnished with writing implements and be permitted to write his letter to the Minister of Culture.  Guards would be posted, not so much as to prevent Fradel's escape but to afford him protection from any reprisals from the bandits.

The court, after an unusually long session, which took meticulous care to ascertain all these matters were lawfully handled, was then promptly adjourned to await the return of the deputies.

When the partially decomposed corpses of Fradel's servants and the bandits were dug up and brought into court a couple of days later, Magistrate Yakove Zewe, amid the intimidating shouts of the bailiffs and flanked by his clerks, reconvened the court.

 The stench from the bodies speeded up the proceedings as the corpses were briefly examined by the court's Medical Officer then identified by Fradel before they were hastily (taken away) removed.

The preliminary search of the servants ‘bodies had produced, in accordance with Fradel's disposition, two sets of identity papers stating they were servants indentured to the illustrious scholar Fradel Rurik Korvald.

The subsequent day, by some good fortune, one of the robbers was turned in by the physician when he had sought medical aid for his festering wounds.  Magistrate Yakove was highly pleased with this recent development and, ordered the man brought into the presence of the court at once. 

The heavily guarded bandit, wearing a neck brace and chains attached to his ankles, waist and wrists was duly (fetched) retrieved. 

The tense atmosphere at his entrance in court was shattered and replaced by a surge of laughter, when the once feared outlaw, pathetically just then, was tripped to the floor.

Order quickly restored; Fradel was brought forth to identify the accused. This concluded, Fradel was ordered to wait outside while the prisoner was then further tortured and interrogated. 

Despite the severe beatings, cuts, burns and numerous blows to the head, the defiant bandits had proven most difficult to break.  He not only adamantly refused to reveal his name or betray the identities and whereabouts of his colleagues, but with unusual strength and courage, his eyes ablaze with anger, he cursed and spat at them, hurling vile insults and threats at the Magistrate, those present in the court and at Fradel outside. 

Some of the observers cowed in their places attempting to retreat into obscurity.  In response to Yakove's order to silence the prisoner the deputies rained more blows on the bandit and, when order was again restored, the Magistrate, now in a towering rage, ordered the ankle screws to be brought in.  Plenty of fighting spirit was still left in the sputtering prisoner as four large bailiffs held him while two deputies fitted on the ankle bracelets.  His sliced open leg made it all the more agonizing for him when they started to apply the pressure with the screws.

"Increase the pressure." Magistrate Yakove Zewe ordered with a sinister sneer to the men.  The bandit howled in agony yet still defiantly resisted capitulating.

His anguished cries permeating the air grated on Fradel's ears.  He rose and agitatedly paced the crimson floor of the hall in bold strides. What further need was there to detain him in this way?  Why must he bear witness to such inhumanity? 

He grew even more disgusted when he observed the pleasure the grinning guards derived from the hollering bandit's pain and their indifference to the other plaintiffs waiting as they boisterously exchanged stories, trying to outdo each other with tales of other tortures they had witnessed.

The torture went on for some time until the ankle screws finally broke into six pieces and the prisoner had lost consciousness.  The bandit did not respond to the attempts to revive him or even to the pain of added torture.  The court had failed to extract even the least bit of information from him.  "Put him on the rack, then." the fuming Magistrate Yakove Zewe thundered. 

"Break all his bones until you break his will, but on no account let him die until he tells me what I want to know."  Shouting their assent, the bailiffs dragged the broken, bloodied body back outside the court, pulling him by his feet past the waiting Fradel Rurik Korvald.

A trusted clerk now approached the bench and submitting his findings in a whisper to the magistrate, handed him the confiscated, still sealed, letter written by Fradel.  Alarmed, the Magistrate Yakove Zewe flushed, and perspiration beaded on his forehead.  Abruptly he recessed the court and ordered Fradel Rurik Korvald to be brought at once to his private chambers in back.

