THE ASSASSINS - SECTION 3

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE ASSASSINS- SECTION 3

Brandt   had never seen Duan use archery, yet in subsequent days, he’d witnessed the other using spare material to painstakingly fashion himself a mighty fine bow and a quiver of arrows. 

Brandt ’s curiosity and poised questions were finally answered when at dusk one day, Duan, still seated at his mount took aim at the sky and let loose the single arrow.  Brandt   could not even see the target or what it slew (shot, slain, felled). 

“So, he also excels in archery...Hmmm” Brandt   made a mental note of this and spurred his horse to catch up with Duan’s. 

Arriving at the spot tad later, Brandt   saw Duan pick up the felled falcon and retract a piece of note attached to his leg. No amount of pestering loosened Duan’s tongue however, nor did he let Brandt   see the note. He only smirked satisfactorily and informed Brandt   a short time later of the slight change in their direction.

Passing through a grueling and treacherous stretch, now at more level ground, Brandt   likewise whipped his horse into a full gallop.  The result of three full days and nights of riding at lightning   speed eventually brought them to a crossroads.

 Duan stretched his neck this way and that, holding his gaze in each direction at length and then charged resolutely westward. As Brandt   followed in silence, he queried how Duan had arrived at (attained) that conclusion with such obvious certainty.  He racked his brains to comprehend the existing clues or logic that had so mysteriously averted him.  Having reached the end of his patience with Duan's arrogance however, he cared not to place himself in the position of subservience and voiced no such inquiry.  But, once more an insidious smile related Duan’s surmised notion of what was weighing on Brandt’s mind.

 Subsequent days their path cut across still more difficult terrain; before long the deep canyon, the surrounding topography had taken on a rather sinister turn. At one point, as they passed through a particularly deep gorge, Duan’s unexpectedly alert demeanor alarmed Brandt. 

Duan now strung tighter than a bow, with his very being exuding such an air of foreboding, his intense gaze perpetually swept the looming cliffs.  Brandt’s inward queries were promptly answered however, when on several instances on Duan’s signal and nimble action, man and mount barely escaped that certain catastrophe of being buried alive, when massive amounts of dislodged rocks suddenly cascaded down on them. 

Long after, when they seemingly reached a safer passage, Duan had kept up with his vigil and pressed them hard to advance with that speed to cover still great distance.

“This isn’t your typical joyride.” He’d scoffed at Brandt’s silent protests and despite Brandt’s obvious exhaustion, refused least notion of pitching camp.  On this continuous trek they, while still in the saddle ingested some of their rather unpalatable, scant dried rations and rarely out of consideration for their mounts, had a brief repose in a crevice of sorts in this desolate (bleak) region where nothing stirred, with Duan upholding his vigilance against that phantom enemy’s assault.

Brandt   was becoming more incensed (exasperated) with each leg of the journey suspecting Duan with his spiteful nature to be conceiving (inventing) this unwarranted trouble, to further torment him, when suddenly they were under attack. 

Once the unnatural dust storm settled, all at once they’d found themselves surrounded by thirty well-armed, formidable riders completely covered in black garb, with only slits that made their eyes visible.  Brandt   had scant time to unsheathe his sword when the awesome, agile force spontaneously and in all directions, in a brilliant, lightening   maneuver, launched their murderous offensives (assault). 

Brandt   had always been quite adept at fighting but in this instance, he’d soon found himself outmatched in both skill and ability. Or had he?  For reasons known only to him, Brandt   held back and allowed Duan to demonstrate the true extent of his prowess. 

Rising to this challenge Duan with his invincible skill, quickly turned the tide in his favor. In a blinking of an eye, all assailants were vanquished, and men and mounts lay dead maimed and torn in bloody heaps.

The fortnight’s subsequent nocturnal assaults were even more lethal. Just as swiftly however, Duan bested them all; then in small hours, gathering the wounded and piling those atop the heap of torn, bloody corpses, he set them all alight. Making himself comfortable on a large flat bolder, he then watched this funeral pyre with intense perverse delight, occasionally letting out a boisterous laugh as if entertaining a private joke.

