LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE CAPITAL CHANNING - SECTION 7

Fradel (Nevetsecnuac) at present graciously handed the key to Zaur when the minister politely inquired about it, seeing no reason at all, to why he should not enlist Zaur Stugr's help in resolving this mystery. 

01- THE MYSTERIOUS KEY

“Oh blessed, gracious Heaven!  After all this time you've reached me from beyond.” Zaur Stugr wanted to cry out loud, holding back his tears.

"It's probably nothing of consequence." Zaur had finally ejected as a matter-of-factly, pressing (puckering, compressing) his lips and feigning mild interest, as he held on to the key.

"It is a pretty thing, though.  Isn't it?” Zaur looked directly at Fradel, and at the same time tried making light of the object.  "I dare say it’s of unusual construction.”

“Unfortunately," Zaur then shook his head, "I can't decipher these strange pictographs, these antiquated, curvilinear indentations at the base of the stem."  He reached over and pointed them out to Fradel (Nevetsecnuac).

Zaur’s not altogether convincing professed ignorance, after his brief scrutiny of the key, had again peaked Nevetsecnuac's interest.

 "Up to now, I confess, I've prided myself on being quite an expert at finding the meanings of these sort symbols, pictographs.  I have a sizable collection of similar curiosities at my disposal.  Naturally, they are kept out of harm's way for private viewing only.  Not everyone shares my interest, you see.” Zaur was now being unusually talkative, which further apexed Nevetsecnuac’s curiosity.

"My wife has harangued me often enough to dispose of such antiquities, insisting that I stay within the bounds of modern taste.  If you're interested, however, I would be delighted (most happy) to show them to you when we are better disposed." Zaur Stugr rattled on, playing the eccentric fool.  Inwardly he was considering his options, devising ways of procuring the key without raising the scholar's curiosity.

 

02-THE KEY AND THE BOX

The fact that the pictographs were identical to the ones on the box Zaur had in his secret possession (he’d kept in the secret compartment) had confirmed what he had all along suspected.

Just then, mixed feelings of apprehension, relief and dread washed over Zaur Stugr and gripped his heart.  Oddly enough, he was now afraid of finding out the truth.  He had long since given up, never expecting to see this key again, much less holding it in his palm. “I have spent most of my life searching for this key, expecting it to resolve my lifelong, anguished dilemma.” He solemnly ruminated (mused).

As it happens, the key resting on his palm had conjured up memories both pleasant and dreadful.  All the hopeful waiting, the heartbreak, the loneliness!  Suddenly Zaur was most anxious to get away from the inquisitive scrutiny of Fradel Rurik Korvald and to get at the box. 

“No!” he checked his impatience.  There was still much that had to be learned and a few things he needed to make certain of first.  His eyes, leaving the key, looked up sharply.

"Have you shown this item to anyone else…Zunrogo, perhaps?" Zaur made a deliberate effort at feigning a moderate interest.

03-ZAUR STUGR JP 8

Going along with his host's charade, Fradel (Nevetsecnuac) simply complacently smiled and shook his head.   "No, with everything that has been happening lately, I'd actually forgotten its existence."

 Curiously enough, Nevetsecnuac's answer seemed to reassure Zaur Stugr and, a sure elated smile widened (in a curvature) his host's lips.

 “You know full well, all about it, don't you?” Nevetsecnuac silently questioned his host; but Zaur’s youthful age precluded him from (being directly involved) having any direct involvement. Regardless, the key certainly had some personal significance to Zaur.  Suddenly the picture was much clearer to Nevetsecnuac.  Zaur Stugr had positively identified the key and knew exactly who it had belonged to.  He could therefore, if properly coaxed, unravel the identity of at least one of those tortured skeletons.  

Zaur Stugr’s seemingly placid face was fanned by the light breeze which carried on it the intoxicating fragrance of the night air and he had remained distractedly quiet for some time, his mind immersed in a serious recollection.

“What are you afraid of exposing after such an obvious timespan?  Why would you disclaim any knowledge of its importance to you?  Nevetsecnuac, however, made no outward inquiry and, instead, waited patiently for Zaur's next response.

Marshaling his thoughts, Zaur Stugr suddenly turned to face Fradel and, with deliberate calm in his voice asked, "It is indeed a rare antique.  How did you manage to obtain it?"

Fradel (Nevetsecnuac), in those lapsed few moments had already anticipated Zaur’s next question; he could not disclose the truth however, without revealing how he had ended up in the burial pit and, furthermore, escaped the inescapable traps. And so, he quietly reviewed his options of likely responses.

“I could claim I found it on the side of the road.  No that's too trite and would not be believed. What I need is a lame, boring explanation suited to a scholar, yet with enough of an angle to divert questions elsewhere.  Better to go with a partial fabrication with just enough fact to it to appear plausible.” 