There, greeting Fradel with broad smiles, he took the scholar by the hand and, apologizing for the inconvenience he'd caused him, showed him to a comfortable seat.  With affected gentility he offered Fradel some tea and invited him to be his honored guest in his own humble home where he could show him his collection of the scholar's published works.  He expressed great admiration for Fradel's writings, saying that he read them often.  In truth, he found the work too intense for his own shallow and superficial nature and had only collected these writings in order to curry favor with his more refined superiors.  In private he showed his discordant nature to his confidants, calling Fradel's work overrated and not deserving of the recognition it enjoyed.

A muddleheaded simpleton of sorts, Yakove Zewe would have been totally befuddled with Fradel's recent work in progress.  Initiated after he had started on his way to the capital and existing at present only as an outline in Fradel's thoughts, this intense, politically based work was in stark contrast to the earlier flowery, but only moderately complex, tributes to nature and beauty that formed the bulk of Yakove 's, and the nobility's, collections.  Despite the danger Fradel presented, Yakove was opportunistic enough to jump at the chance to ingratiate himself with the famous scholar, always mindful of the windfall of prestige and privilege that this would bring. If only, if he could secure one original poem from his grateful guest!

Very much pressed, Fradel reluctantly acquiesced to the Magistrate's wishes to stay as his honored guest until, as Yakove put it, “his strength and good health returned, and his wounds healed well enough to stand the arduous journey home”.  Fradel was also assured that the letter he had written in the Hostel had already been forwarded by a special courier to Channing. 

Soon after Fradel was settled into his new quarters and his immediate needs were seen to, he was again imposed upon by his very courteous and obliging host to attend a private feast given in the scholar's honor.

 Magistrate Yakove Zewe, having plied Fradel with lavish food, fine spirits and good entertainment, rose to make his fifth toast to his guest.  Extolling Fradel's virtues and accomplishments, he then cajoled his other guests who then responded on cue and importuned Fradel to favor them with a verse to commemorate this fine evening and this festive gathering.

"Please do not begrudge us, few of your precious words." they all chimed in chorus.

Suppressing his indignation and outrage at this obvious coaching, Fradel demurred, claiming intoxication and fatigue.  He then asked to be excused and hastily retired from the feast, leaving the flustered Yakove to stew in his own chagrin. 

The other guests, sensing their host's antagonistic mood, one by one took their leave under various guises and brought the assembly to a quick end.  Alone in the dining hall, the Magistrate continued on with his drinking, shifting his indignation and hatred away from the real source onto his wife. He cursed and belittled her unmercifully.  Finally, growing hoarse in voice and dizzy in the head, he fell into a deep stupor and was carried off to his bed.

The following morning, as soon as Magistrate Yakove was able to get away, he took the letter Fradel had supposedly already sent to the Capital and a copy of the court case and, traveling by palanquin, set off for the office of the Provincial Commissioner of Justice, Birgergu Gunt, to seek his advice on how best to extricate himself from this dilemma, short of capturing all the bandits, as well as to boast about his competent handling of the case thus far.

03 -BIRGERGU GUNT

 Once Magistrate Yakove Zewe had been announced, Birgergu, quickly concluding or putting aside all his other business, came out in person to welcome and usher his childhood friend into his private study.  After his careful perusal of the report, however, the red-faced Commissioner frowned, alarming Yakove anew.

"This is most unfortunate.  Brother-in-law, I warned you long ago to give priority to apprehending these bandits. You should have allocated most of your constables to dealing with this matter.  Now that things have come to such a pass, I fear I may not be able to shield you from the repercussions.  As it is, his Excellency Rexi is already furious with you over the indelicate way you handled the Courtesan Yule Reidun."

"But, sir, how could I have known she was His Excellency's favorite?"

"Never mind that," Birgergu curtly waved his objection away.

"This business with the scholar is most serious.  I'm afraid that, this time, you're on your own. I will certainly not perjure myself before the Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren to cover up your incompetence."

“Then I’m as good as destroyed. “Magistrate Yakove Zewe’s distress became even more acute.

“You can be so melodramatic!” Brigergu frowned.

 "I implore you, sir, please do not forsake me."  Yakove, trembling, dropped to his knees and, clasping his hands together obsequiously, cried despondently.

