11- LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - EVIL PERSONIFIED - SECTION 5

    

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

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

01- JUYIN SUKZOR (3)JP

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

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

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

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

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

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

02- FRADEL (NEVETSECNUAC) JP 7

    

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

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

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

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

    

                                                                                 ~    

    

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

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

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

03- -QARZTEN CAMUND (16)Bjp

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

04-PRINCE HERLEIF YOZDEK (2)

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

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

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

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

 

                                                                                            ~

 

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

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

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

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

05- QIJERRIK YOZDEK  (4)JP

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

06- QIJERRIK YOZDEK  (3)JP

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

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

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

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

 

(END OF SECTION 5)    

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - ON THE WAY TO THE CAPITAL - SECTION 4

In truth the Immortal Zonar Kuntzu’s loss was only temporary; after an arduous effort, he would eventually regain (recover) all that he’d lost.   

Nevetsecnuac could not of course have imagined the extent of hazard he’d at present instigated, for the danger unleashed upon the world, albeit temporary, was very much real, as this amulet (that had housed the dangerous entity Cassar, who was called Mokak, later renamed, Jenor) was in fact more than Zonar’s family heirloom (a birthright article). The imprisoned entity within the amulet had once been bound to Zonar’s father Zandar Kuntzu’s genetic factor (DNA).

01- ZANDAR KUNTZU

Zandar, though later was considered a renegade Immortal, had once despite his youth, had held a prominent position within the ruling elite (of elders), of the ancient race of Karn. Upon Zandar’s demise, because of his specific genetic link to Zonar, this onerous responsibility of safekeeping the amulet, a lifelong sentence that could not be erased or shirked (evaded, dodged) whatever the circumstance, had then been (trussed, tethered) passed down to Zonar.  

Centuries earlier Cassars, a troublesome race had been the catalyst of a catastrophic dissention (discord) among existing ancient races; set against one another the irreconcilable differences and disparaging venom had resulted in the eventual destruction of the many primordial elite powers. Only the most resilient race of Karn (and few other races that had integrated within its modules) had triumphed; hence, decade later ending the cataclysmic wars and furthermore, conquering then imprisoning, the few remaining Cassars of this unruly (rowdy) race that had instigated (triggered) it all.  

02 -  CASSARS )

Adversarial elements of these Cassars properly contained, spanning several centuries now the armistice (truce and resulting concord) had lasted on Earh, as the dominant race of Karn, as well, few remaining subsidiary custodians of this world, had peacefully coexisted well hidden in the remotest corners (chiefly at the summits and at the icy peaks), result of having graciously allowed the species of men the sole dominion over (placid, more climatically favorable, more livable parts of the) Earth.  

It would have been far better for the world, if this troublesome race Cassars had been totally expunged; however, by consensus of the elders of Karn, Cassars had been subjugated (bested by the utilization of ice or water) though spared from total annihilation.  

03- (ELDERS OF KARN)

Elders of Karn had, moreover, additionally afforded mankind that definite measure of safety- by constraining, rather, indefinitely imprisoning few spared Cassars, in the protective water crystal amulet that selected members of Karn wore. It was a bane (burden) to be endured till the end of time. In the unlikely event the prior custodian would expire, the amulet would then be (transferred) bequeathed to the offspring sharing the same genetic factor.  Now under normal circumstances, Zonar’s immortal father would have discussed in detail the amulet’s range of powers and, even given his son some necessary, precise instructions (pointers) to maintain absolute control over the imprisoned entity; however, Zonar, sent away for his own safety at an early age to grow up among anonymous mortal family, had never been afforded this opportunity.  

Furthermore, the subsequent bizarre circumstances that elicited (caused) the premature, atypical (odd) demise of renegade Immortal Zandar Kuntzu, and hence, well before Zonar could master the amulet’s intransigent powers, Cassar entity called Mokak, with his resourcefulness had once, successfully affected its escape from captivity. (Check out: Legend of Nevetsecnuac, Book 2 titled The Ordeal, more precisely, Section 8, where Mokak is mentioned.)

