12- LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE PORTENDED PERIL - SECTION 2

(SOVEREIGN ZAKHERTAN’S NIGHTMARE ENSUES)

 

Zakhertan, (still in the grip of a terrible nightmare), had just retrieved his sword when this time he found himself suddenly enveloped in a dense, purplish, spiraling fog. The strong rancid smell assailed his nostrils. His chest once more constrained and his head reeling, he nevertheless undeterred, blindly felt his way about, advancing at times on his hands and knees, to escape this current entrapment. When the fog at lower altitude eventually thinned out, he spotted too late the brigands lurking in the thickets, brandishing their lethal arsenals, their mouths set in a snarl of deadly intent, ready to slay him. A signal, a shrill pitch of a whistle slicing through the air just then, however, froze them in their stance. Horses’ hooves churning up huge clouds of dust in a flash next revealed a contingent of masked riders, clothed head to toe in black and heavily armed, at the scene. In dizzying speed, they dismounted and fanned out to encircle him. Their disciplined, precision manoeuvring impressed and deep down exhilarated Zakhertan Yozdek.

01- ZAKHERTAN YOZDEDK 999 (1)

Nonchalant (blasé), he at once assumed a martial stance to meet the challenge. At that juncture, one who looked to be their leader flourished his whip and let out a high-pitched shriek; that same instance, from an unexpected quarter another warrior leaped forward, somersaulting in the air, to strike a surprising blow at Zakhertan Yozdek’s back of the head.

Zakhertan’s reflexes being as good if not better he warded-it-off successfully, then went on to fighting for quite a long while valiantly (and fiercely) without a let up against the subsequent vicious onslaughts from every direction, keeping them all at bay. Inwardly though, he wondered how long he could keep this up, for the leader's exceptional prowess clearly matched his own. Zakhertan was about to instigate the most plausible recourse which would have put him at an advantage when, at that precise moment the leader's whip having wound around Zakhertan's neck, instantly turned into a most vile, very poisonous snake. The viper simply arched its ugly head and struck Zakhertan between the eyes.  Zakhertan had soon after lost complete consciousness but sure enough, he did not die from it. Zakhertan’s life was in fact spared by the timely administered antidote and when he regained full consciousness, he found out that he was tightly bound and gagged.

After an unspecified time, Zakhertan was (roughly) hauled up by the two stout, nine feet tall armed guards, lugged like a common, convicted criminal through a tunnel, and then brought (deposited) before a secret tribunal. On the dais, seated in the centre as the head of the tribunal, was none other than Lord Asger Thuxur Marrog Zhon, who now met Zakhertan's eyes triumphantly. He ordered that the prisoner’s gag be removed.

02- LORD ASGER THUXUR MARROG ZHON (182)JP

Zakhertan after leering menacingly at Lord Zhon, hurled curses at Asger but Zakhertan’s torrent of verbal abuses and curses fell on deft ears! Resisting that strong ominous foreboding gradually taking root in the depths of his soul, Zakhertan challenged Lord Asher Zhon and then each and everyone at the podium to engage him in mortal combat.

He would take them all on, simultaneously, if they dared!

But Lord Zhon's maddening response had been to grin at him simply, condescendingly. The mocking, stifled laughter from the others goaded Zakhertan Yozdek further, to the breaking point. He lunged forward towards the podium to get at Lord Zhon but was violently yanked back and restrained most brutally (with super-human strength) by the armed guards flanking him.

Lord Zhon at this point inclining his head slightly said few inaudible words to the person on his left who, acquiescing (nodded) stood up and removed his mask. To Zakhertan Yozdek’s great surprise and consternation he saw that the person was none other than his most trusted minister Qarzten Caimund.

"You have brought this upon yourself," Qarzten Caimund bristled, his words spat out like acid, “pity you can only be killed but once!"

03- QARZTEN CAMUND (33)JP4

Zakhertan Yozdek’s ire had about reached its zenith; before he could unleash his vicious rebuke on Qarzten Caimund however, the masked man to the left of Lord Asger Thuxur Marrog Zhon had briskly stepped forward and, with a sonorous voice, his stare unyielding, dispensed his orders in an incomprehensible language to the guards. Once more to Zakhertan Yozdek’s deep dismay he realized that this voice too, had sounded most familiar…But who could it be?

"I am surrounded by traitors!" Zakhertan indignantly hissed and gnashed his teeth as he pivoted his icy, defiant gaze back on the masked man. Nevertheless, Zakhertan could not rightly discern (ascertain) the individual for which the voice had belonged to, even though for a fleeting second, he had about recognized those steel-gray eyes!

Zakhertan’s subsequent taunts were again maddeningly ignored, by which time the guards had already grabbed (grasped) hold of his arms and, unceremoniously, like a common criminal, ejected him outside. With his feet dangling about two inches off the ground, he was being hauled down the corridor towards the subterranean dungeons, when he had unexpectedly just then eyed (spotted) a scholar in one of the rooms they were about to pass by, which Zakhertan instinctively knew it was scholar Fradel Rurik Korvald. At this point, as if deliberately (by design), the guards stayed their footing long enough for Zakhertan to witness Fradel mounting the dais and wiping away all the incense bowls, candlesticks, and offerings on the Yozdek Ancestral Altar. The scholar had done this with one sweep of the sword that happened to be the twin of Zakhertan's own State Sword, save for the fact that this blade did not glow blood red but had instead, radiated with clear blue luminosity (emitted blue light). Fradel Rurik Korvald’s ensuant (consequent) strike then had decapitated Zakhertan Yozdek’s full size alabaster statue; the head with a loud thud had hit the ground and rolled till it had reached the doorway. Just as Zakhertan was about to be again carted away, the scholar’s glare squarely pivoting Zakhertan’s, he derisively sneered: "This is what awaits you: Hell, and damnation for all eternity! Very soon, you’ll be made to atone for your immense, appalling crimes. "

04- SCHOLAR FRADEL RURIK KORVALD (NEVETSECNUAC) (4)JP

“Impudent academic pest, you dare threaten me?” Zakhertan Yozdek with his (pent up) incessant loathing of the scholar class, in great fury akin to that of a wild beast lunged at Fradel Rurik Korvald, but once more he was violently yanked back by the guards, making the chains bite further into his flesh. Seeing red and spurting venom, his strength fueled now by his erupting rage, he jostled both guards and was about to best them with his super-human strength when, he was bludgeoned (assailed, bashed) hard at the back of the head by a third guard that had suddenly manifested on the scene. All the guards then rancorously (viciously) kicked and punched him in the head, ribs, and groin until Zakhertan doubled over in pain. He was, however, merely feigning defeat; suddenly in a violent burst, he snapped (shattered) his chains and agilely grabbed hold of the weapon fastened at the waist of one of the guards then in lightening speed dealt him a fatal blow just as the guard threw his head back and guffawed. The guard’s decapitated head with a loud thud hit the ground and rolled away. In a blinking of an eye, Zakhertan had next directed the cleaver (axe) onto the rest of the guards flanking him at three sides and instantaneously in three lightening consecutive strokes separated their heads from their necks. Their heads too, one after another tumbled onto the hard ground with loud thuds, bounced then rolled. Zakhertan’s fierce gaze now fell on the scholar Fradel Rurik Korvald.  "Prepare to meet your maker!" he bellowed.

