11- LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - EVIL PERSONIFIED - SECTION 12

                                                                         

Worren Youkup had left Lady Sejon’s side nearing mid-morning mentally and physically drained. Profoundly concerned for the welfare of Prince Magnian, he had gone against his better judgment and given his word that he would not say or do anything to advance the matter of the stiletto (penknife) until Her Ladyship Sejon had first in private disclosed her involvement of it to the Sovereign. Worren, furthermore, had hoped and prayed that the good council he had given her Ladyship would be sufficient in obtaining the most lenient of corollary (outcome) from Zakhertan Yozdek, although no one could really be certain of His Highness' reaction on any matter.

Previous night Worren had been resolved to brave the same unfathomable ramifications himself after the conclusion of his visit to Lady Sejon... He would have laid open this shameful episode and hoped that, in view of his impeccable record of long and loyal service that Zakhertan Yozdek would have granted him the opportunity to end his life by his own hand. He may not have deserved burial with honors, but he also felt that he did not deserve the shame of a public execution either. Now, his own future actions, would eradicate that eventuality forever; however, for the sake of Lady Sejon and more importantly, Prince Magnian, a substitute, him, was warranted to bear the full brunt of Sovereign's wrath. His mind, therefore, was nobly set on, when he would be subjected to the inquisition, to doing his utmost and assuming full responsibility for the diabolical offence (wrongdoing), facing the full severity of the law, in order to appease Zakhertan Yozdek’ s insatiable craving for blood.

01-- ZAKHERTAN YOZDEDK  (61)

“Then again, would his old, decrepit carcass be enough?”  Worren Youkup inwardly queried, then shrugged: “Well, it’s the only one I have, and it will have to suffice.”  Worren for the first time ever, was happy that he had no living family or close relatives to share his fate (burden); with his trusted Steward Chutek soon safely out of the way, Worren’s heart rested easy knowing that no other of consequence would be made to suffer the anticipated torments, at the hands of  that fiendish Dark Eunuch, Egil Viggoaries.     

 “I have no regrets (compunction) for my age is advanced, and my life has been full and quite gratifying up until now, save for one small qualm. “Worren, looking down, quietly reflected. “I would have turned sixty-five in three weeks time; oh well, I will have to abort plans for the party; ironically, it would have been rather a momentous event, as both a celebration of life and a farewell. Alas, fickle fate has robbed me of the chance.”     

Try as he might, Worren Youkup could not evade the angst (anguish, heartache) that had suddenly, against his will, pained his heart; for he had never ever expected to end his life in such an ignominious manner. The very thought of it made him wince and he fought back the tears that started to form around the (brim) edges of his eyelids.

“Stop this foolish nonsense! “He inwardly, sternly, admonished self. “There's no going back now, Worren Youkup; you are committed to doing this and that is that!” He exhaled deeply, only to be beset with yet another set of worries. “Would there be sufficient time to get Chutek out of harm’s way? Poor Chutek, he would have to remain, even with different identity, in hiding for an exceptionally long while, to escape the clutches of that hound- dog Egil Viggoaries.”  

02- STEWARD CHUTEK 7

Worren Youkup was angry at having also wasted way too much time because of his unscheduled visit with Sejon, now he must hasten even more, to do all requisite tasks (it needed doing) in much shorter period. Calling for his trusted aid Tedor (who’d been with him for well over twenty years), Worren without further delay, set things in motion. Soon after he was seen getting into the palanquin, as he was most eager to take care of this and other related business before his routine (habitual, expected) report to the Sovereign.

Worren first called on a certain official in the Department of Bondsmen whom he had made prior arrangements with, for an interim certificate of manumission for Chutek. The final stages of the official documents would be processed over the subsequent days, and then hidden, duly filed in the archives. Worren had been working towards this end (goal) for quite some time now and having already made most of the preliminary arrangement’s weeks in advance, was now able to finalize the last steps needed to ensure Chutek’s secured, comfortable life. Subsequently, he made another quick call at the Legal sector 3 Department where a document granting Power of Attorney over his affairs to the Scholar Tonzeye Yevgun of Chukset Province was promptly drawn up.