 Crouching before Birgergu in wailing supplication, he further pleaded, "You know of my situation!  You know very well how I've tried my utmost, how I've utilized everything within my power to alleviate this problem.  Besides, now we've caught one of them it will only be a matter of time before we make him talk.  Can't you cover up for me for just a while, just long enough for my objective to be reached?  I will make it worth your while.  Haven't I always been most generous with my appreciation of your past favors?”

"All right, all right…  Do not distress yourself."  Birgergu, assuming a condescending air, raised the Magistrate to his feet.

 "But, owing to this matter's importance, I'm bound by my duty to report this to the Governor at once.  However," Birgergu stalled to prolong Yakove's misery as he stroked his well-groomed beard, "very well, for my sister’s sake I will again speak kindly of you in my report and assure him that everything is under control.  Perhaps he'll show leniency.  Take my council, however, and dispatch this letter this very day to its proper destination.

 It's far too dangerous for you to be withholding such information from the Capital.  And do not detain this distinguished scholar, either, but provide him with adequate means and a measure of security on his speedy return journey.”

"Hmm… For obvious reasons I cannot be seen to be involved in this case.  When I do see the Governor, I will assure His Excellency that the scholar Fradel Rurik Korvald is properly taken care of and has already departed our province.  Perhaps you'll be spared an investigation by the Capital and His Excellency's wrath."

Taking off his gauze cap, the Magistrate Yakove Zewe fell to his knees bowing repeatedly, pouring out his gratitude to his brother-in-law, promising to invite him soon to a grand feast, then left to expedite Fradel's departure. 

                                                                                    ……

Yakove was halfway home when he sighted on the horizon the dark, billowing smoke pouring up from the direction of his offices, the offices containing the court documents, criminal records, and the jail containing the unfortunate prisoner.

A short time later, a view of the grisly scene confirmed Yakove’s worst fears.  An arsonist had set off a huge fire that had already devoured most of the building and, fueled by the winds; it was now spreading down the street, turning the homes, tea houses and shops in its wake into piles of smoldering cinders.

 It was dusk before the fire was carried under control and the exhausted Magistrate Yakove Zewe was able to return to his home.

“Oh, how true it is!” Magistrate Yakove bemoaned soon as he crossed the threshold of his opulent abode. “Troubles never afflict men singly, but at least the letter is dispatched to the Capital.”

When he called on Fradel Rurik Korvald that night the distinguished scholar again expressed his strong desire, not to delay unnecessarily, his departure for his home province. To Fradel’s relief, this time Magistrate Yakove Zewe did not insist on keeping him, nor did Yakove offer contrary arguments.

 "Because of my high regard for your person, sir," came instead, the Magistrate's obliging reply, "I can no longer, in good conscience detain you any further.  I have erred in keeping you from your duty and I wish to assure you that I have already taken measures to ensure your safe, comfortable and speedy return."

With a wave of a hand dismissing Fradel’s expression of gratitude, Yakove, declared in most sincere words he could master, that it was his privilege to be of some small service to the distinguished Fradel Rurik Korvald.  The honeyed words on his tongue simply rolled on; while stressing that he was not deserving of any thanks, still the undertone of his argot hinted at his wish to be repaid in full, suggesting it be with an idiom (axiom) or two if not a poem.  But with a grace that far surpassed his host's, Fradel ignored their implicit meaning.

                                                                                    ~

 

(END OF SECTION 13)

                                                                                        ~

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 1

It seemed as if an immeasurable time had passed, since Nevetsecnuac had forged ahead towards Lord Shonne Gulbrand's province that lay on route to the Capital. 

All through his travels and encounters Nevetsecnuac noted the prevailing and encompassing currents of fear and despair that emanated from the perpetual clampdown on the population.  It was heart wrenching to observe the already ravaged individuals striving to survive under the tyrannical rule of the oppressive bureaucrats and their minions, who imposed impossibly burdensome taxes, conscript labor and military service on all.

 What was worse was the disheartening lack of backbone, never mind the least hope for a spark of rebellion or the smallest inkling of any insurgency rising from the piled ashes of these enslaved masses. 

