LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC- THE STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 17

Traveling in the opposite direction and towards Channing, Nevetsecnuac found himself constrained to adapt to his inferior mount and the moderate life of a scholar.  At odds with his reasoning mind, however, was his impatient heart which longed constantly for his spirited stallion Fiery Comet, riding like the wind and covering great distances in a single day's gallop.  Finding his slow journey tedious and rather tiresome, his thoughts often sailed into a distant future or reverted back to those loved ones he had left in the mountain cabin.  By speculating on the exciting life experiences of the identical twins, growing up in the mountains under the careful supervision of Lord Asger and his beloved wife, he found some joy and solace in his travails.

01- NEVETS RIDING  IN THE RAIN 

 For three consecutive days it had rained incessantly; though no food had passed his lips, he had been soaked to the skin in the absence of shelter, and he had gotten little or no sleep, Nevetsecnuac remained quite inured (accustomed, acclimatized) to the discomforts.  His only concern presently, however, was for his mount (horse), whose hooves trod laboriously through the muddy rivulets, fearful lest the beast fall ill.

 A faint smile brushed his lips when the deluge finally began to taper off and, a short time later, altogether ceased but the elusive sun, refusing to bless them with its light, delineated the drenched area in a dismal miasma.  The musty smell of mildew rising from the fall's decaying debris littering the grounds spread over the lone rider and his horse like a spider's sticky web, oppressing, choking them in its silky strings.

"We'll soon be out of this.", soothingly Nevetsecnuac patted the horse's main, urging the animal to persevere, but the mounting storm clouds piling up even more thickly atop that glum, gray, lugubrious sky, countered the prince's hopeful prediction.  As if to bring the horse's nerves to extreme tautness, as if to surmount his despair, to increase his trying ordeal, demented winds suddenly arose to pierce both man and beast to the bone.

The next instant luminous veins slashed the sky, and in their wake the deafening thunder tore open the air, eradicating any hope of reprieve.

Pattering raindrops, picking up momentum as they fell, now began pounding, drumming on Nevetsecnuac's head, shoulders and back.  His already drenched garments, not having had the chance to dry in that brief spell of calm, clung uncomfortably to him once more.  Distractedly Nevetsecnuac gazed at the beaded strings of rain decorating the naked branches and the bobbing pearls on the rivulets ahead that had not yet been tainted by the horse's hooves.

A glimmer of hope suddenly sprung up in his heart when, in the distance, he spotted the indistinct, quivering, almost abstract outline of an inn. 

"Well, old boy, your troubles are almost at an end." he coaxed the horse's mane. 

"Now, if you'll be good enough to oblige us with some speed, we may arrive there at least before twilight (nightfall); so, how about it?"  But the horse complacently kept on with his painfully slow trod.  Refraining from flailing at the horse's rump, Nevetsecnuac bit his lip and grumbled.

“I could make better time than this on foot.  How could Fradel put up with such a hopeless, impractical beast?”  He jumped to the ground in a single bound, dismounting.  Taking the animal by the reins, he led him down the path at twice the pace; but in that miasmic (vaporous) atmosphere, he’d underestimated the distance, arriving there still at dusk.

As they approached the inn, the fierce barking of the dogs in back nearly spooked the horse to death.  Too tired to bolt, he responded favorably to soothing strokes of his neck and settled for merely stamping his hooves on the ground, dredging up more mud to stain Nevetsecnuac's fine boots and scholar's coat.

 At once, from behind the screen of rain falling off of the eaves three strong youths (in their teens) had rushed out, spurred on by the innkeeper to greet the traveler. As one, holding a thatched umbrella over the guest's head, ushered him inside, the other, unloading the luggage from the horse, followed on their heels.  The youngest, meanwhile, took the horse's reins to lead him around the side of the inn to the stable.

"Welcome, welcome distinguished sir!  The hospitality of the Dancing-Bear Inn is at your service.” The pockmarked-faced innkeeper smiled and introduced himself as Aguda.