At that time Zonar, wanting to know more about this amulet and the entity it contained, had avidly perused those veiled (oblique, coded) secret teachings his father Zandar Kunzu had left with him, but since the situation of escape (of any Cassar) had never once transpired  (occurred), not while the amulet had been in his father’s safekeeping, it had taken Zonar many more months of quest and sheer luck, to capture and re-enslave sly Mokak (later renamed Jekor ) in the crystal Amulet. Since then, Zonar on his own merit, through trial and error, utilizing his brilliant and discerning mind, had discovered few more facets of the amulet’s varied, multitude powers.  

04 - ZONAR KUNTZU

Currently,  during combat with Nevetsecnuac,  when the amulet broke in two this, despite Zonar’s stoic, stone countenance-  mindful of the now matured and at large entity’s, Jekor (Mokak)’s inherently grown prowess’s and the unimaginable, portended havoc he could unleash on the unsuspecting world and on both (mortal and immortal) realms- seriously troubled Zonar.  Anticipating the arduous task of, recapturing this willy, artful and now more potent menace, caused Zonar to, pensively (thoughtfully) but with unreadable expression,  glance away. 

05- (MOKAK- ALSO KNOWN AS JEKOR)

Sensing only an inkling of the magnitude (scope) of the dire circumstance, Nevetsecnuac knitted his brows, and covertly pinned his questioning gaze on Zonar; as he, same time fought the ominous foreboding that had suddenly vice-griped his heart. “Had he inadvertently, seriously harmed his benefactor Zonar by damaging the (potent)amulet, in the course of it, ending any chance of his enlisting Zonar future guidance?”  

Nevetsecnuac now hastened to ask the latter’s forgiveness but Zonar, after his fleeting icy, contemptuous glare, simply snorted and again looked away. But then in afterthought, he’d quickly passed it off as fate and dispassionately shrugged his shoulders; determined not to let this rare opportunity (of further testing his nephew) be wasted, he just unfastened the clasp and removed the chain, with the broken amulet ( crack in the middle now emitting no light) still precariously hanging from it, from around his neck, then walking to the edge of a high precipice, hurled it into river.  He watched its descent, it being swallowed by the fast-flowing waters then, with a changed, resigned expression on his face, inclined (turned) his head to grimace wryly at Nevetsecnuac. 

Afterwards he simply walked back with large strides and halting few inches away from Nevetsecnuac, cooly proposed that they might as well continue the combat. When Nevetsecnuac showed some reluctance to engage him, his short temper flared, and he roared in fury: “You dare to insult me?” And then in lightening speed launched his murderous assault.

Forsaking his reserve, Nevetsecnuac fought back, at first on the defensive but soon shifting to the offense.  

06- NEVETSECNUAC FIGHTS ZONAR

The two combatants consequently, as one successive blur to the naked eye endlessly fought on in a dizzying whirlwind, or, in unrelenting fierce deadlock, back and forth, well into the night. The Earth rumbled incessantly at their extraordinary might while Heaven knew no peace from the sheer intensity of their powerful strikes. Once, as if in protest, a mounting flotilla of dark clouds congregated to shroud the moon and the stars, following it with angry rumbling and streaks of lighting miring (marking) the sky; meanwhile, quaking ground underfoot at times shook the soil (earth), debree and boulders loose, uprooting trees, creating gashes or deep chasms, to enforce termination of the relentless, vigorous combat. But still undaunted, the battle had raged on without ceasing in intensity.  And when the first rays of dawn finally broke from hurrying (sailing) clouds, for Heaven had had enough, the rising gale winds punishingly swept across the Earth. Thunder and lightning more repetitiously now crashed about them and alight trees threatened to scorch them and reduce them to cinders. Subsequently, the torrential rains changed into hailstones, pounded mercilessly on their heads and turned the ground underfoot into muddy rivers.

Their persistence prevailing over Heaven’s will, eventually, by about noon of the third day, the skies cleared up. The brilliant sun’s golden rays bathed the drenched Earth and enveloped the brave warriors in sweltering heat as they still fought on.

07- ZONAR FIGHTS NEVETS (15)

Suddenly however, Zonar, in mid blow, stayed his hand and leapt out of the circle of combat once more.  