The scholar however quite unperturbed simply held out his hand; he had such majestic bearing behind that formidable unspoken command that astounded Zakhertan involuntarily halted (stayed) his advance.

"It is Heaven's will that we shall duel, but not at present and not here." The illustrious scholar Fradel having then uttered these cryptic words in an even tone vanished into thin air.

"To Hell with Heaven's will…I demand that you be manifest spineless cur and face your doom!" Heedless of the God's wrath, Zakhertan brandishing his cleaver barked his challenge. Fradel Rurik Korvald however did not reappear, leaving Zakhertan Yozdek utterly incensed (exasperated). But then Zakhertan’s good sense taking hold, he knew instinctively that reinforcements would be upon him soon if he dallied in this spot any longer; aborting this fruitless endeavor hence, he swiftly made his escape. He advanced for unspecified time in pitch darkness, stumbling once or twice over a projection (ridge, knob) half- imbedded in the hard ground.

Suddenly, mysteriously Zakhertan found himself transported to the subsidiary highway at the outskirts of the Capital Province Holger. This main artery (thoroughfare) was thronged with dismal (miserable) fleeing citizens of all ages and status, incessantly trudging alongside their overburdened carts and animals, but in the opposite direction from Zakhertan. At the distance, an abandoned Village and fields could be seen still ablaze, intermittently darkening the sky with grayish tint. Amidst the deafening noise Zakhertan too, relentlessly pushed his way through the chaotic mayhem (commotion) which oftentimes sporadically intensified, by the barrage of missiles launched from a hidden enemy post, finding their mark. Zakhertan eventually passed through the battered and unmanned gate, bearing the obvious signs of frantic, decisive battle, to advance towards the second checkpoint. But here too were the prevalent signs of past violent assaults, the obvious mark of defeat and the consequential rampant genocide that had spared no being, animal, or solid structure. And when the incessant (unremitting) winds suddenly shifted, an all-encompassing volley (barrage) of dark smoke and haze anew rushed at him to suffocate his lungs, sting his eyes, and temporarily obscure his vision. Nonetheless, as he made his steadfast (unwavering) advance, he continued to espy (observe) the copious amount of death and destruction, scorched buildings, granaries, destroyed battlements, crumbled ramparts and ditches (trenches) filled with blood-red flow that also encapsulated countless chopped-up corpses in that sea of blood, indicative of the final defense which had failed to stem the gargantuan onslaught. This degree of trouncing of his once mighty forces and the ensued an all-out pandemonium which still raged in three or four sectors, sickened Zakhertan’s heart, and mounted his ire (indignation and fury).

05- ZAKHERTAN YOZDEDK'S IRE 999 (9)

At least the inner walls of the core of Capital were not breached and the locked iron gates remained durably intact!

Later still, after stealthily unearthing the secret latch, Zakhertan with sure footing had quickly descended the stone steps then, advanced fearlessly through the snaking, pitch dark subterranean tunnels which he had had it constructed a long, long time ago for such an eventuality. After an indefinite period when at dusk he finally emerged at the above ground, an implausible (shocking) scene once more confronted his eyes; as his ears same time was assailed with the incessant shouts: “Run, run for your lives! Hedenko’s wrathful army will soon be poised at the gates! May Heaven have mercy on our wretched souls; may death come swiftly to us all and let us be spared from the extreme savagery of Kontu’s militia!" Consecutively blocking the path of eleven frantic citizens Zakhertan confirmed that, all of Channing’s defenses had indeed been breached and Royal armada had all but burned to cinders; furthermore, the winged regiments to the very last rider, (wiped out, eradicated) had been vanquished and, Wenjenkun’s armies on all three fronts had suffered heavy losses.

Presently, the firebombs from cannons raining down had continued to incessantly light up the skies and fostered still more chaos and cataclysms on core of Channing; this, lasting well into the small hours of the night. Civilians and gentry continued to run pell-mell, scattering in sheer panic and, doing their best to avoid the devastating, searing fires that engulfed everything it touched. The catapulted missiles of rock which exploded upon impact, however, still lodged their shards in soft flesh and rivulets of blood trickled down the cobblestone alleyways. By dawn (daybreak), shattered objects and severed limbs were seen strewn everywhere; the besieged Inner city too, was now engulfed in an inferno of burning, swirling debris that resembled scenes from Hell, once depicted in the paintings of extinct religious sects. Zakhertan knew the portended outcome for Wenjenkun all too well, having inflicted such devastation himself on an innumerable conquered state. Invariably it had led to first, their total capitulation and then, complete annihilation; this time however, despite all the measures he had implemented to prevent such course, his own cherished Channing was the one enduring such a brunt (impact), from a foreign (Kontu's) aggression.

“How could things have come to such an aggrieved state?” Zakhertan highly incensed, gnashed (ground) his teeth.

Suddenly however, Zakhertan Yozdek was back in the North Palace, transported there as if he had willed it by magic. Here too, similar chaos reigned. He accosted two or three panicked palace staff though, oddly, this time none had responded to his queries, commands, or threats, as though he was invisible and inaudible to all.

 Peering into a grand room which in the past had been used to discuss matters of national security and covert operations, he observed (and overheard) nine ministers, not the usual bunch, congregated around the huge round table, charting out a course of escape for those whose lives would otherwise be forfeited when after the anticipated total capitulation. Occasionally they would look right past him at the intensifying panic outside then return their overwrought, haggard gazes to the grim task of discussing the alternatives. It wrenched Zakhertan Yozdek’s gut to see the disillusionment in their eyes; they did not hear his subsequent commands however, or words of encouragement, nor his eventual reprimands and threats.

06- ZAUR STUGR  IN WARROOM JP (7)

Is that one, Minister Zaur Stugr?

But before Zakhertan could take a second look, responding to an alarm bell they had all rushed out of the room, one or two of them passing right through Zakhertan, armed only with their ill-conceived plans for escape.