 Flamboyantly bowing low, he greeted Nevetsecnuac at the door, uttering even more insincere felicitations as he showed Nevetsecnuac to a seat.  This fervent reception made Nevetsecnuac a bit uneasy, but he had expected as much from so obviously empty an establishment.  Undaunted, he donned a polite smile, cut short Aguda's wagging, glib tongue as it expressed empathy with Nevetsecnuac's hardships on the road, and briefly stated his requirements for that night.  At once the innkeeper moved with alacrity, dispensing the orders to his underlings, who looked strangely like kinfolk, then ushered Nevetsecnuac into a room at back, which Aguda professed to be quite comfortable.

04- AGUDA

"This is the best room we have, sir." Aguda assured Nevetsecnuac as he noticed the slight wrinkling of his guest's nose as it responded to the overpowering aroma of mildew and dust.  "It just needs a Little airing, that's all.  Under the circumstances, I think you'll agree that opening the shutters is hardly feasible on such a night, but if you should prefer another..."

"It will suffice." Nevetsecnuac demurred, holding out a restraining hand.  "I'll be fine here for the night.  Shall I pay you now?"

"That is not necessary, honorable sir.  You may settle all accounts when you take your leave tomorrow." the innkeeper replied.

He could plainly see the thick layer of dust shrouding everything by the flicker of the suddenly lit oil-lamp and the newly kindled fire in the mantle.  The proprietor, disregarding this obvious neglect, arranged a few chairs and, with fawning solicitude, proceeded to look after Nevetsecnuac's other requirements.  At once he reappeared with a basin of water and behind him, a procession of shuffling bodies carrying a warm quilt, some hot tea and victuals arranged on a tray.

I must remain on my guard tonight. Nevetsecnuac mused as the parade moved through the dust of the room.  The customs in these parts may be different, but I have yet to see an innkeeper trust a guest overnight for the room fee, most irregular.  If it were not for the poor condition of that beast, I would not have gone contrary to my better judgment and stopped here at all.  I can only hope that, by tomorrow, he'll be rested well enough for us to continue on our way.

"Will you be requiring anything else, sir?" the strong voice intruded sharply on Nevetsecnuac's thoughts.

"No, thank you.  You may leave."

The two remaining youths flashed each other a conspiratorial smile, then quickly spun on their heels and left the room.

You suppose you have ensnared me in this den of jackals, but you will not find me all that vulnerable a victim, to be bested. Nevetsecnuac smiled after them. Then, shucking off his wet outer layers of garb (clothing), he carefully spread them by the fire to dry.

After checking thoroughly for spy holes in the walls and ceiling, he found a secretive place in the room in which he concealed the waxed parchment containing Fradel's papers and his money pouch. 

05--NEVETSECNUAC

This accomplished, he washed his hands and face then, finding a dry brown shirt, he put it on, wrapping himself in the quilt and sunk into the wicker chair by the crackling fire.

 No sooner had he settled down than rivulets of perspiration beaded his forehead and ran down his red-hot cheeks.  Casting aside the quilt, he walked over to the bed, throwing himself onto it.  He expected it to give a bit but not only was the thick pad harder than granite, but clouds of dust also rose up at this disturbance to choke and constrict his lungs.  His throat parched, the bedbugs already beginning their feast on his flesh, he angrily jumped back off the bed, scratching.

Oh well, this was to be expected.  He shrugged and wandered over to the table on which the tea and sweetmeats were placed.  Despite the pangs of hunger that now stabbed at his stomach, the oily, gray food did not look at all that appetizing. 

Fingering one or two pieces, he was about to pop a morsel into his mouth when he was distracted by the angry voice of the proprietor outside the door.

"How come he's not back yet?  You should have gone with him to the doctors.  What if he croaks on the road?"

The quivering voice of a child stubbornly interjected, "My grandpa's strong.  He'll be back soon, Uncle, you'll see."

"No one cares what you think!" another young voice snapped at the child.

