11-LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - EVIL PERSONIFIED - SECTION 7

Looking at his useless son, Zakhertan Yozdek, despite his misgivings, was reminded of the prince’s beloved, and now deceased mother, Lady Elin Yozdek.

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Herleif bore some resemblance to Lady Elin; for one thing they both had penetrating, honey-brown eyes, and long lustrous auburn (chestnut) hair with loose, sheen curls. Lady Elin had been the only woman who had come close to earning not only Zakhertan’s deep affection but also his unqualified respect, which was no small feat by any means. Though Zakhertan had taken several wives since, none had come close to comparing to her noble stature, brilliance of mind, beauty or sensuality or the other special talents and attributes she possessed. Still, it did not redeem (deliver) her from a grievous, gruesome end at the hands of her admiring husband when Zakhertan had found it necessary to be free to marry Idona, then Prime Minister Adelram’s daughter.

This had been but one of the many steps he had taken towards the realization of his grand design, and all of them had required sacrifices of one sort or the other.

“All the more is the pity,” he mused, studying Herleif’s face, “the boy has gained none of her (Lady Elin’s) characteristics when he inherited her looks.” Zakhertan knew that Prince Herleif had benefited nonetheless from his remorse at killing Lady Elin and that this had been yet another reason for his tolerance, of this unworthy offspring, this exceptionally long. But all that was going to change now. His heart once more turned to stone, Zakhertan glared at his son.

Without the Sovereign's permission to speak, prince Herleif, burdened with documents, had stood rigidly in his abject stance even as Zakhertan moved unexpectedly away from the window and came swiftly towards him. Zakhertan not uttering a word, circled his son like a predatory beast (or a hunting hawk), his steps coming to an abrupt halt, when his back was Infront of the closed door. In sharp contrast to his son, the Sovereign presented the very picture of might and authority that could inspire awe and fear in any man. Flashing in Zakhertan Yozdek’s icy, penetrating pupils just then was a single, somber calculation that caused Prince Herleif’s hairs on the back of his neck to bristle (stand on end).

"Well, what is it you want?"  The words, outwardly innocuous, were harsh and abrasive, their tone speaking volumes full of disapproval and contempt. Zakhertan noted with disdain how Prince Herleif had involuntarily flinched at the sound of his voice then as the fear was quickly mastered and the prince spun sharply about to face him and bowed respectfully, Zakhertan felt a certain satisfaction but hid his amused smile.

Prince Herleif, formally addressing his father, briefly stated the purpose of his visit.

"Very well," Zakhertan consented brusquely. "A few minutes, that’s all, I will spare you."  He gestured sharply, beckoning his son closer to the desk as he returned to sit once more in his plush chair.

With the outward appearance of patient parent, Zakhertan with a stern face heard prince Herleif out, all the while lending only a disinterested ear to his son's theoretical babbling. Prince Herleif on his part relayed in measured and lucid speech how, having been beset by disturbing dreams, he had consulted the positioning of the stars in addition to the oracle provided by the bones. To be ascertained (to ascertain the facts), he had shaken the bones for the second and third time only to reach in every instance the same outcome for the reading:  his illustrious father Zakhertan Yozdek and the Wenjenkun kingdom faced a bad omen. Soon, (in a noticeably short while) after a Nationwide upheaval, the definite downfall of the present regime was forecasted. Braving his most esteemed, sovereign father Zakhertan’s wrath, therefore, duty bound Herleif had come forward to forewarn his Majesty of this fact. The prince then asked permission to elaborate on the details necessary to substantiate his claim.

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Much to his delight, Herleif received a begrudging, stern nod from Zakhertan. Quickly he unfolded the first of his charts and proceeded to give an interpretation to the intricate geometrical diagrams and particulars which he had meticulously drawn, marked, and outlined.