Responding as a matter-of-factly now, Nevetsecnuac summed up in no uncertain terms his experience that had led to finding the key.

04-NEVETS ON HORSEBACK IN THE RAIN (2)

“It had all transpired at the time, while I was traveling on horseback alone on route to the Capital and, wanting to be innocuous, was garbed (dressed) in ordinary travelling clothes. This was a time well before my teaming up with Zunrogo Tugo and the guards.  That afternoon, caught in a sudden torrential downpour, I had sought a refuge at the roadside Inn/ tea house.                                 

“I had been enjoying my steamed tea and hot cakes when an old man, his tattered clothes soaked to the skin, also sought refuge in the same tea house.  Despite the cash that the old man had held out in his hand, he was rudely greeted by the proprietor, denied seating at any table, even though there were few empty ones about, and told to leave the premises at once.”

"Can't you see we're full up?  Go down the road!" The proprietor had rasped as he apprehensively looked around him, afraid that his other customers might be offended by the likes of this tattered old man.

"This is a respectable place.  No solicitation is allowed."  Turning a deaf ear to the old man's pleas, he signaled to his two hefty attendants (waiters) to at once dispose of this unwanted nuisance (pest, bug).

In the ensuing seconds hence, the old man was hastily hustled outside.” Fradel winced (cringed, recoiled) at this point with obvious abhorrence (loathing) of the proprietor.

Zaur nodded and grimaced wryly as he envisioned the typical scenario being played out repeatedly throughout the land.  “So, what's so odd about that? Cruelly he was driven out into the cold, pelting rain, so what about it?" Fradel Rurik Korvald’s obvious indignation just then baffled Zaur, and he riveted his keen, questioning gaze on the other's face.

“Ah!  Scholar Fradel Rurik Korvald had lived in privileged seclusion all these years; therefore, he had not been exposed to the sweeping changes, the new brutish realities of the populace's everyday existence. Naturally, this would shock him.” The answer came to him quickly, Zaur nodded.

 "And no doubt, being the gentleman you are, you stood up to defend that poor wretch." Zaur’s downward gaze concealed the smirk on his lips and the scorn in his eyes.

As Zaur Stugr had expected, by his own account the scholar Fradel Rurik Korvald, unable to swallow this injustice, had indeed rushed to the old man's rescue.  Fradel had indignantly risen to his feet and called out to the old man, walked over and next greeted the elder with respectful familiarity. 

Ignoring the snarls and frowns of the manager and his staff, he had then guided the old man, named Yakkasar back to his table.

(Of course, Yakkasar was a made-up name which Nevetsecnuac on the spur had invented.)

 "I could not stand by and let this happen.  The injustice of it all fired my soul with seething rage." Fradel (Nevetsecnuac) abashedly explained.

At the outset Zaur expressed a sympathetic view and urged Fradel Rurik Korvald to please continue.  Seeming to lend an attentive ear, Zaur inwardly however, jeered with derision and tagged a few more items on to the list he had been mentally compiling of the presumed characteristics of his guest Fradel Rurik Korvald: “Fradel is righteously soft and sentimental; sentimental enough to patronize (support) the grave robbing scum of the earth.”

“And of course, you treated him to not just a tea but a complete, hot, full-course meal.”  Zaur (with his prejudiced viewpoint) wearyingly continued to listen to Fradel, inwardly filling in some details, to the old man Yakkasar's hard luck story.

Apparently, the old thief had been in hard straits and had starved for the two days prior to this chance encounter with the perfect stooge, Fradel Rurik Korvald.  Though he had flashed some money around, it had barely been enough for a cup of tea, as the rest had to have been reserved for his night's lodgings.  To one as destitute as him, Fradel Rurik Korvald must have appeared as a godsend. 

Sitting himself across from the scholar, he had polished off several dishes in record time then, with a bloated stomach, sat back to express his undying gratitude and praise his newfound friend to the sky.  Next, he had decisively recounted how his wife had been lost to him in the great flood of yesteryear and how, having escaped the disaster, he had settled in the foothills of town Huer where he had been constrained to carve out a meager livelihood and single-handedly raised his only surviving son, Toza, to adulthood. The other two children had succumbed to fatal diseases, no surprise there: shortly after his wife's tragic demise.  For the hardships he had endured he had been amply rewarded; while his son, the mighty hunter had lived, Yakkasar had not known any hardship, hunger, or misery.

“No one would dare tackle the local ruffian.” Zaur scoffed, growing more impatient with Fradel now. Disguising (veiling, masking) his irritation, however, he simply looked away, and with an unreadable expression, watched the shadows for a time dancing in the light breeze in the well-manicured (rimmed, shaped) garden.