Zakhertan turned and went down the corridor towards the milling crowd in the audience chamber, noting along the way how the four prized frescoes commemorating his two consecutive fantastic battles had all been shamefully defaced and vandalized. Other brilliant works of art, particularly marble or iron sculptures, by the famed artists of their time were also utterly ruined or carted away; shame of it all, this had happened even before the enemy had set foot in the Palace. Unmistakable signs of infighting explained in part, the failure of the Wenjenkun's strong defenses; furthermore, key evidence in plain sight and obvious to Zakhertan, disclosed that despite all his measures, traitors and subversives had still infiltrated his Court. Heaven knows how long ago Hedenko had planted these moles in their very midst to bring about this devastation?

Zakhertan’s rapid steps led him to the Ancestral shrine (temple); there too he noted how everything, memorial tablets and monuments, century’s old sacrificial vessels all lay strewn about in shambles and in heaps of rubble. Passing by a closed window he happened to see just then, the Royal Stables engulfed in red hot flames and his purebred black stallion Night Thunder being led out of the building with a cloth over his eyes. He at once burst through the windowpane to land at the patio, leaped over the low railing and, surprised that he was corporeal once more, threw the stable hands aside to swiftly mount his beloved horse. His magnificent steed obeying his command and charging in lightning speed, Zakhertan now wielded his state sword to vanquish thousands of the Kontu warriors, which had by then, on mass infiltrated the Palace. But eventually accepting the hopelessness of his situation, he made good his escape and outdistanced any dogged enemy’ pursuits. After entering a secret tunnel and riding at full gallop through the perilous course, he finally emerged at outside of the city walls and proceeded to put a safe distance between him and the ceding (yielding, surrendering) Channing. Mindful of the discussed info by his Ministers in the operations’ room, he spurred his horse towards the west for endless days and nights over the harshest terrain regardless of the danger attempting to reach this farthest point of his Kingdom. His Ministers had spoken of a prediction that there in the wasteland would arise in future, a (virtuous) righteous Dragon Lord. He was sure that it would be he, Zakhertan Yozdek, who would rally and regroup the tattered remnants of his once formidable militia, forming a new, more invincible army (encompassing cavalry, heavily armed infantry soldiers, guerrilla force and legionnaires, etcetera), and after a series of glorious punitive campaigns, retake the land (reclaim his kingdom) from the loathsome invader Emperor Deng Hedenko. Nor would he stop there, for he would exact revenge most foul, and wipe the entire nation of Kontu and all its allies from the face of the Earth!

 Zakhertan would have ceaselessly ridden on until he had arrived at his destination, but after nine days of non-stop gallop, Night Thunder had reached the end of his tether. Zakhertan, now finding himself at the edge of a forest where a creek wound its way out into a meadow, dismounted at a clearing to allow his favorite mount a well-earned respite. Feeling suddenly parched, he knelt at the edge of the stream on one leg and cupped his hands to lift bit of the pristine clear water to his lips; but the color unexpectedly turned to crimson, and that same instant, the water transformed into pure blood in both taste and smell. Shrugging, he nevertheless drank a good measure until his thirst was satiated (satisfied, quenched); unfortunately, he had little success in urging Night Thunder to do the same.

Hearing a ruffling, crunching sound just then, Zakhertan dove fearlessly into the thick, tall undergrowth to investigate; he was hoping to encounter at the end of it a small campsite belonging to Wenjenkun’s remnant squadron, headed in same direction as him, having their repast (meal). In any case, there would be fodder (hay) for his steed. Homing in on the noise (pitch) of masticating, he ceaselessly advanced through the shrubbery (thicket) thick with thorns and thistles, which consequently, bloodied his arms and legs. Unfortunately, Zakhertan’s hopes were dashed when he finally cleared the dense bushes only to discover (come across) a solitary, dilapidated hut at the periphery of a coniferous forest. In bold strides he nevertheless advanced right up to the door and finding the door locked, kicked it open. Audaciously, quite unconcerned of any ambush, he then stepped confidently through the portal; but straight away his face blanched and he guardedly backed away a step.

07- ZAKHERTAN YOZDEDK  ENCOUNTERS HELLHOUNDS 999 (6)

 He was not dead yet; for what reason had he stumbled upon these hellhounds? Zakhertan inwardly queried, eyeing the two grotesque creatures ravenously feasting, tearing away chunks from deceased human corpses piled high in centre of the dimly lit room, as he same time warily retreated (drew back) now towards the door. Halfway, his attention was suddenly rapt (gripped) by the beast that was gnawing on the bleeding arm of, obviously the Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren’s, with his forefinger still bearing a signet ring. That same instance the much larger hound squatted beside it had turned his head to reveal in its maw, a partial torso, and the head (hanging from it only by the bare backbone) of Egil Viggoaries.

The single blazing eye affixed on Zakhertan Yozdek, the enormous hellhound predictably growled and started to rise. Now that he’d been discovered, Zakhertan opted to in haste flee from this terrible predicament but his legs in defiance of his will had turned obstinately sluggish; worse still, just before they were completely rendered immobile (turned to stone), he’d tripped (stumbled) on a jutting piece of hard metal, which send him flying face first through the rotted floorboards and into a deep cavity piled high with putrid, dismembered corpses. When he strove to climb out of this macabre foxhole, his progress at first was stymied (thwarted, hindered) by the limbs of the dead that clanged (affixed) onto him, as though they deliberately were trying to hinder (impede) his escape. He nevertheless quickly dug himself out of the pit of putrid bodies and sharp, fractured bones but as consequence his facial features and body was permanently marred, bore deep lacerations, in at least four or five places. His legs mercifully having once more regained their strength, he darted towards the door; meanwhile, he could hear the growling hellhounds closing in on him fast from behind.

 

(END OF SECTION 2)                                                                                       ~

 

 

LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC – THE RENEGADE IMMORTAL – SECTION 7 

The beast that was Dwengzur, shrieking as if to deafen the dead, transformed into a giant python and then coiled around Fradel’s (Nevetsecnuac's) body, squeezing, and squeezing, restricting his breathing, and threatening to crush every bone. Yet, once more, Fradel (Nevetsecnuac's) imagination fought the spell and won the battle. Reluctantly, the python eased his grip, only to open its mouth wide, intending to swallow Fradel whole.

 

01-MONSTER SERPENT

Maddeningly, the unfazed Scholar now chortled in mystical serpent’s face. "Haven't you eaten enough already; I’d think twice about that if I, were you! You know full well I'm not going to perish, and I can do lot more harm in your gut than I can out here."

