LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE CAPITAL CHANNING - SECTION 3

Minister Zaur was about to reach for a morsel, when his complexion suddenly became ashen and his pupils for a spell dilated (became wider, larger). He slumped (slouched) back into chair, appearing dazed and as though he was fighting to restrain an overwhelming sense of queasiness (nausea).  That same instance, his mind underwent a subtle but decisive change.

01-ZAUR STUGR 17

Subsequently, as they consumed more spirits the conversation that ensued took on renewed vigor and at the same time became more varied in scope, this lasting well into the night. 

The topic of conversation periodically, amidst insinuations, touched on the existing internal strife in Wenjenkun between the two powerful factions, then purposefully reverted, delving into in depth issues at hand and their resulting spin-offs.  The direct or indirect account recounted in rapid succession next was designed purposefully to confuse the issue or perhaps test Fradel's ability to keep up.

Going along, Fradel (Nevetsecnuac) fed the good minister explicit (precise, exact, specific) altercations, challenging issues, and topics, and tiresome or alternately intriguing facts in profusion to dazzle the mind.  Masterfully sparring (jousting, fencing) with ideas and hypothesis, Zaur Stugr had finally met his match.

Though elated at first, soon growing tired of this intellectual banter (repartee, wit), the charade and all that strenuous mind games, Minister Zaur steered the topic once more to seemingly mundane, innocuous affairs.

Nevetsecnuac, with his resilience at first, was reluctant to concede.  He could utilize still more varied stratagems (ploys, gambits), profound views enmeshed with questions to subtly extricate from his host the pertinent information he felt he needed for the successful conclusion to his mission.  Out of consideration for his host, however, he forewent these, seeing how Minister Zaur Stugr 's eyes were now drooping, and his body slouched slightly in utter exhaustion, despite his ceaseless prattling about some present-day political rhetoric that was obviously a hot issue in Court.  In accordance with etiquette, Fradel (Nevetsecnuac) akin showing fatigue discreetly yawned; this provided his host, Minister Zaur, the perfect opportunity to propose calling it a night.

 

                                                                                   ~

 

That late evening after Fradel (Nevetsecnuac) had dismissed all his pesky (bothersome) servants and had seemingly retired, his mind until dawn in fact, taking no solace from his plush surroundings, had raced mercilessly with conflicting summations, views, and personages.  Nevetsecnuac’s thoughts, in a profusion of images, veered incessantly from Deng Hedenko, to his beloved Teuquob, to Heng Erling, to Duan, to Lu Moldan, to Yagu Dorka, to Lord Shonne Gulbrand, to Sorgun Dofu, to Lord Asger Thuxur Marrog Zhon, to Egil Viggoaries, to Zunrogo Tugo, to Tizan Lout, to Lance Diostin, to Zonar, to Dwengzu, to Zakhertan Yozdek, to Hedenko's assassins, and finally to Zaur Stugr. 

Then unpredictably (variably) Nevetsecnuac’s thoughts had lingered for a time on this curious bureaucrat Zaur whom he suspected to be deeply embroiled in this discriminating, astute world of politics, as well, the underlying layer of intrigue and clandestine acts. Contrasting with the seemingly unassuming first impressions, Nevetsecnuac conceived now that Zaur Stugr was rather a more calculating, complex, manipulative, and very profound individual; a most probable explanation therefore, for his (Nevetsecnuac’s) failure to elicit any candid response to any of the pertinent issues he had put forth, all during this evening. Nevetsecnuac felt quite apprehensive at not being able to penetrate that complex cerebral and psychological hedge that Zaur had erected; hence, not being able to appraise Zaur Stugr’s true motives, his genuine personal feelings, vested interests, or political leanings.

Minister Zaur, with his consummate sophistry had oscillated his arguments expertly during the exchange between diverging points of view, therefore appearing totally non-committed about any issues despite his seeming ebullience.  Zaur Stugr had been most careful, even when inebriated, to offer Nevetsecnuac the precise information that appeared invaluable at the outset but, on closer scrutiny, became a dangerous precipice to traverse, all chiefly to measure Nevetsecnuac's response.

In all that time minister Zaur Stugr had tirelessly woven a web of intangible, indecipherable facts to cloud the real, serious issues that were periodically and purposefully interspersed in the seemingly innocuous conversation.

After a time, Nevetsecnuac in resignation shrugged, then divesting his outer garments, reclined on the bed, however, as sleep still averted  him , he simply lay on his back and fixed his gaze on the ornate ceiling; as his eyes gradually adjusted to the scant light from the solitary oil lamp; he distractedly traced the swirls of the intricate filigree.  Despite his outward calm, his heart was torn by conflicting emotions over the inevitable denouement of his intentions.

He’d gone nowhere with his tireless efforts of obtaining any, least bit of info; all his subtle inquiries had amounted to nothing. Either no one knew or everyone was too frightened to even talk about such dangerous topics. 

The dungeon was immense and had many subterranean tunnels all heavily guarded. As for Lord Asger ‘s son, Ivar Marrog Zhon’s whereabouts, (Nevetsecnuac had learned the name by then,) it had been clearly a well-kept secret. Then there had been that presupposition by some individuals that Ivar Marrog Zhon had long been, secretly expired.  This prospect had profoundly (forlornly) frustrated Nevetsecnuac.