05-GARDEN IN TWILIGHT

“Why was Fradel being so insistent in dragging this out?” Zaur shifted into his seat, having had already conceived of the only possible outcome to this story.

 “This purported hunter Yakkasar’s son Toza had no doubt recovered the key along with, only the gods know what else, and had probably been murdered in some other town trying to fence it.  A fitting end for his kind! The old geezer Yakkasar had survived long enough though, to span this lengthy yarn to Fradel.” Zaur lowered his gaze and affixed it back on the key. “But what would be the point of exposing this Yakkasar’s fraud and embarrassing the gullible Fradel Rurik Korvald?  What did it matter what fabrication the old rogue had been feeding the unsuspecting stranger like Fradel, as-long-as he, at least, had been truthful about the location where he had recovered the key.”

Experience had taught Zaur not to overlook the incidentals, the seemingly unrelated details that supported the main report.  Lacking in imagination, men of Yakkasar's sort often built a bridge of lies on pillars of truth to make their story more credible.  In this case even an approximation would be of some use.  With due patience therefore, Zaur had lent an uninterrupted, though a semi-disinterested ear to, Fradel Rurik Korvald’s present redundancies to gauge the true facts he really was after.

“Good!” Nevetsecnuac was inwardly pleased with the apparent result.  As he had surmised, a more elaborate story would have made Zaur dubious.  The naiveté of the narrative had expectedly played Zaur right in Nevetsecnuac's hands.

Nevetsecnuac at present drawing this out, painstakingly related in detail all Yakkasar’s tedious accounts about Toza’s great potential and his prospects.  Yakkasar then unexpectedly leaning closer to Fradel at one point, had supposedly whispered the pertinent details; how on one such routine hunting trip Toza had traversed some unfamiliar ground near a certain pass to get to an area where game could reportedly be had in abundance. The specifics of the topography which, Yakkasar had professed at that moment, had been rather hazy and bit hard for him to recollect.

This setback had inwardly infuriated Zaur; nevertheless, yet again admirably suppressed his ire and impatience.

Nevetsecnuac had of course deliberately, contrived (manufactured) the old man's forgetfulness at this point, as a means of excluding the credible detail Zaur expected or hoped to hear; subtly testing therefore, Zaur 's true intent and measure of his commitment.

 Nevetsecnuac knew that without specific information about the Cyprecox Pass, Zaur’s search for the pit would be rendered fruitless.  As it were, there were several such strategic passes in and around the Capital province, most concealing similar traps, pits, and mass graves that had been constructed at the time to effectively repel the scores of foreign aggressions that had been unleashed on Wenjenkun.  This fact Nevetsecnuac had learned from Zunrogo, during one of their intense political discussions about ingenious historical military campaigns. Drawing from this, Nevetsecnuac had made Toza’s find, one such historical undertaking (enterprise) pit. Having served Zaur with a perfect lure (bait), Nevetsecnuac would now wait, in the interim drawing out the tale, to see how long it would take Zaur to make his anticipated inquiry.

The dullness of the narrative up to this point had nearly put Zaur to sleep.  He had just about run out of patience and was about to hasten Fradel Rurik Korvald to get on with it and urge him to recollect, to reveal the information Zaur sought most to gain, which was the actual, if not an approximation (estimate) of location, of the grave. Fradel Rurik Korvald’s next revelation however, shocked and halted his aim.

"Midway to Toza's destination, the earth under his feet had suddenly given way and cast him into a deep pit.  The hunter, after barely surviving the great fall, had discovered to his great horror that the place was writhing with worms and snakes, and even some skeletal remains."

“A pit… What, skeletal remains?”

06-SKELETAL REMAINS IN PIT

Seemingly turning a blind eye to Zaur’s agitation, Fradel (Nevetsecnuac) used the same impassive tone to then recount how Toza, by great good fortune, had escaped serious injury and had suffered only minor lacerations and bruises.

“Trapped as he’d been Toza had faced certain death within that terrible pit but, opportunely some other hunters were following the same trail as Toza’s and, hearing his desperate cries for help, rushed to his aid. Expending ingenuity and, with concerted effort, they eventually succeeded in hauling Toza up to safety; but not before he had chanced upon the key hidden in the jaw of one of the skeletons, those selfsame bones that lay huddled in a far corner opposite to all the rest.  Presumably the impact of Toza's fall had caused the brittle jawbone to snap and release the key; the key which now became plainly visible in the dark cavity of the mouth, in due course giving him quite a fright."

07-KEY HIDDEN IN MOUTH

 From the corner of his eye Nevetsecnuac had noted how Zaur had, for a fleeting second, flinched at the mere mention of the solitary skeleton that held the key.

 All color had completely drained from the good minister's face as he (Zaur Stugr) clutched tightly at the key in his palm.

