LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - ON THE WAY TO THE CAPITAL - SECTION 10

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - ON THE WAY TO THE CAPITAL - SECTION 10

Nevetsecnuac rising to his feet, under the sparse light of the moon extended his search this way and that to determine the angle, width and depth of the pit; he subsequently, tested the stability (soundness) of the encircling walls as his palms and fingers carefully pushed or prodded for that anticipated (planned) future climb. In the end the outcome of his findings (investigation) had proven bit disheartening.  It would be nearly impossible, a most daunting task, to scale the precarious walls without any outside help.  The structure was a marvel of engineering, designed such that it deterred any means of escape.  Even if these unfortunate victims had, with incredible agility, been able to stack up vertically, without the right versatility the acrobatics would have been sill rendered fruitless, if not, hastened them to their death.

The question now remained whether Nevetsecnuac could succeed alone (single-handed) where, jointly all these trapped wretches, had failed.

01- NEVETSECNUAC ANALYSING THE PIT

“It would be a challenging feat;” Nevetsecnuac pensively looked up at the sporadically visible moon at the night’s sky, as the coy moon intermittently peeked out from the clouds: “but certainly not impossible.” He with a sly grin, tapped (rapped) his chin, having already conceived (concocted) a plausible plan.

 Subsequently, getting right to work, he first cleared the ground of any dangerous debris and, utilizing the available means setting the stage for his astute engineering feats that would generate constructive outcome, he next proceeded with the unnerving and relentless climb.  Even then he slid back few times, losing some ground (of the ascent) when the walls of the structure had abruptly collapsed or unexpectedly caved in.  Nevertheless, undeterred by these setbacks, he’d eventually succeeded in reaching the midway point, though the worst traps were yet to come.  Precariously clinging to the protruding rocks, with his free hand he dug up the exposed tips of hardy roots that had overtime, fortunately, had extended (grown) thus far; taking hold of these for anchorage, he nimbly (dexterously) overstepped the sharp cutting edges imbedded in the next layer then, agilely hauled his body upwards towards the seemingly unreachable mouth of the pit.

When he finally emerged outside, thankful that the moon had just then taken refuge behind some dark clouds, he squatted and regulated his breathing.

His thoughts, however, unwarranted, steered to the trapped victims within the terrible pit.

Who were they, to be so brutally imprisoned in an open grave, that they also warranted such elaborate traps? Why hadn't they been simply killed, then disposed of in shallower pits, holes, or crevices, likewise others, with much less trouble?

 What circumstance necessitated their slow, spiteful deaths? And what of those remnants; the shattered beams, the broken pieces of earthenware that at one time must have held provisions, the corroded pewter jug.

“Now, there's the real culprit!  “Nevetsecnuac sullenly (morosely) shook his head.

The exposed evidence, all too clearly, had shown that it had once contained a certain, tainted wine. There were some unmistakable traces of its permanent, unmistakable odor left on the inner rim.

Nevetsecnuac knew all too well, that this was the worst kind of deadly insect's poison, one that paralyzes the intended victims and, causes a prolonged, weeks, sometimes months of, lingering, excruciatingly painful death.

“Since the effects are not immediate and do not manifest themselves until sometime later, it must mean that some vital information, or something of equal importance, had to be extracted from the prisoners.  They were fed false hope before the final treachery came to light.”  As he absentmindedly reflected, his hand checked for the key.  Relieved to see that he had not lost it in the climb, he grimaced wryly, “Perhaps, one day, it will prove instrumental in unraveling this mystery for me but, for the time being, I best deal with this more pressing matter.”

Wishing to examine at first hand the point of the road that was being so closely guarded, a point he would be forced to traverse before long, Nevetsecnuac stealthily advanced towards the sentries.

“Hmm, it’s an ideal spot for an ambush.”  Nevetsecnuac, after scrutiny, thoughtfully nodded. For not only did the monitored road lie perfectly sandwiched between two hills, (it cut through uncompromising cliffs,) but also, strategically balanced rocks on their crests could, in an instant, be dislodged to trap any prey, leaving no option for retreat or advance.  In the worst-case scenario, the intended target could be annihilated altogether by the properly timed avalanche.

“He…” Nevetsecnuac inwardly queried, recalling Deizvor ' reference to the one they awaited.

“All this is deemed necessary to trap but one man. Fradel Rurik Korvald, Me? …Surely not. Perhaps it’s some well-guarded, despised official.”  Though he knew better.

Suddenly, another equally poignant question intruded into his mind. “But who’s behind all this… Whose command are they following?” 

His curiosity piqued, Nevetsecnuac sought to learn more and so hazarded to eavesdrop on the sentries.

