LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 28

Crying had offered no solace to Canute, and when the stark reality of his mother’s demise fully sunk in, all reason and sense had abandoned him. 

01 - CANUTE DESPAIRING

His rant (angry outbursts) and hysterical screams next, had brought the whole household to his mother's door.  Customers and servants clambered over one another as they pounded fiercely on both doors, demanding they be let in at once.

 But Canute, in a state of shock had remained quite inert, oblivious to the mayhem outside.  His body was completely benumbed as if he was pinned, crushed under the oppressive weight of an enormous boulder the size of a mountain.  His limbs (arms), as if severed from the mind's control, hung listlessly on either side of him, pulled down by a burdensome weight.  His face ashen, Canute stared with voided thoughts at his mother through the curtain of tragic, bittersweet tears that still streamed down his cheeks and chin to dampen his shirt.

Finally, one of the doors was brought down with a great crushing sound and both Ron and Tike burst in neck and neck.  A small crowd of curious seekers, too apprehensive to cross a sick woman's threshold, craned their necks to cautiously peer in.  Flushed faces became pale and grim as they exchanged meaningful looks and, inclined their heads together in groups, whispered hushed words among themselves, exchanged information and disclaimers of her rumored illness, while pointing the discrete finger of accusation at Tike and Ron.

Tike had gone straight for Helga and began ranting over the spoilt bedding and the trouble that had been incurred, while Ron Kuri had savagely grabbed hold of Canute by the collar of his shirt (at back of the neck), lifted him up high in air, and burrowed his threatening, venomous glare into Canute. When Canute defiantly stuck his tongue out at him, Ron foaming in the mouth, cursed and reviled Canute then spat at Canute’s face. Growling, he demanded snap (instant, quick) answers to his barrage of unremitting (relentless) questions:

"Why didn't you open the door… wretch?  How the hell did you get out?  Who was it that let you out?  Cat got your tongue; answer me, damn you!”

Canute’s scathing (scornful), defiant glare and snarl on his lips, however, earned him Ron’s seething ire.  “Why aren’t you afraid? I can crush you like a bug. I’ll snuff the very life out of you, you brazen, cursed worm!"

02- RON KURI

Canute’s stubborn nature would never allow him to admit defeat; his perpetual, derisive grin, therefore, further antagonized the already furious Ron, as murder registered in his pupils (eyes): "You dare so brazenly, challenge me?" Ron barked, as he violently shook Canute as if he was a ragdoll; he then slapped Canute real hard, not once but twice, right across the face.

Canute’s cheeks smarted (burnt, stung) really bad, but he desisted shedding any tears; meanwhile, the foul, sweaty stench of an unwashed male had assailed Canute's senses, overpowering the lingering scent of his mother's sweet perfume.  Blood trickled (oozed), from his nostrils and from the corners of his swollen lips, onto his torn shirt in streaks of pale crimson.  Although the physical pain inflicted by Ron Kuri tested Canute’s endurance it was dwarfed in comparison to the anguish he felt deep in his heart and so, not a sound, not even the slightest whimper escaped Canute's lips. 

In truth, Canute was now beyond caring, he did not feel or hear any of the heaped-on abuse; thus, highly incensed Ron was robbed of the perverse satisfaction he sought to gain.  Another fierce strike (hit) just then pummeled the side of Canute's head and sent him flying clear across the room to slam his head hard against the door post; consequently, Canute lost his orientation (balance, senses), all about him turned blurry and began to spin.

"You are no good shit!  What did you do that for?" Tike's voice shrieked.  "What if you've killed him?"

"What about it?  Who cares?  Who would miss the wretch, anyway?" came Ron's cold retort.  "Good riddance to bad rubbish, I say!  Let the bastard die and join his mother in hell.  It’s no skin off of my nose."

"No skin off of your nose?  No skin off your nose?" Tike ground her teeth.  "You're going to land me in serious trouble, that's what!  How can I sell him to the Wang family in the condition he's in now?  Didn't I tell you to curb your temper?  You've cost me more money than the skin of your nose is worth!"

As Canute's throat filled up with blood the voices drifted into the distance, echoing meaninglessly garble in his head.  He felt his body grow icy cold, he was tumbling, falling into a deep, dark abyss from incredible, towering heights.