This confirmed Nevetsecnuac's hypothesis.  “No doubt about it, that singular skeleton had been someone of great significance to Zaur. Likely,” throwing Zaur a cursory glance Nevetsecnuac ventured a guess, “someone close to his person, an uncle, even a father, perhaps.  But I don't suppose you'll ever confide in the scholar Fradel Rurik Korvald, will you Minister Zaur Stugr?”

Smiling tightly, Fradel (Nevetsecnuac) reached for his cup to relieve his parched throat. As he raised the drink to his lips his thoughts drifted off to those wretched skeletal remains and the curious circumstances under which he had gained possession of the key.

He recalled most vividly how, there in the pit, were scattered about the tell-tale signs of a lengthy interrogation, torture, and murder of the solitary man.  The stains on the broken shards of porcelain indicated that the captives had been fed a rich diet for a time.  The lack of any trace of cloth and personal items other than the key disclosed the fact that they had been imprisoned in their nakedness, no doubt to further conceal their identities, even from posterity.  This fact reinforced their social prominence.  Finally, there had been the revelation of the ultimate treachery, the corroded bronze jug which, upon Nevetsecnuac's closer scrutiny, had revealed that it had once contained wine tainted with that particularly abhorrent poison that paralyzed its unfortunate victim and brought about a lingering and most agonizing death.

 Lord Asger Thuxur Marrog Zhon had indeed taught Nevetsecnuac well, his well-rounded education had covered every conceivable kind of potion and poison known to man.  The symptoms of this specific toxin, Nevetsecnuac knew, would only manifest themselves two days after ingesting it, by which time it would be too late for any antidote, any salvation from its curse.

 Evidently the large group of prisoners had been fed false hopes all along, right up to the time of their inevitable tragic demise.  There was no question that the clustered group had been spared from the tortures inflicted on the solitary one and that he had borne the brunt of their vicious barbarism.  The one with the key had died of his injuries and there had been no discoloration in his bones like that which, in the others, plainly told of death by ingested poison.

The aromatic, semi-sweet wine poured over Nevetsecnuac's tongue, nestled for a time in the hollow of his cheek before it glided smoothly down his throat.  As he savored the floral aftertaste, particularly pleasing to the senses, he considered how a multitude of ills could be concealed in a wine such as this.  Feeling rather flushed, he absentmindedly touched his cheek and forehead with the back of his hand and then looked away once more.

 What had necessitated these slow, painful deaths and the added mutilation of the one who held the key?  Both his legs had been sharply severed at the ankles, as if with an ax, and his kneecaps had been brutally scythed.  His ribcage had been shattered in several sections, and the bones of his hands had been maliciously crushed.  Curiously enough, though, the clasped jawbone had been left intact, as if his captors had allowed him the power of speech, which he had adamantly refused, to the bitter end.  

Nevetsecnuac solemnly (somberly) mused, “Wasn't it strange, then, that it was only when I had considered the vague notion, if only the dead could speak, that the clenched jaw had quite amazingly (unfastened and) released this very key into my palm?  And again, this very evening fate intervening (interfering), this very key should drop onto the terrazzo (tiles)?”

 

(END OF SECTION 7)

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - ON THE WAY TO THE CAPITAL - SECTION 37

The passenger official, Ceroz Agripe had tried his utmost to keep his beloved wife alive, but her injuries being so grave, she did not live long.  After her (hastily improvised) impromptu funeral where her corpse also ended up in the river, the official Ceroz Agripe had remained in deep mourning and mostly sequestered in his cabin. He was naturally devastated and from then on incessantly mourned her loss. In his bereavement he ceased all communication and activity, as well, frequently refused any intake of sustenance (provisions, nourishment).

 

01- TORMENTED CEROS AGRIPE

He did not appear idle, rather, seemed to be contemplating something dire; meanwhile, he’d remained always in bad temper and often lashed out at the crew members, or whoever called on him. Ceroz’s angst (dread) and mounting heartache, meanwhile, had raised no alarms, as there were ample other more pertinent concerns and great deal still to do on aboard.

The infant’s death was attributed to crib-death, a common occurrence at that time, which often befell (occurred), one in every four babies. 

The official Luvet, despite Zunrogo's assurances, had also chosen most of the time to remain isolated (quarantined) in his cabin.  He had never had any dealings with Ceroz Agripe, yet at his wife Disaidun Agripe’s funeral, his blatant (unconcealed) hostility towards him, his intense (penetrating), fiery (blazing) antagonistic gaze (eyes), had both mystified and greatly alarmed official Luvet.  He’d subtly questioned Captain Zunrogo’s Lieutenant Tzan about this matter, but Lieutenant’s response had been less than satisfactory; moreover, his not so subtle, cryptic words had thence (thereafter) hunted Luvet’s peace. He could not shake the feeling that he’d somewhat been set up (accused, blamed for something he didn’t do) and ominously, a cruel, ignominious fate had awaited him. But how could he escape this impending catastrophe when he was constrained as passenger in a fair size vessel (craft, boat) temporarily stymied (because of necessary repairs) in the center of the vast expansive river, with the shoreline barely visible. He was not a competent swimmer and there was no small dinghy (dory, rowboat) on this cursed ship.  

