11- LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - EVIL PERSONIFIED - SECTION 21

On the day specified for the resolution of the (penknife/assassination) case, the Dark Eunuch Egil Viggoaries armed with solid proof that guaranteed a sure win of his litigation, prostrated himself before Zakhertan Yozdek, in a closed Court preliminary hearing. In meticulous detail the ingeniously compiled evidence, against the identified culprits and conspirators, were then one by one painstakingly presented for His Highness' perusal and for his final judgment.

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Zakhertan Yozdek, of course, had already been well apprised of the developments, including the confirmation of certain tampering with the key evidence. Not letting on, he gave the presentation a thoughtful consideration and carefully examined all Egil Viggoaries’s documentation and testimonies. Zakhertan’ momentary ambivalence at the end of it, however, did not escape the eagle eye of his Senior Grand Secretary Qarzten Caimund, who had conducted his own independent inquiries. When His Highness expectedly dismissed all the courtiers including Egil Viggoaries, save for Qarzten Caimund for a private consultation, on cue (nod) the Senior Grand Secretary, armed with his arsenal of facts, advanced his steps boldly to reach the dais.

Qarzten then vociferously enunciated the accrued information with perfect lucidity, without mincing words and left nothing out, spared no one. He starkly (plainly) stated the part Royal Tutor Worren Youkup had played, the complicity of Lady Sejon, the breakdown of just what crimes could accurately be attributed to Royal Physician Enqui Rimeng and prince Herleif, as well, which facts were merely elaborate fabrications. Qarzten listed additionally, the names and means of all those who had perjured themselves and then related how Egil Viggoaries’s manipulative power had a hand in all of this.

Qarzten Caimund could not leave out the matter of the apprehension and eventual death under torture of pseudo-Stuart Chutek who was an affiliate of the Wolfbane Organization; Qarzten was of course, betting on the fact that the Sovereign had already been appraised of all these facts. He was quietly pleased, therefore, noting the lack of Sovereign’s reaction affirming his suspicions.

Qarzten could decipher (accurately read) every bit of the Sovereign’s nuances (hints), the slightest subtleties of his face and body; and so, when Sovereign’s slight shift had told him that Zakhertan was about to question him further about the real Chutak’s whereabouts, presumably another test, Qarzten had cleared his throat and readily volunteered the  succinct results of his thorough investigation, the kidnapping and the supposed presumed demise of the unfortunate Stuart whose only crime had been, which the Stuart was ignorant of, was to be instated as the sole beneficiary of Worren Youkup’ s amassed, comprehensive estate (fortune); Qarzten concluded it by stating the manner of Chutek’s eradication, when the Stuart had proved useless in the end, to the Wolfbane Organization. The matter (of this insignificant Stuart) therefore, as far as the Sovereign Zakhertan was concerned, was promptly dropped (satisfactorily shelved).

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Qarzten Caimund had finally mentioned the (Egil’s issued) untenable arrest warrant for the scholar Tonzeye Yevgun which he had temporarily stymied. At this point he paused, to receive Zakhertan Yozdek’s approval (judgment, appraisal) or further instructions.  

"That's all?" The Sovereign's question unsettled Qarzten Caimund as at the same time an ominous ripple (wave) coursed down his spine.    

"There is more, Your Highness," he coughed to briefly clear his throat, before he resumed with his, not yet fully validated facts, about the complicity of Lord Shouzi Yozdek and the extortion plot involving Nijel Ping. Meeting Zakhertan Yozdek’s hard eyes briefly, Qarzten’s face externally remained placid, an almost inscrutable mask; yet deep in his heart he was terrified, for he had just then realized, how awfully close he had come to, not only losing Zakhertan's confidence, but also risk forfeiting his own life, by withholding, yet to be solidly confirmed (authenticated), information.    

It had been made perfectly clear to Qarzten, by that single glint in Sovereign’s eyes that, Zakhertan Yozdek had already been notified of this and much, much more; and he (Qarzten), yet again, was evaluated. What did it matter that he had, all these years, an impeccable record and steadfast loyalty; every subject of Sovereign Zakhertan Yozdek’s lived a precarious existence, with their lives only a hairsbreadth away from the executioner's blade. Fortunately, he had heeded his intuition and once more dodged catastrophe.   

As if surmising his vassal's thoughts, Zakhertan’s lips curled in a disdainful sneer. With a cynical smile on his lips, he leaned back and, with a small gesture of his hand indicated that Qarzten was to proceed.   

Since Qarzten Caimund now felt that the time was ripe, he fearlessly delved in all the way. Asking His Highness' indulgence, he presented the summation (backed by ample documentation to be perused later by the Sovereign) of Minister of Internal Security Egil Viggoaries’s and Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren's sordid, illicit activities. Based on this irrevocable proof, and the amassed evidence against both culprits, he next petitioned the throne for permission to proceed with their simultaneous indictments in the High Court. Finally,(he hoped,) justice could be served swiftly and effectively. Heads removed, the bodies and tentacles of both organizations could then be effectively crushed with the minimal cost and much less bloodshed. At present there was, at Sovereign's disposal, a military force capable of suppressing any uprising in the Capital or elsewhere, as only a small contingent had been dispatched to Korion. If prompt action were to be taken therefore, Wenjenkun's political system could be swiftly purged of these deleterious elements, before the impending confrontation with that troublesome Northern Nation Sazkeroan and its secret ally, Kontu. Qarzten Caimund had assumed that he had done his best to effectively communicate to Zakhertan the urgency of this matter. He had stressed that it was imperative they launched these offensives on both fronts simultaneously and now, or face an inevitable, more arduous course after the impending great wars.    