 

02- NEVETSECNUAC  JP 34

Nevetsecnuac’s thoughts reverting to Zakhertan Yozdek, the usurper, he shifted uneasily, in his bed.

Having fully assessed the current political situation well in hand, he had come to grips with the grim, undeniable reality that, when he succeeded in his aim, it portended great danger for Wenjenkun.  Logic and duty in his core again stood in terrible conflict. 

The villainous usurper, Zakhertan Yozdek, for all his brutal crimes, was a necessary evil.  After all, he had consolidated his power over everything and had maintained under his iron rule thus far a strong nation that could easily withstand any foreign aggressor, even one as formidable as Emperor Deng Hedenko.

 And what of Korion, who was waiting in the wings for a single chance to strike back despite their seeming conformity (submission)?

Nevetsecnuac comprehended full well, how by killing Zakhertan Yozdek he would be fulfilling his destiny and avenging the countless dead, victimized, wronged, and oppressed citizens of his country and, at the same time, would be robbing the state of the cornerstone of its strength and its best defense. 

By his action he would cast Wenjenkun into utter chaos, during which internal strife would take hold, led chiefly by those three rival contenders, the Yozdek faction, Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren and Minister of Internal Security, Egil Viggoaries’ group, and render the Empire vulnerable to the invading armies of the foreign aggressor, Deng Hedenko, admittedly a greater villain than Zakhertan Yozdek. 

Yet, despite pertinent (relevant) logic, his heart was propelled to wrack vengeance upon Zakhertan Yozdek, if only for Lord Asger Thuxur Marrog Zhon; and besides, he was deeply bound by a strong sense of duty, filial piety, and loyalty to his family, they, taking precedence before Wenjenkun.  How, otherwise, could he face his Ancestors, Lord Asger Zhon, Lord Shonne Gulbrand, the real Fradel Rurik Korvald and the countless others who had sacrificed so much to give him this singular chance? 

Nevetsecnuac did not delude himself that he could, by enlisting the support of one of the rival contenders, through the application of ‘the divide-and-conquer strategy’, take over the state as Crown Prince and rightful heir, without the full support of the army and enough of the bureaucrats to administer the state. So entrenched were these three factions, in the fabric of Wenjenkun that any real change would be improbable, not while these cliques retained even the fraction of their power. There would, at best, still be a period of transition during which the contending parties of the Prime Minister, the Eunuch and the Yozdek family, one by one, would have to be put down and, if need be, entirely (rooted out) eradicated.

 Nevetsecnuac knew that, in most perfect scenario, should he survive these ordeals, his reign may well become the briefest Dynasty. He was also mindful (aware), that his precarious scholar disguise (as a Fradel Rurik Korvald) would not last to avail him of another such opportunity.  The pending (imminent) reversal of fortune for literate was fast approaching (near). They would once more become the escape-goat in the blame game for all the ills of society and county. Meanwhile, the burden of vengeance for all those wronged, restless spirits rested solely and squarely on his shoulders, and he alone had been given this one-time rare opportunity to avenge them all and bring the villain Zakhertan Yozdek to justice.

 Could he spare him because the country needed a strong leader to control the precarious state of internal and external (foreign) affairs that was chiefly Zakhertan’s doing in the first place? 

He had sustained this political volatility chiefly to ensure his uninterrupted reign, right down to fostering an incompetent weakling, which was Crown Prince and heir apparent, Herleif.

Things had already been set in motion. The dreaded future of this country being overrun by a foreign aggressor was as inevitable as the dawn of the day. Once Zakhertan Yozdek was dead, whether it was by assassination or just old age, Wenjenkun was fated to be plunged into a struggle for power that would leave it vulnerable for any hostile takeover.  As Nevetsecnuac saw it, he had no other alternative but to fulfill his destiny and abide by ‘Heaven’s Mandate’.  The Yozdek Reign was meant to end at this time. That was surely a ‘Divine Intervention’, at work here; and that is why he’d been lured out prematurely into this vengeful world. Five years would not have made that much of a difference; he knew full well, that is to be the truth now.

It was in this terrible; unresolved state of mind that Nevetsecnuac (Fradel) faced (greeted) the first light of dawn.

 

                                                                        ~

After the morning session of Court and as soon as he had concluded his other obligations and responsibilities of office, Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren in an unorthodox, yet politically astute move, visited the private residence of the Minister of Ceremony, Zaur Stugr, to extend his personal welcome to the illustrious scholar and poet Fradel Rurik Korvald- one that had been chosen particularly by the Sovereign's chief consort and most recent favorite, Sejon.

In keeping with propriety, Fradel (Nevetsecnuac) bowed low and said, "I have been remiss in my duty and have failed to pay my respects upon my arrival in Channing, to you, Your Excellency; to my great shame you have honored me instead, with your visit."

03- PM LAMONT GUDAREN 7-JP

“I am only too happy to do it.” Prime Minister responded in an unusually affectionate tone and smiled; after which, though he was more than twice Fradel Rurik Korvald’s age, Lamont Gudaren bowed his head slightly in return, as measure of his deep respect, to the scholar.