His bluff worked. The numinous python recoiled and instantly vanished in a puff of smoke and light. Fradel (Nevetsecnuac) found himself once more seated back at the table across from disgruntled (peeved) Dwengzur, as if non of that had happened.

Glaring at him over the rim of his cup, Dwengzur finished his sip then, shaking his head, ejected coldly, "You are indeed an exceptional being. For a human you are quite remarkable if I should say so myself. I can see now what qualities Zonar saw in you. I would like to indulge you some more, but I am rather pressed for time."  He glanced down for a brief second then returned his icy gaze to Scholar Fradel.

"I am going to ask you just one more time, and that is only because such a remarkable iron-willpower has earned you a measure of my respect; will you voluntarily submit to, my probing of your mind?"

“I’ll not now nor ever, oblige you in this unreasonable request." Fradel (Nevetsecnuac) responded resolutely because his distrust of Dwengzur had now reached its zenith. He would hence, come-what-may, be defiant and guard his secret.

Equally obdurate (obstinate), Dwengzur regretted that which he must do next; for he needed to uncover the extent of damage Zonar had done then deal with the problem accordingly. This last refusal afforded him the perfect excuse and means of absolution for the outrage he must now commit.

 "Very well, then." he shook his head dismally, "You’ve left me no other choice. You have only yourself to blame if things go awry and you are reduced to…” Dwengzur checked his tongue abruptly; but the grave threat implicit in his tone, gave Nevetsecnuac (Fradel) cause for concern and he pondered for a spell, on potential future consequence.

 

02-  FRADEL (NEVETSECNUAC)

Dwengzur in the interim had also paused, hopeful that Fradel would relent, yet no change was forthcoming.

"Fool! With your own obstinacy you have signed your own death warrant or perhaps even a fate worse than that."  Dwengzur shrugged off his irritation and looked away. “And thence, I will not be held accountable for the probable consequences." He muttered as if to reassure himself.

In truth (actuality), Dwengzur would rather not have resorted to that extreme measure, for to do so would be a mark of failure, admittance that he had been unsuccessful in mastering this situation, in besting this primitive life form.

Again, looking away, Dwengzur took mental inventory of the probable damage that Fradel Rurik Korvald might suffer, because of the “Tashork” spell:  First, there was a good chance that Fradel would come out of it dull-witted (stupid, slow) or even brain dead. Dwengzur had seen it happen before and it was not a pretty sight. Second, if this human still had significant contributions to make in his lifetime, his zombie state would seriously impede (hinder) or even alter providence (the course of destiny); then being held accountable, he (Dwengzur) would suffer the ultimate (extreme) punishment.

“Blasted, obstinate human; since you are forcing my hand, you should be held solely responsible for any dire outcome, not I; then again,” he paused to consider this: Regardless of circumstance, had his master ever shown any mercy, afforded him any sort of leeway? Dwengzur grumbled, fearing the worse.

Having run out of options, Dwengzur now uttered the incantation: “Tashork”, its power second only to that spell which raised the dead.

 Nevetsecnuac (Fradel) watched in wonder as the immortal Dwengzur changed his physical form and he became something entirely different. His eyes glowed and then blazed crimson and harsher, until they reached an incredible brightness in intensity; subsequently, an ancient cryptogram (symbol) manifested on his bare chest as the several streams of surging (electric) energy swirled about his body.

 

03- DWENGZUR ALTERING HIS APPARENCE

Try as he might, Nevetsecnuac (Fradel) could neither look away nor close his eyelids. Suddenly two blinding bolts of white light shot out from Dwengzur's burning orbs to, sear through Fradel’s (Nevetsecnuac’s corneas) irises, to eventually attach themselves like shackles to the back of his eyes. Subsequently that part too, painfully melted away as the piercing light penetrated to the centre his brain.

Mesmerized, Nevetsecnuac was rendered powerless to prevent the steady infringement which permeated next, deep into the very recesses, the very core of his (soul) being.  Unable to resist this most potent of magic, in his frozen state Nevetsecnuac, with eyes wide open, was forced to endure being terribly violated (breached) till such a time when he sank into a deep, vacant stupor.

In few minutes Dwengzur had retrieved the information he needed and much, much more.

Dwengzu had, meanwhile, severed the link and hence, once more reverted to his old form (appearance). He sat back pondering on all that amassed knowledge; all that he, through clairvoyant (psychic, telepathic) means, had learned about the recent past, and the immediate future yet to unfold. His gaze affixed on this remarkable, though enigmatic (mysterious), heroic Prince, he studied him long and hard, cataloging the intriguing facts and accidental fluctuations, into proper apertures (slots) in his brain.  He smiled, having now fully grasped, just what it was that had made Fradel Rurik Korvald, rather, Prince Nevetsecnuac Alric Therran Valamir, (also known by so many other, assumed names, Svein, Audun Codenz, Tonng Yennik,) such a remarkable, worthy individual; he carried the gene of Ingolf, the founding father of Wenjenkun, and that’s why he had stood out so tall above the rest of the mortal rabble around him. Dwengzur had, furthermore, grasped that the basis for the affinity and mutual respect between Zonar and Nevetsecnuac being much more; and finally, despite all of his bigoted protestations, conceeded that the prince had as well now secured his (Dwengzur’s) lasting admiration.

Nevetsecnuac’s past combats in the moral realm alone, were enough to stir his (Dwengzur’s) essence to the very core. In that brief instant, Dwengzur had drunk deep of this most intoxicating wealth of human emotions: the boundless, infinite love, the uncompromising sense of duty, intense loyalty, supreme sacrifices, the filial piety, and the remarkable courage not only of Nevetsecnuac’s, but also of the rest (contacts, his associates). So passionately intense these overpowering emotions had been that it had pierced his, (figuratively speaking,) stone heart and shaken him to the very root, altering his lifelong attitude (estimation), as well, eradicating all his prior prejudices against humans.

Dwengzur additionally sympathized with Nevetsecnuac’s past endured hardships, and he appreciated akin rebellious defiant acts, towards his oppressors. Dwengzur, meanwhile, had glimpsed at the immediate future, within a month, events beyond that were hidden to him; and so, he glanced towards Zaur Stugr, seated at the side, little ways off, and then shook his head.

“Pity, that outcome could have been altered significantly if it were not for the pervasive mistrust imbued in every facet of their beings. However, he could not see providence too far ahead; so perhaps the outcome could still be different.”

Dwengzur did have it within his means to change this, but the law forbade interference in fate (providence), and that law could never be broken. “Perhaps if I put forward an appeal to my master and through him to Elder Aegeus?”  He looked down grimly and shook his head, knowing the uselessness of such an attempt.