02- GUARDS- SENTRIES

 Unfortunately, their idle chatter led to nothing specific or useful.  Since it would be imprudent to confront them now, Nevetsecnuac turned his attention instead in the direction of the just then manifest thin coil of smoke. His eyes trailing it, before it was promptly extinguished, at once caught a furtive (stealthy) movement at the mouth of a yawning cave, well tucked in the crevice of the next rising hill. “Splendid, “Nevetsecnuac retreated, edging away from the sentries to further reconnaissance.

Following a beeline, he crept swiftly but stealthily towards the dark cave, his eyes straining to catch the subtlest movement, his keen ears registering the minutest of sounds.  As the incessant, howling winds drove the laden clouds away to the east, the Earth was illuminated periodically again by the teasing, silver rays of the full moon. Taking special care with cover at such times, Nevetsecnuac eventually halted in-close-proximity to the cave's mouth; he squatted and then pressed his ear to the ground.  From the reverberations he speculated that more than a dozen horses and well-armed men were stationed within.  The cave was undoubtedly large enough to hold them all, along with a running underground stream.

“What would necessitate such force?” With a puzzled expression, he inwardly queried.  Intuitively feeling its importance to him, however, his pulse quickened with excitement and in anticipation of resolving (unravelling) this new, intriguing enigma.

By now the wind had spent its fury and, as the last leg of twirling debris settled lazily about, Nevetsecnuac gazed up at the dark canopy speckled with brilliant, twinkling stars hosting the moon. He eyed the heavily armed, formidable-looking sentry, well concealed, virulently guarding the entrance of the cave, and then deliberated on his next, viable course of action. Before Nevetsecnuac could act on it, however, two officious looking men suddenly emerged from the cave.  Crawling nearer still, Nevetsecnuac looked about sharply and perked up his ears to eavesdrop.

The bearded one, who was addressed as 'Commander', had just dispensed his brief instructions to the guards when, noting that the sky had cleared and the wind had tapered down to a pleasant breeze, turned to the officer at his side and proposed, "Would you like to accompany me on a bit of a walk for some fresh air, Lieutenant?"

"I'm at your disposal, sir." the other immediately responded.

Nevetsecnuac, who could not have asked for a better opportunity, turned his attention away from the sly grinning guards and trailed (tailed) the two officers as they strolled to a distant scenic spot. 

The Commander and his chief officer, confident they had reached beyond the guards' hearing range, finding a suitable spot, comfortably seated themselves on a huge, smooth boulder.  They were soon engrossed in a serious whispered conversation. 

03- COMMANDER ZHADOL AND HIS LIEUTENANT YENNIC

Quite undetected, Nevetsecnuac crept quietly to the nearest cover then, scaling an ancient tree, perched himself on a high branch that loomed within earshot.  He strained his ears to overhear the subject of their sudden heated exchange.

"Sir," the stout Lieutenant adamantly addressed the bearded Commander, "how reliable is this sorcerer Dwengzur, anyhow?  Has he never erred in his predictions?  I fear His Excellency may be making a fatal error in trusting him.  I mean, what we really know of him, other than that he's a native of that cursed country Korion."

“Again, Korion…” Nevetsecnuac's attention was piqued.

 Narrowing his eyes, he mused, “That's Zonar Kuntzu's Country; most curious indeed!”  However, feeling that it was too premature to speculate, he again lent an ear to the Lieutenant.

"I've met others from that State he claims to be from, but they are nothing at all like him.”

“He doesn't even speak with the same dialect. Moreover, until five months ago, he was virtually unknown to us.  Foreigner that he is, how could he so quickly, so effectively have penetrated essential layers of security and, despite his ungainly presence, have wormed his way into Her Ladyship's good graces?  It’s baffling, to say the least, how he's been elevated to such a position of trust that, ostensibly, he's even won the tolerance of His Royal Highness."

"As I understand it," the Commander spoke slowly and thoughtfully, "he gained his audience through Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren's Office."

"So, that's it!  He's another one of his recruits, then.  I should have suspected as much!"  The Lieutenant gritted his teeth.

Then, with puzzlement on his face, the Lieutenant looked up and asked, "How is it then, His Excellency (Eunuch) Egil Viggoaries, still trusts him and, puts so much credence in all those preposterous predictions of his?"

"You don't understand."  The Commander grimaced.

 "Things are never what they seem.  Though he has gained the patronage of the Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren and still more, his trust, in fact” Tensing up, he abruptly broke off, but his hesitation lasted but a moment.

 When he (turned) reverted his soft gaze back to his Lieutenant, he had already resolved his dilemma and was determined to confide this latest bit of privileged information to the other.

All the same, he could not resist teasing, "I may be breaching serious security protocol by telling you this but, after all we've been to each other, and I think I can trust you."

"You offend me greatly, sir, with your doubt!"  The cool retort spoke volumes.