The Prime Minister, with his glib tongue, bestowed his further felicitations and other such pleasantries as they both moved towards the reception chamber.

There, host and guests (all three,) comfortably seated sipped fragrant tea, and, under the guise of a seemingly innocuous, sincere conversation, they gauged each other’s strengths and weaknesses. During this seemingly pleasant exchange of ideas which lasted several hours, Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren, a man of discerning mind, became more and more enthused by the infinite potential he saw in this scholar Fradel Rurik Korvald.

 

“I could reap untold benefits from furthering this scholar.”  He told himself. 

 

Never one to take chances, however, Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren extended his visit of Minister of Ceremony, Zaur Stugr and Illustrious Scholar Fradel Rurik Korvald and stayed for lunch.  During the sumptuous private feast, despite the heavy consumption of wine, tirelessly, yet discreetly, Prime Minister prodded scholar’s mind further, to ascertain that his first impressions about him had been correct.  By the end of his subsequent, though, subtle (shrewd, ingenious) examination, Lamont was unequivocally impressed with the scholar's superior attributes; his eloquence, his outstanding quickness and brilliance of mind, his noble bearing, and exceptional good looks; all these findings had far exceeded the Prime Minister's expectations.

“If Fradel Rurik Korvald had been born to a noble family he would have, most certainly, gone much farther than he had.” Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren mused, looking down and stroking the long, stringy beard that reached his mid-chest.

 

 “But all is not lost; even at this late stage, something can easily be arranged.”  

At that very moment Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren had conceived a plan to utilize the scholar’s full potential by adopting him into his ranks where, as his protégé, he could mold Fradel into the position of greatness he deserved.

“Ah, that is if the political winds do not shift yet again.” But then on second thought Lamont conceded that it would be best to exercise caution and bide his time until Fradel Rurik Korvald had passed His Highness' scrutiny.

“Yes, we will first assess the impression you make on the Emperor, Fradel Rurik Korvald, before we risk all in any venture on your behalf.”

 

Prime Minister was just then given a confidential message; after a quick perusal, despite his reluctance to end the stimulating exchange (conversation) with Fradel, he quickly rose to his feet.  Stating that, “he must return to his office to attend to an urgent matter of the State,” he quickly left.

Seated comfortably within the posh carriage that was hastening away, Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren knitted his brows in ire and mumbled.  “How could things have gotten so out of hand? No doubt about it, Egil Viggoaries has engineered this!  He has played his hand just so, to discredit me.”

 

 

                                                                                ~

 

(END OF SECTION 3) 

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - ON THE WAY TO THE CAPITAL - SECTION 35

 

The cloaked figure had appeared before him out of nowhere, Lance Diostin sizing up this unmistakably, imposing warrior brandishing his sword, threw his head back and laughed venomously.  "And who are you supposed to be, dressed up as ‘The Avenging Ghost?’  Why this absurd, masquerade?"

"You are more accurate in your description than you imagine, sir; but it could not be helped." The cloaked figure laughed back and shrugged then assumed a more serious demeanor.

 "I have no quarrel with you personally, fact is, captain Zunrogo has not outlived his usefulness; so be warned, I can be your benefactor or your nemesis, depending on your choice.  All I ask is that you forego your intention to end his life, and then perhaps, I can be persuaded to spare your life."

"How magnanimous of you…  How fortunate for me that you are considering sparing me.  Look, I'm trembling in fear." Lance Diostin responded with a sneer.

01-LANCE DIOSTIN JP 13

"Spare my life indeed!  A mortal is not yet born who can defeat me.  Tell His Lordship to go to blazes!"  He launched into a murderous assault, bringing his full fighting skill against the cloaked figure.

"His Lordship?" the figure parried Lance Diostin’s thrusts with ease.

"Don't play dumb with me!"  Infuriated, Lance Diostin fought with the fierceness of a tiger and the swiftness of a whirlwind, leaving no room for any further discussion or opportunity for truce.

This time, however, it was Lance Diostin who was clearly outmatched.  The ensuing pitched exchange was brief.  Too late, the invincibility of the cloaked figure was revealed to him but by then, in the blink of an eye, Lance Diostin found himself on the receiving end of a magnificent, powerful strike which left him unarmed, with his magnificent sword cast aside, shockingly almost insensate (unconscious, numbed, almost paralyzed) and near mortally wounded, at (inches from) the other's feet.  A dry, death rattle in his throat, still defiant, he demanded to know the identity of this worthy opponent who had bested him.  The figure, however, simply shook his head, and said: “Truth will be disclosed, when we face each other next. You are a great warrior with invincible prowess; therefore, I’m averse to the idea of heedlessly (recklessly, rashly) terminating your life.” He nodded, “first, however, I must have your word that you will, forsaking your aim, leave your sword behind and swiftly depart (flee). I have no doubt you equally excel in swimming and therefore, will reach the shore in safety, despite your (injures) wounds?”

Lance Diostin was intrigued with his opponent’s magnanimous gesture; besides which, a chance to again duel with this invincible foe was an enticement enough to convince him to at present capitulate, so reluctantly he nodded his head, acceding (ascending, agreeing) to the cloaked figure’s terms (stipulations, conditions).