Upon his return home Worren went immediately to his vault and set aside bundles (parcels, packages) of currency (paper money, gold) to be given to the trusted officials responsible for the swift processing of his requests in both the Capital and the Province as well as the hefty fee needed for Chutek 's manumission certificate. Calling a trusted servant, he sent these gifts post haste to the various officials within the Capital. The wads (pouches) for the Provincial officials, a particularly larger sum earmarked for Tonzeye Yevgun, plus the sealed documents, were all then promptly put into a metal traveling cache. The sealed documents were of course the manumission certificate of free citizenship for Chutek, copies of the official papers that were in process, the Power of Attorney to Tonzeye Yevgun and a letter to him directing that all of the land holdings in Chukset Province which Worren had secretly acquired and had hoped to retire on, to be immediately transferred to his Steward Chutek. Hopefully Chutek, by then under a different alias, could escape detection and live out the remainder of his days comfortably in obscurity.

Worren Youkup next went to his study to prepare the last item needed.

 

03-

 In this letter Worren entrusted Chutek’s welfare and his prospects to the capable hands of his friend. In it also he bid his long-time friend farewell and requested his help with the Provincial authorities to ensure that his last (will and testament) wishes were properly conducted. Afterwards, the sealed letter too, was placed in the metal cache, which was then locked. Worren Youkup’s resources in Channing were nearly depleted now, but he did not care; for, what use would they be by the week's end, anyhow?

At dawn of the subsequent day Chutek, clad (dressed) in his travelling attire and, for fifteen minutes now having received his final instructions from Worren, was then imparted the key to the cache and was told to secure it on his person.

Chutek, had been purposely kept Ignorant of the enclosed windfall prize in the locked cache; with only a hint that it had contained Worren’s latest unpublished sonnets (private elegies) and that it required some edification (improvement) and expurgation (editing) , as well,  that it was of utmost importance to his friend the renowned  (distinguished) Scholar Tonzeye.

Steward Chutek, subsequently furnished with appropriate travel papers and expenses, was then instructed to, post haste deliver these to Lord Tonzeye Yevgun in Chukset Province.

04- STEWARD  CHUTEK - IN HIS TRAVELLING CLOTHES

Worren had awesomely disguised (masked) his inner turmoil to completely dupe the astute (incisive) Chutek; hence, the cherished (like a son) steward thinking that he would be gone only for a brief time, exuberant  and all in smiles (anticipating meeting the illustrious Scholar Tonzeve Yevgun whom he’d greatly admired), took his leave of Worren, carrying only one light baggage and a still lighter heart. He had no way of knowing, however, that soon after he’d departed, Worren had curtly (and without explanation) dismissed all his other attendants and then after locking the door to his study, had sat at his desk unmoving for several minutes and with a blank (void) stare fixed (pinned) on a distant (vague) object. This was an innocuous (innocent), unremarkable painting mounted on the far wall, which depicted a snow-capped mountain scenery; though, it held a secret and a specific, affectionate meaning to Worren, and thus, whenever he gazed at it, it had always lightened his soul and gladdened his heart. As he continued to stare at it now, a shadow gradually darkened his face and his expression increasingly became somber (dismal, gloomy), then altogether grave (grim, morbid).

Worren’s brows subsequently knit as his eyes glistened, brimming with moisture in sheer defiance of his will; eventually, a silent string of tears cascaded down, dampening (wetting, moistening) his pallid cheeks.

                                                                                           ~                   

 

The moment that Worren Youkup had left the South Palace, Sejon had began pacing the room back and forth with angry brows knitted in consternation. “All this trouble over one penknife; and now there is the looming threat of Egil Viggoaries on the horizon! What to do? What to do?”  