Since the Lieutenant's voice had dropped, the rest of what he said was inaudible to Nevetsecnuac, but it did have an impact on the Commander, none the less.

Enough, in fact, to cause the older man to relent, "It wasn't meant to be” Turning, the Commander affectionately clapped his Lieutenant on the shoulder.

 "Come on now, Yennic.  Would I be here if I did not trust you implicitly?  Would I have even broached the subject if I didn't intend on telling you the rest?  How often have I confided in you in the past?  You already know most, if not all, what I've already been told in confidence.  You shouldn't take it like that; you have no cause to.  I just wanted to, maybe for the benefit of us all, stress the importance of confidentiality.  This knowledge was revealed only to the twelve of us in his coterie.  Should it come to light prematurely it will prove most disastrous, to say the least, and undermine all our efforts.  Don't think that our deaths will be swift afterwards, either.  I hope I've made myself perfectly clear, for it’s imperative that you don't breathe a word of it to anyone, not even to your immediate family, or even to the other members of your clique.  Can I have your word on this?"

Though Lieutenant Yennic was thoroughly piqued at the Commander for his gentle insistence, he knew that he could extract more by subtle means so, staying his malicious, cynical brash response and instead nodded with understanding and promised in a sincere tone, "Yes, Zhadol.  My lips, as always, are sealed.  Now, what is this great secret of yours?"

Though Nevetsecnuac seriously doubted Yennic's outward sincerity, Commander Zhadol, without a qualm, leaned forward at once to disclose the secret.

Before he had the chance to speak, however, Yennic interceded wryly, "Are you now going to tell me that Dwengzur, contrary to all appearances, is, in fact, a loyal vassal of His Excellency Egil Viggoaries and owes his foremost loyalty to him, and not the Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren.”

“Furthermore, that the sorcerer is inveigling himself into Lamont Gudaren’s good graces, as ordered, and shamming subservience in order to strengthen Egil Viggoaries’s hand?"

"That's it in a nutshell." the Commander concurred bluntly, masking his annoyance.

"I wonder just how much it cost His Excellency to buy out his so-called loyal services." Yennic sneered.

"You're wrong there." Zhadol grimaced.  "His kind can never be bought.  They have no use for money or any other worldly goods that would impinge on their unfettered lives.  No, something else binds him to Egil Viggoaries.  As I understand it, he owes his life to His Excellency and something else too, something even more important.  Unfortunately, even I am left in the dark about this."

 When the Lieutenant cast a doubtful glance at him, Commander Zhadol reasserted, "I swear, I don't know but, since he interests you so, let me tell you more about this sorcerer."  Winking at Yennic, he continued, "Now Dwengzur is notably different from other sorcerers because, as I have been briefed, he belongs to an ancient, nomadic, tribal race that dwells in the remotest, most mountainous regions of Korion, shunning all contact with civilization.  It has been said that historical persecution has caused them to adopt this way of life.  Therefore, it’s my contention that he is a renegade, but why should we speculate … Anyhow, this race is both feared and revered by the Korionese.  Why?"  He paused for dramatic effect and to augment Yennic's curiosity. 

04- DWENGZU'S RACE IN KORION

"It’s because each one is endowed with special, supernatural powers.  They are born clairvoyant and raised collectively.  They are roundly educated in astrology, geomancy and, from an early age, are taught the ancient, secret spells and incantations by the designated elders of the tribe.  These ruling elderly Chiefs (that make up the core council) are reported to have extended their lives to least, seven hundred years.  The tribe's average life span, you see, is believed to exceed four hundred years.  This prized information is passed from generation to generation by word of mouth since nothing is recorded in writing on the off chance that it will fall into outsider's hands and be misused, with disastrous consequences.

"By the age of eight they possess many extraordinary abilities and can perform mind boggling tricks and are accredited with the innate ability to affect weather patterns.  They have never been known to suffer from any human ailments.  Individuality is frowned on by the tribe and they are not allowed to keep any personal artifacts.

“They are taught to consider themselves part of the collective unit and, when they refer to themselves, it is always in the plural; 'we would like to', 'that pleases us' and so forth.  Oh, and this should interest you, they never marry.  It is not an accepted institution with them, as the women and men are also considered as property of the group.  They fornicate once every thirty years in an elaborate public ceremony, never twice to the same mate and never within their kinship group solely for the reason of perpetuating themselves."

"You make him sound like an Immortal." Yennic scoffed contemptuously.  "And just who perpetuated this hearsay, Dwengzur?"

"At first I shared your skepticism," Zhadol smiled condescendingly then shook his head, "but no longer, not after what I'd witnessed during our secret gathering.  After a remarkable demonstration of his powers, we became converts, one and all.