"Stop bothering Paa (dad)!"  The sound of a hand smartly striking a cheek started the littlest one bawling and Nevetsecnuac heard the crying child being dragged away, soothed by a female's compassionate murmurs.

"Blasted bag of bones and skin's been gone all morning," the innkeeper was heard, to grumble next, "leaving all the work for me to do.  Zog, have you fed the dogs at least?"

"Yes, sir; I fed them a few hours ago."

"Then why are they still raising such a ruckus?  Go and see what's wrong, and quiet them down!  Blasted pests," Aguda shouted after the eldest boy, "always hungry. They'll eat us out of house and home.”

"You," Aguda shouted at one of the other boys, "what are you doing standing here loitering for?  Go to the kitchen and help your mother, your brothers can finish up the cleaning here.  Now, scram!"  The voices moved off down the hall and what was said afterwards was muffled by the whispers and the sounds of brooms shuffling the floor.

Returning his attention to the finger food and tea, Nevetsecnuac lifted the teapot, sniffed under the lid, and then returned it to the table.  If it's their intention to rob me tonight, this foul-smelling brew could easily hide any drug.  It’s impossible to tell.

Suddenly a tap came at the door and the innkeeper peered through the crack he'd opened up.  "Is everything to your satisfaction, sir?" he inquired as he let himself in without so much as an invitation from Nevetsecnuac. 

"Perhaps the tea is not to your liking.  It's the water, I'm afraid." Aguda smiled wryly when Nevetsecnuac objected to the innkeeper (unceremoniously) pouring him a cup.

 Darting a glance at the untouched tidbits, he added, "The meal will be ready soon, sir.  My wife is taking extra care tonight to make you a meat goulash, something that is sure to please your palate.  May I benefit from your company in the meanwhile?  We rarely get any visitors to these parts, especially ones as distinguished as you.  One can't help but wonder what circumstance has brought you to these parts."

Without a pause in his muttering, Aguda drew a chair up to the table and sat himself comfortably by Nevetsecnuac.

 "Ah, it was not always like this, I assure you.  This used to be the only route leading to Wincox City, and then we enjoyed good business.  That is where you are headed, is it not, sir?"  This time he waited to receive a nod from Nevetsecnuac before continuing.

 "Yes, things have assuredly changed, ever since they built that accursed, more direct route; for this road always had been plagued by mudslides. Of course, clearing away a major part of the forest didn't help.”

"And who's responsible, you ask?  Well, two mansions were not enough for His Excellency, Governor Borg; he had to use all the wood in these parts to make himself an even more grandiose one.  Of course, they moved in, plus his labor force to farm here for a time, but the rocky, infertile land made them go bust in less than two years and they all left, but not until their livestock had stripped away every bit of grass or shrub."  He shook his head and laughed coldly, then abruptly stilled his tongue, before he could land himself in serious trouble by his uttering of more incriminating words, about the despised official.

Aguda's narrow eyes regained their former composure before he added in resignation, "You're most fortunate, sir, to have gotten through.  The rains sometimes last for weeks and resulting floods make this section of the road utterly impassable."  He spread his hands despondently.

 "Either that, or the bridge gets washed out. But, of course, how stupid of me; you did not come that way."

From his next round of convoluted, nearly incomprehensible mutterings Nevetsecnuac learned that there were three roads diverging from a distant junction.  One would lead him to a small village; the middle would join the major highway and take him to Wincox City; while the third would land him at a dead end at the washed-out bridge, which had been left in disrepair.

This unusually inquisitive innkeeper, indecorously imposing himself upon Nevetsecnuac, began to, quite blatantly, pry Nevetsecnuac about his personal background, his destination, the intent of his travels, and whether there was anyone awaiting him in Wincox City.

 Satisfied with the fabrications (which as precautionary measure) Nevetsecnuac was obliged to provide, including the assumed name of Svein Therran, Aguda, relaxed his vigil. Having eventually ran out of things to say, he was looking to excuse himself when,

"Oh, bring it in, boy!" he suddenly sat upright, urging the youth, who had just made his timely appearance at the crack in the door, to bring in a tray of wine and cups.