                                                                                      ~

"I warned you not to hit him so hard!  What if he expires before the pertinent details of the crime and the whereabouts of the loot can be extracted from him?  All we have so far is the motive for his crimes." Micen Do, seething (livid), furiously chastised (reprimanded) Mouro.

"Begging your pardon, Your Honor," the Court physician's somber voice just then interjected,

 "I'm now ready to report my diagnosis."

“Permission granted.”  Receiving the signal from Micen, physician Sullen came forward and knelt on one knee to make his report.

 "Despite the gravity of his injuries, the accused possesses a well-developed physique.  In a while he should recover his senses sufficiently to be responsive to further questioning."

"A while..." Micen exploded.  “Am I surrounded by nincompoops, total incompetents?  I demand you revive him now…Immediately!"

"I've done all that's medically possible, Your Honor," Sullen protested, trembling, "but I'm afraid that the last blow to the left temple was so serious that it left the prisoner Canute Yonn in a very critical state. To bring him around prematurely could put him in peril and leave him in an irreversible vegetative state or worse, endanger his life (bring about his death).  We must wait for the treatment I've administered, for it to gradually take effect."

"Nonsense…!”  His life (already a forfeit,) is of no consequence anymore.  Are you ..."

"Please allow me to atone for my mistake, Your Honor." Mouro hastily intervened, stepping forward and falling to one knee.  "If you permit me, sir, I'll bring him around now."

"You... You'll be made to answer for your mistake later!"  Grumbling, Micen shook his head and motioned to the Head Bailiff, Hecun.  "You, bailiff, bring him around."

Hecun rushed at once to comply as Mouro and the physician both quietly stepped aside.  Kneeling, he grabbed Canute by the shoulders and shook him fiercely, shouting, "Snap out of it!  You hear me, snap out of it!  You are in the presence of the Honorable Prefect Micen Do.  Stop this charade, this nonsense at once or you'll only suffer the worst for it!"

When this and other such threats proved ineffective, Hecun, under the watchful eyes of the Prefect, resorted to a controlled battering of the prisoner.  As Micen impatiently drummed his fingers on the table, the flustered Hecun grabbed Canute by the hair and slapped him with his free hand until his hand hurt.

"What did you do that for?" Micen interposed, freezing Hecun's hand in mid blow.

He had become rather apprehensive about Canute's condition.  "What if you've killed him?"

"Don't touch her!  Let go of her!  Mama!  Mama!  I'll kill you!  I'll kill you all!"

"Have you gone completely mad?"  Hecun went back to shaking Canute by the shoulders.  "Snap out of it!  You're in court."

A sharp pain suddenly brought Canute back to life.  Utilizing (using) his innate skill, in a split-second, overpowering (disabling) Hecun, he’d pressed his bloodied iron shackles against Hecun's throat.  In this desperate scuffle the bailiff, despite his robustness, had fared the worst.  Presently locked in the extraordinary (weird, odd) iron's grip, he was prohibited from using his full strength to neither free himself, nor subdue the prisoner.

Fortunately, Canute abruptly came to his senses, sprang back and promptly released Hecun.

"Get him up!  He seems to have regained his senses." Micen intervened.

 Two other bailiffs rushed over at once to raise Canute to his feet.

 Hecun's parting kick was frozen in mid-stream (halfway through) by Micen’s bark, "Let him be, I say!"

Staggering, Canute's bewildered gaze moved from the Head Bailiff Hecun still panting with rage, to the Prefect Micen Do, to Mouro, to the physician Sullen, and then to the two constraining (in part supporting) him by the arms.  Having suffered a serious memory lapse, his crazed eyes, inexplicably next stared at his shackled hands and feet, drenched in his own blood.

Canute’s focus once more became vacant (empty) and all voices (sounds) melted away as his tortured wits (mindset, brain) wandered back to another reality, to his mother, to his childhood.                                                                                    

The wicked past (events) cruelly now paraded before his mind's eye and triggered involuntary shudder as he anew experienced fresh anguish of all those tormented years of enslavement in the hands of the Wang family. 

He’d endured unspeakable degradation (humiliation/indignity), physical pain and malice until, finally, on his thirteenth try; he'd successfully escaped to freedom and to safety.

He grimaced coldly in satisfaction when he recalled how, in the small hours of the night, just prior to leaving the city he had snuck back into the cellar of the cursed brothel by way of a secret tunnel he'd found earlier.