"For instance, when Dwengzur asked to be decapitated, Egil Viggoaries obliged with pleasure.  Then afterwards, the headless body rose from the ground, walked right over to where the severed head had fallen, picked it up and aligned it perfectly back on the neck.  The wound fused right in front of our astonished eyes, and, within seconds, he became whole again; a living, breathing man.  No ordinary man, obviously."

The hair on the nape of Nevetsecnuac's neck rose when he heard this, and he felt an unmistakable knot in his stomach.  “Was it pure coincidence?”  He closed his eyes for a moment to dispel all illogical thoughts.

"It’s a common hypnotic trick, nothing more."

"It was no illusion, I tell you."  The Commander irately insisted, standing his ground, but his voice lacked total conviction.  Looking past Yennic, he shook his head to quickly purge the seeds of doubt that had been planted in his mind. “Sorcerer’s subsequent trick was equally amazing. This time he, after having received the slight nod (permission) from Egil Viggoaries, simply wielded his sword in lightning speed and claimed the head of the recruit Torrez, who just happened to be innocently standing by at close proximity to Dwengzur.

05- SORCERER DWENGZUR

Holding it up high for everyone to see, he then faced the head and charged him with duplicity and a minor fraction, probably a fabricated one; but it was nevertheless enough to seal his fate. The head though reluctantly, responded as if living, breathing thing and confessed to everything. Afterwards, he simply blew a fiery breath at the face, and the decapitated head was instantly reduced to ash.”

"A talking head…? Surely you were all mesmerized." Nevetsecnuac heard Yennic, just then, sneering with arrogant cynicism.

 "Yet, according to you, he bends submissively to His Excellency's will.  Why should he if he possesses such powers?  I ask you, what greater intimidation is there than death?  Why not admit that you were all duped by his masterful trickery?" Yennic unrelentingly goaded the Commander.  Yennic hoped that, if he got him all fired up, Zhadol would get careless.

"Yes, he does bend to Egil Viggoaries's will, for I've seen it.  I'd attest to the truth of that."  Commander Zhadol responded, irritated, his face flushed red and his eyes wide with anger.  He was unwittingly playing right into Lieutenant's hand.  His voice increased slightly in intensity as he added, "And furthermore, he responds without a qualm."

“Like you.” Nevetsecnuac, perched on the tree branch, musing grimaced.

"I confess that aspect has baffled me also.  What's more Dwengzur's obedience stems clearly out of fear.  I wonder what hold Egil Viggoaries has on him. “

 

(END OF SECTION 10)

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 9

Dokurak most thankful of the fact he had a sympathetic ear, with a secret purpose in mind had ceaselessly unburdened his heart: “Beginning a new life with only a measly pittance I had concealed from the authorities, I first purchased some worthless piece of land and after initializing irrigation, proper crop rotation and a great deal of work, managed to turn my luck around.  Soon the land began to yield a good return, enough at least for me to properly care for my children. “Dokurak, falling silent for a spell, looked down.

“Unfortunately, the former owner who’d sold the land to me for a song now regretted his hasty decision; additionally, most envious of me for the beget bounty (profits), have harbored a personal grudge against me.  That was the precursor of my fresh troubles.” Dokurek pensively shook his head.

"When my eventual pardon arrived, and I was allowed to settle permanently in this region I ignored my neighbor’s envy and animosity and falsely thought that the past had finally been put safely behind me. For a short while things looked promising. My sons, meanwhile, going against my will and ignoring my good counsel, chose not the agrarian (farming, rural) livelihood (occupation), but that of erudite (literate).  Then again, there was a measure of leniency in the law and a few good posts and desirable government positions were once again being made available to promising learnt (scholarly) candidates.    Gradually I relaxed my vigilance and even allowed my heart the joyful pride when one of my sons, Kuer, was promoted to a good position in the Magistrate's office.”

02- KUER

"How was I to know?  How could I phantom that some unscrupulous, grasping officials would, within a decade, instigate yet another onslaught against the Literate?  You see, in their greed, they had come to realize the immense profits that could be reaped from the land and property holdings of the successful intellectuals (scholars).”

"Zakhertan Yozdek, a military man and an autocratic landholder, had, despite his outward policies of leniency, still harbored in the crux of his being a deep contempt for the scholars because of their analytical (logical, critical) way of thinking and their accrued (amassed, retained in mind) vast reservoirs of knowledge of past rulers.  Meanwhile the extensive military campaigns he had waged to secure his throne and Wenjenkun’s borders had nearly depleted the treasury.  The Office of Revenue was already hard pressed to come up with additional sums via (by means of) burdening taxes and forced labor, and besides, extra funds were now needed for the new campaign against Korion.