Draconian laws…Shame of it all. For there could be no exception to those irrevocable rules.

But just as abruptly the feeling of dishonor (shame), a newly acquired strange notion, now gnawed at him. Having lived through Nevetsecnuac’s experiences, his innate selfish, sadistic, vile, crass, and vindictive nature had been, albeit temporarily, altered. Dwengzur at present, moreover, felt compassion and mercy also invading his heart for the first time ever. With this strange, alien concept, suddenly, goodness was born in him, and he desired to be benevolent. He will start by helping this prince; there must be a way to circumvent, at least some of that dire portended peril, and so, he raked (combed) his brains for doable succor (assistance, support).

Oh, but wait, there was still more! …  

Dwengzur’s innate powers had suddenly detected this, surprising (unbidden), telepathic divulgence (acknowledgement, transmission) emanating from Prince Nevetsecnuac’s subconscious mind. This part had been prior hidden from Dwengzur, because Prince Nevetsecnuac was entirely ignorant of it as well. 

04- THE UNEXPECTED REVELATION

What was that?!  The updated information that was, unpredictably forthcoming, revealed to Dwengzur now- because of his rare, outstanding clairvoyant abilities to see the past events, not in entirety but sometimes in erratic glimpses, manifestations, and this had been one such glitch- was most extraordinary revelation to assimilate. An electrifyingly startling fact that it was, it temporarily halted (paused)his breath and interrupted Dwengzur’s core being (his vital essence).

Even so, taking hold of his senses, Dwengzur accepted the full measure of this streaming account, and now he became indubitably aware of these starkly dangerous revelations that had rushed to compound his worry:

Prince Nevetsecnuac’s lineage, from maternal side, was…. This new revelation shocked Dwengzur to the core; he could not believe what he was assimilating (absorbing, learning) … He had also acquired the vital, most sobering, shocking revelations about Nevetsecnuac’s innate (distinctive) genetic factors… It explained, why his existence (life) was so vital (imperative) to Elder Aegeus, Elder Olavingemar, Elder Sthetor and more importantly, to Zonar. Now that he knew the identity of Nevetsecnuac’s mother,  with that dawned the realization that this young man was nephew of… Zonar…. And furthermore, he carried the ancient bloodline, akin Elder Aegeus (of Karn) and Kongrus, of Elder Olavingemar and Elder Sthetor … and much, much more… The presaged (portended) consequences were astounding! Oh my!

Dwengzur had considered it, only for a spell, to readily let his master acquire this knowledge at the time of his inevitable capture; the shock of it, might spare him from the severest part of his punishment, the dreaded chastisement, result of his audacious feat, his absconding (escaping) from his prison.

Dwengzur, shook his head dismally, knowing all too well of his master’s temperament, aware (understanding) also that nothing would lessen his certain, horrific reprimand (penalty).

In truth, Dwengzur hated his master, for his long borne (endured) cruel enslavement…. His master was entirely devoid of any feeling or mercy; besides which, Dwengzur suspected, his master (more a warden), his everlasting tormentor, was more ambitious than he led on, and that he for a long while, not unlike Sthetor, had espoused a secret agenda….

If his master acquired (learned, absorbed) any of these forbidden facts and chose to collude with Sthetor, this remarkable being’s life would be forfeit…Nevetsecnuac would be hunted down and eliminated instantly by Sthetor.

As for the prophesy…Dwengzur wanted that to happen... Hah, what a joke! Here was a rare chance for retribution (payback, reconning).  He wanted the Elders of Karn completely obliterated, consequence of kinfolk (clan, relations) pitted against each other, paving the way for an absolute domination of both realms. The altruistic Karn’s swift elimination would then be a certainty after the annihilation of all mortal realms, as Sthetor had always been the secret vassal of the restrained, ultimate evil incarnate…

Dwengzur pensively nodded in the affirmative when the stark realization set in; by then, he’d fully comprehended (grasped) the high stakes, convinced now that this anomaly (incongruity), this young prince endowed (gifted) with such remarkable faculty (prowess and rare bloodline from both parents), had solely the potential, a unique variance to alter even his (Dwengzur’s) doomed existence. Moreover, he wished to protect this gallant youth… and felt strongly that the prince deserved to live and accomplish what he was destined to do. Thus, it was imperative that his master be forbad (prevented, hindered) from acquiring any of this vital info he now possessed! He was also determined to keep this secret, everlastingly, not only from his master but also from the Elders of Karn and more importantly, the evil incarnate Sthetor of Kongruls.

A deep concern, subsequently, furrowed his brow, for he did not know how best to stop his master from acquiring this data the instant (moment) Dwengzur was captured and claimed, and this inevitability was only a matter of time. Long before this, he’d resigned himself to the anticipated tenfold hellish torment for his already committed breach; so why not compound his deemed felonious acts, with just one more: That’s right, there was that!

He smiled. There was only one way to keep all the pertinent data about Nevetsecnuac’s true origin (ancestry), as well, the info about the magic brush/sword, from ever being disclosed; he would permanently erase, purge it entirely, from both his conscious and subconscious mind, by way of “Expunging (purging) Hex”.

This recently acquired unusual incantation (spell) had once before, enabled him to escape certain repercussions from his master. That memory being removed, he could not recall what blunder (fault) had been which needed erased, what it was about, except that it had something to do with being duped by Egil Viggoaries …. what? Why was he thinking of …. shapeshifting? No matter…. Dwengzur shrugged, and focusing instead, on the present dilemma, he disdainfully (scornfully) grunted.  Hmm, unfortunately, he’d paid a hefty consequence (price) after invoking that Spell! 

That awful repercussion being still so fresh in his memory, that excruciating pain… he was naturally reluctant to repeat it. But feeling genuine remorse for what he had done to this fine prince, also for selfish reasons, wanting to get back at his master and wanting to beget willful harm to Elders of Karn- Dwengzur, first isolating and then concentrating (focusing) on the specific memories- he hastily invoked “Expunging Hex”, before he had a chance to change his mind.

05- DWENGZUR  PERFORMING -EXPUNGING HEX

After it was all over, what he wished to forget completely expunged from memory and, thankfully his suffering had assuaged, specific memories completely gone (being removed), he could not rightly recall what blunder (fault) he had committed this time. Despite the brain fog however, he felt the urgency of it and that it had something to do with the scholar, Fradel Rurik Korvald and that he needed it to fix it. Something about a mistake…. Dwengzur, turned and apologetically stared (gazed, took a good long look) at Fradel…Or , rather Nevetsecnuac, that’s right, he now recollected, that was his true name.