Sejon smiled wryly, realizing that she had picked up the phrase from Worren Youkup; then the flustered state (anxiety) swiftly returning, her cheeks flushed crimson and she sulked.

05- LADYSHIP SEJON- JP

All she had been able to do so far was to stall the inevitable; she had no intention of ever confessing to Zakhertan Yozdek, for her to do that, would mean, she was either foolhardy or brave, and she was neither. Like everyone else in the Palace she was terrified of Zakhertan Yozdek and his unpredictable riposte. Sejon held no illusion that, because of their intimacy, he would be forgiving or lenient; moreover, whenever she was with him, with an admirable skill she had always masked her fright, knowing Zakhertan despised passive and cowardly women.  

Lady Sejon quaked deep in her heart all the same, each time she was summoned to the cold and forbidding North Palace; for every summons could mean her death sentence and that, one day she’d inadvertently offend him in some way or other, and the next instant, she’d lose her pretty head; though that eventuality would no doubt be the most merciful end, considering Zakhertan’s appetite for blood and suffering.  It would, most likely be, an excruciatingly painful and lingering death! The birth of Prince Magnian meanwhile, had afforded her precious little security or an assurance; she was nevertheless still young, quite beautiful and being optimistic, she had accepted her precarious existence, for the trappings of luxury, power and prestige were all an irresistible draw, in the hope that her eventual, sure fate would be far away. 

For now, she was the Sovereign's favorite, but for how long, she could phantom. Many a sleepless night she had pondered on a concern, a careless word or an act that might have been the instigator to end what she had enjoyed and held dear; that’s right, all could be extinguished in one commanding breath by Zakhertan Yozdek.  Zakhertan's favor had limits, she knew all too well; also, that he had no tolerance for least stupidity, carelessness, or failure.

06- ZAKHERTAN YOZDEDK AND LADY SEJON

“No, I will not chance it. I will not be confessing to anything and that is that!”  Again, she had mimicked (imitated) another of Worren Youkup’s phrases. “The old coot gave his word for now, but I can only stall him for so long. He must be permanently silenced before he can utter an incriminating word to anyone. Nijel would know what to do. She knew people.”  She stopped abruptly and called out for Nijel, only to be told that her favorite had left without a word to anyone.    

 "Just find her!" Sejon screeched, stamping her foot. "I don't want to hear excuses! I want to see her now!"  The panic-stricken servants rushed to comply as Sejon resumed her pacing and grumbled aloud, "What to do? What to do?"    

                                                                                                                  ~

 

It also happened that Senior Grand Secretary Qarzten Caimund also had a strategically placed network of informants and was routinely apprised of all developments in domestic and foreign affairs as well as the plotted intrigues, the very moment they transpired, within the walls of the four Palaces. It could be said that he was the second most influential and informed official in the

Kingdom, His Highness Zakhertan Yozdek being the first, except that no one, other than Sovereign, knew of it.  

In Channing, as the Senior Grand Secretary, Qarzten Caimund had always concealed well his predominant aptitudes behind the reticent humility and polite decorum that put everyone, friend, and foe alike, at their ease, especially when with him. Since he was never perceived as an ardent adversary whom he could be, he received the full cooperation of all factions. Only Zakhertan Yozdek from the beginning, discerning beneath Qarzten’s deceptive façade, his strong analytical mind and aggressive sometimes brutal will that wielded the strong arm of the law to bring swift justice and order to all segments of the Central Government, appreciated and same time remained vigilant of Qarzten Caimund.