 "I took the liberty of having some wine warmed up for you, sir.  I know that you have not expressed any wish to consume some, but on a day such as this you may perhaps benefit from its medicinal properties.  It will certainly warm up your bones. Please, please have some; it’s the finest vintage we have to offer. It’s on the house; a small token. It’s also my way of welcoming a distinguished guest like you, sir.  Perhaps, by speaking favorably of us to your traveling colleagues, you may steer some business in our direction."  Aguda filled two cups and presented one of them to Nevetsecnuac.

Before Nevetsecnuac had even raised the cup to his lips, the innkeeper, seeming to lack all manners or, perhaps, intent on proving the wine's harmlessness to his guest, quickly quaffed his portion, holding it in his mouth to savor the taste before gulping it down and noisily smacking his lips.

Pretending to partake some also, Nevetsecnuac discreetly poured all of it into a crack between the floorboards and then joined in the praise of this highly scented, coarse, rather unpalatable vintage.  Afterwards quickly putting his cup down, Nevetsecnuac reached for the jug to pour another cup for the proprietor, "Please, allow me."

"Oh no, sir, I must decline." Aguda pulled his nervous gaze from the door to hold his palm out over his cup.  "I've imposed on you long enough; I mustn't be remiss with my other duties.  I'll go at once and see what's keeping your meal.  Please don't let me interrupt your enjoyment of this wine, feel free to finish it in my absence.  If you wish, I'll join you later for another jug.  Please, please now, enjoy."  He rose to his feet just in time to be hailed by his wife outside about some other problem.

"You see how I can't even have one moment to myself without having something go awry.  I have to oversee everything, however trivial."  In this way he excused himself and, swiftly pivoting on his heel, darted out of the room.

Going for the antidote, I see. Nevetsecnuac gave a bemused smile as he drew a silver pin from the sleeve of his jacket.  Dipping the pin into the wine jug, he then drew it out and, quite unruffled, studied it for a time, all the while noting its particular discoloration.

 As I suspected, Nevetsecnuac nodded, whilst he put the pin back.

Instead of showing anger, Nevetsecnuac knit his brows in deep concern for the innkeeper and his family as he resumed his former seat.  Despite his coarse manner, apparent cruelty and deceit, he is still only a tragic victim of his circumstance.  Stroking the stubble on his chin, in deep despair, Nevetsecnuac absentmindedly reached for a morsel on the tray and popped it into his mouth.  Strangely enough, the taste was quite pleasant.

"Don't we have enough already?" the wife's complaining voice came from outside.  "The smell sticks to the pots and they're already well fed.  It's not proper.  What if they turn on us next?  I'm already beset with dreadful nightmares!" she cried as her quivering voice diminished.

"Stop being such a weak, cowardly woman!  They are chained, are they not?" Aguda erupted. “And remember, not a word of this to my cousin. You know how grumpy, sanctimonious and quite unreasonable that dictatorial old fool has gotten to be lately, always wanting things done his way."

"But it's not right, I tell you, “The woman's voice was almost a whimper, "I fear that Heaven will punish us…. It’s not right!"

The voices outside mingled with the heavy downpour drumming on the roof, then both swiftly muted.  A sudden tiredness enveloped Nevetsecnuac, weighing his head and body down like lead. 

Oh no!  Realizing that the tidbits had also been laced, he spat the last piece from his mouth and tried, in vain, to vomit.  By then it was too late, the chemical was in his bloodstream.  The room lights dimmed, and his head began to spin.  He struggled to his feet, holding on the table's edge to steady himself.  He tried to totter towards his luggage, where the range of antidotes were kept, but his legs gave out underneath him and the next instant he collapsed, unconscious, onto the floor.

The room was quickly filled by those who were waiting outside.

"Good, he's done for!"

"Usually one cup does it.", one laughed spitefully.

"Fool, it wasn't the wine that did-him-in!"