Glancing at these, Zakhertan Yozdek noted how the drafting was so fine the piece could be considered an exceptional work of art solely on its own merits. “Why couldn’t his dastardly (burdensome baggage) son akin have shown, skill with military charts? At least then his talent could have been utilized, instead of this absurd gibberish, hogwash.”  Though he would never own up to it, Zakhertan was in fact, quite adept at astrology himself, having employed it during his youth many times to justify actions he had wished to take. Presently, taking in the details at-a-glance, he had briefly deciphered it already for himself, long before Prince Herleif had finished his explanation, inwardly concluding that some of Herleif’s interpretation had been right on the mark. There was one curious variance (discrepancy) however that Herleif had entirely missed; there were not one but two stars, directly positioned one behind the other, that it could easily be misconstrued as one. The juxtaposition of planets and stars meanwhile, were quite precise, right down to the birth of the new star, already much brighter than the star of Zakhertan Yozdek’s, which was ever so slowly moving into the ruling position in the constellation that governed the state of Wenjenkun. The future the fates foretold was quite obviously that of his dynasty's downfall at the hands of one, which would then be followed by another, a rising Sovereign to be. And the timing of one would be quick but not the other, at least not as quick as Herleif had predicted.    

Zakhertan at this point reflected how just last night in the Royal Observatory he had discerned (perceived) this new manifestation in the constellation but was disappointed to note that, its position and timing precluded it from being in any way related to the birth of Prince Magnian. Now that Zakhertan saw the chart laid out in front of him like this, he noted with slight trepidation, how close the first star was to the house of the former rulers. Could it be? No! Zakhertan dismissed the notion instantly. Even if he could have survived, the likelihood of that happening was ridiculously far-fetched. Zakertan chastised self. Besides, when had he ever attached any credence to such superstitious nonsense…  Ravings like these were useful only for amusement and for manipulating the gullible, nothing more.   

 Zakhertan turned his attention back to Prince Herleif who had just then unraveled the second diagram on the desk. This one was exceptionally crafted as well. “The wimp has a real talent here; too bad it is wasted.”  Taking no stock in what Herleif was saying, Zakhertan’s conciliatory mood abruptly dissipated, and he disdainfully scoffed, “So what if Herleif showed promise, had excelled in the black arts of Astrology and Alchemy? This vast knowledge would not serve him at all in the end.”      

With a bitter taste in his mouth, Zakhertan Yozdek recalled Herleif’s spitefulness and how his shrewish and ruthless applications of his knowledge and power had, in the past, won his son more enmity than praise.   

Crown Prince Herleif meanwhile having misinterpreted Zakhertan’s habitual inert mask (which Zakhertan wore at such boring times) and encouraged by his father's unusual tolerance, pegged these signs as interest. Consequently, with an overflowing enthusiasm that colored his words, he began to elaborate further on his hypothesis. Herleif had never known anything resembling to affection from Zakhertan Yozdek and was now having difficulty properly gauging such an alien concept. This was the closest he had come to an approval by his cold-hearted parent, and he had erroneously assumed that, for the first time, he was making some headway in communicating with Zakhertan.     

At one-point Zakhertan with an unreadable expression rose from his seat and hands clasped behind his back, walked over to the window to again stare at the outside. As there had been no command for Herleif to stop, the prince had continued with his incessant babblings. The prince Herleif’s bewilderment at Zakhertan’s reticence (silence) was shared by Neru who, having just finished with his task of burning the most trivial of the day's documents was standing at unease (disquietly) in a corner of the room mentally noting all that was being said as he awaited the Sovereign's next command. Zakhertan at present appeared temporarily distracted by one of the brightly plumed songbirds which, after finishing its bath, had alighted on the windowsill to fluff its feathers and dry off thoroughly.   

Contrary to appearance however, Zakhertan from the corner of his eye (in a side view) had observed (noted) how Herleif had quickly untied the knot binding of the last scroll and, with a completely inappropriate flourish, unfurled it (across) on top the desk. Instantly Zakhertan’s attention was riveted to the stiletto that, previously hidden in the scroll, had now been exposed. It was the most common, innocuous kind of penknife or a carving knife; it was not a weapon of choice for any would be assassin. Still facing the window, Zakhertan waited to see what his worthless son would do next. Prince Herleif, nonplused, stood frozen in his place, fear gripping his heart.   