Zakhertan Yozdek was the only one who could so utilize Qarzten’s invaluable input, his subtle yet vital role in preventing, suppressing, or eliminating, chronic internal Royal strife that flared up from time to time, which if left unchecked, could have seriously undermined Wenjenkun government’s core stability. Meanwhile, under Qarzten Caimund ‘s directive his invisible force had always, in the aftermath of any sporadic Provincial insurgency swiftly and humanely, with minimal cost, restored lasting stability as well, the law and order. Of course, at times certain glitches (anomalies) had unavoidably necessitated brutal crackdowns of the suspected or budding parasitic cliques, and so, those violent nationwide sweeps, had become the consistent (regular) trademark of Zakhertan Yozdek’s reign. But mostly, Zakhertan valued Qarzten Caimund for his farsightedness and uncanny precision when he closed in for the kill. As it were, the Senior Grand Secretary had the eerie ability to perceive calamitous events well in advance of their germination into outright trouble and to present, through his timely intervention, had kept the adept Central Government’s diverse functioning body intact, as well, preserved the omnipotent power of Sovereign.  Sovereign Zakhertan impressed with Qarzten’s competence, had additionally, covertly, assigned Qarzten to the crucial, challenging task of checking the growing influence and maintaining the balance between, two key factions under the leadership of Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren and Director of Security Egil Viggoaries. Things being the way they were, however, the full extent of Qarzten Caimund’s specific duties had never been fully specified, leaving room for Sovereign’s future addendums in the Rules’ Book.

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Qarzten Caimund’s discerning mind nevertheless anticipating Zakhertan Yozdek’s future aspirations, had started, as early as when he held the position of Censor, the enormous task of compiling all (grievous offences and) damaging evidence against the two chief factional leaders, for their eventual, lawful incarceration and deposal. The result of Qarzten Caimund’s continuous, meticulous investigations of Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren’s illicit dealings, been the compiled stacks and stacks of documents, all, linking the PM to a multitude of crimes: everything from kidnapping, torture, bribery, extortion and even murder. Lamont Gudaren reeked of corruption to the very marrow, a typical representative of everything Qarzten detested in a man; furthermore, the amassed evidence could be deemed sufficient to expediently have His Excellency (PM) and his affiliates tried in the High Court and promptly executed.

Qarzten knew that the new Prime Minister had already, secretly been picked out by Sovereign Zakhertan Yozdek, who was waiting for precise time to inform the candidate of his promotion. Qarzten Caimund wanted nothing more than to promptly rid the country of this parasite, this carrion crow Lamont Gudaren but he had patiently postponed informing His Highness of his latest findings, pending (awaiting) the final piece of evidence to, at right opportunity, simultaneously present both airtight cases, against PM Lamont Gudaren and Chief of Internal Security Egil Viggoaries, in one comprehensive report.     

Strangely enough, both culprits’ lives were intertwined in many ways. The hindrance  (impediment) unfortunately, had risen from Egil Viggoaries’s sector and, despite all Qarzten Caimund’s intense efforts, he had not made as good a progress as he had hoped, this warranting the last minute, slight rescheduling. But once armed with the expected proof

Qarzten would then, petition (and strongly urge) Zakhertan Yozdek not to delay the inevitable. Furthermore, if managed properly, the situation could be brought to swift satisfactory conclusion, without involving the Sovereign's Elite Guard or kindle any new civil unrest. Delay would portend only more ills.

 

(END OF SECTION 12)

 

 

                                                                                                       ~

 

 11- LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - EVIL PERSONIFIED - SECTION 5

    

Zakhertan, turning his attention back on the task at hand, glowered (looked daggers) at the fourth stack of documents on his desk needing his perusal, he impatiently tapped his fingers on the desk and hissed. “Always the same… “    

Reluctant to begin, Zakhertan with disdain briefly watched the dancing flames of the brazier as Neru typically feed them, before reflecting on Lenny Sukzor’s latest submitted report on the covert and highly illegal activities of Egil Viggoaries. The slight discrepancy between Lenny’s and the subsequent information tendered by Juyin, the lovely wife of Lenny Sukzor’s, on her husband's activities, caused Zakhertan to frown.

01- JUYIN SUKZOR (3)JP

 The two statements varied slightly on one minute detail; an irregularity so feeble that another in his stead might have entirely missed it. Should he be concerned with such a trivial contradiction (incongruity)? Was it an oversight? No! He must not leave anything, no matter how slight, to chance.    