The rising smell made Brandt   retch and vomit till he was expanded from the exertion; maddeningly, this too compounded Duan’s wicked fun.

After the fourth and fifth major, deadly skirmishes, Brandt   had gained the sudden intense fear of Duan, as if just grasping the true measure of this Demon warrior’s proficiency.  Especially since all their previous adventures and exchanges had paled in comparison to these feats.  Despite his sham indifference however, the swift, shocking intensity and the near misses of the final mortal combat unequivocally rattled Brandt   to the core. Consequently, Duan was more intolerable, as he relentlessly mocked Brandt   with his contemptuous words, looks and gestures, till eventually he got tired of it. 

A few weeks later, another falcon was felled by Duan, then another sometime after that. In each instance a note was retrieved from the leg of the predatory bird, and again, Duan refused to disclose the contents to Brandt.  Infuriatingly still, any hope of a peek (stealing a look) was promptly eliminated when Duan routinely fed the contents to the hungry flames of the night’s makeshift campfire.

Then one evening   as they were about to fall asleep, “You can rest easy now; I doubt there’ll be any more messages.”  With his back to Brandt, he’d grumbled his sardonic, curt response to other’s evermore persistent inward queries.

In the subsequent month, the ongoing arduous trek had eventually led the two to another set of foothills beyond which lay a range of white capped mountains.  Descending then ascending the endless precipitous peaks and depths, they skirted ravines, gullies or cliffs, then negotiated inclines to eventually arrive at the remotest, darkest and most sinister of forests where ancient trees entirely blocked out the sky turning   night into day.

 In this twilight atmosphere they followed paths that no man before them had dared to tread.  All the while the immeasurable peril dogged their every step. Dangers abound from above and below, ahead and beyond, their mettle was tested, at times without cessation for weeks on end.  With their innate competence and stubborn resolve, they overcame each one of these hair-raising episodes and dealt effectively with the other peril from voracious, predatory beasts.

Occasionally their advance would be hindered by violent storms that erupted quite suddenly yet lasted for days.  During such times they attained shelter in nearby caves, crevices or caverns after contesting for space with the prior occupants (original inhabitants).

As they climbed (ascended) to still higher altitudes, with each leg of the journey the atmospheric temperatures became more hazardous.  With the overhead sky perpetually riddled with dark, ominous clouds that hung ponderously overhead, they trod uneasily over the precarious ground that oftentimes would be littered with intermittent pits blanketed with patches of ice or snow of varying degrees smoothing over the imperfections.

 All was not doom and gloom however, and on scant clear days, with the surrounding area and tall trees cloaked in exhilarating, blinding white, it admittedly transformed the glistening   environs into a mythological, fabled place of great beauty. The brilliance of light was so intense in fact that they advanced through this fabulous ice hinterland with only partially covered eyes, seeing only through slits.

The makeshift attire from pelts obtained from the hunted predatory beasts kept the core of their body warm. Meanwhile, (in addition to melted ice,) they drunk the blood of the game for satiating (quenching) thirst, and for sustenance, never lacking for food, Brandt   in time even grew accustomed to chomping on raw meat, or for variety, nibbled on some of the amassed, dried roots. When hiking over a particularly perilous icy terrain, man and beast (steeds) wore underfoot an ingenious contraption that Duan had appropriately devised to prevent slipping and sliding or worse, falling through the cracks/ pits in the snow and being buried alive.  Moreover, to ensure further stability, they made good use of ropes and iron pegs when their ascending path led them to tapered goat-trails hugging the sheer inclines. 

To Duan’s surprise, Brandt   had born all these hardships stoically, except for altitude sickness that is, that oftentimes plagued Brandt   when crossing a precarious, natural viaduct (overpass) over gargantuan (vast) debts or other such risky terrain with equally dizzying gradient (incline) to one side. 