“But how will I know it’s you, when I encounter you in the future?” He then, as if in afterthought, asked. The cloaked figure after a pensive thought, nodded, “Very well I will reveal my identity to you, if you wow (swear) to keeping it a secret from everyone, till then.”

Lance Diostin, who was famed for his honorable character (unblemished reputation), readily concurred and gave his solemn promise; however, nothing had prepared him for the shocking revelation he was about to witness next. He was absolutely aghast and his eyes wide with disbelief continued to stare at his opponent’s face that had been only briefly revealed to him. Lance Diostin, despite the intense pain, pulled himself upright as he chuckled and then, turning to face this remarkable being, shook his head. “Oh, you are good. You had me, had all of us, so completely duped!”

“Considering your impaired physical state, are you certain you can safely reach the shore?” The cloaked figure, disregarding this, impatiently asked and, having received another nod, and lance’s words, “I wouldn’t miss, not for anything, our next encounter.” Stepped aside to allow Lance Diostin to walk past him.  The cloaked figure’s eyes impassively (cooly) then followed Lance, who despite his grave injuries, with remarkable resilience, swiftly advanced to the edge of the deck.

Lance Diostin half turned his head, his gaze unreadable, to simply say, “Capital Channing is the domain (sphere) of ultimate (supreme) jeopardy (hazard, risk, peril) keep that in mind and stay safe; I bid you farewell, till our next encounter (combat, contest).”

02- LANCE DIOSTIN JP 18

Then nimbly, with a fluid grace dove off the edge, to quickly be engulfed (plunged, rushed) by the choppy waters of the river.

The cloaked figure lingered at the spot for a moment or two then pensively nodded his head, and turning away, precipitously advanced his steps down the stairs, to below deck; as he rushed down the corridor towards his cabin, he came face to face with another cloaked figure brandishing a bloody sword.

“Who the hell are you?” Bellowed the other masked, formidable opponent but then not waiting for an answer, he launched his murderous attack.

“No matter, you must die!”

 He was in fact the covert affiliate of a secret Brotherhood; known as Kaelan, who’d been all this time posing as one of the ordinary crewmen, called Zack, on board this vessel, going about undetected. One of the best agents of Kozurs, working as a double spy, had as well, carried orders from Lance Diostin to undermine Zunrogo’s plans.

Kaelan’s blade was dripping with blood as he’d just fought his way against the barricade, butchering countless to advance towards his objective. He had attacked Disaidun Agripe, dealt her a near mortal blow then reaching beneath her bodice (the upper part of woman’s dress or undergarment that covers the upper body), stole the letter from the secret pocket. The original one secured on him, he’d then replaced hers with the fake (bogus) letter.

Kaelan’s surplus orders had been, to deal with or, to cooperate (assist) with Lance Diostin, depending on the circumstances (outcome) back on deck, after Lance had incapacitated (vanquished) Zunrogo and the Lieutenant. He was rushing there to fight, rather, to inform Lance of the amended orders, that there was no longer any need to destroy the vessel along with everyone on board. A highly competent double agent, Kaelan’s real objective (the letter being switched) done, he was then simply to disappear for an indetermined period, supposedly, to report back (not just to Kozurs but also) to Black Molochs. 

The sudden encounter with this unknown masked man with his blade tainted with blood revealed to Kaelan that, something had gone terribly awry (amiss, wrong). 

An awful thought just then crossed Kaelan’s mind, as there were no sounds of battle above, in fact all was perfectly quiet. Still no time to worry, he’d launched his murderous assault to deal with, rather vanquish, this unexpected adversary (foe). But as the two fought on it soon became clear to Kaelan, just who the victor would be; the covert crewman ceasing an only opportunity, took to his heals with the enemy hot in pursuit. Once on deck, the quick fleeting look (glance) told Kaelan of the dire situation, rushing to the edge, he dove straight off the boat to disappear in the turbulent, foamy waters. A Good strong swimmer he was gone from sight within minutes. The other masked warrior, abandoning pursuit, quickly returned to his cabin.

                                                                                  ~

 

When the blackness lifted, Zunrogo with hazy eyes spotted (saw), Lance Diostin’s discarded heirloom sword in a pool of blood just a few feet away, and even though there was no sign of Lance Diostin, corpse or otherwise anywhere to be seen, he still presumed of Lance’s certain demise and sharply sat up.

Looking at his own bloodied sword, then back at Lance Diostin’s discarded blade, then over to Tizan who was still unconscious and collapsed against the mast, Zunrogo was now puzzled.  Unable to recollect (remember) exactly what or how it happened, he pieced all the probable set of circumstances, clues and facts to conclude that he must have somehow, before he lost consciousness, had dealt his opponent Lance Diostin, the mortal blow at the edge of the deck, and his corpse must have tumbled into the fast flowing waters of the river. Ignoring the painful throbbing top of his head and temples, he slowly rose to his feet and tottered over to pick up Lance Diostin’s heirloom sword, the irrefutable proof of the foe’s demise.

03- LANCE DIOSTIN'S DISCARDED HEIRLOOM-SWORD

Studying the blade’s edge and noticing a fissure (cleft) in it, he wondered, “Such force… Could I have done that? Did I slew him?” he marveled, wondering, as his fingers lightly traced the obvious indentation (crack, cleft, fracture). 