Zakhertan’s mouth formed into a snarl as he drew another blank parchment before him and issued a set of specific orders to have the matter more thoroughly investigated.  

 “I’ll wait and see where this leads to,” Zakhertan briefly pondered, after which he quickly sealed the envelope, containing specific order, with his Imperial seal. A single logo (motif) drawn on the envelope and explicit sequence of numbers registered underneath, indicated the precise department and agent that it was to be handed to; this too was summarily put aside along with the rest in that growing pile.

Then there is still that other matter, Zakhertan Yozdek irritatedly drummed his fingers on the desk. No! There was no need to review it again. Why was he even debating that issue still?  

Such ambivalence angered him; the one thing he had always taken pride in was his decisiveness and exceptionally retentive memory. One glance at anything, any detail however insignificant or minute, and it would be permanently embedded in his mind. Now tapping that innate advantage, Zakhertan recalled with perfect clarity a certain trivial observation hidden in the report the Royal Courier had submitted upon the completion of his mission. This obtuse remark did not tally with the recently, thoroughly compiled accounts by The Shadow Brigade men on the activities of the newcomer, Fradel Rurik Korvald.    

Ordinarily such a minuscule discrepancy would not have elicited any concern from Zakhertan.  Reflecting additionally on the independent reports of Zyerne Stewor and Tizan, who had also curiously enough, raised doubts about the Scholar and considering the recent happenings, Zakhertan decided to delve deeper into the otherwise innocuous matter concerning Fradel Rurik Korvald.

02- FRADEL (NEVETSECNUAC) JP 7

    

He might well have inadvertently transported trouble right to the Capital. This farfetched notion now gripped his heart anew with a certain inexplicable foreboding, for far too many had already come-in-contact with the illustrious scholar. Zakhertan imagined the wide scope this investigation would entail, the deployment of manpower it would take to, either get at the simple truth or, expose all the subversives if his hunch proved correct. As it were, the scholars had again been gaining one third measure of their former prominence and along with it, their sphere of influence had expediently grown. In any event a quick confirmation of these nagging concerns was warranted; he must question the couriers Canbir Nonng and Cais Honger further, on the one minor irregularity in their report. Zakhertan had always insisted on complete and accurate assessments and, if this was the result of incompetence, sacrificing accuracy for expedience, then the couriers would have to answer for it with their lives. Quickly he dispatched another written order, this one to order the couriers to hand over their mission to the one who would be sent in their stead and return in post haste to the Capital.   

That was the end of it. Finally, Zakhertan leaned back and stretched out his limbs.

Grand Secretary Qarzten Caimund having concluded his assigned task expediently a short time earlier, had been waiting patiently for Zakhertan to finish his; he now came forward on the slight indication of Zakhertan Yozdek, to receive his verbal instructions in an ingenious code so secret that it was known only to the two.  Afterwards, Qarzten routinely picked up the order packets and, after bowing respectfully, hurried out the door to distribute them to the various department heads. All were required to work longer hours than the Sovereign.

The door quickly closed behind the Senior Grand Secretary, Zakhertan Yozdek watched with an uninterested blank stare Neru’s progress, then sat motionless in deep contemplative silence, dark clouds of thought swirling through his head and his guards only a whisper away.

    

                                                                                 ~    

    

Hastening out of the vestibule leading from the Imperial Chambers, the Senior Grand Secretary Qarzten Caimund’s head was full of the multiplicity of orders, arrangements, and duties that he must complete before the day’s session was over. So entangled was Qarzten Caimund in these thoughts that he did not see and nearly run into (collided with) a similarly distracted Crown Prince Herleif, as Prince rushed in the opposite direction armed with a stack of ancient scrolls and star charts.   

"On yet another urgent errand; are we, Master Caimund?"    