"Who are you calling a fool?" fuming, the younger boy shook a fist in his elder brother's face, ready to pounce on him right there.

"Stop all that bickering, help me pick him up and search through his garments.  Quick!" Aguda cut short their wrangling.

 "Why must you two always argue?" he glared at the boys.  "I don't understand where you get your tempers from.  Haven't I always preached tolerance and patience between blood relations?  Why can't you two be like Kenny?"  Turning, he asked the eldest, "I hope you didn't waste too much of that drug, Zog.  We're running low on it."

"I did as you instructed, Paa." Zog beamed in satisfaction. 

06- ZOG

"I put equal measure, exactly the amount you said, into the tea and the wine, and the other kind, more potent potion onto the meaty morsels as well as veggie vittles.  That way we couldn't miss it."

"You’ve laced the veggie vittles too? How clever of you to think of that. “

“Paa, he sure was a sneaky one; he guessed at the wine…."

Aguda disregarded Yaggy and smiled at his favorite firstborn.  "Good boy, Zog.  Still, I wish there was someone else we could go to get it.  It's getting harder and harder to wrestle it from that old crow, who only knows how to raise his prices."

 He stone-faced, looked at the unconscious victim, the helpless Nevetsecnuac, ""A good specimen, in fact too fine a build for a scholar.  I wonder if he really is who he professes (claims) to be.  I rather liked him, too.  No matter, he'll end up in the same place as the rest."

"Yeah, in a dog's gut!"  Yaggy chuckled, rubbing his hands in gruesome relish of the scene to come.

07- YAGGY

"Have some respect, boy!" The innkeeper scolded.  This one's cruelty, his lack of human feelings and respect for human life had, in fact, become a serious concern for Aguda.  Cutting short yet another lecture, he ordered the two eldest boys to carry the unconscious victim Scholar (Nevetsecnuac) to the large, hardwood table in the kitchen.  As a practiced part of the process by now, the youngest, Kenny, was sent on ahead to warn the mother to clear away from the kitchen, sparing her from the grisly acts that was to follow.

Staying behind only long enough to scoop up Scholar’s (Nevetsecnuac's) precious belongings for himself, Aguda then followed his sons.

                                                                                           ~

(END OF SECTION 17)

 

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 14

After Magistrate Yakove Zewe’s departure, Judicial Commissioner Birgergu Gunt had ridden his closed carriage at breakneck speed to the residence of his good friend the Provincial Governor Rexi, in order to submit a report.  On his arrival, however, he was informed that the Governor was away on a short pleasure trip and was expected to return in a fortnight.  After leaving a message with Rexi's trusted aide, Birgergu returned home not in the least bit ruffled by the distant smoke and the glow of the fire on the horizon; subsequently, he entered his study in order to manage some pertinent neglected matters. First, removing a specific document from his locked cabinet, he placed it under the lamplight and perused it carefully searching for key correlations (crucial parallels, any links) or discrepancies between its account of facts and the detailed report of the Magistrate’s.

All was in accord, save for one: the glowing description of the stranger's horse remarkably resembled Yakove's account of Fradel Rurik Korvald's mount.

 It could very well be a coincidence. This gave Birgergu no concern as, shrugging his shoulders slightly; he put the reports aside and picked up another document from the pile for examination. Despite his outward calm, however, he was inwardly fuming over the failure of the bandit's attack on Fradel, which now complicated matters greatly.  He frowned, thinking of the berating he would get from the hot-tempered Governor, and then his thoughts reverted to Fradel's letter.  Dropping everything, he rang for his trusted steward and verbally relayed his wishes to him.

That night a cloaked figure quietly stole through the darkened alleyways to rendezvous with another whom, scaling the city wall with a cat's agility, vaulted onto a waiting horse and galloped into the hills.

At dawn the next day Birgergu's trusted aide handed him a packet.  After examining the contents in his study, Birgergu donned (gave) a wry smile and cast both the letter and its wrapping into the fire.  A short time later the aide returned with an urgent message from the Governor and Birgergu made haste to respond to the summons.