Zakhertan Yozdek, after having listened to all Qarzten's arguments with due patience and seeming consideration, in the end however, with an unwavering stone face, had once more shook his head, remaining staunchly averse to the urgent recommendations. “The time is not yet ripe.” Had been the only snap explanative given to Qarzten, for His Highnesses adamant refusal.  

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“What am I missing here?” Qarzten inwardly queried, mystified by this negative response (negation).  

   There had to be another, more enigmatic reason for His Highness’s not utilizing this (relatively calm) apt period, which was a prelude to change, the last bastion of lull before the cataclysmic change that loomed on the horizon. On the board game of life, the pieces had taken up their respective positions already. Qarzten Caimund, affixing his gaze on the floor, searched his brain for the allusive reason. It had taken Qarzten only a second or two however, when all at once he had understood Zakhertan’s true reasons. Then with humility he had bowed his head, acceding to his Sovereign’s wishes.   

There was a slight leer on Zakhertan’s lips; after which, Qarzten was directed to, currently say, or do nothing and to guard his records with vigilance until such time they would be required for testimony against the Prime Minister, Egil Viggoaries and Lord Shouzi in court.    

Qarzten was then promptly dismissed.   

   

                                                                            ~   

 

“Could those unconfirmed reports be true?” Qarzten Caimund pondered once more, on the way to his offices.     

“The acuteness of Sovereign’s mind is truly amazing and quite humbling.” Qarzten Caimund shook his head and hissed out a long, exasperated breath. “He’s adroit brain must have conceived…Hah, I don’t know how he does it but he’s always two steps ahead of me, infuriatingly so, in particular with foreign affairs.”       

Eventually, Qarzten’s thoughts had reverted to the most intriguing findings regarding Egil Viggoaries’s parentage, disclosed to him in yesterday evening’s covert report; he had opted to sit on that explosive info however, directing his men instead to dig up further proof till the facts were absolute. Qarzten once more had to remind himself not to get too distracted (sidetracked), conserving his strength instead, for the pending challenges, the tumult (ahead) in not-too-distant future. He had reached his offices with his head laden with such concerns and took no notice of the well armed guards saluting him smartly or, when one on the left promptly reached out and opened the door for him. Once inside the anteroom (subsidiary room), Qarzten Caimund had few words with his assistant, who rushed off at once on an errand.     

Qarzten placed five of the documents on his assistant’s desk then with the remainder secured under left arm, he thoughtfully walked over to the bookcase where which on the second top shelf there were two juxtaposed, unusual small stone statues of no value. The carving however was exceptional. One represented the Moon Deity, a beautiful, demure young woman seated on a rock with a closed book in hand; the other was the representation of the Sun Deity, a fierce warrior with an elaborate spear, standing in readiness to strike.     

Qarzten’s right hand reached out and applied a slight pressure to lower the Moon Deity’s book, ever so slightly, which made the whole bookcase instantly, noiselessly move aside, revealing behind it the secret iron door to an impenetrable vault. Qarzten Caimund opened it with one of the (cluster of) keys he had withdrawn from his hidden belt-pocket and went inside. He walked few paces into the vault and placed the secret documents he was carrying on the third shelf. Once more at the outside, he locked the vault then going over, raised (readjusted) the Moon Deity’s book, which instantaneously (automatically) turned everything back to norm. He then straightened out his attire (making sure there were no creases on it) and then opened the door which led to his primary office. 

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Soon as Qarzten had entered the room, his eyes caught the newly appointed Vice Censor in Chief the noted Lenny Sukzor, who had been impatiently waiting for his return from the royal audience, already on his feet, which he now courteously bowed to Qarzten in greeting. Smiling contritely, Qarzten Caimund solicitously advanced to brightly (happily) greet his new friend Lenny. After offering his profuse apologies for the (unavoidable) delay and relaying his solicitations, the two sat down to the serious business of overseeing series of highly confidential matters.

                                                                             ~    

Following day in closed session of the Imperial Court the charges of the attempted murder of  His Royal Highness Zakhertan Yozdek, as well, the willful murders of the Royal Tutor Worren Youkup , Prince Chucek and Prince Kureing, were formally announced against the now deceased Steward Chutek, the still living though barely alive Royal Physician Enqui Rimeng and, the Crown Prince Herleif Yozdek.      

Their subsequent, three consecutive (sequential) trials again in closed court, very much to the immense satisfaction of Egil Viggoaries had resulted in an expedient, harsh verdicts.     

Enqui Rimeng, upon hearing his sentence had cried out in despair wishing that he had somehow ended his own life (by ingesting poison) or expired during torture, rather than suffer the impending, most ignominious end. Worse still, his actions had doomed entire Rimeng clan to extinction. He was quickly hauled away, sobbing uncontrollably, to suffer his endless days of torment in Hell.  

  

Prince Herleif had not fared any better; for Zakhertan Yozdek had perfunctorily dismissed Prince Herleif's right to appeal, since it was patently pointless and, coldly pronounced Herleif’s sentence: “Proclaimed guilty of all charges levied against him, Prince Herleif from thereon would be stripped of all Royal privileges and rights and demoted to the status of a common criminal (a slave). He wound, furthermore, indefinitely or until further notice, be imprisoned in the worst quarter of the subterranean (palace) dungeons.”

This meant that Herleif would never be allowed to see the daylight ever again, though for the present he was to be kept alive to await a future apt punishment of, Sovereign Zakhertan Yozdek’s choosing.     

Lastly, Sovereign Zakhertan Yozdek bereft of any other candidate, promptly passed the Royal decree- the formal appointment of Prince Magnian Yozdek, as the now rightful (Crown Prince) heir apparent.   