 

Last few nights, burdened with deep concerns, Luvet had hardly touched his supper but drunk heavily to ease his mounting trepidation (fear, anxiety). Pacing back and forth across the room, he stayed up most of the evenings contemplating a plausible plan to ward off this impending disaster.  He could not shake the terrible foreboding in the crux of his being, that if not now, in matter of days, even if he succeeded in evading (escaping) the grave, lurking peril (danger, hazard, risk), his life would still be forfeited.

 

02- LUVET

                                                                 Scholar Fradel Rurik Korvald, meanwhile, from the very start, had refused to be sequestered in his cabin; not wishing to remain idle, he’d instead, had done his bit in expediting the mending of the ship.

Under Tizan's competent supervision, in no time at all the vessel had been made sail-worthy; hence, the fourth day at dawn, taking full advantage of the sudden rise of a north wind, they’d charted a course over the wide river that would bring them at a swift pace into the port city of Hanbrak, the river port immediately before the Capital city of Channing.

Once they had docked, Zunrogo and company were to precede post haste from then on, on horseback, to the Capital.

                                                                                  ~

 

Midway to reaching the port city of Hanbrak, no one other than Zunrogo, had anticipated the sudden and unexpected tragic turn of events.

In the dead of night, as all the other tired souls, including Fradel Rurik Korvald clutched their pillows in deep slumber; Ceroz Agripe suddenly snapping out of one of his catatonic (inert, withdrawn) states, had sat bolt upright and guardedly looked about him.

With wild gleam in his black pupils, he quietly rose from his bed and went over to pick up his sleeping baby. But the crib was empty, his precious Tait was not there, he’d gone missing!

Suddenly his memory served him a faint recollection, how in his anguished state, before the battle on board had started, trying to quieten the bawling (wailing) infant, he had pressed his precious boy to his chest and, tragically, smothered (suffocated) him.

“But when did they take him away? Where was Tait now?”

His mind once more becoming unhinged, his memory fogged, and he felt suddenly confused. He looked down at the empty crib, “There you are,” this time he clearly saw his precious boy Tait fast asleep.

03- BABY IN CRIB

Smiling, he gingerly picked up the small pillow, which he’d often used to protect the baby from the edge, his arms swaddling (enveloping) it, he held the precious cargo close to his chest.  Suddenly the baby was awakened and began to squeal.

“There, don’t cry Tait… Mommy will be here soon.” He gently rocked the bundle in his arms till the baby was quiet.

Bending his head, he gently kissed Tait’s forehead. His beautiful son seemed to be smiling at him. “Oh, you are such a good boy” He blew him another string of kisses.

Again, confusion set in, but just as quickly it went away; his mind was much clearer now, suddenly he knew what he must do.  Going over, he edged out the door of the cabin and locked it behind him.

 

Once in the dimly lit corridor, hugging the walls, he inaudibly crept two doors down to Luvet's cabin and quietly slipped inside.  Three paces into the room he stopped.  With the mad fire burning in his eyes, he quickly surveyed the immediate surroundings: his eyes momentarily rested on the table which was cluttered with dishes, food left uneaten, but there was the  discarded  wine stained cup, the empty wine jar tipped on its side; then he observed the stack of documents on the night table and the flickering oil lamp teetering dangerously over the edge; finally,  his gaze came to rest on the sleeping official.

Ceroz Agripe’s pulse again raced as the shiver of fuming rage and seething contempt rippled through him.

 

Gingerly, as if wary of waking his infant son from sleep, Ceroz put the precious bundle down in the plush, oversize chair in corner and, reaching into his left pocket, retrieved a long, red, silk cord.

 This crimson silk cord had been his former wife's favorite fashion accessory.  He took a shuddering breath as his gaze rested on it, recalling the multitude of purposes she had put it to.  Now it would serve a new purpose.

 He caressed it lovingly, touching it to his cheek, then to his pallid lips.  The lingering perfume it held misted his eyes with the memories it evoked, and he moaned softly in pain and dropped his head.

Abruptly anew the ire erupted in his chest, and he clenched the cord taut with indignation and bile until his knuckles whitened and cracked.

Just then Luvet stirred in his deep slumber, uttered some incomprehensible phrase, and then turned onto his side.  Ceroz was rooted to the spot, holding his breath as he considered his recourse should be the cursed official awake now and catch on to his presence in the room! 