 

                                                                                  ~

 

"I don't want to know anything about it!" the Governor Rexi raged at Birgergu with icy finality.  "Just get it done!"

"It has already been taken care of, Your Excellency." Birgergu assured him.

"Then why do you bother me with this?"  Rexi shoved (thrust) the report in Birgergu's face. 

"I have no time for such trifles.  You are dismissed."  Before the Commissioner of Justice could even respond Rexi turned his back on him and stormed out of the anteroom.

 "I'm surrounded by incompetents.” His voice trailed off as he began to muse: 

How can I ever gain favor with His Excellency (Eunuch) Egil Viggoaries when a simple matter like this cannot even be resolved.  That idiot Birgergu assured me of Fradel Rurik Korvald's demise; that he would disappear without a trace.  He's as incompetent as that doltish brother-in-law of his.  They've both managed to botch things up oh, so perfectly!  I should have taken the matter into my own hands from the outset, instead of relying on that idiot.

His steps had led him into his private chambers.  Entering in a huff, he sank his heavy frame down on the couch.  Seeing his foul mood, the servants all kept their distance, all but hiding in the corners.

03- PROVINCIAL GOVERNOR REXI

Seething in anger, Rexi reflected on the origins of the Eunuch's orders, the ongoing struggle between Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren and the Minister of Internal Security Egil Viggoaries, as each vied (contended) for significant clout (portion of power) at Imperial Court.  Viggoaries's latest attempt to undermine Lamont's inroads with the emperor’s favorite concubine, Lady Sejon, had led to the confidential word sent to him to oversee the Eunuch's interest in the matter of the Lady's favorite poet, Fradel Rurik Korvald.

 Rexi still remembered his delight at accepting the task and his assurances of prompt, favorable results.  Angrily he stamped his foot to purge his mind of the ugly, stubborn trepidation (foreboding) of the possibility of dud (failure), but the persistent, gnawing doubt and the consequences of a repetition of Birgergu's inability (incompetence) to set right what, by now, had gone so terribly wrong, so terrified him that all the blood drained from his face.  A cold shiver ran down Rexi’s spine, as his mind viciously fixed on the notorious reputation of Egil Viggories’s brutish intolerance of the least flop (failure). Springing to his feet, his brows stubbornly knit together, he paced the floor in agitation.

"What is it, darling?" the bewitching beauty but half his age mewed.  Her eyes still puffed from sleep; she had parted the bed curtains alluringly.  Though it was nearly noon, she yawned and stretched, settling back into sleep.

How beautiful she is!  This enchanting siren was a recent acquisition from his previous excursion.  Recalling the pleasures of last night, a smile grew on Rexi's lips, and the color returned hotly to his cheeks.  Going over, he gently sat at the edge of the bed.  Her sweet perfume assailed his nose, intoxicating his senses and enticing him to fondle her cheek once more.

"Oh, let me sleep!" she purred.  "I'm tired.  You wouldn't let me nap at all last night."

Grinning mischievously, he followed her under the covers as all his previous concerns and fury dissipated in her scent.

                                                                                       ~

At cockcrow that morning, as Birgergu received Fradel's letter, Magistrate Yakove and a few of his close associates had raised parting toasts to the scholar and had escorted him to the city gates.  Despite his protests, Fradel had been constrained to accept the protection of a squad of fifteen stout, well-armed bodyguards under the leadership of a lieutenant Zujor.  They were to deliver Fradel safely to the borders of the province.

With the walls of the great city long since lost in the distance, the party of seventeen traveled the lugubrious road at a canter for half a day, each cocooned in their thoughts.

 The uninspiring, desolate ground they traversed was but occasionally dotted with naked hillocks and the monotony left them riding in the miasma of a dream.