The next instant his face fell in a frown, “This is terrible…This is not what supposed to have happened. Blast!”  Besides, he needed Lance Diostin alive for questioning.

“How could I have been so reckless, or driven to such desperation, to have taken this adverse course? Yet I cannot recollect how …” Baffled by the mystery and angry at this obvious set-back, he gingerly caressed the large, pulsating bump on the back of his head then brought his hand around to look with a disconcerted eye at his blood-soaked fingers.

 “Strange, I clearly remember how I got this wound but everything after that my mind is a complete blank.”

He shook his head.  “Ouch!  Don't do that again.”  He inwardly admonished self, for his carelessness.

Zunrogo’s brief scrutiny of his body revealed numerous lacerations, gashes, and bruises, none of which were particularly serious, except one on his left thigh.  He made a mental note to have this one sewn up, for the gash was too deep for the flesh to bind on its own.  Thank goodness it’d missed the blood vessel!  For now, he tore some strips off his shirt and wrapped them tightly around the wound to stop the bleeding as he looked once more at Lance Diostin’s sword.  He remembered how he had got this wound as well.

“Why is my memory so selectively clouded about the last set of events?  What in blazes happened?”  This mental fog was most disconcerting for him.

Just then Tizan's stirring drew Zunrogo's attention.  Rushing over to the Lieutenant's side, he knelt and helped Tizan sit up.

 "I thought I'd lost you for good; now there, take it easy."  His manner was unusually friendly.

"You can't get rid of me that easily." Tizan smiled, echoing of the captain's good humor.  Then an unexpected, faint groan escaped his lips, “Uggh…The hammering in my head!" 

Shamefaced, Tizan gave a darting glance at Zunrogo, for in all these years this was the first time Tizan had complained about anything.

"So, you're made of flesh and blood after all." Zunrogo affectionately patted Tizan's shoulder then rose to his feet with a grimace.

Tizan's eye fell on Lance Diostin’s heirloom sword.  "You have his sword; is he dead, Captain?"

04--TZAN JP

"Deader than a doornail." came the dispassionate answer from Zunrogo.

"Well then, sir, your reputation should be greatly enhanced after this."

 Disregarding the pain shooting across his chest, Tizan picked himself up off of the deck.

"More than you can imagine." Zunrogo donned (gave) a grin of satisfaction.

"But I thought you wanted him alive?"  Tizan ripped off his wet shirt and unbuckled his breastplate.

"It couldn't be helped." Zunrogo shrugged, his gaze still fixed on Lance Diostin’s sword.

"But how did you manage it?  If you don't mind my saying so, the last I recall you were in dire straits.  He was on the point of vanquishing you."

Tizan's direct question hit home as he again recalled that same time.  “How indeed… Yet somehow, I had turned the evil tide in my favor and changed the outcome. I’m here, aren’t I?” Zunrogo pensively looked away. 

“Too bad I can't recollect any details.” Zunrogo then simply shrugged and said no more.

“The concussion must have caused this temporary amnesia (memory loss). Though it’s most irritating,” Zunrogo inwardly reasoned, “perhaps it’ll all come back, soon, I hope. Hah, meanwhile, my nemesis is dead.”  He took comfort in that thought and walked to the edge of the deck, looked down then cast his gaze far, at the barely visible snaking shoreline perimeter of the (wide) vast expanse of the fast-flowing river.

"Perhaps, Captain, when things are straightened out, you will enlighten me as to how you defeated so competent a foe." Tizan misinterpreted Zunrogo's reluctance as modesty, had snuck up behind him, to add; he thereon continued to be a pesky nuisance.

Looking back to his Lieutenant, Zunrogo nodded distractedly then smiled wryly when he saw how oblivious Tizan was to the pain of the multiple cuts and bruises on his limbs and chest.  His eye caught one slash, that was bleeding profusely.

 "You'd best take care of that wound." he pointed it out with his chin.

"I still have plenty of blood to spare." Tizan pressed his shirt against it observing more closely Lance’s heirloom-sword, which Zunrogo still held onto.  When he caught sight of the indentation at the edge of blade, he let out his breath in a long, involuntary gasp, "Wow!"

He looked up at Zunrogo, with an admiring gaze.  “Had he really done this?  I had no idea he could muster such force.”

Zunrogo ignored his reaction, looked around him and commented thoughtfully, "We have quite a bit of cleaning up to do, Tizan.  Do you think you're up to the task?"

"And why not…  Since when few cuts and bruises ever slowed me down, Captain?  I'm no old woman!"  Tizan indignantly sprung to his feet but the profuse bleeding from his wound constrained him, nonetheless, to do something about it.  Cutting some more strips, this time from the shirt of one of the corpses, he wound them tightly around his wound, giving it a haphazard, but effective, dressing.  At least now he could work unhindered.  He knew what had to be done without being told and he set too with closest perimeter, following the set routine, piling up the carcasses in (heaps) groups of two or three and finding heavy objects to tie them for weight.  He was ready to tackle the next batch (of corpses further away), when Zunrogo grasped his arm.

"No, Tizan, all this can wait."  He indicated with a nod of his head for Tizan to follow, as he swiftly (descended the stairs and) disappeared below decks.