On such instances Brandt   would have gladly traded places with their blindfolded mounts, to be spared the apprehension and the dire imaginings; especially since his discomfort without fail was augmented by Duan’s derisive, contemptuous remarks or his silent cold regard. 

Day after day, as though pulled by a magnet, they pushed (trudged) on relentlessly and unfailingly at top speed, superseding (overriding) countless dangers and hardships, Brandt   doing his best to keep up with Duan. 

Though they’d done what was humanly impossible and covered such a great distance in that short time, far from being pleased, at one point Duan had appeared in fact, quite irritable and somewhat dismayed.  Then one day, leaving Brandt   at a makeshift camp in an abandoned cave, Duan without so much as a word had set off alone on foot in search of a phantom path. He must have ventured far, for he’d remained hidden from sight (view) awfully long period.

 Brandt   left to fend for himself, first had prudently solidified his defenses, kept the fires going and guarded the steeds and their reserves best as he could, from the marauding, (prowling) ravenous beasts. By the fourth or fifth day, however, Brandt   had begun to get seriously peeved, for having been treated same as a groom when, late one afternoon, Duan quite unexpectedly had reappeared.  Without so much as a grunt, he plumped himself by the fire, partook of some of the skewered meat, then reclining   passed out in sound sleep. When at just before dawn he promptly awoke, he spared no effort to explain; only his words tersely directed Brandt   to follow him.

Even before the first rays of light reached the earth, Duan and Brandt   taking the lead, steered their reluctant mounts further into the densest part of the pine forest.  Previous night’s storm (blizzard) had dumped abundant snow in the vicinity forcing them to now advance with immense difficulty through the copiously covered ground and shrubbery.

They rode whenever possible, but oftentimes dismounting, they dug their way through waist deep rough patches. Their several days’ laborious advance eventually came to an abrupt halt one afternoon just before dusk, when they suddenly faced, what seemed to Brandt, a rising cliff. He watched with skepticism as Duan, veering around a huge boulder quickly alighted. A pointed look quickly brought Brandt   to his side. Stalwart duo exerting some effort in next to no time cleared a fallen tree and similar debris, pushed aside tall, seemingly impenetrable ice capped dense shrubbery to uncover an inconceivable niche that turned out to be an entrance to a pitch-dark subterranean tunnel that passed through to the other side of the mountain.

Brandt’s elation was short lived however, for the upcoming perilous journey was far more harrowing than the culminating previous encounters.  Right at the beginning   Duan had counseled him on the necessity of maintaining absolute silence.

The horses’ eyes covered, and mouths muzzled, with Duan in the lead they’d steadfastly advanced in darkness, connected by a rope, Duan periodically (now and again) slashing the air with his blade to dispatch the persistent dangers. 

They must have trudged incessantly for days in that grueling, subterranean labyrinth, for every tendon, every fabric of Brandt’s body throbbed with an unbearable ache.  After what it seemed to Brandt an eternity, they’d eventually emerged from this nightmarish tunnel.  Brandt   was so overjoyed at having survived this terrible ordeal that, braving Duan’s derision, he’d simply throw himself onto the ground and hugged it.

The rest of the journey, though still grueling, by comparison had passed far easier.

 

                                                                      ~

 

(END OF SECTION 3)

THE ASSASSINS - SECTION 2

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC

THE ASSASSINS - SECTION 2

Brandt, returning   to his quarters in exalted spirits a brief time later, was surprised to find Duan seated on the bed fully clothed, carefully wiping his blade clean.  When Brandt   advanced towards him to tell of his findings, something in Duan's demeanor told him that, the other (Duan) already knew. Yet, how could he?

Refusing to believe what his brain was telling him; Brandt   parted his lips to speak. Instantly the words froze on his tongue however, when Duan briefly stayed his hand and ejected coldly, "You were careless to have spared them."

DUAN

"What? Have you, but how?” Brandt   asked in bewilderment, now noting the blood-soaked rag in Duan's hand.