“Enough, I see now that a thousand more rounds will not engender your defeat. I therefore salute you sir, as a true and unequivocal equal.  Despite your age, you bear the singular mark of a great warrior.”

Throwing back his head, he laughed uproariously.  “Ha!  Ha!  This is what I needed most to shake myself out of my complacency.  I thank you, sir, for this most invaluable lesson.”  Assuming a more serious expression, he then bowed low to Nevetsecnuac (his nephew) in deep respect.

Bowing also, Nevetsecnuac reciprocated the courtesy.

“The honor is mine, sir, to have even met by half measure your outstanding abilities.”

 He next voiced his heart felt desire to become Zonar’s tyro (novice, trainee, acolyte, follower, student).

“Though a feasible consideration, it’s not convenient for me to accede at this time.” Clenching his fist and musing, Zonar looked away in silence.

 Zonar was in fact beginning to worry, having lingered in one spot (and time zone) far too long; therefore, risking being discovered by his ardent nemesis bent on his destruction.

 Stealing a glance at Nevetsecnuac from the corner of his eye, he further mused, “Yes in many ways, you remind me of Tuko.  Had my mortal younger brother, survived the massacre he may have turned out exactly like you.  But no!  It’s not time yet… And furthermore, with so much at stake, I can ill afford the indolence of sentiment, hence, jeopardy (risk, hazard).”  Nevertheless, he felt constrained to give Nevetsecnuac, a palpable (tangible, convincing) excuse.

“I am tempted, sir. But I fear that such, is out of the question!” Zonar finally spoke in a restrained, somber voice.

He bit his lip, “To befriend you, my sworn enemy? Wenjenkun and Korion, two strong adversary nations, will not do; for long exists the lethal animosity, toxic rivalry between (our countrymen) both.” 

 He knit his brows and with clenched fists, he simply looked away.

 “Ney; for it would mean violating every fabric of my…. and forsaking loyalty to my Sovereign.  How can I then, face my countrymen with dignity?”

08- NEVETSECNUAC DISSAPPOINTED

As Nevetsecnuac, eyeing him curiously, remained lost for words, Zonar forced a smile onto his pallid lips then, as if in an afterthought, faced Nevetsecnuac and inclined his head gallantly.  

“My name, sir, in all confidence, is Zonar Kuntzu.  I’m a native of Korion, born thirty-two years ago.  That much I will divulge, for you have well earned the right to know it.  We will be meeting again, though under what circumstances I cannot rightly predict.  I pray, however, that when that happens you will not judge me too harshly.  Each of us must follow the bidding of our loyal heart.  Remember well my parting words: ‘Even if I fail, I will not fail.’ “

Nevetsecnuac bowed to him in gratitude for the civil negation (rejection, snub) but, when he lifted his eyes to confess his own true name, the words froze on his tongue for, once more, Zonar had vanished into thin air without a trace.

Nevetsecnuac nodded his head in deep understanding.

“Yes, we are kindred spirits and, it is evident we share similar fate. Zonar Kuntzu, bound by duty, you are also headed for that uncertain future (prospects)! Existing briefly perhaps on this Earth, though more certainly me, we stive hard to accomplish that vital and arduous task, for which only we are destined to do.”

“Till we meet again my friend; I am Nevetsecnuac Alric Therran Valamir.” Nevetsecnuac whispered after Zonar, his eyes brimmed with tears.  

“I wish you well and, bid you fond farewell, my esteemed, elder brother.”

 Nevetsecnuac subsequently retrieved the gift, the sword, and after wiping the blade clean and sheathing it (placing it back in its scabbard), inwardly invoked the word: Lomelak. The magnificent sword (with its casing) instantly shrunk and reverted to an ordinary writing brush. Nevetsecnuac was ecstatic; he’d never owned a magical sword before. Desiring to test it again, he this time inwardly uttered (articulated) the word: Lohcnilik. Lo and behold, the writing brush instantly became the magnificent, sheathed sword again. And when it was again transformed into a writing brush, jubilant (thrilled) Nevetsecnuac secured it on his person. He then quickly gathered up his belongings and, not looking back, catapulted onto his horse, and raced towards the Capital, the mare’s hooves churning up a cloud of dust behind him.

                                                                                 ~

(End of Section 4)