 

 

(END OF SECTION 35)

                                                                                                 ~

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - ON THE WAY TO THE CAPITAL - SECTION - 12

"But what’s with this entire hullabaloo (commotion) over scholar Fradel Rurik Korvald?"  Yennic's question grabbed anew Nevetsecnuac's full attention.

 "Why has he been drawn into this conflict?  I mean, why he specifically, when more brilliant, articulate poets reside close at hand to His Highness?"

01- BRILLIANT SCHOLAR

"I know who you're referring to,” Zhadol grimaced wryly, "but he would hardly do.  It’s not the quality of the Scholar's work that is in question here.  Well, maybe a little bit."   Zhadol shook his head.

"More specifically, Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren’s recommendation of Fradel Rurik Korvald was politically motivated.  He aimed, of course, to further ingratiate himself in Her Ladyship's good graces while she still enjoys the good graces of His Highness.  Since Lady Sejon has acquired a certain fondness for this poet's earlier works and was intrigued by his elusiveness, his required presence in the upcoming event is merely an exercise in power."

"Is it as trivial as that?" Yennic smirked.

"Trivial it may be, but Fradel Rurik Korvald is another strategically placed pawn on the game board of the two rival factions.  Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren knows, and cultivates, Her Ladyship's particular dislike of Egil Viggoaries and, as already her favored uncle, he aims to…"

"I understand." Yennic interrupted impatiently and completed Zhadol’s line of reasoning. “Lady Sejon, an enchanting beauty (of about twenty-three years old, with clear blue eyes and long wavy, golden hair,) is the Emperor Zakhertan Yozdek’s most recent, favored, chief consort.” Yennic could not resist boasting of his knowledge, so he simply rattled on.

02- LADY SEJON YOZDEK (2)JP

“She is particularly important, since she is also the mother of fourth Prince Prince Magnian, who is by all accounts, a little darling, captivating all courtiers ‘hearts at five years of age. Besides which Lady Sejon also happens to be the P.M Lamont Gudaren’s much beloved, deceased, third sister’s daughter, is she not? The Prime Minister, through her, hopes to effectively slander His Excellency Egil Viggoaries; however, if Fradel Rurik Korvald fails to appear for the summons, it will reflect badly on Lamont Gudaren, and Her Ladyship's tolerance of failure is not unlike that of His Highness."

"Precisely," Zhadol nodded.

"Still, Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren has no doubt-built safeguards against this inevitability." Yennic asserted his fresh argument.  "He wouldn't launch any idea without first having a foolproof backup in place.  Besides, aren't you always counseling me not to take things at face value?  It’s no secret how the Prime Minister's tentacles extend far beyond the Court itself into several provinces where, as I understand, several governors and viceroys are his clients. “

“At least twice Egil Viggoaries's age, he's nevertheless calculating and far-sighted and his political strategies are supremely effective.  He has a hand in most of the conspiracies.  His agents are dispersed widely across the Empire such that there is little that escapes his attention.  But so far, his forces and wide influence have been seemingly kept in check by His Excellency Egil Viggoaries who, rightly so, is shrewder and far more ruthless.  Am I right?"

"Yes, yes.  Why are you telling me what we already know?  What's your point and what do you mean by 'seemingly'?

"My point is that contrary to P. M. Lamont Gudaren’s belief, what if Dwengzur is, in fact, collaborating in one of Egil Viggoaries’s diabolical plots and we've been sent on a false trail, chiefly to get us out of harm's way?  Why should it be inconceivable that, in this instance, even His Excellency may be duped with the diversion of an upcoming assassination attempt on His Highness?"

"A conspiracy… Is that what all this has been leading up to?"  Zhadol shook his head.

"That's highly improbable and, I should say, too premature.  Even if Dwengzur did secretly align with Field Marshall Yonku, Chancellor Tiver and the rest of the Prime Minister's despicable lackeys against Egil Viggoaries, it would be sheer madness for them to try anything.  The forces that have been dispatched, including us, constitute a relatively small contingent of the Elite Divisions.  The main body, as far as I know, is still stationed in the Capital and our absence has not even made a small dent in the scope of things."

03-COMMANDER ZHADOL AND HIS LIEUTENANT YENNIC

Relentlessly, with a calculating gleam in his eye, Yennic inclined towards Zhadol and suggested, "Still, we've been quite out of touch here, Zhadol.  Suppose that, after our departure, the rest were dispersed as well on other pretexts."

"You’re not suggesting… the Imperial Guards?” Zhadol shook his head.  "Not likely.  You know they can't be bribed.  And there's the flaw in your hypothesis.”

“Besides, despite the low profile His Highness prefers to keep, he still maintains absolute rule in all facets of the Government and the Military.  Everything is closely monitored and passes only when it receives His Highness' seal of approval.

“Zakhertan Yozdek’s Secret Police, aside from the Internal Census Bureau, are so potent that no one would dare make the slightest move.  They would cut down the instant they tried anything treasonous.

"Oh, but what a fantastic imagination you have!" Zhadol laughed heartily, throwing his head back.  "You always manage to entertain me when I'm least expecting it, brightening up my darkest moods.  I confess, for a moment there I almost took you seriously.  You almost duped me into thinking you were in earnest.  Go on; elaborate more on your conspiracy theory if you please."