“If your cause is just, you will have had the protection of Gods … That is what’s need now.”  Dwengzur moaned; he hesitated for a moment, fearing the possible dreaded outcome of using the neutralizing “Ne-Tashork” spell, on Nevetsecnuac. Then, bracing self, Dwenzur intoned (chanted, hummed) the counter spell to and afterwards, blew a breath onto Nevetsecnuac's face.

As he waited, he inwardly prayed for the other’s true self to emerge unscathed from that violent intrusion. For a second, feeling like an eternity, nothing had changed in those blank eyes then, to Dwengzur’s great relief, he saw the rekindled (embers,) smoldering fires of anger, increasing in intensity in Nevetsecnuac's pupils.

Instantly, Nevetsecnuac knew his true identity had been exposed. "Now that you know, just what are your intentions?"  Livid with rage, he was prepared to die if needed be, in the attempt to stop Dwengzur.

Unexpectedly, Dwengzur smiled and bowed to Nevetsecnuac respectfully. His voice filled with unmistakable remorse; he apologized for his presumption and quickly reminded the prince of the policy of noninterference.

"You have grievously misjudged me," he added in a hurtful tone. "I truly meant you no real harm. Besides, all this could have been avoided had you instead of goading (provoking), exhibited least bit of faith (trust) in me. Naturally, I had consulted the stars and already knew the fated outcome before I warned Egil Viggories about Fradel Rurik Korvald, or rather yourself.  I knew even then that none of the Dark Eunuch’s actions would alter anything, and they didn't, had they? You are here safe, are you not?"

Nevetsecnuac was about to respond when he was cut short by a sudden mounting sound of an angry thunder overhead that shook the building to its foundations. To his amazement he noted the undisguised fear in Dwengzur's eyes.

 

 “What…  Is he trembling?” 

 

                                                                                 ~

 

 

(END OF SECTION 7)

 

 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)

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC- ON THE WAY TO THE CAPITAL - SECTION 17

The ensuing days and nights the relentless journey passed in much the same way: during daylight hours riding as hard as the mare's endurance would allow it and, stopping briefly at nightfall, in some secluded safe spot (away from the main highway), to allow the animal to recoup part of her spent strength.

Eventually on the fifth day, the road ahead merged with the new major trading route that accordingly (according to general hearsay), would be winding its way alongside the river leading to, at some point, to the bustling trading post.

01- NEVETSECNUAC

When at dusk, Nevetsecnuac’s sharp eyes spotted the beginnings of habitation in yonder (in the far distance); he halted the mare’s gallop and paused briefly to ponder whether it was time for him now to revert to his scholarly disguise.

 Concluding in the end that assuming Fradel Rurik Korvald's identity was more appropriate, despite the traps that may lie- in- wait on the road ahead, Nevetsecnuac steered the horse away from the road and, in a perfectly (hidden) secluded spot, clad himself once more in the poet's finery.

Just as he was about to discard the (bundled up) hunting clothes into a deep crevice, his eyes suddenly caught the jutting head of the miniature key, previously given to him in the pit by the tortured skeleton.

Pulling it out, he examined the item more intently (carefully) in daylight, before returning it to his inner pocket and resuming his journey.

Along the way Nevetsecnuac cogitated (deliberated) on how the metal of the miniature key had been sturdy and, strangely, shared certain similar properties, same texture, sheen, and resiliency, with the sword Zonar, at the start of their combat, had given him (furnished him with) for his use. 

Nevetsecnuac further mulled over (nominated) on, those precious small jewels all inset (inlaid) into the stem and around three cursive pictographs, a rare feat, so ingeniously crafted (worked) into the metal. 

His focus suddenly straying (drifting), “Zonar?" he abruptly queried.

"Your presence has been sorely missed.  When and where, I wonder, will our next destined encounter be?"  His lone cry, left unchallenged, resounded in the thin air, losing itself in the whisper of the wind rippling through the hills.

“Indeed, in a strange way he’d missed his most formidable adversary.”

Nevetsecnuac’s thoughts veered, this time, to his recent hallucination and he questioned yet again whether it was a premonition of the future after all.

 “Would the invincible warrior Zonar, really bring about my premature doom?” 

An inexplicable shudder passed through Nevetsecnuac just then, as the cryptic, cold hand of Death tapped his shoulder.  Despite it all, however, he still felt an absence of malice or disdain towards Zonar.

 “Perhaps that is where my own weakness lies?”

When rider and mount halted for a brief respite, Nevetsecnuac’s attention reverting on the miniature key, he pulled it out and studied those three cursive pictographs that had been worked into the metal.

They were unlike any he had seen or studied.

Unable to decipher their meaning, he decided to postpone solving it till later and quickly secured the key back this time, in his luggage.  He then in one fluid motion mounted the horse and in keeping with the pretense of Fradel Rurik Korvald, picked up the reins in the fastidious manner of a casual rider rather than his usual, expert grip.

Carrying the ornate crop that fashionable scholars used, he quickly spurred the horse back onto the road.  This time, however, he kept the horse's speed more moderate and, in keeping with the disguise, he allowed his rudiment traits (mannerisms, characteristics) merge in conformity with Fradel Rurik Korval’s.

Be that as it may, a sudden query (inquiry) prayed on Nevetsecnuac mind, a deep concern on how his sworn brother was faring in his own journey towards the mountain home where Lord Asger Thuxur Marrog Zhon and Teuquob awaited.

Nevetsecnuac understood that once Fradel had appraised them of the current political situation, so vastly different from the fictitious one by Heng Erling, and consequently, the amended goal; they would be despondent, comprehending (grasping) that he (Nevetsecnuac) would, forever be lost to them.

 Unbidden, Nevetsecnuac shed a silent tear, his soul now torn at their imagined, inevitable, inconsolable grief.  A Gut-wrenching sadness gripped his heart further, knowing he would miss out on seeing (his identical twins,) his son Alric Svein (boy) and daughter Lueling (girl), grow up.

                                                                                       ~                                                                                     

The journey thus far had been long and arduous, yet these rigors paled in comparison to the impending difficulties that lay ahead.  The Capital Province Holger, with all its rigid rules, regulations and stirring of the political soup made Nevetsecnuac a bit uneasy at first, but as he had been preparing for this eventuality all his life, he remained fully confident in meeting these challenges.  And for now, passing as the esteemed scholar Fradel Rurik Korvald presented the least problem of all.

Suddenly, Nevetsecnuac was rudely awakened from his hopeful reverie by the vociferous sounds of gambling, vigorous gaiety and strident music emanating from a string of inns lining the road up ahead.  The savory smells of every imaginable kind of dish assailed his nostrils, and he became aware for the first time that day of his empty stomach.  Reflecting, he realized that he had neglected to eat since the day before yesterday.