The option of capitulating, however, was not in Nevetsecnuac’s vocabulary…. And could not be so! Resolutely therefore Nevetsecnuac had consoled himself through it all, reflecting on the indomitable spirit of the Wenjenkun nation and the invincible fabric that had once forged this great nation, hoping against hope that it will do so yet again under the right circumstance and leadership, perhaps in five if not in eight year’s time.

                                                                            ~

Alas, Heng Erling, by his action of luring Nevetsecnuac prematurely from his safe mountain abode had irrevocably altered the course of Wenjenkun’s History.

                                                                              ~

It so happens that bad weather particularly downpours have their own surprising advantages. One of which is, when torrential rains ruthlessly pelt the inhabitants no one, including heavily armed guards manning the gates at border provinces, be in any mood to be fastidious or vigilant.  And so, on such a dismal afternoon, Nevetsecnuac properly disguised, blended right in with a returning group of merchants and their servants leading their heavily laden carts with varied goods, passing right through, without least trouble, the first two checkpoints.

The long caravan (Nevetsecnuec was in) later still halted before the iron gates and waited for the prompt dispensing of the customary bribe by the group’s leader before passing unimpeded this and the final checkpoint and entered the territory of Gulbrand province.  As dusk was quickly approaching, the group picked up momentum and hastened along the dirt road towards the nearest habitation.

Nevetsecnuac inconspicuously separating (at this point) from the pack, arrived at a modest inn at the outskirts of the village. Checking into a room and ordering simple fare, he made discreet inquiries about the state of affairs in Moulon.

The fact that Gulbrand’s name was shunned, however, confirmed Nevetsecnuac’s worst fears about the Lord’s fate. To his added dismay he learned that the province’s current ruling tyrant bore the name Shouzi Yozdek.

On the third day there was finally a welcome reprieve from the persistent deluge.  Settling his account, Nevetsecnuac quickly retrieved his horse from the stables and led him by the reins to negotiate the winding, narrow gravel path that eventually led to the outlying fields. The mid-day sun’s golden rays, streaming from the cerulean sky free of any clouds, now bathed the fields with the last remnants of a harvest resting in haystacks.  It should have been a heartwarming scene but here as well, Nevetsecnuac noted the bitter oppression that seemed permanently etched on the solemn, miserable faces of the peasants bending over toiling the land which they will do from sunup to sunset. 

A few days later when Nevetsecnuac, riding his horse rounded an extended hill, he observed in a vast clearing the most surprising scene. There in the distance was a most extraordinary, fortified, affluent border town, with high, gleaming golden towers and imposing tall gates. Access to it could only be gained through a drawbridge constructed over a deep moat.  Though reason told him to bypass this provincial town, something else compelled him to urge his horse towards it.  Perhaps it was a sense of justice and duty that compelled him to find out the fate of Lord Shonne Gulbrand or at least determine where the Lord's remains now rested so that he could pay his final respects and offer sacrifices and prayers to the benevolent Lord's soul.

Eventually the narrow path he was following converged with other better traveled roads to become a major highway leading to the hub.  Just on the outskirts of the town however, before reaching the moat, some roads veered towards several inns of various sizes that were nestled in a sparsely wooded area.  From these establishments lively sounds and appetizing aromas assailed the travelers' ears and noses, inviting them inside. 

Unlike so many of his counterparts, Nevetsecnuac chose a respectable one, rented a room and entrusted his horse to the custody of the stable hands.  Foregoing his meal in his eager anticipation, he then left the premises on foot and blended in with the crowd streaming into the town through the eastern gate just before dusk. 

This being the Day of the Spirits, he found most of the streets thronging with people and carriages.  The clamor of their voices mingled with the din of the procession.  Locals, clothed in their brightly colored garments, carrying lamps and offerings to their dead were flooding into the temples, lit up like day, where invocations and prayers were being offered.