“It took only a little persuasion and a staged incident by the new Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren, to make the literati into scapegoats once more.  Thus, the holdings of these affluent families were laid open for pillage and were sold at auction once the unfortunates had been blamed for the discontent, turmoil and hardships that plagued the country.”

Dokurak suddenly stopped talking and after his long, dubious look at Fradel, his voice tinged with jealousy, he said:

“You have really been most fortunate, Serek Vern (Fradel Rurik Korvald), to have escaped these disasters… these genocides.  I wish that I had been empowered to do the same for my sons.  You see, I had the foresight; right at the beginning of it all, I had read the signs and predicted the outcome. The ill-fate hovering at cusp (verge, edge), over the horizon, had left all too prevalent signs for anyone intelligent or discerning, to be wary.  Foolishly, though, I imagined that my pardon and the quiet, model (exemplary) life I had led, would exempt me and my two sons from all of this impending (looming) catastrophe” Dokurek shook his head then sullenly bit the corner of his lip.

"My second mistake was to place too great a store in my influential friends and the Magistrate that had mentored Kuer.  I could not envision that they, too, would collude with my enemies and turn on me for a share of the gain.  Of that, I am sure.  That oversight, unfortunately, was my gravest mistake and for years I've been eaten alive inside, bit by slow bit, by the burden of regret I've carried in my heart.” Dokuek desisting tears, wrung his hands.

"My heart aches so sorely (agonizingly) whenever I think of my two boys…my poor, innocent boys!  When the disaster fell Kuer had been married two years and, what's more, his beautiful, virtuous wife, Luokil, was carrying my grandson. “

03- KUER AND HIS WIFE LUOKIL

"But alas, my world once more collapsed when Kuer and Ruek were arrested and taken away in chains.  I knew that the charges brought against them were pure fabrication, that there was no solid evidence at all to convict them on, so I immediately dispensed generous sums in bribing the right officials trying to buy justice and extricate my sons from (false) blame. “

04-KUER AND RUEK FALSELY CHARGED 

 “All my efforts were in vain, however, for they wanted it all.  My property was confiscated in the blink of an eye and sold for the state's gain to the very same people who had laid the false charges against us.  I was again, shortly after,  reduced to a beggar's state.”

“Kuer was well liked and had countless influential friends but none; none dared to speak up on his behalf when...” Dokurek, abruptly stopping,  bit hard the corner of his lip; anger and despair registering in his pupils, he looked yet again  in the direction of the large mount, quite oblivious of the trickling blood that slowly made its way down his chin.

"You can't imagine the anguish I felt at seeing my boys, as they were dragged mercilessly down the street in chains, then …. Then… buried alive under that accursed big mound." Dokurek swallowed and pointed.

"But not a whimper escaped their lips.  My heroic sons!  I would have ended my own miserable existence right then and there, but I summoned all my courage to live on, enduring misery and humiliation in order to care for my unborn grandson.” Dokurek swallowed hard, and eyes brimming with tears, he dismally (gloomily) shook his head.

“Alas, as cruel fate is, he and his mother both died in childbirth. She went into labor soon after she had witnessed her husband's murder, you see."  Pointing to the two smaller mounds under the weeping willow tree, adjacent to the big mound, Dokurek lamented in a choked voice, "They lie there, close to my son Kuer and Ruek.  I cared for their graves all this time and offered continuous prayers for their comfortable existence in the afterlife.  Now I'm old, too old and too feeble to be of much use to anyone.  I would have joined them long ago, but I have not a soul to count on to bury these old bones and I have nothing left to barter with."  He buried his head in his hands.

"Oh, all those years, how could I have been so foolish? How could I have been so utterly beguiled?” He lamented. “It’s taken me a lifetime to see the error of my ways.  My eyes are finally opened. But what good is all that now? If only I’d listened to my younger brother’s words for, he was right all along, right about a lot of things.  I’m filled with endless remorse that eats at my soul?”

“Still Heaven, it seems, has at long last taken pity on me."  Dokurek abruptly looked up, smiling wryly and, with the back of his hand, wiped away the deluge of tears that soaked his pallid cheeks and neck.

 "For here you are … Good sir, can I impose on you, can I rely on your compassion and good graces to perhaps trouble you, to do me this one last great favor?"

Fradel was nonplused by Dokurek's imploring gaze and, understanding his meaning, frowned.  "I shall not be party to your murder sir.  Surely you have many long years still ahead.  Do not despair.  You have persevered this long, undergone so much; perhaps an emancipated future..."

Before Fradel could finish the old man had flashed a blade he had concealed deep within the folds of his rags.  With a swiftness that belied his age, giving Fradel no chance to move, Dokurek buried the knife hilt-deep into his chest. But missing his heart just barely, he lived long enough to still implore Serek (Fradel).