Then, however, a lugubrious, loud snoring resounded in the air.

“Vile cur; how dare you sleep without a care…  Death is too good for the likes of you!”

 A wave of sickness, disgust and anger washed over Ceroz Agripe as he gritted his teeth.

“Your flesh should be ripped (torn) into minute pieces and fed to the wild dogs!  I swear, even if it is the last thing I do, I will gauge-out your eyes and stuff them up to …. where they belong.  Your manhood and your black heart I shall trample underfoot.  I will make certain that you will never be born again in any condition to defile a good, virtuous woman!”  He spat; his anger barely contained as he shivered once more.

His body was rocked with an all-consuming-wrath, and he clenched his fists to steady his steps as he determinedly approached Luvet.

 He stopped at hairsbreadth away from the edge of the bed.  His nostrils dilated as he glowered at the official; before him lay an ordinary official with plain nose, ordinary beard and mustache and typical lips, nothing special at all.  In the dim light, Ceroz noted how his reddish hair was scraggly (disheveled) and few strands hung loose at the sides.  There was nothing remarkable about him, nothing that would betray to an onlooker in the least his vile, contemptible nature.  There was no trace of inhumanity which Ceroz could detect in that oblong, rather impassive (blank) face, yet this mangy dog Luvet was assuredly the lowest of the lowest.

Surging contempt consumed Ceroz as he felt the bile rise in him once more.

05- CEROS AGRIPE -GONE MAD

In the next instant the cord looped around Luvet's neck and tightened with such unusual force that it bit two inches into his neck.  The convulsions of the struggling body were kept under control only by the application of Ceroz's total weight upon the dying man.

When Luvet finally expired, Ceroz drew from his other pocket the knife his wife had given him as her instrument of revenge.

 In the next few minutes, he set off to work, fulfilling his promises of defacement to the letter.  When he was done, he discarded the knife onto the table and stepped back.

As if now reconciled with the dead official, Ceroz smiled and calmly walked over to the corner to pick up the baby once more.  Going above deck, he moved slowly and serenely, looking as if he was merely taking the infant out for some air.

 Before any of the watch could realize his intention and stop him, he simply stepped over the edge of the boat and disappeared instantly in the foam of the wake.

 

“Man overboard…Man overboard!” In dead of night, the warning sounded.

 

But the vessel, as ordered, kept on (with its speed) going.  They could not have rescued him anyhow, even if they were any such order.  Driven by the strong northern wind, the vessel was moving way too fast to stop or try turning back, without grave risk to all.

The gruesome sight of Luvet's mutilated corpse was discovered soon after.  Without exception, every member of this rugged crew was chilled to the bone.  Enough incrimination evidence was left behind to leave no question as to the murderer's identity.

The motive was framed variously in everyone's mind but most chalked it up to simple insanity induced by the tragic loss of his beloved wife Disaidun Agripe, his infant boy Tait and the recent events, such as the terror and violence of the battle.

 It was generally determined that, being weak in nature already, Official Ceroz Agripe had simply cracked under pressure.  A few, however, speculated that the mutilation stemmed from the settling of an old grudge (score).  Some guessed that it was a crime of passion, and that the wife must have had an illicit affair with the bureaucrat Luvet.

Fradel (Nevetsecnuac) suspected that Zunrogo was somehow at the root of it all and despised him even more for it.  However, he had nothing solid on which to base his suspicions (allegations), therefore he buried his resentment and concentrated on the serious concerns that lay ahead of him once they reached the Capital.

06- TZAN JP

 Tzan, by piecing together the snippets of information and what he’d astutely observed, in the end discerned the true probable cause.   Tizan absently nodded as he wrapped up the pieces of the official's corpse; then with a sinister grin, he covertly eyed Zunrogo, telling himself to never ever for an instant let his guard down, to never underestimate (take too lightly) the captain’s capacity for ruthlessness, or misjudge in future Zunrogo’s devious powers of manipulation.

                                                                                        ~

 

               (END OF SECTION 37- END OF BOOK 8 – ON THE WAY TO THE CAPITAL)

 

(LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC EPIC STORY CONTINUES IN BOOK 9- THE CAPITAL CHANNING)

 

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - ON THE WAY TO THE CAPITAL - SECTION 34

It had been quite a row, a real humdinger of a fight, all right!  He couldn't have been much more than nine or ten, but Tizan was well enough developed for his age to, at long last, hold his own against that brute.  “He had rebelled soon enough, though, hadn't he?”

From the age of seven he had relentlessly fought back each time his stepfather had taken to drink and viciously turned on him. Had his father not died or that his mother did not re-marry, he had always wondered, perhaps things might have been different. 