Prince Herleif’s tone, beneath that remark, grated on Qarzten Caimund’s nerves as it always did. The Senior Grand Secretary’s face tightened, and he averted his eyes for a moment, “You are such a barefaced weasel; still suckling your mother's milk after twenty-three years. Your derision is still palpable under that semblance of sarcasm.”  Qarzten Caimund looked squarely at the prince Herleif now and nodded tersely.

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"I gather His Highness is free now."  The Crown Prince, with typical arrogance, had completely ignored Qarzten's response to his barb and spoke now in the icy tone he used for the servants. "You will step aside to let me pass."    

“This hall will fit five armored guards marching abreast. Did you expect me to acknowledge this childish attempt to flaunt your authority? Let us see just how far your authority will get you.” Qarzten Caimund mocked the prince inwardly.

 

 "By all means." Qarzten smiled tightly as he half turned and shot a knowing glance towards the guards at the chamber doors, moving as slow as he could to antagonize prince Herleif.

"I would like to mention however, that this time may not be appropriate for an unannounced visit."  Qarzten Caimund informed the prince, in his even tone. "Perhaps, you should defer your objective of seeing His Highness this very evening unless, of course, it is a matter of the utmost importance." Qarzten tautly grimaced; but kept the words, “particularly the way you are clad; did you just leave one of your debauched (decadent, base) bashes?” and derisively (scathingly, sarcastically) looked away.

"Impudent wretch, how dare you treat me like an imbecile (dullard) child.” The Prince Herleif's protruding earlobes had turned beet red, as he, seething in contempt, violently shoved the Senior Grand Secretary aside. "Wait until I am your Sovereign, you arrogant dog!"  His face suffused with anger and a stream of abuse gushing off inwardly, he strode quickly forward to cross the vestibule in only a second.  

Caught unaware by this outburst of temper, the Senior Grand Secretary Qarzten Caimund had dropped one of the sealed envelopes onto the marble floor. Anger smoldered in his breast as he stooped to pick it up and his face distorted with contempt. Half-turning his head, he witnessed the Prince Herleif’s way being barred by the two stout guards who had crossed pikes in front of the door to the Imperial Chambers.  

Herleif’s face reddened by rage and pressed menacingly against the senior guard’s, the prince growled, "Are you going to announce me or not? Fine! Step aside, for I mean to walk in immediately and report your insolence myself." 

04-PRINCE HERLEIF YOZDEK (2)

“Go ahead and slither in, you miserable worm, but you won't, will you?” Qarzten Caimund drew in a breath through his teeth then, catching the guard's eye, gave him a simple nod. He had proven his point.  

"I shall inform His Highness of your presence immediately." The stone-faced guard, not in the least perturbed, responded mechanically. "Please wait here, Prince Herleif."  Turning smartly, he stepped up to the door and knocked. After receiving begrudging consent, he opened the door and abjectly entered. After crossing half of the room and bowing briskly, he announced Price Herleif’s presence outside and his request to see the Sovereign.

 "What does that fool want now?' Zakhertan Yozdek snorted impatiently, expecting no answer, and turned his back to the guard to stare out at the serene scenery.   

 Awaiting orders, the guard had stood silently at attention, while at outside, under the transitory (brief) amused gaze of the departing Qarzten Caimund, Prince Herleif had for a spell simmered at his father's disdainful words. Then, he took in a slow breath and composed himself; subsequently, his hand reached inside his pocket, withdrew a rolled-up document, and waited.

 

                                                                                            ~

 

Sovereign Zakhertan Yozdek with a blank expression, meanwhile, had continued to stare outside at the placid (tranquil) garden; his stern gaze next, focusing on the oblivious bird, taking in a drink or two from the fountain. Different troubling thoughts however, grievously (incorrigibly) and unbidden, anew robbed him of the peace he sought.

“If only Qijerrik had not turned on me.”  Zakhertan’s cold eyes blinked, filled with a deep hurt as he hissed out a long breath and shook his head. “If only my firstborn had lived instead of this wretched spawn.”  The grievous loss, the events of those days long gone, rushed in to crowd his mind again, searing his heart and soul with self-recrimination and regret. When the stabbing constriction in his chest became too overwhelming, Zakhertan summoned his will to push it aside and concentrated instead, on the positive attributes of his late son.