Without turning, Zakhertan Yozdek barked, "Go ahead, pick it up!" 

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All at once the color drained from the prince’s already pallid but now completely ashen face. Trembling from head to toe like a leaf in a gale, he fell to his knees and repeatedly beat his forehead on the floor, vehemently professing his innocence in a choked voice. "I don't know how it got there, your Majesty. I do not. I did not put it there. “    

“I have been set up. Please, father, I swear, I had no knowledge of this. "He continued these denials in the contemptible, quaking croaks that further grated on Zakhertan’s irate nerves.  

“Just as I thought,” Zakhertan Yozdek highly incensed, stared at the giant marble legendary warrior stationed by the stone bridge thirty feet away in the garden, furious with his son for his abhorrent, self-debasing beseeching. Yet this was worse, far worse, than if Prince Herleif had indeed been behind this juvenile attempt. He might have even forgiven Herleif had he the backbone to seriously try assassinating him.    

Zakhertan snorted in utter disgust, “This is unforgivable; he is being made the fool. How did it come to this; who would dare make such a mockery of my, albeit an imbecile, royal spawn (offspring)? I should crush this inexcusable insect now and be done with him, just as I will crush those who are behind this reprehensible farce. “    

 "You are a disgrace!” he turned and snarled at his son; teeth bared. He raised his clenched left fist as if to strike and pulverize Herleif’s skull but abruptly held back, his rage still mounting. In a split second his right hand snatched the knife and flung it with incredible force at the songbird; so agile and quick was this move that the unfortunate birdie did not stand a prayer of a chance. Just as it had spread its wings to take a flight, the blade pierced its chest through and (before its last breath) hurled it backward, pinning it tightly to the ledge.  

"Guards,” The roaring command caused the dumbfounded Neru to jump several feet up in the air. Coming to his senses, he could only cast pitying eyes upon the quivering prince Herleif as two guards rushed in.   

"Take him away!"  Zakhertan pointed to the crown prince, still on his knees. "And give him fifty blows with the heavy staff for good measure, no less and no more."  Zakhertan knew that the hundred strokes that were required in this situation would prematurely kill the miserable wretch.    

“No; death will not come to you that mercifully Herleif, for you have not yet outlived your usefulness.” Zakhertan glowering at Herleif mused.   

Reluctantly Zakhertan also had to admit that, for now, he needed the prince alive for the stability of the succession until the toddler Magnian's chances of survival were assured. With certain distaste in his mouth, he watched the indignant, yet cowardly Herleif being roughly (man-handled) moved away by the guards. They had gripped him by the arms and, being much taller than the prince, they were holding him several inches off the ground.  

“Of course, you could never inspire respect in anyone, could you?” Zakhertan scoffed then signaled the guards (a slight lifting of the index finger) to wait. Instantly they halted in their tracks.    

"Thank your lucky stars that you are being dealt with so leniently."  Zakhertan strode over to pin his menacing glare to his son’s terrified face. "With each stroke of the staff I want you to contemplate on just why you are being punished. Do you understand me, boy?”    

"Now, get him out of my sight."    

For a man who had celebrated his ascension (ascent) to adulthood some five years ago, being called a 'boy' in front of others was a most demeaning insult, but Prince Herleif completely missed this fine point, as well as his larger, more grievous failure.  

"Father, I'm innocent! Please father, please hear me out." He pleaded as he was being unceremoniously hauled to the dungeons.

    

                                                                                 ~    

 

(END OF SECTION 7)

 11- LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - EVIL PERSONIFIED - SECTION 5

    

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    

                                                                                 ~    

    

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

04-PRINCE HERLEIF YOZDEK (2)

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

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

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

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

 

                                                                                            ~

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

(END OF SECTION 5)    

11- LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - EVIL PERSONIFIED - SECTION 3

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - EVIL PERSONIFIED - SECTION 3

 

“Was that it? Was that the end of it?”  Sovereign Zakhertan Yozdek placed the last of the reports onto the stack and leaned back to stretch out his limbs. A slight nod brought his ever vigilant and trusted aide Neru forward at once to pick up the key and the stack that Zakhertan had set aside on his desk. Neru then took the documents to a large metal vault where they were locked up for future reference. The key was returned to His Highness to join the others dangling from the Sovereign's belt. 