Yennic was thoroughly annoyed at the Commander's condescension but, with an effort, unclenched his fist and masked his fury.  Grimacing sheepishly, he played along in shamed naiveté, "Yet His Highness allows the two factions that contend for power to grow in strength daily."

"In fact, His Highness encourages it."

"Is that not disruptive to the State?" Yennic asked wide-eyed.

"On the contrary," Zhadol smiled knowingly, "I should think that it strengthens the State."

“Quite right,” Nevetsecnuac acknowledged. “As long as these two are kept feuding with each other, there's no danger of either of them usurping the usurper.  It’s a simple, but effective textbook strategy.  The moment one of them topples the other, the overconfident victor, in his exhausted state, can easily be vanquished (eliminated)”.

"All right, then, maybe it’s not a national conspiracy.  Maybe it’s you and I that are targeted.  Maybe we're the ones who are being set up." Yennic growled  his insistent, despondent retort.

Strangely enough, at that moment a cloud of concern brushed Zhadol’s face.  He knitted his brows and, narrowing his eyes, studied the Lieutenant intensely but, shaking his head to quickly disperse the questions and suspicions that invaded (encroach) his mind, he rebuked Yennic, "You're talking nonsense again.  I don't see why.  Even if it was his intention to rid himself of us, there were ample other avenues, more plausible and less costly alternatives that could have been (employed) utilized."

04- NEVETSECNUAC  UP IN A TREE LISTENING

“His intention…”  Nevetsecnuac was intrigued.  “Was that a slip of the tongue?”

 

"Besides, you're overrating your own importance."  Zhadol turned sharply and, despite himself, sneered maliciously at Yennic.  Obviously, something of what was said had touched a raw nerve in him.

Yennic wondered, “Could some of the rumors that have been circulating have some validity after all?  If so, there's too much at stake here.  I mustn't act rashly.”

Yennic knew enough when to back off.  Rising in silence, Yennic began pacing back and forth, irritated.  “It had taken him many long, painstaking months to worm his way into Zhadol’s confidence.  Jeopardizing that now would have far more serious repercussions, yet his impatient nature gnawed at him, egging him on to act now… All right, how about a different angle of approach?”  He stole a sidelong glance at Zhadol, who was lost in thoughtful silence with his blank gaze, all the same, tracking Yennic.

Halting his steps abruptly, Yennic turned and said, "Well, if that cursed scholar is going to show up, I wish he'd hurry up with it.  The men have been quite restless for some time for some serious action.  They may prove unruly if we wait much longer."

"Now, Yennic, are you really speaking for the men, or for yourself?"  Zhadol, quite disarmed, smiled and stroked his beard.

Yennic looked away in agitation, not returning the smile.  Hand grasping the hilt of his sword, he turned his fiery gaze back on Zhadol and stamped his foot like an impatient child. 

“Yes, I admit it; I’ve had just about enough with all this waiting.  My sword is thirsting for his blood.  I can hardly wait to present his learned head to His Excellency."

"Why, I didn't realize that you were so ambitious, Yennic."  Zhadol frowned with mock displeasure to lighten the other's mood.  "Are you, by any chance, now planning to go over my head and curry favors from His Excellency for yourself."

"Oh, I wouldn't be so presumptuous."  Yennic rushed over to sit beside the Commander and shook his head.  "Nor would I have the nerve.  I know fully well my own shortcomings, and I've seen something of His Excellency's whims and tempers.  I wouldn't have a prayer for a chance."  Looking into Zhadol’s eyes, he added in a sincere, earnest tone, "I'm far safer where I am; under your good guidance and your protective wing."

Pleased with this unexpected praise, Zhadol smiled and nodded.  Fixing his gaze on the other, he counseled him in an affectionate, concerned voice, "Don't take this to heart, but you really are too impetuous for your own good, Yennic.  You know that don't you?"  He waited for the other's nod of assent before he resumed, "Granted, I was once just like you.  I, too, acted rashly, bursting with youthful vigor but now, things are far more complicated, far too dangerous.  You say that you'll never go over my head to curry favor with Egil Viggoaries."  He shook his head and raised his hand, "No, wait!  I suspect that you firmly believe that now but one day, when you've outgrown me, that will be your intention.  I'd like to caution you beforehand not to act too rashly.”

“Don’t make the slightest move until you're ascertained your-self tenfold of the outcome.  Egil Viggoaries 's inner circle, I'm referring to the Black Molochs, play for serious stakes and, if you're not strong enough, they'll swallow you up, crush your dignity and strip off your self- respect beyond any repair.  I've had my own share of regret and pain in the past as I came up the ladder.  I thought that I was ready, too, when I entered the playing field," Zhadol could not hide the bitterness from his voice, "but they exposed weaknesses in me I never knew I had.  I'm fond of you, so I want you to take the counsel of one who's already been there.  If nothing else, I'd like to spare you from my own (humiliation and) heartaches.”

“For now, however, you would do well to exercise caution, cultivate perseverance and curb your ambition a little.  You're bold, too bold for your own good if you ask me."

"Old age has made you weary." Yennic teased to lighten the gravity of Zhadol's mood but, seeing the frown on the other's face, quickly retracted his gibe.