Duan snorted in disgust and went on with his cleaning.

Brandt   meanwhile curtailing the feeling of derision and dread that had suddenly overtaken him, walked over to the dressing table that divided the two beds. From a jar he poured out some water into a cup and took a swig to quench his sudden thirst.

 Then with a disdainful air, going over, he sat at the edge of his bed, inwardly seething with rage and, cogitating, questioning the air on how long Duan had been at the scene. Concealed by the night’s shadows, he had witnessed it all, passing judgment on him with those condescending eyes or being entertained by his no doubt deemed soft-hearted approach and incompetence. Then the moment his (Brandt’s) back was turned, the cold-blooded assassin had, without thought to repercussions, struck again, leaving a bloody trail in his wake.

He threw a cursory glance at Duan; the latter was lost in a world of his own. It was as if Brandt   did not exist at all. He only shared his space; Brandt   was a mere trifle, an insignificant bug, a pest to be tolerated.

For how long, that remained to be seen.

Still, Brandt knew by instinct, that Duan would not strike, not till the task was completed. Pending that time, Brandt was resolved to endure all the scorn and mockery and allow Duan to bask in his superiority.

 

After a while when the task (of cleaning) was complete Duan, putting his sword away, reclined with his head on the pillow and closed his eyes in respite, leaving Brandt   still seated at the edge of the bed with countless unanswered questions.

Duan’s mind, currently, briefly took stock of the evening’s activities, before succumbing to sleep:

 “As far back as he could recall he had always possessed a most remarkably retentive memory. On this night, his initial (preliminary) probe within the restricted area of Sacristy, beyond Scroll- rooms and so-called libraries, had been a wasted effort. But then his subsequent, successful breach of the impenetrable vault at the Abbot Boqast Tizanzenn’s private residence had been, rather, fruitful.”

Duan shifted his body slightly as he tallied up the abundant pertinent information, far more than anticipated, at present cramming his brain. “It was all laid bare in those secreted scrolls- meticulously chronicled lists and countless subversive activities, courtesy of the Abbot, undoubtedly registered for posterity, in that laughable cryptic form.”

“A most definite noose around their necks; but why log such deleterious proof?”

With a wry grin he shook his head. “Men’s arrogance has always been their undoing. Admittedly, some of the past conspiracies had been extraordinary, bordering on genius, superb feats that had furthered their cause.  The accounts of scheduled drops, the elaborate network of men, each knowing only so much, going only so far, all carefully designed to ensure anonymity. That is why this brilliant organization, the perfect scheme to sustain the Traitor and the other, had thus far eluded for over twenty years or so, all the expanded efforts of the emperor, the local governments, secret agents and countless assassins and more.”

A contemptible, sinister smile briefly brushed his lips. “This den of loyalists will duly be extinguished when first the other more important matter is settled.” He snorted.

“He was close, he could sense it.”

In truth he had been looking forward to the impending mortal combat with the infamous Lord. 

That at least had a certain promise of thrill, a feat that had been so hard to attain lately as no other quite measured up to his competence (martial aptitude). He, nevertheless, quickly stifled his perverse ardor.

 “At present he had left things at the Abbot Boqast Tizanzenn’s residence and private compound just as they were, (seemingly) untouched. Nothing will warn them of the violation.”

Duan’s thoughts reverting to Brandt, for a brief spell he inwardly wondered “how much longer he would have to nursemaid this utter fool, who almost foiled his plans. Still, it was a minor inconvenience, nothing serious to be reckoned with; in fact, it served his purpose well.”

Duan inwardly scowled, as he ruminated (cogitated) on how he had disposed of the dismembered bodies in the most ingenious places; these parts would not be discovered till long after their departure of this abominable den of traitors.

 A fleeting baleful leer registered (materialized) on his hard face, as he envisioned the certain future bedlam and the ruffling of those preen feathers of the Abbot Boqast Tizanzenn’s.