Trying to be inconspicuous, Nevetsecnuac moved to one of the less crowded temples to pay his respects to the dead.  Dispensing money in a bowl, he took some candles and offerings and placed them on the altar of the God of the underworld, Yaskur.  Kneeling, he then prayed for the souls of those long departed.

Suddenly his prayers were rudely interrupted by a rowdy bunch of eight provincial constables.  Disregarding the sanctity of the place, they had burst into the large hall and, in their inebriated state, surrounded a local merchant and began rising wild pandemonium.  The bullied merchant, trembling on his knees, with pearls of perspiration dripping from his forehead, pleaded his case as to why he was late with his promised bribe and offered to make amends to them.

"Too late for that now.” one scoffed, glowering at the poor, petrified merchant who was in the throes of explaining circumstances that had prevented the prompt delivery.

"How would it look if we made an exception?" The brute constable pinned his venomous eyes on the merchant and gnashed his teeth.

"Your crime is unpardonable!" a third bellowed, pushing his way to the front.  "Imagine, trying to hide in here!"

"Bind him.  You should be taught a lesson.” The group's leader (standing apart from the group) icily ejected his command.

"Have mercy!” the old shopkeeper pleaded with his throat constricting, shedding tears.  "This is the Night of the Spirits!  You know my word is good.  I will deliver as I’ve promised.  I will even surpass the difference; consider it a bonus for the trouble I've caused!  Honest, I wasn't going to run away!  I really, really lack the means now.  Just give me one more day…."  A furious slap just then across the merchant’s face silenced the old man.

"Shut up, squealing pig!  We've already been to your house." The deputy grabbed the merchant by the hair next, and spit into his face.

When the old priest rushed to intervene, he was shoved back so violently that he flew across the room, crashing into the far corner.

Biting his lip, Nevetsecnuac rushed to help the bruised and dizzy priest to his feet.  "Are you all right, Venerable Sir?” he whispered. 

“I’m all right, only my pride is bruised” The old priest nodded then casting a cautionary look at the other priests congregating in opposite corner. He shook his head as if to say to them, “Stay out of this and do nothing”. In response they lowered their heads and averted all eyes as they remained woodenly livid with a flush of crimson gradually overtaking their sallow cheeks.

Nevetsecnuac’s disciplined mind going against his innate response had also quickly checked his own outrage for it would not do for him, particularly at this juncture, to draw unwarranted attention by interfering.

The locals in the hall meanwhile had remained huddled together with ghostly faces and trembling in fear.  The one or two defiant young souls that strove to escape this dangerous circumstance drew instead the wrath of the irate constables.  In mid flight both were tripped, fell then were violently kicked and roundly abused. Bloodied and bruised they crawled to the safety of a dark corner.               

Another of the stout constables in the interim had taken up post in front of the door barring any possible exit. He now hollered to command attention, "No one is allowed to leave here 'till we're done.  You are all witnesses to his crime.” He pointed at the bloodied merchant that was still pinned down.   “Does he, or does he not deserve the severe hand of the law, I say a beating he’s received is not good enough!”

A forced murmur of assent reverberated in the temple, and the large hall seemed suddenly, suffocating, and small.

Nevetsecnuac's face flushed.  Unable to bear it any longer, he was about to step forward to give challenge when he felt his vest being tugged, holding him back.

Turning, he saw an elderly beggar in tattered, patched clothes flashing him a warning look from a face scored with wrinkles and scars.  Half hidden in the shadows, he whispered, "Don't be a fool!” in a pressing tone.

 Just then, another ten constables swarmed in, creating a greater panic in the temple.  The poor merchant was dragged outside, kicking and squealing like a pig being taken to the slaughterhouse.

"He's done for.", exclaimed a trembling voice beside Nevetsecnuac.

"We won't see him alive again, poor soul!” the distraught priest mournfully added as he walked away to join his fellows.

No sooner had the swarm of constables gone than the crowd in the temple hall, forsaking their purpose for being there, jostled to the door and disappeared in a flash.  The sounds outside grew quickly muted and then silence prevailed.

"What was his great crime?” Nevetsecnuac turned to ask the beggar, still crouched in the dark corner.