Fradel's reverie meandered to thoughts of his blood brother, Nevetsecnuac Alric Therran Valamir, and a troubled expression crossed his face.  To purge his heart of this longing and regret, he turned his gaze to the limitless sky, not heeding the refreshing wind that caressed his exposed neck.  He watched with misty eyes the white, billowing clouds as they converged, then parted, and then sailed (wisped) away across the sky.  When he lowered his gaze and looked ahead, he saw a small, scrub-covered knoll in their path, a precursor of a number of undulating, forested hills that skirted a great mountain whose peak seemed to scratch the clouds.

I don't remember ever having crossed such a mountain. Fradel reflected, surveying these strange surroundings.  Yet, if it was the guard's aim to injure me, they could have done it long ago.  Opportunities had abounded on that desolate path, so devoid of habitations or inns.

 He was about to query the stone-faced horseman alongside him regarding this choice of route when, quite precipitously, Fiery Comet halted and refused to advance any further.

Misconstruing this delay as Fradel's intent, Zujor left his scout and approached to reassure the scholar.

 "The reconnaissance bodes well.  The forest extending beyond these hills is clear of any danger.  If you desire, sir, we could take a short sojourn here and lunch in the shade of those trees."

Before Fradel could respond Fiery Comet, in another surprise move, suddenly bolted off on a course tangential to their line of advance (intended direction).

Zujor shouted Fradel to stop as he and the rest of the guards simultaneously fell into a hot pursuit.  That same instant a shrill whistle was heard from behind the woodland hill as a large body of armed brigands poured onto the road, brandishing their swords, charging by with the force of an avalanche out to bury its prey.

 Only the scout stood on his ground, a look of mute surprise froze on his face as his head hit the earth.  Alarmed, Zujor ordered two of his ablest men to forge ahead after the swiftly disappearing Fradel as he and the other dozen wheeled their horses about to bar the road at a defile between two hillocks.

"And just where do you think you're going, knave?" Zujor bellowed at the top of his voice.  So fierce was the lieutenant's cry that the point rider's horse stumbled, toppling its rider to the ground.

"Clear the way if you wish to live!" boomed the voice of the new Bandit Chief, as he whipped his horse to the fore.

 "Our business is not with you.  We only want revenge on the cursed scholar Fradel."

  As he brandished his sword his men let up a mighty yell to spur their murderous charge.

"You'll have to go through me and Hell first!"  Gritting his teeth the brave Zujor glowered at the new Bandit Chief as he steadied his horse, and his squad lowered their lances to meet the charge.

 The fierce fighting and bloodletting that ensued lasted several hours. Swords flailed the air and spears thrust out like pumps as the horses' hooves churned up the turf.  Though lieutenant Zujor and his men were all competent fighters, their adversaries, the bandits, were impregnable (in numbers) and unsurpassed in their cunning and maneuvers.

 When Zujor's strength ebbed, he was mercilessly cut down, sliced clear through from shoulder to waist and the four remaining guards dispersed in panic in all directions.

A small force was allocated to hunt them down while the main body of bandits, responding in one voice to their Chief's command, forged ahead after Fradel.

Riding their superb beasts on the wind, they soon overtook the two guards.  As a few stayed behind to engage the soldiers, the rest chewed on the dust trail Fradel had left behind.  The distance between Fradel and his pursuers widened further with every minute.  Fiery Comet, unequaled in agility and speed, pushed on until, diving into the wall of the forest, they were both lost to human sight.

For countless hours the relentless bandits scoured the dense forest, an evil place with hidden dangers of its own where ancient trees dramatically screened out the sun or altogether, turning day into night, blotting out the sky.  A lookout, climbing to the top of the tallest tree, ardently surveyed the area beyond the forest with his eagle eyes until finally, he spotted a lone, snaking trail of dust in the southeast that disappeared into a crevice between two hills.

 Racing towards it, they traversed a great distance until the strengths of both men and beast were spent beyond their endurance.  It was as though Fradel had been swallowed up by the earth or had vanished into thin air.  With the valley veiled in the shadows of twilight they set up camp, not daring to concede defeat and resolved to continue on with their search at the first break of day.

 

(END OF SECTION 14)

 

                                                                                       ~

 

 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)

                                                                                        ~