Careful not to be seen, he’d forced the lock and gained entry into his mother's former room, which had remained empty for seven years to rid it of her ghost; then, exerting some effort he’d recovered the paltry sum she'd hidden under the floorboards.

03- CANUTE (in his teens)

 First, he’d made sure both Tike and Ron were in their cursed residence then, returning to the basement, he’d arranged all sorts of flammable material in strategic corners of the basement, dosed (soaked) them with lamp oil and then, at a safe distance, using a flaming arrow, he had torched the entire establishment.

 By the time the fire was noticed by the occupants, his other carefully arranged tinder had ignited all the exit doors.  The billowing smoke and searing flames shot into the Heavens, engulfing the whole building and turning it into a death trap.

Despite the danger, Canute had fearlessly stayed at the scene until he'd got solid confirmation of Tike and Ron's demise. He’d felt entirely justified for this revenge as the two culprits had grievously wronged his mother even after her death.  To save themselves paltry burial expenses and future trouble, they had secretly and unceremoniously dumped her ashes into the cold, fast flow of the Sue River.

When Canute left the city, the raging fire had already consumed an entire block before it was finally brought under control.  His heart was so hardened (by all those years of abuse) that he'd felt absolutely no remorse for the devastating destruction and the unavoidable, lost lives. 

Ensuing years though at times the obstacles lying in his path seemed insurmountable, Canute stoically persevering had carried a clear aim in his heart, to advance methodically towards that other act of retribution.

In his later teen years, fortuitously Canute had chanced on a disillusioned ex-official named Brier, a key member of a powerful gang that had been terrorizing the adjacent countryside. Brier, much impressed by Canute’s resilience and outstanding physique, took him under his wing.  The ensuing years under Brier’s protection and guidance had been the most contented one for Canute; moreover, when the gang eventually dissolved, the skills, cash and wide range of experience, had enabled Canute to move to Denor City and establish himself as an affluent citizen, laying the foundations for his ultimate revenge.

04- CANUTE YONN

   ~

"Why is he not responding?  I think he's shamming (faking) it!  I'll teach him to make a mockery of my court.  You, there!  Apply the hot iron to his chest, and then we'll see if he won't come around."

"Please, you’re Honor, the state he’s in, any further torture would kill him (finish him of)." Sullen hastily intervened, then fell to his knees to beg forgiveness for his outburst.

"Well, just touch it to his upper arm then.  That may even stop some bleeding." Micen donning a wry smile rescinded his order.

Canute's anguished cry as he was branded with the red-hot iron pierced the suspenseful air of the courtroom, curdling the blood of even a few of those eavesdroppers outside.

But mercy was sadly lacking in this court and in this Prefecture.  Many more just sneered, gloated and nodded their heads in approval as they silently congratulated the Prefect when the deliberate cruelty produced the desired result.  The conscious Canute, with his full faculties restored, was then promptly interrogated.

Briefly, though painfully, Canute Yonn recounted the obstacles and the rather odd circumstances that had led him to join the powerful gang of brigands that had terrorized the surrounding countryside for many years.  He was then grilled at length about this notorious gang and its final demise.

Micen, of course, was familiar with the case and approved of the competent, though extremely cruel measures taken by the former (previous) Magistrate Knon Zhour to bring the situation under control.  What he had been ignorant of, and now found to be of great interest, was the internal strife that had existed at the time within the gang itself.  As Canute now told it, it appeared that this infighting had, in fact, been the chief reason for the gang's demise, since those who had known of the Magistrate's planned ambush had chosen to flee rather than warn the unpopular Chief.

"I and the other fortunate few who had escaped the catastrophe immediately retrieved our shares of the collective booty from the secret reserve.  Under the assumed name and the guise of a gentleman I returned to Denor City to fulfill my life's ambition. “

05- CANUTE  YONN

“When I from a distance spotted Senson Luko, the flames of vengeance anew seared my heart. After few setbacks, I set to work on devising a perfect plan.”

 “First, I had tried to cultivate Hacket's friendship, but that overbearing lout just used me.  Then by chance I encountered Yenis and altered my tactic.  My conquest of her came rather easier than I'd anticipated, for not only did she have no moral character, but she also hated her circumstances and sought to escape it.  She was withering away from being subjected to the constant ravages of her cruel, calculating and possessive husband.”

“That place was built and secured like a fortress, and, despite all my experience, I needed her help in penetrating the maze of private quarters and reaching my destination.  My long-awaited opportunity for revenge came the night she snuck me into the private inner compound, then to the bedchamber.”