  

                                                                            ~

 

(END OF SECTION 21)

   

 

 11- LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - EVIL PERSONIFIED - SECTION 8

 

Royal Tutor Worren Youkup’s sleep of late had often been troubled by violent dreams. This night being no different, he turned and tossed, thrashing this way and that, held fast in the vice grip of a terrible nightmare. Worren saw himself as he was once, a young, adventurous lad; in this dream episode however, he was alone in a tiny skiff, riding the swift currents down the Yawjun River and negotiating the turbulent, aggressive waves that threatened to topple his small craft (boat). Regardless of the danger, in his heart he felt certain of the urgency of reaching his destination; he must get there before it was too late, for time was of the essence!

01- WORREN YOUKUP AS A YOUNG MAN

Oddly enough, he could not remember for the life of him where it was that he needed to go; only that it was of vital importance that he got there. When the wind abruptly died down and all was still, he at once grabbed the oars and rowed as fast as he could towards the mid section, to take advantage of the swift currents and therefore, propel the boat swiftly as before,  gliding across the water as if his life depended on it.

Subsequently, the still air altered (was replaced), as the sun ominously took quick refuge behind the mountain that loomed over the left bank of the river. Shafts of lightning split the sky and peals of thunder crushed through the flotilla of clouds that had been swirled into being by the just then rising winds. Soaked now to the bone, Worren Youkup knew that his only safety lay in reaching the banks of the river as he applied his oars in that direction. He rowed and rowed, huffing and puffing, exerting himself to the point of exhaustion but still not getting any closer. To compound his difficulties, a thick curtain of pelting rain followed by a gray mist just swept off the land to erase (hide) all indications of the shore; his soul gripped in trepidation, he helplessly rode the undulation of angry waves, rising and falling on the great expanse of the water. His fear intensified realizing that he was now cast in the middle of a vast ocean. If the skiff overturned, because he had never learned how to swim, he would most certainly perish. What to do? What to do?

All right, so the talons of ill fate had carried him out to the centre of the ocean but being a pragmatist, he concentrated, not on how or what had instigated his dire predicament but rather, on the possible recourses where which he could extricate himself from this terrible danger. To his great consternation however, the little boat just then started to whirl around and round, with increasing velocity. He strained to fight the dizziness, to keep his eyes open and to maintain focus.

What is going on? He felt his forehead for the possibility of fever. Nope!

Then he saw it!!  Thousands and thousands of fish rising to the top, all floating belly-up on the surface, stunned by the churning waters; however, they suddenly transformed, all resembling (looking like) knives, stilettos, penknife’s, the ordinary kind scholars used!

 What did it all mean? A certain foreboding anew gripped Worren Youkup’s heart.

02- WORREN YOUKUB IN NIGHTMARE

All this while the whirling had continued and he got sucked down to the depths of the ocean by the funnel until the boat touched bottom where which a quaking, sandy bed tossed him mercilessly to and for. His heart’s palpitations intensified when he saw swimming towards him just then, the open red mouth of a huge grotesque black eel that was at least thirty feet in length. Another larger, even more monstrous eel chased away this monster however, which then turned and advanced towards him with an even greater zeal (vehemence). Worren Youkup clenched his jaw, same time his hand gripped the upper part of his nightshirt, as if to contain the fierce hammering in his chest and held on tight.   

Steady, steady on now. He told self, to calm his raw nerves. Except that, Worren saw that the eel now nearer still, had a human head. It swam closer and then flashing its razor-sharp teeth, it greeted Worren: “It will not be long now, Elder Brother. Oh, but how I missed you; I have been all alone and miserable all this while!"      

Worren realizing it was his long dead brother Kosi, he was about to accost him when, from the side another giant fish with mouth wide open suddenly advanced to, in one gulp swallow Worren and the skiff together. The old tutor and the boat, now in the belly of an abdominal cavity filled with toiling, turbulent, stomach acid- smelling putrid and burning everything, it touched, were quickly spirited away into the depths. The wood of the skiff began to smolder, and Worren knew that it was just a matter of time before, his flesh too would burn; meanwhile, his chest constricted from breathing in the steaming stench, rising from this sea of gastric juices. Oh, what a horrible way to die!

But Worren Youkup suddenly woke up with a start, drenched in sweat. Outside his door he heard rushing feet and urgent whispers. "What's going on there?” he mumbled to himself as he rose from his bed. He lethargically reached for his robe, his old bones creaking as he called out to his steward. Aside from minor ailments and the occasional slight headache, such as the one that plagued him now, he was in fairly decent (physical) shape for a man close to sixty-five years in age. Longevity ran in his family, so it was expected that he would live for yet another fifteen to twenty years.

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Steward Chutek was quick to respond with the tepid cup of tea Worren Youkup needed to wash away the parchment that usually wrapped the inside of his throat. After gratefully gulping part of the lukewarm tea, he held the cup just a slight distance away from his lips.

"What in damnation is going on out there at this beastly hour? Has the whole city gone mad?"  He was a bit more than disgruntled by the pandemonium outside and believed the household should have long been asleep, snuggled in their quilts by now. In fact, it was his intention, once his thirst was quenched; to retreat (withdraw) swiftly under the sanctuary of the warm quilts and, hopefully, this time, get a good night's sleep.

However, as the steward answered his unwitting question, he blanched and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, over the bloodless gooseflesh. His heart wildly palpitated in shock and, cup still poised in mid-air, he fought hard to control a sudden bursting anger.   