"I do not deserve your kindness, sir. Ugg…. Still, I know you will not disappoint me.  Far too long have I endured this loneliness, burdensome guilt and unbearable heartache?  I make no excuses now and accept full blame for my past miserable life choices. Having paid some penance; let me embrace fate and join them now.  Please, pray that we all find peace in the… afterlife." He gasped his last breath and, (blood oozing from his mouth,) was no more.

Fradel had done the right thing by Dokurek and, although he had buried the old man's body in a mound next to his grandson and daughter-in-law under the same willow, all rites duly carried out, he still carried away with him the pain of Dokurek’s misspent life.

 

                                                                                    ~

Fradel was from then on burdened with a series of fresh concerns.  The guilt ate at him to the crux of his heart: guilt for being spared, for having led a privileged life of ignorance while so many had perished.  Fradel now pondered: Had he (Fradel) the right to do what he planned?  Wouldn't his intended actions unleash yet another bout of purges resulting in blood baths and fresh persecution of the Literati? 

This was at the root of Fradel's dilemma as he rode away from the graves beside the ruined hut.

Fradel, tersely now, as if with a special understanding, nodded.  Yes, things being the way they are, whatever I do will have little bearing.  The outcome would invariably be the same.  So long as evil reigns (rule) supreme and corruption festers like locusts on this land, salvation will be a distant dream for everyone.

 

                                                                                         

(END OF SECTION 9)

                                                                                              ~

 

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 7

For the remainder of that morning Svein, riding alongside Fradel, had respectfully kept his silence understanding that a serious grievance was at the root of Fradel's reverie. 

NEVETSECNUAC

Most appreciative of this quiet, Fradel struggled hard but without avail, to dispel the gruesome, vivid images forming in his mind's eye: The mound of earth, overgrown with grasses and bush, the old man sitting at its edge, perfectly motionless, the gnarled walking cane resting unused on the earth beside him; these visions still persisted in haunting his peace and try as he might, after all this time, he could not purge his heart of a dogged, all-consuming despondency and guilt.

Currently, Fradel’s mind yet again ruminated (cogitated, recollected) of that long ago, the unpleasant happenstance (twist of fate, quirk) which should have been ordinarily locked in his subconscious psyche. Fradel inhaled deeply and sullenly harked back to that time when on route to Terek  he’d, sighting a solitary seated figure some distance down the road, assumed the old man to be asleep or in a trance; but, when a shaft of sunlight suddenly peeped through the dense rain clouds, Fradel’s acute vision had then noted the glistening tears streaming down the man's pale, wrinkled, sunken cheeks.  Now ordinarily, he would have sent his stewards to make inquiries but, propelled by an unexplained, strange desire, he’d dismounted at the edge of the roadside. As he was hot, he first took off his garment’s (top) outer layer and, handing this and the reins of his stead to one of the stewards, meanwhile, (ignoring) paying no heed their strong protests, ordered them to stay put, then went forth to investigate.

 

 As he advanced towards the old man, he’d for a spell, experienced some trepidation but kept on with determined steps regardless, climbing the rocky, uneven hillock, till he had reached the sorrowful being.  Halting a few steps back, he'd respectfully bowed in greeting, introduced himself as gently and politely as he could, however, giving him a pseudo-name Serek Vern, which Fradel had adapted wishing to be anonymous during his travels, and then, inquired about the old man's health and possible needs.

The old man appearing oblivious to it all, had at first, remained perfectly still. 

Fradel (Serek), nevertheless, being reluctant to leave him in that state, he’d advanced ever so slightly closer and was about to accost him anew when the old man sharply raising his head, seething, glared at this bothersome, pesky stranger.

Dokurek, which Fradel Rurik Korvald later came to know his name, had initially acted with uncalled-for hostility.  His cold, gray eyes had burrowed fiercely, contemptuously into Fradel's and lingered there, scrutinizing him, for a long spell. 

At the time, the icy, hateful gaze, like a frozen blade, had stabbed at Fradel’s empathetic heart!

Even after some elapsed time, while Fradel had assumed he was making inroads with Dokurek, the old man, with obstinate hardness, had retained his original skepticism of Serek’s (Fradel's) ignorance of the common facts, of his naiveté and his motives.  But, gradually, bit by bit drawn out of his shell, he’d thawed, then eventually entrusted Serek (Fradel) with the truthful accounts and factual answers to his persistent inquiries. 

It turned out that Dokurek's two promising scholar sons had been buried alive beneath that nearby mound along with some three hundred and twelve other literati.

This revelation shook Fradel, then and to date, to the core of his being. He’d never been the same since.

"And, make no mistake about it,” Dokurek had nodded gravely, pointing a bony finger, "this mound is but one of many.  Yes, many, many, more, most containing even more corpses than this, exist scattered throughout this great country of ours."