“But that too would fall well within his plans. When a certain message of warning is dispatched by means of falcon or such, he would be at the ready then to intercept and to take full account of the direction. It would lead him directly to his prey, far quicker still. “

Already bored by the unvaried nature of things and their predictable outcome, Duan was about to drift into blissful sleep, when "Brother, should we not be taking our leave now?” Brandt’s cantankerous query violated the quiet of the room.

Receiving no response, Brandt   swallowed his rage and frustration, went over, and snuffed out the lamp, then still fully dressed noisily threw his body onto the bed. Though he too closed his eyes, sleep averted him and even after several hours of turning, tossing, and trying to make sense to himself his aggravation refused to diminish.

 In pitch darkness where imagined silhouettes danced (bopped) in the air, Brandt   again asked a question, "Brother, where did you dump the bodies?"  But gallingly, the eerie silence persisted.

Matching his inner mood, the room’s stifling air grew to be unbearably more confining, yet despite his discomfort, Brandt   refused to divest himself of his clothes and lay on the bed as is for the rest of the night, nursing a grievance, fuming and trying to anticipate Duan's next move.

 He did not know how, but he must have fallen asleep for, just before dawn he was violently shaken awake by Duan, who then rudely informed him that they were about to take their leave.

Brandt   sprang to his feet at once and hastily began gathering his baggage. Duan had already headed out the door. "Wait up, brother,” Brandt   had scant time to shout, before he too following suit, darted out the door after Duan.

Along the way curious thoughts plagued Brandt’s mind and, soon after, suspicious ones supplanted it (took root). “Why did Duan even bother to wake me up? Why had he not taken his leave, abandoning me to answer for the consequences of his vile deed, unless he has further use for me? But once the task is completed and I have become expandable, what then? Ha, that is what he thinks!”

Brandt   scoffed angrily, grinding his teeth. “We will see who'll snuff out whom in the end!”

Brandt   had hastened so much to catch up with Duan that pearls of perspiration now gathered on his brow despite the frigid morning air.  The stable hands were disgruntled at being aroused so early from their sleep, since the first rays of light had not yet reached the earth, but they dared not voice their discontent to Duan and wiping the sleep from their eyes, complied with Duan’s wishes, grumbling under their breath as they did.

Brief time later, Brandt   and Duan were seen bidding the monks a curt farewell, then holding the bridles of their horses, inaudibly (noiselessly) exiting the guest compounds and the main area. 

They passed through the just opened gates, under watchful eyes of sentry that curiously enough did not venture to question or hinder their clearly impetuous departure. Because the winding path leading from the gate was too steep to negotiate on horseback, they descended the slopes on foot, silent and self-absorbed, engulfed by that tense, eerie (somber) atmosphere, gradually diminishing in size till they were nothing more than specks in that hostile region.

Once the Temple was completely out of sight Brandt, unable to contain his curiosity (prying), yet again inquired after the fate of the two unfortunate monks.  Even then he had to ask Duan thrice before the latter finally consented to give his response.

Brandt’s blood curdled as he listened to the gory details which Duan now callously embellished. Brandt   could not conceal his involuntary shudder, ascertained now more than ever that he was riding alongside (beside) a monster, a creature devoid of (least moral conscience or conduct,) any mercy or remorse who had dared do such vile things to men of the cloth.

The resulting end was the drawn-out boisterous laughter from Duan which pierced Brandt’s ears and further grated his nerves. Brandt   sullenly looked away and bit hard on his upper lip to constrain his bursting fury so as not to compound latter’s perverse satisfaction.

                                                                                    ~

 

Meanwhile back at the Monastery, Abbot Boqast Tizanzenn had been given the full report pertaining to Brandt Dustin and Duan’s last night’s activities and their hasty, early departure.

MONK KEIR

Monk Keir was irked at having to give his report of failure. Especially since he could not rightly say how he had lost the surveillance on Duan. One moment he was there, the next instant he had disappeared from plain sight. Keir had been assigned to this task because of his proficiency (special expertise), yet he’d failed and failed miserably.  Reading scant clues, he had searched high and low, but Duan’s trace could not be had anywhere; then suddenly after an appreciable amount of time just as mysteriously, Duan had appeared back in his quarters. There was no accounting for his activities, save for that bloody sword that did not bode well at all.