"That vixen, this is all her doing."  With a quaking hand he put the cup on the nightstand. "She sure has played me for a fool, and there is no fool like an old fool." He continued with his incensed mutterings. "But this has gone far enough." He steeled himself, “No, do not lose your temper. It will do no good for you to explode. Get a grip on your senses now; this matter must be managed with tact and decorum. Yes, this will require all your faculties, tolerance and the necessary wiles all presented in a rational and reasonable manner.”   

Worren Youkup refused to even consider the alternatives in view of their grim repercussions and quickly pushed all unpleasant speculations away from his mind in favor of the more positive outcomes. Besides, he told himself, it is highly unlikely that anyone, even one as cunning as Egil Viggoaries, would ever fathom the unthinkable. None could ever conceive of, let alone question such a bizarre, far-fetched notion. For the time being at least, he had nothing to fear. Yet his heart in defiance of his will, would not co-operate with the cool calculations of his mind and his rage mounted despite all Worren's efforts to hold his emotions in check as he pieced the events together. All the innocuous incidents, the fragmented questions, actions, and machinations that built up to this denouement fell into place as part of the culprit's expert plan to coerce him into becoming part of this despicable, diabolical plot.

Worren Youkup’s mouth creased into a grimace of pain as indignation burned a pit in the cavity of his chest. He let out a shuddering sigh and shook his head, reflecting on what little consequence the unwillingness of his participation would bring to his eventual judgment. The ridicule that public knowledge of his part in this would bring, he anticipated, would alone be far worse than ten thousand public executions. His integrity was in peril and his head now throbbed with pain as he searched for the best ways to extricate himself from blame and at the same time to preserve the prestige he had held, reveled in for five decades. In seething fury and contempt, he abruptly rose to his feet, overturning the cup he had so carefully just moments before placed at the edge of the night table. Oblivious to the spill, he began to pace the floor, hands clasped firmly behind him, grumbling indecipherable words punctuated by the periodic curse under his breath.

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This unexpected, atypical reaction baffled and astonished the steward.  

“I had no idea master cared so much about the Crown Prince.” He bit his lower lip in consternation. “How could I have erred so?”  Like everyone else, he thought that Worren Youkup despised the worthless Prince Herleif, having so often expressed privately his displeasure at Prince’s contemptible conduct.   

Still, the signs of Worren’s mental anguish, the way his face flushed taut with pain and the sweats beaded his brow, were unmistakable and alarmed Steward Chutek. He volunteered immediately to fetch Royal Physician, but Worren would not hear of it.  

"As if I have nothing better to do at this time of the night than be poked and prodded by those overrated ninnies," he griped, glaring at the servant. Worren’s voice however became more even and controlled as he continued, "Their ministrations are quite unnecessary. See to it that I am not disturbed for the remainder of the night, not by anyone."    

"But...But..." Chutek was about to advance an argument that was abruptly cut off short by a gesture of Worren’s hand.  

"I said no one, and that includes you. Now go!"  Having barked out these orders, Worren turned his back to the steward. Chutek stared at the obviously tense shoulders of his master's rigid posture and shook his head in despair, understanding full well that, when Worren Youkup was in this determined state there was no arguing or reasoning with him. He knew his master's obstinate nature extremely well and, therefore, despite strong misgivings he obeyed. Shrugging, he turned and dragged his feet across the room. Just as he cleared the door, he hesitated and, turning informed Worren in a clean, crisp voice that, all the same, he would be stationed outside at arm's length should the old tutor changed his mind or need anything further, anything at all.

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"Sometimes you can be such a pest. Who made you a mother hen?"  His face hidden from the steward, Worren nevertheless donned a smile, touched deeply by Chutek’s deep concern and unwavering loyalty. That was so typical of Chutek, he quietly reflected. To date he had fostered quite a fondness for the steward and felt as protective of the young man as if he had been his own kindred, the son he had always yearned for, yet never could have created (conceived).

Worren Youkup himself, orphaned at an early age, had been raised as the adopted son of the acclaimed scholar Keonz of Curnan Province, who had later held the office of Royal Tutor. As it were, before Zakhertan Yozdek, the position of Royal Tutor’s was esteemed enough to extricate (spare) the acclaimed literate (erudite, academic) from being an obligatory eunuch. Worren Youkup, typically, as soon as he could read and write, had been extensively educated in all the skills necessary for him to one day hold a tutor’s post. When the dynasties changed, it was during this time, as another crucial step to the preparation necessary for Worren Youkup to assume Keonz's post upon his mentor's eventual passing or incapacity that he, at the age of twenty-one, in traditional (age-old) ceremony, had been made a eunuch.   

Worren had always felt that, in a way, Keonz had been more fortunate than himself since the tutor had experienced a normal life up until the time when he had lost his wife and family in a catastrophe and had then chosen to voluntarily become a eunuch to educate Prince Qijerrik.    

“At least he had been given a choice.” Worren groaned, the old bitterness gnawing at him. Sub-human, Worren had inwardly termed all eunuchs, including him, and had carried a deep sense of loss and resentment since that time. He had always kept this resentment secret; however, absolving his adopted father from all blame, for Worren’s code of moral conduct which included absolute filial piety, demanded nothing less.

“After all, my prominent position had enabled me to enjoy the uninterrupted and otherwise enviable life of pace and luxury.” Worren endeavouring to lift his spirits out of the abyss, shrugged. “And I escaped all those years of persecution, which had so often plagued my counterparts (equivalents).”  His worries somehow assuaged, Worren reflected on another piece of luck that had facilitated this satisfactory long life. Sometime in the past, Worren no less brilliant than his peers, had had the good fortune of being in position (being able) to extricate young Zakhertan Yozdek from a tight, dire situation and the Sovereign's memory had been long. Furthermore, since Worren Youkup had never openly repudiated Zakhertan Yozdek’s usurpation of the Throne, this, and his past good deed, had spared him the worst of the indignities and barbarous tortures that had been meted out to the other scholars during those terrible years of the purges. This special treatment had been a two-edged sword however, for it had also alienated him from all the close associates he had cultivated in his previous years.