Dusk was falling once more, and he finally succumbed to the strong yearning within him for a warm bath and a cooked meal.

Halting the mare in front of the sixth inn by the side of the road, the most modest and respectable looking one of the lots, Nevetsecnuac dismounted and handed the horse's reins to the eager young stable hand.  Another page boy ran up as he dismounted and scooped up the baggage Nevetsecnuac had already tossed down.  Pausing for a moment Nevetsecnuac watched the stable boy gently handling the horse and leading the mare to the stables out back, then quickly mounted the marble steps (stairs) that led up to the posh (well-constructed) ebony door of the Inn, with the page burdened with the luggage following (trailing) close behind.

Nevetsecnuac was politely greeted by a dignified, rather young-looking, tall, lean, stern-faced proprietor seated at the makeshift desk. The original desk, Nevetsecnuac was to learn later on, had been badly damaged the previous night, casualty of an unprecedented brawl (fight, scuffle) between the two members of a rival faction, and was taken away for prompt repairs.  

02-  PROPRIETOR KJELD ROSKO

The proprietor had keen (intense), intelligent eyes, which its scrutiny penetrated deep within one’s soul. Rising to his feet at once, he’d approached the scholar, and with a slight bow of the head had introducing himself as Kjeld Rosko, the humble proprietor of that establishment, then courteously ushered the obviously distinguished scholar (Nevetsecnuac), to a comfortable seat by the makeshift registry desk.

Nevetsecnuac was first offered a complimentary cup of fragrant tea and asked if he would like some delectable tartlet to go with it.  Before Nevetsecnuac had a chance to reply, however, a shapely maid had brought in a tray bearing the steaming pot (of more tea) and some colorful, fluffy pastries. As Nevetsecnuac politely nodded and reached for the offered cup, the proprietor Kjeld Rosko, assuming his businesslike persona, steered around the table/desk and, fetching the elaborately bound registry book from the drawer, he opened it to a specific page.  After picking up the writing brush from its stand and loading it with ink, his eyes lightly trailed down the list of names on the parchment page to the last entry.

Smiling, Kjeld Rosko (the innkeeper) then looked up to pleasantly inquire after his honorable guest's name, his intended length of stay and his immediate and long-term requirements.

"Tonng Yennik." Nevetsecnuac, wishing to escape the scrutiny and unwarranted attention that the name of Fradel Rurik Korvald would attract, without the least change in his serene, but firm countenance, responded.  As Nevetsecnuac was dictating his other requirements his eye, covertly turned towards the crowded dining hall, where he caught sight of a singular stranger, armed with a finely made broadsword under his tailored garments, taking his evening meal in the company of two stout guards.

The stranger, though seated in a far corner, cut such an imposing figure that everyone in the hall was obviously ill at ease with his presence there.  A slight look of displeasure, after sampling (nibbling) one of the morsels, immediately unleashed, a fit of rage and hurling abuses from the guard on the left, directed at the manager who, in turn, red-faced, berated the hapless waiter who appeared to be laboring for breath from fright, but before he could pass out cold, he’d been perfunctorily dismissed.  On a signal from the manager, the more efficient, seasoned staff burst into the scene to fawn (toady, grovel) and to serve on the demanding two.

Kjeld Rosko momentarily distracted by this, his face twitched failing to hide his irritation and suppressed hostility, but only for a spell; the expression in his blue eyes now unreadable, he sported (wore) for a time a wry (sardonic) grin, as he followed the ongoing  frenzied activity to appease the occupants of that table in the dining hall.  Subsequently, turning away, he barked at the page (more like a snap command) to take the guest’s luggage on up to the available room at once then, hastened to complete his business with scholar Tonng Yennic.

03- KJELD ROSKO

In the midst of all that mayhem, the stranger’s eyes had briefly, with a cold, callous air swept the room, totally disregarding the ruckus (commotion) the guard on his left hand instigated (set off); then, purposefully averting Nevetsecnuac’s gaze, he indifferently resumed his stern conversation with the bearded one on his right.

 “Who are you that you should warrant such fear?”  Nevetsecnuac mused, as he stole an impassive glance at the stranger. 

The moment Nevetsecnuac was anew engaged by the proprietor Kjeld Rosko, however, the stranger reverted his cold, piercing eyes with a calculating gleam back on Nevetsecnuac to study him more intently.  His obvious subordinate, the keen bearded companion, becoming aware of this, abruptly fell silent and turned slightly in the same direction to see Nevetsecnuac then, reverted (turned) his questioning gaze back on the latter.

Nevetsecnuac, from the corner of his eye, astutely observed how the bearded one receiving some silent instructions inclined his head towards the lobby and nodded to some unseen person.

“Now the trap will be set.”  Nevetsecnuac tad (smidgen), amused, nonchalant, at his leisure rose and followed the innkeeper and his assistant Rodny (who’s rigid demeanor was more akin to a bodyguard) up the stairs.

The subtle exchange, Kjeld Rosko catching the stranger's eye in passing and, giving the other a terse, obsequious nod, was of course shrewdly noted by Nevetsecnuac. Stifling a chortle, midway up the stairs he (Nevetsecnuac) turned and halted, boldly looking back at the stranger, giving him a complete once over.

“Who are you, really,” Nevetsecnuac intrepidly mused.

And when Nevetsecnuac’s eye caught the dour glower (stern scowl) of the bearded guard, he simply grimaced wryly and, undaunted, turned to continue following Kjeld Rosko and his assistant Rodny, to the top of the stairs.

The proprietor Kjeld Rosko observing scholar’s audacious (risky) demeanor, his face for a spell had turned ashen, but of course, he had quickly masked his dread and, from then on with a glint of admiration in his pupils, he’d covertly scrutinized this unusual scholar, while he hastened his steps towards the assigned room. Finally, at the end of the long hall Nevetsecnuac was solicitously ushered into an airy, comfortable room.

“Lavish decorations,” Nevetsecnuac noted after a cursory glance, “far too lavish, in fact.”

 A frown appeared on his face, and he shook his head, "This will not do!"

"But sir, it’s the best room we have, the most luxurious one at this Inn." Suppressing his fury, Kjeld Rosko reticently (reservedly, warily) protested.  Clearly, he had not anticipated the objection.  His assistant standing rigidly on the side, looking aghast and tongue-tied, wrung his hands as he nervously searched his brain for more persuasive words, to assist his boss in this.