 Dokurek, moreover, added with such bitterness in his voice: “They even built roads over some, so tread carefully young man, the next time your path crosses one of these.  They have no respect for the living, why should they have any for the dead?"  Inclining his head downwards again, he'd scoffed contemptuously, as hot tears once more glistened in his eyes, but he’d bit his lip angrily to stem them.

Noting disbelief in Serek’s (Fradel’s) eyes, he’d swallowed hard, then grinding his teeth, announced sourly, "And secretly, ever so secretly, it's still going on!" His face was contorted with pain and anger, yet he could not stop now.  "When the scholars suffered such a fate, you might ask, what became of their families?"  He shook his head vehemently, "I'll tell you what!  Some were banished to the frontier where they were sold into slavery, some into forced labor or killed outright and all, without exception, had their property confiscated.  And why the hell not…There is great profit to be had in this sort of vile undertaking by the greedy, grasping patricians (nobles, aristocrats).  In many instances they fabricated charges to fill their coffers and to construct a powerbase.   In these dark times, justice is always trampled underfoot by the selfsame rapacious bureaucrats.  A slander without proof in the ears of the right person would be sufficient for a court of law to proscribe the victim.  On pain of death, who would dare mount a defense or champion the righteous cause?”

It became clear to Fradel that the old man was speaking from bitter personal experience; and that he, too, had fallen prey to the greed of akin official.

"And I thought he was a close friend!"

 Fradel raised his eyes from the old man's clenched fist to see him staring once more in the direction of the mound. 

"And to think my son held him in such high esteem!  Bah!” Dokurek turned angrily to spit on the ground.  "Curse you, and a curse be upon your whole family!  May you and your descendants be cursed forever in Hell?"  Dokurek's chest rapidly rose and fell in fury, until he finally grew a bit calmer.

"The reason for these atrocities...  How is it possible, you may ask?  Ah!” he fixed his dubious, pained, angry pupils above his deep-set, gaunt(boney) cheeks on Serek Vern (Fradel Rurik Korvald).

 "Have you had no knowledge of these sort of vile deeds at all, none?  What about the foul happenstance (coincidence) that had reportedly claimed Taok Therkan’s life?” Dokurek asked skeptically.

"Taok Therkan?” Fradel furrowed his brow, and then confessed to, in his remote dwelling having scant news of the famed scholar, save for once, being lucky enough, to have come across one of Taok’s brilliant essays. Impressed, he’d sought to procure more, with no result; meanwhile, the mystery, the silence surrounding the scholar Taok Therkan had never been satisfactorily explained to Serek Vern (Fradel) and he, at present, implored Dokurek to enlighten him on this subject.

Dokurek shook his head, "It's inconceivable to think,” he looked straight at Serek Vern, considering: “how could your family have been spared this ferocious, evil tide that has swept the nation?  I know of this from the mouths of many, that these long years have been anything but brutal to all Literati. Why should you, your family be spared? And now standing before me you lay claim to knowing nothing?  No, you're false!  Worse, you must be an informant, a spy!  Is it conceivable that you are sent by that cursed Zaur to...?”

 Dokurek looked down to hide the sudden manifest disdain from his eyes then fretfully, stealthily looked about him.

 His eyes rested on Serek Vern 's servants, then narrowed into slits.  "And why should you be bothering with the likes of me?  Why not sic one of your dogs on me and have done with me?  Or is it your delight to first toy with your prey?"

 He turned an angry, defiant gaze back at Serek Vern only to meet the scholar's somewhat indignant, perplexed face.

 Dokurek immediately regretted his suspicious outburst.

Fradel had surmised later how, at this point Dokurek was filled with a great need, a burning desire to believe in someone, anyone, while the flames of his life-force still burned in him. His past misjudgments had cost him dearly and rendered him cautious, distrusting all; now and always seeking, expecting some sinister motive behind every kind of gesture. 

For a time, the old man had remained nonplused, shaking his head and mouthing half-crazed, barely comprehensible mumblings as he turned a deaf ear to Serek Vern's gentle arguments. 

"But there is nothing to be gained in trapping me.  It was not my will, my wish that my sons were scholars.  Besides, what do I possess now?  In my heyday, sure, I had substance then. Even ten years ago I had means, holdings to be coveted.  I commanded such respect!  But now…now I have nothing, nothing of any value or use to anyone.  Nor do I have any surviving affiliates left to be targeted.”

“But then, hmm, yes, you do look the kindly, honest sort. Suppose I take a chance?  Perhaps I've been too hasty in suspecting you?  I mustn't let my paranoia cloud my judgment.”  Dokurek continued mumbling to himself as though Serek Vern (Frade)l was not there.