Had Worren not been a pragmatist, he would have ended his own life in protest over the atrocities; as it were, after the tumultuous times had passed, he had been reinstated to his former position. In this contemptible gilded cage hence, he had executed his duties mechanically, seeing to three consecutive Royal offspring’s proper education, till one day he hoped to be rescued, from this mundane and frivolous existence, by the peaceful sleep of long-awaited death.  

Worren Youkup’s thoughts reverted to Chutek, and he again cogitated (ruminated) on how fortunate he had been thus far to have at this late stage of life, a comforting companion, who was much more than a steward, by his side. Chutek reminded him in so many ways his old young self, but of course Cutek was also different in characteristics, he wished he could have had. Chutek had entered his service in his early adolescence and under most bizarre circumstance and even though Chutek had come from an uncouth peasant family, he had from the first endeared himself to him and as well established a good reputation among his peers by his extraordinary intelligence, keen observations, sensitivity and, above all, his compassionate heart which was almost a rarity in Channing. 

06- OTHER STEWARDS AND STAFF

 

Indeed, Chutek was different, had always been different from the bunch living, sham coexisting or thriving in capital city. Most incredible, he had not been hardened by the harsh experiences (trials) of life, even though he had suffered more than his fair share of it. Unable to meet their tax burden one year, his father had sold the youngest son Chutek into bondage to keep the rest of the family out of prison. It had been a vein effort, for trouble came nevertheless and Chutek had never seen any of them alive again. At the tender age of nine he had been orphaned and left at the mercy of ravenous wolves that prayed on such hapless, unsullied brood. Cursed with striking good looks, he had quite early on unfortunately, drawn the unwarranted attention from a lascivious official, who had jumped at the chance to secure the boy for his own licentious uses. Heaven only knows what that poor lad had (endured) suffered at the hands of that vile beast. Chutek, up to the present day, had refused to make any mention of those six ignominious years that corrupt official had enslaved him.   

With a certain understanding and sympathy for the steward's pain, Worren Youkup had never pressed to learn, although he knew enough to make an accurate guess at it. He had after all, seen the scars permanently imprinted (crisscrossed, etched) at the boy's back and chest, which had borne a mute testament to six years of abuse. Worren cringed as he pictured it in his mind, shaking his head and hissing out a long breath as if to dispel all the fierce indignation and anger that once more welled up anew within him. Chutek’s face however, for economic reasons, had been spared from being marred; and it brought little comfort to the tutor to remember that the official had paid dearly for his crimes.

Charged with extortion, the minor functionary, Worren Youkup could no longer recall his name, had suffered apt torture at the hands of Egil Viggoaries's officers before an ignominious public execution. Since the crime had fallen under Provincial authority the entire holdings of the man and his family, including all the servants, had then been confiscated by the Governor Yenokos of Kentor Province for proper disposal in accordance with existing law. As luck would have it, Worren on his special time off and wanting to get away from Channing, anon had accompanied his good friend Lukes when he was assigned on a state inspection to Kentor Province. They were being entertained at the Governor's mansion when Worren had chanced on Chutek. Worren was infuriated when the Governor Yenokos, seeing the boy was favored, smiled enigmatically, and looked at them both with undisguised calculation in his eyes. However, the pragmatic tutor had masked his disgust and indignation long enough to rescue the boy from the clutches of that despicable opportunist.

                                                                                        

07- GOVERNOR YENOKOS

                                                                                  

As anticipated subsequent day, wishing to curry favor, Governor Yenokos had only been too eager to make a gift of Chutek to Worren. Politely refusing this bribe, Worren had nonetheless later, as if in afterthought, had legally purchased the boy and sent him on ahead to be added, as a kitchen staff, to those in his employ. Of course, this was included as a small insert in Lukes’s extensive report to Zakhertan Yozdek and, despite the Governor's hopes; Yenokos still suffered the inevitable, downfall two months later.

Soon as he was back in Channing Worren initiated measures to free Chutek from bondage, giving him the option to select his own preferred livelihood (trade, vocation);  at his own behest however, Chutek had joined the ranks of the Eunuchs in the Palace and later still, became the new steward to Worren, whom he had served faithfully ever since. Sadly, Worren's partiality towards Chutek from the beginning had incurred the animosity of envious (green-eyed) Prince Herleif and consequently, the boy had suffered additional hardships and humiliations with his characteristic, stoic silence. Each time (whenever) Worren Youkup had found out about the harassment and put a stop to it, the spiteful (malicious) Prince had only become more adamant in his persecution. Committed to breaking Chutek's resilience, Prince Herleif with a surprising determination and cunning had consistently redoubled his efforts, as well as, drummed up support from among the other boys of his age at the palace, for his wanton (malicious) vindictive assaults (attacks) on Chutek.   

Worren Youkup, with his mind reeling with such concerns, for several minutes had remained rooted to the spot with his back to the door and stared blankly out the window into the darkness.

“This fresh trouble with Prince Herleif, the bane of my past and now present trouble, will certainly involve Chutek; and I fear this time I may not be able to extricate him from dire harm.” Worren thoughtfully nodded and sighed. “All those countless hours I'd wasted on Prince Herleif, trying to instill some goodness and benevolence in him, it was all, to no avail.” Worren Youkup pursed his lips, dismally reflecting on the fact that no amount of effort or discipline had ever gotten through to Prince’s selfish, greedy heart. “He’d always been and would always be an unconscionable, devious brute.”     