"The beast had already fallen asleep, and she had to wake him.  Without the least regret, with one swift stroke, I rid the earth of that menace.  I vented my fury on his severed head, spitting in its eyes and grinding his face under my feet.  Then I cut open his chest and ripped his cruel heart from the bloody cavity.  With it still warm in my hand I frantically gazed around for a suitable container until my eyes fell on a carved rosewood box, inlaid with jade and mother of pearls.  After tossing the contents to the floor I placed the organ into it.  Next I severed the finger that wore his precious heirloom ring, and cut a lock of his hair, both of which I placed in the same box."

Micen knit his brows and pursed his lips in an angry frown; he knew just which box it was that Canute referred to.  A few years back he had gone through a lot of trouble and expense to secure that particular 160-year-old box yet had been obliged to present it to Senson Luko after he had expressed such a liking for it in the presence of Commissioner Torrak who, incidentally, was also his cousin.

 "So, what did become of that box?" he interrupted the prisoner to snarl.

"I burned it, along with the contents, at Kuno Temple. The box was painted such that it looked like it was made of metal, but in fact, it was not, it actually was wood made to resemble a metal strongbox."

06- BURNING THE JEWEL ENCRUSTED BOX

Micen cringed.  What a pity!  The shame of it!  He motioned Canute to continue.

"Before leaving the corpse I left in his mouth the token of my mother I'd carried since childhood, an old coin with a hole in it, to remind the Luko family of the grave injustice that had been done to her."

Micen interrupted the prisoner at this point to review the records but, as he suspected, no such coin had been reported, confiscated for evidence, or recorded in any of the reports.  All who were questioned made no reference to such an obvious clue left behind.  This piece of vital evidence could have shed clear light on this case and its absence infuriated Micen.  Was this mere incompetence, or a cover-up?  How deep does corruption, the conspiracy penetrate into the ranks of my Prefecture?  Making a resolution to himself to investigate this thoroughly at a later date, he let the matter pass and directed Canute to resume his confession.

"When I emerged from the room, I found Yenis with her gathered valuables in a bundle, waiting to take flight along with me.  This was a complication I had hoped to avoid.  I tried my best to reason with her, explaining that she should return to her quarters and feign innocence.  I said she would be a hindrance and would seriously hamper my escape if I were to take her along immediately, that it would be in our best interests if I were to fetch her at a later date after things had cooled off a bit.  I made up a tale that I needed more time to secure a suitable home in another city that we could run to.  I even told her that I had some urgent, unfinished businesses elsewhere that needed to be taken care of first.  However I tried to persuade her, she just hung onto my sleeve and would not let go of it.  At the point where I was about to tear it off, she threatened to scream.  At my wit's end, I was forced to comply with her wishes.”

"After taking refuge at Kuno Temple and sacrificing the organs of her tormentor to my mother's spirit that night, I stole away with part of the valuables she had insisted that we take along.  Why not take them?  It was only right that the family be made to pay for it."

 A sudden dizziness overcame him, and Canute paused to steady himself.  "I felt sorry for having misled her, but I knew she would be all right, since I had left her the other horse with the rest of the booty in its harness."

"You are lying bandit!  You're still trying to deceive us.  Why not come clean and admit that you took it all?" Mouro burst out, unable to contain himself.

 "To think that she was devastated by being let down…hah, by the likes of you!"

"Keep your silence!"

"But you know the bastard is lying, Your Honor!" Mouro threw a furious glance at Canute and snarled.

"Who knows just how much of this sob-story of his is fiction?"  He stepped forward,

 "I implore you, Your Honor, not to be beguiled by this deceitful, cunning, dog!"

You dare to openly be insubordinate (question my ability to judge)?  Perhaps you'd like to be the one presiding in this seat? Micen inwardly fumed then checked his temper.

 "It’s up to me to decide on the validity of the testimony, not you."  He shook a threatening finger at Mouro, "I've been tolerant of your shortcomings thus far, but don't assume that you are indispensable.  One more disruptive outburst and I'll have you pilloried!  And that goes for the rest of you as well!"

The appeals of Mouro's supporters froze on their lips as Micen's finger panned by them.  Mouro changed color and dropped to his knees at once to plead for the Prefect's forgiveness and appease him with placating words.

 

(END OF SECTION 28)

                                                                                                  ~

 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)