The second stack by far the larger contained the reports that were deemed to be trivial, uninteresting, or expendable and it was on these that Neru next set to work, tearing them into fine bits and then feeding them to the flames within a large brazier, specifically designed to reduce any remnant to cinders.  

01-NERU

Each night’s routine was the same; at an unspecified hour Zakhertan Yozdek, pending no unforeseen crisis or upset, would set aside some time to peruse all the crucial documents submitted by The Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren, other officials, as well as the reports from Internal Security. Through his special branch of moles, Zakhertan had continually kept apace of the activities of his Ministers, Provincial Governors, Generals as well as his own personal retinue and family, within his realm. No one eluded, evaded, shunned, averted, or circumvented his scrutiny, not even hermits, or the recluse of scholars, such as Fradel Rurik Korvald. 

Zakhertan Yozdek had always lived by two unassailable adages: one was to be vigilant in concealing least sign of weakness from all; the second was to never rely on or place absolute confidence in anything or anyone. A measure of confidence could be shown outwardly but never acted on or believed inwardly. 

History was riddled with examples of Sovereigns ruined through treachery by the, oftentimes a most trusted vassals; Zakhertan Yozdek therefore had always endorsed the principle (criterion) that to persevere, no minister, priest, general or Prince of the realm should ever exceed, in the open or in secret, in any one of the areas of power, influence, acumen, awe and reverence, held in the person of the Sovereign.   

The two stacks swiftly dealt with, Zakhertan presently turned his attention to the third bundle and picked up the top envelope, broke open the seal, removed the document within, and read it carefully.  These detailed accounts were submitted by an indomitable, invisible Shadow Brigade (division of Black Band Guard Regiment), whose sole purpose was to monitor the Censors, informants and spies themselves. This dual system of surveillance had served Zakhertan Yozdek well thus far; hence, he had kept close tabs on all within his kingdom, and yet at the same time was afforded a measure of truth sufficient to appease his suspicious nature. As it were, the only cliques Zakhertan had allowed to exist in his dominion were those that he easily manipulated; and periodically, he did enjoy at being their puppeteer and making them do his bidding. 

Moreover, far from employing only the most servile of vassals, the civil and military courts had been staffed with men, all as ruthless as wolves or tigers and more cunning than vipers and foxes. These specially picked individuals acted like vultures, doing very much more than their duty prescribed, yet nevertheless they were very much cowed and succumbed to Zakhertan 's every whim. This effect had been achieved through incessant pressure, unrelenting fear, and artful manipulation; actually, he respected those most that had been the hardest to break. Individuals that posed the greatest menace were the ones he kept at closest proximity; constantly monitored, for any nuance (hint) of seditious activity; they were in the truest sense of the word, only a hairsbreadth away from the executioner's blade. Their already perilous existence was moreover tested by periodic rumors that accused one or the other of subversion against Sovereign or The Wenjenkun Nation. This was not done merely to keep them toeing the line or to incessantly feed Zakhertan’s rapacious sadistic nature but to accurately gauge the rest’s true disposition towards that individual or perceived incidence (occurrence). 

Unfortunately, too seldom for Zakhertan’s liking, one would advance an idea or theory he knew it to be unsound; akin to a beast toying with its prey before the killing stroke, Zakhertan would then pretend to be taken in, merely to see how far the dupe would go; he would subsequently, delight in making veritable mincemeat of the fool.   

Conversely, every so often he would refute a valid suggestion by, one of his generals, courtiers or other and, advance plausible yet purposefully flawed viewpoints. As these events occurred between long bouts of predictable stability, Sovereign Zakhertan was able to appear even to his liegemen, as elusive and cryptic. 

02-ZAKHERTAN YOZDEDK  (40) JP

Two decades now, he had maintained his unbounded, omnipotent rule; his subjects (firmly) believing that all under Heaven was his personal domain (including nations that were under his suzerainty) and that, all his decrees and proclamations were the mandates of Gods.  