Zakhertan recollected fondly now with perfect clarity his proudest moments of Qijerrik. From the start, he’d been an offspring worthy of his sire. Not only Prince Qijerrik was most handsome warrior, as he was tall and athletic, though bit more handsome than him; but he had also been endowed with the same temperament, the same wits, tactical brilliance, and akin (parallel) martial ability (prowess) to Zakhertan at a corresponding age.

Zakhertan had hung great many hopes on his son Qijerrik’s shoulders after noting the potential in the boy, especially after, at age fifteen Prince Qijerrik had become, under his strict tutelage (guidance), an accomplished and indomitable warrior. What was more, Prince Qijerrik thrived on dangerous military campaigns just as Zakhertan did. The more perilous the task or more challenging the combat action the greater the thrill, the deeper the sensation the young Prince would derive from it. This feeling was one only Zakhertan would understand and, they were not just father and son but kindred spirits.  

05- QIJERRIK YOZDEK  (4)JP

But then cruel, capricious fate had instigated, on that fateful seventeenth’ year of his son's life, those infamous chain of events that had led up to his son’s betrayal, all of which were now permanently etched in Zakhertan 's memory by the same cursed talent that served him so well in his bureaucratic duties. Consistently every evening, as soon as he had time to himself, they had surfaced despite his best efforts to quash them and, fiercely, obsessively haunted his peace and tormented his soul.     

If only he had acted more swiftly and without qualm to stem the divergent tide earlier.    

 As it was Zakhertan had been preoccupied with obliteration of resurgent rebel forces at 

Wenjenkun’s western borders, while same time he was constrained to adopt far more severe, more brutal measures to eradicate the infestation the serious unrest by the rising literati (intellectuals or educated class) within Capital Province Holger. Unfortunately, while he was otherwise engaged, the contrary seed had been planted and had germinated in the one Zakhertan had least expected. That single oversight had cost him his firstborn son. When he became aware of this fact, of course by then he could not have altered the outcome, not in the slightest.   

Again, considering his then options in hindsight, Zakhertan shrugged with a certain resignation, admitting to himself that he could not have done otherwise for, on that cursed day when the dark flotilla of clouds congregated ominously on the horizon atop the rising sun, his beloved son Qijerrik, had insisted on, and unfortunately received, his permission to lead vanguard in the attack against the rebel scholars.  After all, Zakhertan had no reason to doubt his son's competence.     

The campaign had gone well enough, with the Imperial forces emerging victorious as expected; after which came the punitive action that wreaked total devastation on the entire populous which had aided and shielded the defiant scholars. Unfortunately, something had gone awry, something else quite unforeseen had transpired either on the battlefield or in aftermath, which had forever altered his beloved son Prince Qijerrik.      

The rebel army had fought gallantly and employed brilliant tactics right up until the bitter end, but that would not have brought about that kind of change in Qijerrik, for he had bested gallant foes before. Was it the gruesome mass suicide of the rebel forces when all hope had been lost? Or was it the subsequent events, the countrywide hunt for and the extreme persecution of the many sympathizers? Could it have been the madness of the pillaging, the extensive carnage and mass extermination of the scholar class? Or was it simply the proliferation (creation) of the earthen mounds that had contained within it, countless living bodies of men, women, and children? Could any of these or all, have been the contributing factors?

“No! Absolutely not! Qijerrik was no weakling coward. “Zakhertan once more vehemently denied that hurtful notion. It had to have been something entirely different, something inconceivable and one day he (Zakhertan) would surely pinpoint the real cause. Zakhertan yet again lied to himself. Technically that had been the day he had lost his firstborn son for, from that day forth Prince Qijerrik had undergone a drastic change in heart, mind, and character. He had become increasingly unruly and finally, downright disobedient.  