Tzan had suffered greatly; as far back as he could remember, all through his childhood in fact, with many beatings, constant verbal abuse and endless torment at the hands of his stepfather Zianko. (First mentioned in Book 1 - Fisherman’s Prize- Section 3)

 

01-  ZIANKO

No man could be more vicious to a child.   The vile brute Zianko was a heartless, greedy, selfish dog! Then came the day on which Tzan’d been an eyewitness to Zianko’s murdering his mother. Perhaps the only time she’d stood up to him, fighting desperately to uphold her son’s right to inherit her former husband’s estate. But no one took any notice of Tizan’s claims or accusations, for Zianko had already arranged to make it look like a perfect, irrefutable accident. Shortly after, Tizan had suddenly fallen deadly ill, and very nearly died, but he had recovered, in time to learn, that his stepfather Zianko had been cleared of all charges. Meanwhile secretly from then on, the brute had conspired to murder him (Tizan) before he reached the age of twelve.

On that night, two months before he was to turn twelve, their brawling had reached a peak when that beast Zianko, unable to gain advantage with his hands alone, had taken up an oar and struck a hard, brutal blow at Tizan’s temple, knocking him out cold.  When Tizan regained consciousness in small hours of the night, he'd at once secretly taken off, preferring the unknown dangers of the mountainous forest to certain, slow death at his stepfather Zianko’s hands. Just before he left, he, looking back on the fishing village, had inwardly vowed to someday kill Zianko if he ever came across him again.

 

                                                                                  ~

 

Tizan now looked back out at the spot where the boat had been short time before, his eye catching the first of the mangled wreckage bob up to the surface.  For a moment he imagined that it was his stepfather’s boat and each of the bodies it took to the bottom with it was Zianko, killed repeatedly.  The image gave him little satisfaction, but it was the best he could muster at present. Even after many years of intense loathing, same seething, all-consuming abhorrence of Zianko still coursed through his veins.

“Odd that I'd remember Zianko now,” Tizan turned his attention back to the pitched battle still raging between captain Zunrogo Tugo and Lance Diostin.

“Devils take me!  How could I have frittered away (waste) all that time, with just reminiscing… where’s my good sense?”  His guts were gnawed by self-reproach. 

 

02--TZAN JP

In truth, the squandered time had only been no more than a heartbeat.

Snatching a sword from the nearest corpse and carving a deliberate course, Tizan rushed into the fray, wanting to fight alongside Zunrogo; but the dizzying and intense speed (never once dwindling), skill and agility with which Zunrogo and Lance Diostin fought, interlocked as they were in that kind of a continuous, sound combat, did not afford Tizan least opportunity (opening) to intercede.

Unrelenting, Tizan kept mental notes on Lance Diostin’s unique fighting style and any potential weakness in his offensives as he combatted other foes; all the while, he sought an opportunity to intervene with a well-placed strike at Lance Diostin.

He gradually lost heart when he observed how flawlessly Lance executed his offensives without giving up an inch of his defensive position.  Lance had no failings of any kind.  Though captain Zunrogo was the most competent fighter Tizan had known, Zunrogo was dwarfed in martial skills by his invincible opponent and even was forced into maintaining only a defensive course for much of the time.

Tizan, meanwhile, had soon run out of opponents to fight, and he stood looking about, surrounded by heaps of corpses, for least sign of life for which to extinguish. Disappointed he turned his attention back to the only ongoing action (contesting duo).

“Strange,” Tizan mused, observing how there’d been few instances during which a flaw in Zunrogo's defenses had left an opening, a perfect opportunity for a strike, yet his opponent Lance Diostin had ignored these obvious advantages.

“Oh, he’s so shrewd; adroit that he is, is he just toying with the captain?”

 Tizan inwardly questioned Lance Diostin’s motive, while at the same time with a sinking feeling, grew (became) skeptical of Zunrogo’s ability for the first time ever.  “He’s not invincible after all, is this the mentor I've sworn an unconditional allegiance to?”

Before he could follow up on his doleful, glum (gloomy, woeful) thoughts, the rarest opportunity just then had presented itself.  Lance had for a split second let his guard down, allowing slight vulnerability in his rear.  Fearlessly, Tizan jumped into the fray, recklessly not giving his brain (his senses) apt time to grasp (comprehend, gather) that Lance Diostin might have deliberately and with specific design, slackened off just enough to afford him (Tizan) this rare chance.

"The more the merrier!" warding off both sets of blows, Lance Diostin threw his head back and laughed; he then set to with equal equanimity and deadly precision, simultaneously attacking both Zunrogo and Tizan. 

"For a moment there, I thought that you would turn tail and run, Lieutenant.  Now, at least, I have a more even match.  I wouldn't want to be accused of taking unfair advantage of Captain Zunrogo here.  Oh, let me thank you, sir, for your invaluable service in ridding me of that excess baggage back there…. ha, ha!"