 In a sincere tone, he added, "I do appreciate your concern, Zhadol, and I promise I'll mend my ways… all right?”

Zhadol was appeased and, the next moment, they had both put their heads together in an animated, inaudible conversation.  Yennic gesticulated wildly and went on, his lips twisting into a provocative smile one minute, a savage sneer the next.

Nevetsecnuac was about to take his leave when Yennic asked with clear concern, "The trouble between you and Egil Viggoaries, tell me, has it passed?  Are you back- in- his-good- graces now that you've been invited to that?"

"Ah, that's it; it’s finally out!"  Zhadol smiled coldly, interrupting the Lieutenant.

 "So that's what's really been praying on your mind all night?  I'd guessed as much because of what happened, but you need not have taken such a roundabout way to it.  Why didn't you just come right out and ask me at the start?"

Seeing the uselessness of denial, Yennic conceded with lowered head, "I wasn't certain how you would react."

This may prove interesting.  Nevetsecnuac nodded and decided to stay a while longer.

"All right but first tell me the exact details of what you have heard concerning this,” Zhadol prompted (pressed) Yennic.

"Nothing too specific," Yennic grunted.  "Only that you defied His Excellency's wish on some matter or other and that he was seriously cross with you."

"And that was enough to give you cause for alarm?"

"Certainly," Yennic nodded.

"It’s very good of you to be so concerned about my welfare," Zhadol smiled broadly, "but I assure you, things have been pacified.  You needn’t worry about me any longer.  I haven't survived this long for nothing, you know.  However, don't think for a moment that I haven't paid dearly for it."  Zhadol gritted his teeth and absentmindedly rubbed the back of his neck.  "You know how Egil Viggoaries carries a grudge.  I suspect that, one day, it will all come back to haunt me all over again and compound my miseries.  My mistakes are tolerated somewhat at present because I have not yet outlived my usefulness and because I once meant something more to him."

"As well, being one of the twelve of the Inner Circle of the Black Molochs helps." Yennic interjected.

"I have well-earned that distinction!"  Zhadol studied the Lieutenant from the corner of his eye.

"No one would dispute that.  At least you were once his favorite." Yennic mumbled, envying Zhadol’s position.  "Precious few can own up to that prestigious, most coveted distinction.  Surely you can't discount the benefits you've reaped, the favors you've received from the ones who have rushed to ingratiate themselves with you?"

"Do you think that this was a privilege that made up for all the warring, truculent existence and degradation?"   Zhadol shook his head, smiling bitterly, "You don't know what it is that you’re wishing for.  You can't imagine what I had to go through and do; to what ends I was driven to satisfy his perverse appetite for suffering."   Zhadol dropped his head, as if in shame.   "Some of the things he made me do!"  His features crunched up as he meekly ejected, "Yennic, even now, I can't bear to even think of them."

“Yet you call me ambitious!” Yennic scoffed under his outward visage of sympathy.

"After all that, after all I'd done for him, how readily he turned on me that night!"   Zhadol looked up, indignation firing his eyes.  "It is true what they secretly whisper about him, that he is devoid of any decent human feelings, least of all compassion.  And his cruelty, his cruelty knows no bounds.  He feasts on bloodshed and delights in humiliating others.  Hah, he's a carbon copy of one whose name I dare not mention aloud!  Many a time I was the unfortunate target of his rage, those sudden and violent outbursts but..."   Zhadol abruptly fell silent.  "We've got company," he whispered as he jutted (stuck out) his chin pointing in the direction of a pair of watchful eyes.

Yennic stirred slightly, clutching the hilt of his sword, and was about to suddenly spring into action when the gleaming eyes receded in a flash and darted back into the bush.  The next instant two pairs of scuttling feet were heard pattering into the distance.

 Zhadol grasped Yennic's arm, holding him back.  "Let it be.  Foxes are strange, unpredictable creatures."  He nodded thoughtfully as the Lieutenant complied, settled back.  "You want to know something, Yennic?  Egil Viggoaries has a strange passion for them; it may even be called an obsession.  It may have something to do with an incident that happened when he was barely seven.  He had accompanied Zakhertan Yozdek on a hunting expedition to Kaporelon.  Seeing this as a mark of privilege and high favor, Egil Viggoaries was determined to prove his own worth."

"Wasn't he then made to…,” Yennic looked down, bit the corner of his lip then quickly added, “to punish the spirited animal that had given them quite a chase?"

"So, I've told you about it already,” Zhadol grimaced.  "According to Egil Viggoaries, he did it unflinchingly and so earned the regard of His Highness and the respect of the other courtiers.  However, one of these courtiers, long since dead, once told me the young Egil Viggoaries had lingered over the task, his eyes like glass, his heart turned to stone, as he then relentlessly pushed to complete it, just to gain Zakhertan Yozdek’s approval.  The experience, however, had left an indelible mark on young Egil and had far more serious repercussions than he would ever care to admit.  Perhaps at the time he’d secretly felt an innate kinship with the trapped beast, whose resilience had been likened to one of his prior experiences.  One thing is for certain, all who knew him commented afterwards on how he had returned from that hunting trip with a cast-iron confidence, stone heart, and resilient (hardy) character."

 

(END OF SECTION 12)

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