 And there was no denying what everyone knew but kept silent on: Prince Herleif, most unlike the revered Prince Qijerrik, had precious few good qualities to speak of. There was one thing, nevertheless, that Prince Herleif excelled in; since early childhood he had shown a rare, uncanny talent in astrological interpretations and, accepting the encouragement of others in this one field, he had gone on to surpass all expectations.  

Recalling the results that Prince Herleif had obtained in the past, Worren realized that the predictions had indeed always been of good account, not that it mattered to him now. The old tutor's opinions on the art were akin to those of Zakhertan Yozdek; lending the art no real credence despite all the prophecies he saw fulfilled, for he was sure there were many more predictions that were off target and therefore not remembered. He did find the exercise useful in much the same way as the Sovereign, as a source of entertainment for the higher classes and a means of manipulating the thoughts of the crowd and it did serve yet another purpose in that, for a few hours every night, it kept Prince Herleif out of trouble. For the latter reason Worren had kept his opinions on astrology to himself in order not to discourage the prince on the only endeavor for which he had shown any real promise.

Now, Lady Sejon's interest in the arcane philosophies was of a more recent vintage, Worren mused. But that was to be expected of the fairer sex. Still, with clear hindsight he wished he had not been so forthcoming about the recent, most dire, predictions concerning the present Regime. Prince Herleif had always run his findings past Worren first, so the old man could function as a sounding board, but Sejon had demanded proof of these findings when told, which once asked for, was difficult for Worren to refuse. He could well understand that her chief concern was for her child (toddler) Magnian. She had implored him, saying she could not rest until she had learned the specifics and as she believed, try making even a doomed effort to alter the future's bleak outcome.    

As it was within his means to help her, she asked that he borrow the Prince Herleif’s latest astrological work and show them to her. Then by applying her own knowledge in the field she could examine the findings herself. The scrolls would be returned afterwards, and no one would be the wiser.    

It seemed such a harmless request, and the alternative, her temper tantrums, and her wrath (fiery fury), would have been far more of a nuisance. Inwardly he had been amused by her naivety and had understood well her natural averting (avoidance), of having any direct dealings with Crown Prince. Besides, who could blame her for not wanting to feel obligated to one such as Herleif? Despite the outward congenial exchanges and though close in age,   

Worren suspected that those two had been in truth, anything but adversaries. In fact, Worren Youkup could not remember there ever been an issue they did not clash over except this prophecy. Feeling that the prince Herleif was quite unreasonable nuisance to begin with, for being so miserly (niggardly) with his findings, wanting always to extricate most recompense from each result, he had seen no reason he should not comply with her wishes. Who would have thought that innocuous act he had been persuaded to do, would land him in such serious predicament.  

All this trouble had germinated from the one harmless, yet evil kernel that had been planted, none the less, with his consent.

08- WORREN YOUKUP (13)JP

 

Worren Youkup looked down, re-examining the akin (copy, duplicate) document, chewing his lower lip as he admonished himself for not standing firm in his long-time resolve of noninterference. He should never ever have consented to the Lady's request. Oh, but she had been so wily (canny) with her persuasion. She had made him feel so special, entreating him so humbly while same time artfully buttressing (building up) and stroking his ego. It had simply melted his heart when she had looked up to him with those beseeching eyes with flickering (fluttering) eyelashes, appearing oh so vulnerable, so very helpless.    

“Those two are, as the saying goes, cut from the same cloth.” Worren Youkup grumbled under his breath and nodded. With hindsight now, he marvelled at the proficiency in the obviously kept up sham which had masked the actual truth. Those two were and always had been serious competitors. Worren Youkup felt foolish for not having realized till now, the full measure of it.  

“She was far from helpless doddering fool! The more is the pity that you had not figured her out beforehand. Anyone looking at the way she behaved would have reckoned she was up to no good.”    

Unexpectedly once more, her angelic face floated before his mind's eye and part of him, even now, looked for ways to absolve her from all blame. “She had not, likely, planned it at all, only when the circumstances presented themselves that she had astutely seized the opportunity (chance). Who could blame her.”  But the damning, irrefutable evidence rushed forward again to trouble his heart and force him to face the dreaded humiliating truth, that he was indubitably, used!   

Worren Youkup shuddered, imagining the far worse repercussions that could have happened with such an unpredictable person as Zakhertan Yozdek as it was things still looked pretty grim. Egil Viggoaries had been put on the case and given only three days starting at dawn to arrest the culprits and report back. Royal Tutor feared for the countless innocents that would suffer under his ruthless investigation.

“What to do? What to do?”  

 

(END OF SECTION 8)

 

LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC – THE RENEGADE IMMORTAL – SECTION 12

 Nevetsecnuac cursed his tardiness under his breath.  He had arrived too late to ascertain the purpose of this meeting.  Now he was as much in the dark as ever.

Just then however, at a signal from Zaur Stugr, a side door opened, and a cloaked figure emerged from it.  He walked up to the dais, bowed low, and then quickly removed his hood to expose his face.  When he spoke the unmistakable tone of the voice and the familiar accent gave Nevetsecnuac quite a start, for the man was most definitely Deizvor; one of the two armed sentinels, (under the command of Egil Viggoaries,) guarding the Cyprecox Pass, at the time Nevetsecnuac had fallen into the pit and got the key.