“If only my son had been a fallen casualty in war.” Zakhertan mulled over, though he surmised that, in a sense, Qijerrik had been just that.  

“Could the fault have been partly his? He should have listened to his son more?”    

“If only he’d paid more attention and timely intervened with apt measures to protect and isolate Qijerrik from those damaging influences, instead of reacting in anger and ostracizing his son for being contrary and too outspoken?” Zakhertan once more pondered on the nagging concerns, with his empty gaze affixed on the swaying trees (that seemed to be bowing obsequiously), for the wind had just then picked up in the garden.  

 “Had he been too stringent? Had he pushed his son too hard, too soon? No, that was not it either.” Zakhertan scowled. Whatever he might have done wrong, one thing was for certain: he had never been lax in Qijerrik’s upbringing or discipline. In fact, up until that time, Zakhertan had taken an active interest and taken great care in ensuring that Qijerrik had received proper, well-rounded education in both civil and military.   

“Then, how could he have failed to instill in the boy, the most important filial virtue, right alongside loyalty and honor?”  Zakhertan was angry and remained at a loss to find reasons for that drastic change in Qijerrik and the subsequent, catastrophic series of events. Searing fury rose in him anew as he recalled the distressing incident in Council when his son sharply stood up in front of all assembled, to openly oppose him. Admittedly, it was over a minor issue, but the act was still one of open, brazen defiance; a legitimate move under the law but it harbored graver undercurrents which would expose Zakhertan’s single weakness and challenge his overall authority in Imperial Court.

 Zakhertan Yozdek regretted now not using right there and then the provisions in the law which would have allowed him to exercise his option to incarcerate Qijerrik summarily. If only he had imprisoned him, indefinitely or even executed him, instead of banishing him?

Zakhertan had repeated the same haunting question thousands of times and each time the same regret, recrimination, hurt, disappointment, furious rage, and bitterness gripped his heart, in that merciless, wrenching grip. Had he done that, he would have spared himself the mortifying, wounding torment of knowing that his beloved son, his own flesh, and blood, was capable of such treachery against him and all he stood for.

There was one other in the family, his youngest sister, who had likewise betrayed him; but Zakhertan had understood and eventually forgiven her for her misplaced loyalty, for she’d from the first, been deeply infatuated (besotted) with her husband, Lord Shonne Gulbrand. But to be so betrayed by his once beloved son was something Zakhertan had never expected or imagined as a possibility. Each time that memory surfaced, the same fierce indignation and fury welled up from the depths of his soul and he suffered that akin, bittersweet sensation of bile rising to his mouth, as the day Prince Qijerrik’s war slogans had reached his ears.

06- QIJERRIK YOZDEK  (3)JP

Zakhertan’s eyes had burned with intense heat from reading those seditious adages posted for all to see in the towns’ squares, which rallied the populous restive and ripe, for an all-out rebellion. Those contemptible words (like gnawing parasites) were permanently etched (engraved) in his brain. One of those had said: “Arise good people who has suffered for so long under the severity of despotic Zakhertan Yozdek's oppressive regime, time to oppose his repressive laws and demand reckoning for the wrongs that had never been redressed; unite and take up arms, for yours is the righteous cause!”    

“My son, my most beloved son; how deeply you’d injured me!”  Zakhertan’s mouth presently, creased into a grimace of pain for each one of those seditious words had been a stiletto in Zakhertan’s heart and the damage hence, had been irreparable.

Zakhertan would have judged Qijerrik more leniently, had all this been done because of high ambition, Prince wanting to seize the throne for himself; that Zakhertan could have lived with, but Qijerrik had taken on the mantle of a liberator.     

This had been unforgivable, and it had unleashed the culmination of all that unbridled fury Zakhertan Yozdek had amassed in him; consequently, he had acted swiftly and more savagely than ever before to bring about total devastation of innumerable (myriad) Wenjenkuners.

 

(END OF SECTION 5)    

 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)

                                                                                        ~