The beggar checked to see that they were the only souls that had remained on the scene then scoffed, "Crime?  He was only guilty of shortchanging his extortion payment.  Poor man, only yesterday he buried his wife.  He must have exhausted all his funds on her funeral."

 He rose to his feet.  Shaking his head in resignation he added, "This sort of bullying goes on unchecked all the time- best that we, too, disappear before more trouble follows."

Blocking the beggar's way, Nevetsecnuac bowed respectfully, introduced himself as "Svein" and thanked the beggar for his help in keeping him from potential disaster.  Unaccustomed to receiving kind greetings much less kind words, the beggar just shrugged off Nevetsecnuac's thanks.  But remaining on the spot the beggar squinted at Svein, curiously appraising his face and fine clothes.  Convinced of the younger man's sincerity and honesty, he then returned the greetings and introduced himself as Lu Moldan.

You must be a stranger to these parts.  Yes, you have traveled from far; Lu grasped at the truth without voicing his inner queries.

   "I don't mean to be singing my own praises but, sir; your intended action could have landed you in serious trouble.  You could have lost your life or worse, been imprisoned, severely beaten then tortured to death.  They would not have been as lenient with you as they were with Father Zuri.  We all know that these bastards travel in large groups, and that it was just a matter of time before the reinforcements showed up.  How else do you think they find the courage to carry out their lawlessness and vile acts?"

"But what of the lasting repercussions of law and order, surely there exists, some measure of accountability within the system, however corrupt?” The naïve and sanguine notion escaped Svein’s (Nevetsecnuac’s) lips before it could be curtailed.

"What law?  What order?"  Lu threw his head back with a guffaw.  "All officials, high and low are corrupt!  Where do you suppose all their illegal confiscations end up?  Are you kidding me?!!” He chortled; but then seeing Svein's flushed face, he softened, "You must have just arrived here son and that explains it."  The Beggar Lu in half disbelief (with some skepticism) studied this idealistic youth (Svein) more acutely before voicing his query, which he then quickly answered.  “You are from far, far away… the furthest rim, yes?” He nodded. "Well, this may not be the frontier, but, believe me, the situation is far worse here.  It has been that way for the last twelve, or is it fifteen, long, long excruciating years?”

“It’s been absolute hell for all who are living here… if it could be called that!  The corruption is so rampant, so imbedded in the provincial government that...  Ay!!!!” He waved a hand. “But then you must be wondering why endure such hardships, why not look for a better existence elsewhere.  Ah, but the poverty chains are so entrenched!” He shrugged.

“And so, we endure, wallow or lurch would be a more precise word, this trapped state being no better off than scavenging rats.  But you, you're a visitor and you must not linger here any longer than necessary.  Heed these words if you do not scorn my poverty: Trust no one.  Do not believe in anything you hear or see.  Conclude your business and be on your way as soon as you are able, that is if you do not wish to leave your head behind, on the executioner's block.  Of course I need not warn you about the constables."

"I'm most grateful for your concern, sir, and I will definitely heed your good counsel."  Svein (Nevetsecnuac) bowed with thanks then, after a moment's hesitation added, "As you are so kind as to trouble yourself with a mere stranger's well being, sir, may I impose further on your goodwill with a query?"

"Please do."

"Sir, my purpose in coming to this province has been to seek out Lord Shonne Gulbrand's burial place in order to pay my respects to the great Lord.  May I therefore..."

"What burial place?” the beggar snapped.  "There's no such thing."  Shaking his head in anger he laughed coldly and walked away a few steps.  Then he stopped, turned and scrutinized Svein's face.  He wanted very much to ask why one as young as Svein and an obvious stranger should be so concerned with the late Lord’s eventual resting place.  Instead, he said indignantly, "Your search would be in vain.  Even Lord Shonne Gulbrand's Centuries old ancestral burial plots, after surviving the ravages of time, had been vilely desecrated and obliterated into heaps of dust.  Nothing, nothing at all remains of his legacy, his family or his name.  Even his wife, sister to the emperor, has perished long, long time ago.  They are all gone, all without exception."