01-DEIZVOR (KOZUR MEMBER)

But why be surprised, Nevetsecnuac musing, shrugged.  In this duplicitous ethos (culture), this sort of milieu (situation) -that any one group of conspirators would be conspiring with the other-was to be expected.   He was nonetheless tad annoyed, as he now passionately believed that the pseudo agreeable Minister of Ceremony Zaur Stugr, a highly respected official of the P.M. Lamont Gudaren’s, was in fact a hypocritical, shrewd (crafty) instigator, who all along had colluded with the Dark Eunuch Egil Viggoaries to undermine the P.M.

Nevetsecnuac was just then struck by the sudden, rapid change in Zaur's demeanor as the latter had listened on to Deizvor’s report; furthermore, the articulated contents must have been grave enough, for it had warranted Zaur's rapt attention. Unfortunately, Deizvor’s lowered tone made the rest of his exclamations inaudible from Nevetsecnuac's perched high point.  He could only just barely make out the ending, "both of them are now in custody, sir.  We shall not be hearing from Lieutenant Yennic again."

Could he be the same Lieutenant Yennic, who had been so familiar with the bearded Commander Zhadol?  Nevetsecnuac, though he already knew the answer, inwardly queried. His brow subsequently furrowed, recalling the time in not-too-distant past, when he’d accidentally chanced on the two at the Cyprecox Pass and listening in, learned that Commander Zhadol was in fact one of the twelve members of Egil Viggoaries’s Inner Circle of the Black Molochs. Nevetsecnuac sideways wondered as he edged closer to catch the rest, if Zaur Stugr had known all along of the lieutenant Yennic’s perfidious liaison with the Commander Zhadol. He did not have to wait long however, as the answer was revealed in Zaur Stugr’s contrite (somewhat penitent) response:

"Too bad; he was a good recruit with real potential.  Still, it is most fortunate that, during this probation period, we had kept him at arm’s length." 

Zaur subsequently fell silent for a spell, musing, and then shook his head.  This time it had been a close call; still the lengthy and rigorously monitored test (probation) period for neophytes had once more proven invaluable. 

As it were, for the last seven years Zaur had implemented a new recruiting policy, which stated that anyone, whose association numbered less than five years, received their instructions, and made their reports to an anonymous third party until they were fully initiated into the Kozur Brotherhood. The law (of brotherhood) stipulated that if before this time, any greenhorns (novices) discovered the identity of their contact, or failed to maintain an impeccable record, their life would immediately be terminated (forfeited).  In this way, when the unthinkable happened, as in this case with Lieutenant Yennic, there would be no direct link up to the Kozurs. In the worst-case scenario where the limited, ersatz (bogus) connection would be discovered, as it had been designed to do- which was to run directly through the Prime Minister's offices, the so-called link being unsubstantiated, would lead to dead end, as well, throw any would-be investigators hopelessly off track.

Suddenly Zaur Stugr impatiently halted Deizvor' report and (acting on a hunch,) signaled for the spy to follow him into an adjacent room. 

Nevetsecnuac deducing the position of their destination sought a different vantage point; finding a small oval window typical of this style of architecture just under another set of eaves, with some effort silently forced it open a crack and then, proceeded to eavesdrop on them.

"Sir, I spotted these two quite by accident, on the outskirts of Yesunban in one of the rarely frequented alleys, after I had just concluded my report to Zihoxy Ner." Deizvor, standing stiffly beside the desk behind which Zaur was now comfortably seated in a plush chair, in a serious tone presently recounted.  He coughed slightly for the dramatic effect and then, added: "Intrigued by their odd behavior, I covertly dogged them for some time till they’d reached their presumed destination, which happened to be an old, abandoned granary on Inklimer Street. They snuck into the back alley and, forced entry into premise after removing some rotten boards.  I pursued them to inside as soon as the coast was clear and quickly spotted them in the corner, partially hidden behind some crates, gabbing in some foreign (alien tongue) language.  As luck would have it, they then switched into an ancient dialect of Korionese and, having a passing familiarity with that, I was able to make some sense of what was being said."

Zaur Stugr did not need to be reminded of Deizvor’ skill in numerous, diverse vernaculars, or his perfect memory, “Of course", he nodded impatiently, "now I want you to relay everything exactly as you heard it, word for word, omitting not even the most insignificant grunt.  Leave nothing unreported, understand?"

02- DEISVOR  (KOZUR) REPORTING

Deizvor nodded briskly and continued, "One of them was called Hugen and his companion was addressed as Uyuk.  The conversation (exchange) started innocuously enough when the one called Hugen touched the other's shoulder and asked, "But hey, a while back there when the night sentry caught us unawares and demanded our identities, you gave a different name than that you were instructed to give.  Why did you call yourself Kundrick Dufo?  Where on earth did that name come from?"

"The one called Uyuk abruptly looked right past Hugen; after spell of brooding over a seeming deep resentment he, then threw his head back and laughed bitterly, "It was a joke? Yes, it was a joke, a cruel joke!"  Brief time later however, he turned to affix his harsh gaze back on Hugen; Uyuk’s face now shone with dark malice as he absently caressed the ugly scar on his left cheek and snarled: "The executioner was just about to swing his ax when…" He abruptly held his tongue and shook his head.  "Fortunately, I was too young ..." Uyuk, after a brief hesitation, grunted; he followed it with some derisive mumble, which unfortunately was audible only to him."

Deizvor caught by the momentum of his recollections, presently took to re-enacting the spontaneous dialogue, complete with gestures. "A joke…" Hugen snapped back, obviously not having caught the rest of Uyuk's meanderings.

"Yes", Uyuk reverted to his defiant stare, "A joke."