Lance talked and fought with equal ease; meanwhile, Lance Diostin’s fluid, swift maneuvers strained both his opponents’ defensives, their ability to the brink and, at the same time, restricted their corresponding strikes. By all accounts, Lance Diostin wasn't even trying all that hard.

 

03-LANCE DIOSTIN JP 12

Bristling at his arrogance, both Zunrogo and Tizan intensified their efforts and succeeded in, for an instant, turning the battle to the offensive.  Yet, despite their perfectly orchestrated, deadly onslaught, they still could not weaken or best Lance Diostin.

Lance Diostin’s amusement faltered after a while and he picked up momentum, wielding his sword with lightning speed and deadly effect.  He redoubled his offensive strikes with unyielding power, strength and unsurpassed cunning and agility, striking at places where there seemed to be no opening, piercing defenses that appeared flawless.  This intense, pitched fighting continued for a short spell though for Zunrogo and Tizan it seemed to be an eternity.

The two, finding themselves in dire straits, fought on with all their might but were unable to keep their adversary at bay.  They were hanging on only by the skin of their teeth.  Then, while fending off a deadly thrust by Zunrogo, Lance Diostin swiftly twirled and landed a good, swift kick squarely on Tizan's chest.  It was fortunate that Tizan had not discarded his armor, otherwise his ribs, which took the brunt of this attack, would have been instantly pulverized.  Still, the force of the blow was enough to hurl him right across the deck and into the mast, where he slumped down, unconscious.  Tizan was still not out of danger, for Lance had raced to follow his flying body and was at the point of decapitating his helpless form in the next heartbeat.

Zunrogo, putting on an all-out effort, had leapt over to the mast and, in the nick of time, intervened with deadly force to block Lance Diostin’s strike.

 Taking a stance between Lance and the Lieutenant Tzan, Zunrogo hurled curses, dares and taunting assaults while strategically retreating, (to lure) to draw Lance Diostin away from Tizan towards an un-sprung trap further down the deck.  This, Zunrogo perceived, would be his best hope of besting his nemesis.

However, it proved ineffectual.  Lance Diostin was too insightful, too clever to be caught unawares by the deadly snare.  In fact, with an agile maneuver, Lance forced Zunrogo to spring the trap.  Zunrogo escaped, only with a hairsbreadth, as the hurtling blade flew past the side of his neck to land in the river.  Zunrogo had trained himself to never ever consider defeat during a battle and so, he continued to fight in a desperate all-out struggle.

Lance Diostin clearly could have annihilated the captain at any time but, again, he slackened off on his assaults, clearly deriving a particular pleasure from toying with his eventual victim.  "Well, my friend", Lance hissed, "I must thank you for affording me this wonderful practice session.  It is only rarely that I get to use my full skills these days.  You see, once I reach my full potential (ability), my opponents invariably end up dead and, of course, it would be unwise of me to leave any witnesses to circulate reports of my true skill.  Good sparring partners are hard to find, you know.  So, you, sir, may go to your death knowing that your worthless life has, indeed, served some small purpose.”

Zunrogo realized too late how he had been led to mortally (fatally) underestimating Lance Diostin's true prowess.  Had he but known, he could have deployed more powerful reinforcements, adopted more effective means, engaged in diversionary tactics, or considered retreat, to just live to fight another day.

 

04- ZUNROGO AND lANCE DIOSTIN CLOSE COMBAT

As it stood, he was failing miserably.  He knew he had only himself to blame for this grave oversight.  He had been well versed in military strategy and should have perceived the possibility of this deception by Lance Diostin and taken measures to guard against it.  Lance Diostin’s adaptation of the age-old ruse had been flawless and Zunrogo, like the many others who preceded him, had been properly duped, lulled into a false sense of security right up to the very end before being totally, and irrevocably vanquished.

There was no time for self-reproach or remorse.  Just as Zunrogo was about to modify his strategy to one of escape at any cost, Lance launched a whirlwind assault that instantly incapacitated him.  He could feel the world going black as he fought to strike back.

Grinning cruelly, Lance Diostin lifted his magnificent sword high above his head, setting up the one powerful, lightning stroke that would slice through Zunrogo's neck like a harpoon through a jellyfish.  He let go of the stroke, the sword arched through the air in firm descending course, backing it up with all his force.

The blade’s course midway was stopped cold however, never reaching Zunrogo's neck as if it had hit a solid rock; furthermore, the shock wave traveled back up the sword and through Lance Diostin’s whole body.

"What the hell?" glowering, Lance Diostin jumped back and turned to assess the opponent still brandishing the sword that had blocked his fierce, deadly aim (blow).

                                                                                           ~

 

 (END OF SECTION 34)