After all this time, could he finally relax his vigilance? Could he dare be complacent? He absolutely could not; must not, not for a single moment. Zakhertan through clenched teeth quickly answered his inner query; his tight fist eased as anger slowly, gradually ebbed. Yes, he had maintained his iron hold on the realm (kingdom) thus far but in the deep recesses of his heart Zakhertan had of course known, the futility of it all.  

A Sovereign may subjugate most of his subjects with impunity, govern his vassal's bodies and outward acts, and even sway or manipulate their minds to some degree but there would always be one who would prove to be an exception to the rule who could slip through the controlling net, or escape it entirely.  There would emerge some renegade, a folk hero or martyr who would stoke the smoldering ashes of dissent into a spark that would ignite the searing flames that would scorch the whole Kingdom bare. If that is, he was not snuffed out, right at the start.  

Zakhertan inclined his head to stare absently out the window at the artificially illuminated garden, layer upon exquisite layer of floral beauty; his mind perfectly composed, his face wearing an emotionless mask of serenity. Misleadingly, he inwardly was in fact, taking meticulous stock of his most recent and severest measures, which as a rule incorporated further stringent laws and their equally brutal punishments, to determine if they would suffice to rout-out or curb the latest, anticipated, impending trouble.  

Moreover, the ’Divide and conquer’ strategy had consistently proven to be a most effective policy. His thoughts veered (turned) to past recourse that warranted akin to action. He may employ it again: First, his subjects were led to believe that he, Zakhertan Yozdek, was (ostensibly) by far the most generous Sovereign, rewarding meretricious acts as handsomely as he was severe in his punishments. But then, Zakhertan mischievously grimaced, reflecting quietly on how, every now and then, he unexpectedly rewarded an individual or an official or two for no apparent reason, to sow discord, disconcert or perturb others.  

Eventually the targeted individuals became estranged from their friends, colleagues, and family. Thoroughly demoralized and seeking only to safeguard their own hide, the seeds of treachery would easily then be planted in them, to be harvested in future. Zakhertan by manipulating the most basic emotions of insecurity and mistrust, of any individual or a group, albeit powerful and influential, those pegged troublemakers were then, easily and without fail got purged (eradicated). 

In his youth Zakhertan Yozdek had avidly studied history and learned from its mistakes; subsequently, as a monarch, he had never failed to utilize timely measures and inject acute fear into the hearts and minds of all likely (budding) dissenters, way before trouble manifested. Through artful manipulation he had also fostered the belief in his subjects that he, their omnipotent Sovereign Zakhertan Yozdek, was all seeing, all hearing. That nothing, however trivial or inconsequential, escaped his attention. One of the means with which Zakhertan had achieved this end was, by engaging Censors, which conducted semiannual tours of the countryside. The sole purpose of these mobile forces was to check on the performance of the Provincial and Military Governors and Magistrates, and Tribunes. Demotions, promotions, rewards, and reprisals were all dependent on the outcome of 

Censors’ report. Of course, the concept of Censorate had been created during the reign of 

Sovereign Zuronghan Therran Valamir. This Censorate predecessor was vastly different from Zakhertan’s incarnation however, for one thing the Censors of old Dynasty were appointed from the ranks of the Nobility, Military, Bureaucracy, or Intelligentsia equally. The sole purpose of the Censorate had been to keep all officials, high and low, under strict surveillance and report any wrongdoing or illicit activity to their Liege and in this capacity, Censors were empowered to criticize, if needs be, even the Sovereign. Although they had little direct political power, they were not constrained to divulge their sources of information even to the highest authority and, for their fifteen-year term, they were immune to criticism or punishment for their actions. The granting of these liberties, as well as their proximity to the ear of the ruler, had left ample room for corruption, and these posts invariably had left their holders wealthy and influential beyond measure. The deficiencies of this system were never given the chance to correct themselves before the overthrow of Sovereign Zuronghan Therran Valamir, and it was Zakhertan who took this branch of the bureaucracy and reshaped it into its present form. In the revised version, Censorate officials were now appointed solely by Zakhertan  Yozdek for seven year terms and, unlike their forerunners, they could be indicted, subjected to interrogation, including torture and, if found guilty, they and their families would be punished twice as harshly as anyone in a normal position.  