Fradel, in exasperation having fallen silent, threw a cursory look at his impatient men and then thoughtfully looked down; in fact, he was (considering) of a mind to leave this insane old man when, catching the last part of what he had said, convinced Fradel to persevere just a bit longer.

 “Yes, you may be my very last chance."  Dokurek suddenly ceased his mumbling and decisively looked up. His eyebrows unraveled and he made a genuine effort to smile in a friendly manner.

"Forgive my obstinate ways, sir, but you can hardly blame me.  It's all the more incredible that you are a bona fide scholar.  No doubting that.  I'd even venture a guess that you come from a long line of illustrious scholars."  Allowing Serek Vern (Fradel), no chance to agree or dispute his statement, he nodded vigorously, "Furthermore, my eyes can attest to the truth of your claim that you are a stranger to these parts and that you must have led a life of seclusion, that’s why I’ve never heard of your name, a self-imposed recluse perhaps?"

 Serek Vern’s (Fradel's) reaction confirmed this guess and reassured, Dokurek leaned back, smiling.

 "Also, your distinguished attire, your decorum and fine, polished speech makes it all too evident that you are a well–off gentleman, perhaps an aristocrat.  A recluse scholar from an undisturbed sanctuary who has managed to prosper in these volatile times, an anomaly?” the old man shook his head, amazed.

Despite the tinge of sarcasm in his tone, Fradel had read no malice in Dokurek's face.  This perplexed him more.  And what did Dokurek mean by 'very last chance'?

Dokurek cleared his throat then in a softer tone rattled on, "You are so unassuming, so patient and not the least bit arrogant.  You have a great disposition.  You are by all appearances a good man, not unlike my Kuer.  Still, all the more reason for you to beware!"  He fixed his intense gaze at Serek Vern (Fradel) and said a bit more forcefully.  "You watch yourself young man!  Guard your words, his spies are everywhere.  His policies may undergo yet another change, and quite suddenly, too.  Then you're gone.  Pouf!  In one day.  Or worse still, it may all be a hoax, a scheme to finally entrap you.  I'm curious, though, what part of the country did you say you're from?  Which remote region was it that you hid in?"

Fradel had made no such claim, but his denial was cut short by a gesture of Dokurek's hand.  "No, don't tell me.  I'd rather not know.  Such knowledge is of little use to me now, anyway.  It's enough to know that there is some small corner of this Empire that was spared, where the forces of evil could not wreak havoc."  Dokurek abruptly fell silent and looked away, his eyes resting on the two small mounds nestled under the swaying branches of a willow tree.

 After a time, Dokurek turned to face Serek Vern (Fradel) and with eyes brimming with fresh tears, reiterated his warning, "You must beware!  It's too late for my boys and it's too late for me.  I've got one foot in the grave already, but you..."  He smiled warmly at Fradel.  “I can't emphasize the importance of this enough.  He's like a jackal, a wild beast on the prowl.  His poisonous tentacles reach the four corners of the Empire, and it makes no difference what service you may have rendered him.  Disaster can befall you at the most unexpected turn. Under his rule, all manners of evil flourish and you can never, ever anticipate when the next catastrophe strikes!  So, it’s best you remain vigilant in safeguarding your life.”

Fradel was distracted just then by a debased snigger (snort, chortle) from his servants who had drawn close and were very much engaged with their heads pressed together in animated, amused mockery.  More infuriating still, Fradel’s ears picked up the steward’s disdainful ridicule, "Crazy as a Cakook!"  As if to demonstrate he then stood up, flapped his elbows, craned his neck and began drawing circles with his toes on the ground as he mimicked the bird.

 In mid twirl his eyes caught Fradel's fierce look of reprimand.  Chastised, the servant froze in his position. Similarly, the rest also cowered with stilled tongues and abjectly bowed their heads. 

When Fradel turned his eyes back to the old man, he found Dokurek keenly studying him.

"I'm right about you.  This time I'm right.  My salvation may just be at hand.” he mumbled then quickly looked away to escape Serek Vern’s (Fradel's) questioning gaze.

This time it was Fradel's turn for skepticism.  Had this all been a well-orchestrated performance, a charade on Dokurek's part?  Was he testing me?  Testing me for what?   Fradel had heard of cases where men touched by madness would slip into and out of reality, one minute sane as could be, the next, steeped in peril and precarious, imaginary fantasies.

As if surmising this, Dokurek looked up at Serek Vern (Fradel) and smiled wryly, "I wish it were so but, alas, my penance is to remain completely sane, mindful of all my past wrongdoings.”

“All right, I will tell you everything.  I've kept my silence long enough…but not here, not within earshot."  He indicated Serek Vern’s (Fradel's) servants with a wary look and a point of his chin.

 He rose and Fradel, signaling his men to stay put, followed the old man to a distant spot.

 

(END OF SECTION 7)