Shingue had done better with his assignment and reported Brandt’s exchange with the monks Fayet and Muro in detail.

After their dismissal, Abbot Boqast Tizanzenn with his hands clasped behind his back, paced the length of the room to and from in complete silence, before sitting himself down with an apparent grave heart.

His trusted assistant Prior Skceno waited with due patience for Boqast Tizanzenn to speak. His own reports were just as grim, and he hated adding to his Eminence’s troubles.

“True, Muro’s cover had been blown right from the start, but his life was spared, and so did not fall prey to some accident of sorts, as it served them well to use Muro as counterintelligence without his knowing. They had allowed Muro to make certain observations and send on his reports, on regular basis (intervals) to Capital; only midway these were interrupted and scrutinized, revised then altered to appear significant yet altogether harmless intelligence to their cause.”

“They had perfected the forging of his handwriting so well that Muro himself would not be the wiser if he were ever to be confronted by (or asked to give account for) these. He was also secretly permitted to pursue his passion for inebriation as it kept him out of trouble. Lately, however, he had been more persistent with his espionage, undercover work, call it a hunch, and decidedly more determined to expose suspected proscribed activities within the monastery.  Yet after this length of time, he could not be dismissed or openly discarded without raising undue suspicion from the Department of Internal Security. Now this problem was resolved for them.” He winced when the newly (brief time ago) uncovered gruesome images intruded into his brain and he quickly pushed it aside.

“The vile assassin Duan had to have been dispatched from the Capital also, but he would be dealt with, long before he gained the chance to boast of his wicked (debauched) accomplishments.” Again, it took serious mental constraint to dissipate those disturbing images and focus his attention instead, on the matter at hand.

“The concealment must be precise and absolute.”  Skceno nodded resolutely, pursing his lips.  “Then in a few months’ time, long after the funeral and scattering of ashes, when in an annual report to the Census bureau, the deaths of Fayet and Muro are disclosed to the authorities, in preparation for the sure to be subtle inquiry, the carefully fabricated versions of their sudden demise would have to be already inserted into their personnel records, something believable and mundane, such as a fatal accident (result of a rock/mud slide) or an illness.”

PRIOR SKCENO

Skceno would not rule out the possibility of an insect bite or tainted medicinal concoction. He thoughtfully looked away. “The latter would be a more apt cause, as Muro always dabbled in these arts.”

“Subsequently, an ideal replacement would be sent from the Capital; an excellent candidate amidst the pious few that aspired to join this monastery. He must be on the lookout for that also. For the time being, he absently nodded. I shall omit rather, postpone the horrid, grisly aspects of their slaughter (murder) and instead broach the subject in a more equable light to his Holiness (Grace).”

Skceno’s intent was temporarily stymied however, by Boqast Tizanzenn’s sudden, concerned exclamation. “I cannot rightly put it,” he begun, “for there is no specific proof, no clear indication, least sign (mark) of tampering of the vault, yet I am of the opinion, my personal records have been somewhat violated, examined (or skimmed) by an unsanctioned, unscrupulous being!”

“But how can that be, Your Eminence, even I, your most trusted advisor and assistant, don’t know of the whereabouts or combination of such?”  With certain tact, he had abstained from outwardly mentioning the word vault.

“Yet there had been an intrusion, I’m certain of it!” Abbot Boqast Tizanzenn looked grave, almost angry.

“And it’s not hard to guess who?” He fell silent, pondering on his next course of action.

“Judging by the intelligence they had gathered; he could anticipate the target of the assassins’ dogged pursuit. As failsafe, he could covertly send men after them, but even before this, he must send word, to warn Stark of this imminent peril. Hmmmmm?”

 

                                                                 ~

 

(END OF SECTION 2)