More importantly, they were prohibited from ever criticizing present Sovereign  

Zakhertan’s policies; memorials of this kind having been prohibited ever since Zakhertan Yozdek had assumed (usurped) the throne. On demand Censors were expected to produce their evidence, sources and all pertinent information to the Sovereign's special staff who would, in turn, present it for Zakhertan Yozdek’s final analysis and judgment. Meanwhile, the identities of these officials were kept a closely guarded secret, known only to the Emperor, the Shadow Brigade and one other, Senior Grand Secretary Qarzten Caimund. Each Censor was identified on the special documents only by a serial number which was assigned upon their appointment to the position. If they were ever exposed, they could expect no leniency; they would be summarily dismissed, and therefore subject to the reprisals of their victims, banished to a remote province, or summarily executed for violating the first duty of their office. Within the Censorate itself the officials would be moved about at randomly set intervals so that they could never grow complacent, relax their vigilance, acquire a sphere of influence, or establish cliques as had been the norm in the past. 

Of course, Zakhertan could not take full credit for these measures. “Let’s give some credit where credit is due,” Zakhertan throwing a furtive glance at Qarzten Caimund, who was seated at the far desk his head down overseeing some matters Zakhertan had allocated to him, donned a sinister smile. Indeed, some of it had been adapted from Qarzten's excellent proposals. 

Returning his gaze back to the garden, Zakhertan mused on another concern:   

Back then, when he had revised the legal statutes, he had assumed that he had left no room for those skillful manipulators of the letter of the law to contravene in it.   

He had the statutes so clearly worded and exactly defined that there had been nothing left in doubt; furthermore, he had been explicit, that all would be offenders, without fail, would be most rigorously prosecuted. Obviously even the best effort had its failing.  

Zakhertan shrugged, relieving the frustrations of those bygone days. Sure enough, it had looked good (sound) as written principles on the statute books, yet it had not been as effective, especially in the outlying areas, when constrained by the incredible number of legal restrictions, deception and corruption, turning it into new criterion (hallmark) and instigating dangerous discord (strife) between the different levels of Government.  Having learned to act swiftly and embrace change, Zakhertan had amended the laws in good enough time, eliminating these dangerous practices before they became the norm.  

“Pigs and fishes; one and all” Zakhertan inwardly jeered with utter disdain. In fact, a large part of his time had been taken up with constant monitoring of the usage of his laws within the Empire. 

“Virtue… Bah,” Zakhertan again inwardly scoffed. “Talk about an overrated, foolish concept.”   

 Back in the early days, the situation had been such that anyone uttering that word “virtue,” would have been scorned, accused of shirking his duty and then duly punished. Zakhertan Yozdek had always clung to the truth inherent in the ancient saying, "The man of inferior virtue clings to virtue and so has no virtue."   

It could be said that Qarzten Caimund had never practiced virtue. Zakhertan thoughtfully reflected as his eye caught a bird in the garden, wrestling an insect out of a tree trunk. Yet, Zakhertan had long suspected that Qarzten was the most virtuous of men. Or was that only another facade of his?  

03-QARZTEN CAMUND (5)

Zakhertan turned his stealth, suspicious gaze back onto Qarzten Caimund, studying him with penetrating eyes until a cold smile brushed his lips and he dismissed these speculations peremptorily. 

Zakhertan reached for a blank sheet of parchment, picked up his brush, and loaded it with the ink that Neru had prepared earlier and began to write. Once the first set of orders had been quickly dispensed, Zakhertan applied his crimson seal to the bottom, folded it into three, and wrote its destination on the back then sealed it with, wax from a purple taper and the impression of his signet ring. Before the molten wax around the ring could set, his mind had returned to the past. Once the amendments to the laws had been put in place and rigorously enforced, he had gotten the situation under control, except for, in the furthest regions of the Kingdom.   