"In a pig's eye," Hugen scoffed disdainfully then shook his threatening index finger in the other's face while he growled, "I don't particularly care to know the motive, Uyuk, but you can't go on changing the procedure on the spur per your whim.  Understand!”

“I'm in charge here."  Hugen shrugged and went over to seat himself on a broken crate.  "What if he'd asked to see your papers?  Your carelessness could have jeopardized our mission!"

Hugen’s brow furrowing crossly, he now barked at Uyuk, "I warn you; I'll have no more of your shenanigans (tomfoolery).  You hear?  This is a serious business…It’s bad enough that ugly scar of yours attracts far too much unwarranted attention."  Despite the harsh words his tone towards the end of his say had grown more conciliatory, even affectionate.

"Yeah", Uyuk bitterly retorted, "but it also makes us inconspicuous in the slums where it counts most.  Isn't that the reason why, they paired us off on this mission to begin with?  You do well in posh circles and with other such upstanding citizens whereas I blend in better with the maimed dissidents of the gutters, where most of our contacts are made.  If you ask me, I'm the indispensable one here."

As Deizvor related this interchange word for word, Nevetsecnuac had noted the augmented intensity (increased tension) in the taut muscles of Zaur Stugr's face ever since the name “Kundrick Dufo” had been mentioned. 

Nevetsecnuac's brows knitted as he searched his memory:  Kundrick…. Kundrick Dufo... Hmm…. where had he heard that name before?  Suddenly certain facts rushed to his mind:  Why of course, wasn't he the son of Sorgun Dufo, favorite tutor of Lord Asger Thuxur Marrog Zhon and furthermore, the very name that Heng Erling had chosen in his fabrication to give to the Commander-in-Chief of the fictitious insurgents?  Could it be a mere coincidence, or much more than that, Heng picked this name to give credence to his lie?  Was Kundrick Dufo really a conspirator, if he still existed, at all?  Even more interesting, how did a foreign spy get a hold of that name, and just where does Zaur Stugr fit in all of this?  Why should he be so clearly perturbed by the very mention of that person?  What immense (vast) significance did that name “Kundrick Dufo” held?

Nevetsecnuac's mind had further become inundated by an influx of queries as he studied more astutely now, Zaur Stugr’s present stone countenance.  He noted Zaur's sustained deliberate attempts to mask a raging inner conflict as he, instructed Deizvor to investigate the purpose (reason) for which Kundrick Dufo had been mentioned by the spy Uyuk.  The mounting complexity of his host's character further intrigued and same time exhilarated Nevetsecnuac.

Zaur Stugr had been utterly successful meanwhile, in concealing his range of emotions from Deizvor; while on the outset he pretended to be listening impassively to the laboriously detailed account, Zaur Stugr privately in fact had been mulling over, Nevetsecnuac’s akin (similar, alike) queries and concerns.  

Uyuk’s use of his (Zaur’s) true name, Kundrick Dufo…Could it be pure coincidence…  Hardly!  Zaur Stugr firmly refused that notion. Then out of the blue when the spy’s sentence: “A cruel joke,” also came to mind, the truth at that juncture became absolutely apparent.

03- UYUK  (1)JP

So, the boy Enkaz had survived the terrible ordeal (punishment) after all!  With such bad blood coursing through his veins, was it any wonder he had turned to espionage?  Now he had become a traitor to Wenjenkun, working for the destruction of the country that, in his distorted perception had forsaken him, which happened to be precisely the time when, at the tender age of three, he’d been forced into exile.  The burn on the left cheek that’d later turned into an ugly scar, where once Enkaz Dufo, son of Minakoz Dufo had been tattooed as part of his punishment, was the very proof (evidence) which validated this viewpoint?

Then again, all this could well have been a bizarre coincidence. Zaur Stugr in desperate attempt to allay his worse fears, musing, looked away.  And first and foremost, more comprehensive, and irrefutable evidence (proof) must be attained (secured).  Having decided thus, Zaur once again directed his full attention back to Deizvor.

"As anticipated, it was not long before their contact appeared on the scene.  He was an exceptionally tall man and sturdily built but the cloak and mask he wore for concealment and the fact that he spoke but sparingly, made identifying him difficult.  From the way he moved however, I don't know just how to put this, but there was something rather familiar about his gestures."  Deizvor mumbled the last part as he gesticulated (physically demonstrated) the movements.

When Zaur Stugr knitted his brows, frowning in displeasure, a flustered Deizvor strove even harder, to identify the masked, tall, robust spy, as if his very life depended on it.  After a painful pause however, he had to confess, "Unfortunately, sir, it still eludes (escapes) me."

"Never mind, it will come to you sooner or later." Zaur cut him off.  "Continue with the events themselves."  In truth, the contact's impersonated (imitated) gestures, did evoke (conjured up) in Zaur’s mind a certain familiarity also, but just like Deizvor, he too, could not rightly place it.

"Anyhow", Deizvor politely coughed (covering his mouth with his hand) to clear his suddenly dry throat, "I eased myself closer to hear their conversation with perfect clarity only to have the contact switch, as if by innate caveat (instinctive caution), into that other, indecipherable dialect the two spies first used."

"Are you sure your presence had not been detected?  Could it be that they were (actually) feeding you misinformation?"  There was a solid note of concern in Zaur's stern voice.

Nevetsecnuac perceived just then a slight ripple of shudder that run through Deizvor as he, very much disconcerted, presently lowered his head to pause in thought.  After a brief spell, he shook his head and swallowing hard, answered: "No, there was no such indication.  Of that I am most definitely certain."

 

(END OF SECTION 12)