06- LU MOLDAN

Lu abruptly paused. Though he knew he was alone with Svein, his eyes still fearfully scanned the immediate perimeter before resuming in a hushed voice, "If that's your only purpose in coming here, son, you had best be on your way."  Lowering his grim face, he turned once more to go but, on reflection he stopped and, looking back, imparted his last words of advice to Svein, "Besides, it’s far too dangerous for you to be asking such questions around here, even after this length of time.  Now, leave well enough alone and be gone from this misbegotten province."  He clasped his stomach as pangs of hunger had stabbed at him just then.  Subsequently distracted, he turned quickly and hurried away.

"Oh, blasted hunger!” Nevetsecnuac faintly heard Lu swear to himself as he was drifting into the shadows. 

“What sacrilege!” Nevetsecnuac fumed thinking of Lord Shonne Gulbrand’s fate.  Then his thoughts turned to the beggar Lu, “An intriguing individual!” He mused.  “I'm certain he knows far more than he's letting on.  I wonder what relationship he bore to the late Lord to warrant such enduring loyalty.” Nevetsecnuac inwardly queried next, mindful of the heart’s fiery passion that the beggar’s tone could not conceal. 

 Nevetsecnuac then quickly made up his mind. "Please wait up, sir!"  He rushed after Lu.

 For an old man the beggar had moved with the agility of a wildcat and, within seconds, had disappeared from view.  Veering round the corner Nevetsecnuac with his prowess quickly caught up with the beggar in a deserted alleyway. 

Laying a gentle hand on Lu's shoulder, he said, "Sir, I would be most honored if you would consent to dine with me.  I have not eaten a meal for quite some time; furthermore, I would be most appreciative of good company."

Tears of gratitude pricked Lu's eyes once he overcame his surprise, for he had not been treated with such kindness, such respect since the time when...it was so long ago he could barely recollect.  Averse to leaving this region, he had taken various odd jobs that others found too detestable or too hard to do.  With these skimpy earnings he had managed to carve out a meager existence in the past but, of late, he had found no such opportunities.  There were more desperate and fit workers than there were jobs.

His gaze shamefully fell on his own tattered and soiled clothes.  If the truth be known, his Lips had not touched a single grain of rice or even millet for the last three days, but he was too righteous to steal or beg.  Not that it would have done any good. Because of the recent set of adversities, even the pious that streamed into town at this festival period, had remained tight pursed.  

 Today of all days his despondency had finally driven him into the temple with the purpose of borrowing some of the offerings but, once there, he had relented on his planned sacrilege and had, just moments before the disturbance occurred, quietly resigned himself to death from starvation.  An invitation to dinner was a good fortune he had not dreamt of, although he understood well enough Svein's motive in wanting his company. 

Still, for the price of a small bowl of gruel, what Svein wanted could be given freely; there was no need for such generosity.

Could this be a ruse to entrap him? He mused.  Spies were planted everywhere as a rule, sending scores to the gallows every month.  But why would they bother with him after all this time and on such a night? He pondered.

 It might have been different once, but not now. He was too old and feeble to merit any fuss let alone the expense of a trial.  Assassins abound, they would have simply snuffed out his miserable Life long ago in some dark alley and be done with him.

A Dinner, well then with his Life so burdened with hardships, why should he fear death any longer? Besides this being the Spirits night, in this late an hour many would be too terrified of repercussions from avenging ghosts wondering about, to venture outside of the safety of their confines.  Hmm that also presented another difficulty, as many eating establishments would have long since been closed.  All except that one place at the outskirts of the …… Hm… So resolved Lu met Svein's eyes and nodded, "Sir, I would be most happy to oblige but, in all fairness, I must ask you to consider carefully what you are proposing."

Svein was adamant.

"Very well then, I will take us to a place where even Lord Yozdek's Militia would not dare show their faces.  Still, it may be a trifle costly.” Lu added, hemming and hawing.

"You are shaming me, sir, with such talk of money.” Svein responded.  "Let us be on our way without further ado."

 

(END OF SECTION 1)

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