Wellnigh unchecked, the situation there (in such a short span) had grown extremely volatile and at the most inopportune of times as well. The bulk of Zakhertan’s militia had been engaged in a difficult and demanding campaign in Korion and the remainder of his forces had been reserved for the police actions against the northern nomads, to end their persistent incursions into Wenjenkun's territory.  

Zakhertan Yozdek had been strapped, caught short handed hence, in effectively bringing a swift resolution to this far region. What he had needed at that time, short of another army appearing from thin air, an able vassal, one most ruthless and cunning, who could conduct this challenging task with the minimum of arms and workforce. That man appeared in the person of Qarzten Caimund, who had been an unknown minor official until then.  

“Oh, but you were a sly one right from the start, Qarzten Caimund,” Zakhertan mused. 

 “Imagine getting none other than Egil Viggoaries to recommend you for service when in fact you were the proponent of Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren the whole time.”  This very fact had intrigued Zakhertan Yozdek right from the start and had won Qarzten Caimund the certain singular distinction he rightly deserved.  

During the entire interview Qarzten Caimund had admirably withstood the grueling mental tightrope and impressed by Qarzten's astute rationalism, his vast knowledge of the legal statutes, his courage, wit, and martial ability among a multitude of other talents, Zakhertan Yozdek had allowed himself to overlook those minor flaws, the prejudices, and biases barely discernible in Qarzten’s character, and had appointed (assigned) him to the unenviable post.  

Rising the challenge to complete the subjugation of the north in a set time upon peril of his life, Qarzten had requisitioned and received Zakhertan Yozdek’s approval for a free hand in rectifying the situation. Qarzten Caimund’s subsequent, steady progress had read like a textbook case, but what had really interested Zakhertan Yozdek, was the ingenious, though unorthodox measures the new commander had taken. While appearing lenient, Qarzten had been, from the very beginning, selectively ruthless. As good as his word, he had laid stress on severe implementation of the full rigors of the law, even to the Royal relations who had grown too overbearing and daring away from the prying eyes of Zakhertan. Given free reign

Qarzten had killed men summarily, tortured suspects until they confessed or died and practiced other most effective measures to spell out his message to one and all.  He had personally cut off quite a few of the heads of convicted officials and had made mincemeat of several (not a few) formerly lofty citizens.  

In a noticeably short spell, Qarzten Caimund had brought all within his authority(jurisdiction) under his absolute control. Once law and order were restored, he moved on to the next region and then the next; his reputation preceded him until all areas were pacified. Qarzten Caimund’s savage reputation for adapting bold, ruthless tactics, had naturally won him Zakhertan's favor, especially since every step, every victory, was secured well within the established time. 

04-QARZTEN CAMUND (16)

Of course, there had been copious amount of (flood of) litigations and hundreds of indictments from these regions, which had to be passed over to the Chief Justice due to their importance and, despite the increased amount of nightmarish paperwork that had to wind its way through the sluggish bureaucracy.  Zakhertan had taken no action against Qarzten; in fact, been secretly pleased deeming these as proof, of his appointed vassal’s competency. Fortunately for Zakhertan, Qarzten’s beloved wife Bren had died just then from a bizarre accident leaving Qarzten free to marry. As it was Zakhertan’s way, after the appropriate time for the mourning had passed, Zakhertan’d proposed, more like dictating a propitious marriage between Zakhertan’s distant relative’s (cousin’s) beautiful second daughter Kelda and Qarzten Caimund.

 Qarzten Caimund, competent as he had been in everything that mattered; he had never been, fortunate in matters of love, family, or marriage. To date, a well-kept secret, especially from Zakhertan, this arrangement unfortunately had been a loveless marriage from the start, as Kelda had already been secretly betrothed to a young warrior Adrian Kenzor, whom she had been infatuated with since childhood.   

In fact, Kelda’d been secretly impregnated by Adrian at the time her family forced this marriage with Qarzten Caimund on her. Qarzten was of course no fool and had quickly found out about this; nevertheless, taking pity on her had kept his silence and when a healthy, infant son (named Stokner Tchort Caimund) was born, he had pretended that he (Qarzten) was the natural father. This happenstance had suited Qarzten Caimund well; for in childhood Qarzten had had a terrible accident that had destroyed any chance of him to ever propagate (reproduce, breed) later in adult life. This had been a closely guarded secret that no one, not even Sovereign Zakhertan Yozdek, knew at that time. 

When a son, Stokner Tchort Caimund, was born to him, Qarzten playing the part of a dutiful father had provided the boy, with every available means of education; however, from earlier on, he had been disappointed about the boy’s aptitude and innate character. Not liking what he saw, he gradually distanced himself from his son Stokner and quickly packed off his estranged wife Keida and son Stokner to a distant province where Qarzten Caimund had a vast estate.

05 - QARZTEN'S UNFILIAL WIFE KELDA AND HER LOVER ADRIAN KENZOR -JP (78)

 

Alas, when Qarzten Caimund’s learned that his wife had secretly renewed her old liaison (relationship) with Adrian Kenzor, enraged Qarzten had Kelda, Adrian Kenzor and anyone who knew of this, at various times of course, murdered. Five perished because of a terrible accident; three swiftly passed away from ingesting poison while few others expired from a fatal illness. Only his son Stokner’s life was spared. Meanwhile Qarzten Caimund playing the role of a mournful (grieving) twice widowed, unlucky in love official, vowed never to remarry and from then on gave his undivided attention instead, to state matters and, to his official duties in Capital that had markedly increased by then.  

Sovereing Zakhertan Yozdek’s focus (concentration) at the time had been totally taken (preoccupied) by the difficult governance of Wenjenkun and the renewed foreign aggression; as a result, he relied heavily on Qarzten’s brilliance and ruthless efficiency and to date, he had not been disappointed. Unfortunately, at the right time Qarzten Caimund had created so much enmity, especially among the prominent nobility that thirty-five grievous slanders grew around him, though to no avail. Naturally, having foreseen this outgrowth of his work, Qarzten Caimund had kept meticulous records and had not shared any of the vices that had caused the downfall of so many of his predecessors. Though Qarzten was a person of diverse interests, he had neither any real attachment nor damaging aversions; he had no sexual perversions, took no bribes, did not drink to excess, and curbed any ambition or greed, through cerebral forte (strong suit) and a healthy caution. To date Qarzten Caimund had upheld a modest lifestyle and kept a Spartan house in Capital. While he could be the most unassuming of pacifists, one could also meet with dire woe should one incur his anger or cross his wishes. Zakhertan understood Qarzten held long grudges and was intolerant of stupidity that misrepresented itself.  

It often amused Zakhertan to observe the way Qarzten struck back with such pernicious (spiteful) precision, at the foe that dared to cross or encumber him.  Caught off guard, the adversary invariably succumbed to whatever weapon was chosen: the deadly strike of the sword, or a severe tongue-lashing from Qarzten Caimund. Yet, overall Qarzten advocated peace and perseverance; it could even be said he was deeply religious. He detested liars, yet when and where warranted he was not above acting the hypocrite to get the more vital job done.  Yes, by employing his many unconventional methods Qarzten had, within that specific time, checked all crime and restored the complete rule of law and order to the far (rebellious) regions. In other words, Qarzten Caimund succeeded where others had failed miserably. Impressed by these results, his unrelenting zeal, boundless energy, no-nonsense attitude, and impartiality where it counted most, Zakhertan had steadily promoted Qarzten Caimund in a brief three years' time to the position of Chief Justice to Military Tribune of the Capital Region then to the exalted posting as Senior Grand Secretary.  No other Civil Minister could boast of such a feat. What was more, his unmarred efficiency and impeccable record to date had given Zakhertan absolutely no cause for complaint.  Still, even though Zakhertan Yozdek relied on Qarzten a great deal more than the others, the truth was that Qarzten Caimund’s position was neither more nor less precarious than any of the others.  

                                                                              …..  

 

 

(END OF SECTION 3)