Nevetsecnuac disdainfully walked past both, to stand before a magnificent tapestry hanging over the far wall.  His stern eyes surveyed the fine stitching until they pointedly rested on a miniature hole concealed by the design, and he grimaced coldly.

On the other side the spy blanched and instinctively recoiled with a jerk, fearing he had been found out.  Then, acknowledging that that was impossible, he pressed a single eye back to the portal only to meet Nevetsecnuac's cold stare once more.  Excitement and fear coursed through his veins as he shuddered anew, filled with apprehension.

04- SPY (FRASTOS) - JP 11

Nevetsecnuac, however, smiled sourly and half turned to address the inwardly seething Kjeld Rosko.

"Are you daft or hard of hearing; I said, this room is unsatisfactory. “He said crossly (irately) then softening his tone, explained. “For one thing, it’s too drafty," he shot a glance back at the tapestry, "for another, I prefer the western exposure.  Perhaps I've neglected to inform you of these particular requirements."

"Please, reexamine facts sir and reconsider," Kjeld Rosko clenched his right fist, hidden behind his back, as his assistant, now tongue-tied, clamoring for an apt excuse.  "If I may be candid with you, the rooms facing west are all occupied.  Besides that, they are all second rate and decidedly draftier."  Kjeld said in a placating tone, though he held his hard gaze on the arrogant scholar, "Won't you reassess?  I'll do everything in my power to make your stay here most pleasant and comfortable.  This is truly our finest room, as befits one of your ‘stature, sir.  I assure you that, even if another room becomes available, it will fall considerably short of the luxury you see here."

"Look here," Nevetsecnuac cut him short with a curt gesture of his hand, "if you don't have the means to accommodate me as I wish, then I strongly suggest that you stop wasting my time.  Have my horse brought round at once!"  Feigning anger, he made to leave, pushing past Kjeld Rosko.

"What's all the commotion about?"  The bearded guard from the dining hall suddenly appeared in the hall.

"Sir, this is a private matter.  Your rude intrusion is not appreciated."  Nevetsecnuac glared at the guard provocatively.

“What business is this of yours?  Get lost!” his stern look plainly said.

Obviously unused to this kind of treatment, the guard looked sharply at Nevetsecnuac, his hand gliding over to rest threateningly at the hilt of his sheathed sword, and his polite smile instantly turned into an icy scowl of hatred.

 Any other would have been wasted for a mere cross look, let alone such a rebuke!

“Have you not the slightest idea whom you are addressing?” his eyes narrowed, as he glared venomously (furiously), the threat implicit in his silence.

“So,” Nevetsecnuac mused, “you've had orders not to molest (assault, abuse, mistreat) me; interesting!”

 In keeping with a scholar's arrogance, Nevetsecnuac was about to haughtily rebuff the restrained bully further, when Kjeld Rosko, with unusual agility, rushed past Tonng Yennik (Nevetsecnuac).

Eyes hard with steel determination, the resilient (tough and flexible) proprietor, nevertheless, bowed low to the guard.

"I apologize profusely, sir, for your trouble.  I apologize to you both."  Kjeld Rosko turned and bowed low also, to Tonng Yennik.  Despite his outward show of submission, he quaked in rage, inwardly. Nevetsecnuac was secretly impressed with Kjeld Rosko’s admirable stoical (tolerant, forbearing) nature.

"It’s just a slight misunderstanding, that's all."  Shifting his sham (pretend), nervous gaze back and forth between the guard and Tonng Yennik, he dabbed at the supposed perspiration on his mustache, with his handkerchief.  "The gentleman wishes to have another room.  I was just about to accommodate his wishes."

“It sounds like you're asking his permission, innkeeper!” Nevetsecnuac questioningly looked at Kjeld Rosko.

The guard's face, meanwhile, had crinkled in momentary disgust as, clenching his fist, he let the built-up anger drain slowly from him.  After a scornful laugh he averted Tonng Yennik's eyes and gave the briefest of nods.

 "I apologize for the intrusion."  Without another word, he briskly turned and left.

Kjeld Rosko was relieved that the volatile situation had been averted; after a furtive glance at the retreating guard, he politely turned to address the scholar: "Please, for the time being, make yourself comfortable here; I'll go and make all the specific arrangements at once." Attaining a nod of concurrence from Tonng Yennik, he exhaled deeply, bowed low once more, then hastily withdrew.

“What dramatics!” Nevetsecnuac shook his head after the proprietor.

 “It had not been his intention to be so hard on Kjeld Rosko.  He was only testing the waters to see how far they would go to keep him here.  But why have they made no contact yet?  What were they waiting for?”  Nevetsecnuac had already formed his own opinion on the singular stranger's role in all this or, at least, who it was that had ordered his accommodation here.  Nevetsecnuac had set the wheel in motion, forced their hands but, until the inevitable meeting which, he was certain, would transpire later that night, there was little left now for him to do.  With a shrug of his shoulders, he strolled to the far end of the room and stood in front of the window, thoughtfully staring out at the view.  The miniature gardens, with their man-made mountains and creeks, the snaking pathways bordered by elaborate lattices seemed to be pure ostentation. 

05-SCHOLAR TONNG YENNICK (NEVETSECNUAC)JPG

The shallowness of it all rather disgusted him.  “Only those who only experienced nature at second hand could find the tiny landscape appealing,” he concluded.  He disdainfully pursed his lips then turned away from the window, his mind returning to the stranger and his guards.

“I foiled their immediate plans and forced them into an alternate course.  Next, I'll appear agreeable, but not too much so.  Why should I make things too easy for them?”  His eyes once more surveyed the room.

“I wonder where the trap door is.”  Deducing (figuring out) the most likely spot, he walked over and tapped lightly, so as not to alert any guard concealed within.  Satisfied with the result, he turned back and sat down by the fireplace.

Short time later Kjeld returned somewhat panting (winded, breathless) and with flushed (red) face, for he had to oversee a lot of details and alter or shift the carefully devised plans and traps that had been in place for nearly a month.  After apologizing profusely to Tonng Yennik for the inconvenience and the slight delay he declared, with a certain satisfaction, that the room fitting his precise specifications had now been made ready for his perusal. Kjeld Rosko then, graciously inclined his head and invited Tonng Yennik to follow him.  As they were leaving, Kjeld turned and bayed at his underling Rodney, to; at once move the gentleman's baggage to the “Room Twelve”.

Down the hall, they came across a disgruntled merchant, hair disheveled and clothes akimbo, being hastily, unceremoniously deposited into a new room.  Too angry, or perhaps too frightened, to articulate his feelings, he glared furiously at Kjeld Rosko then stole a scornful glance at Tonng Yennik, before going in and pointedly slamming the door in their faces as they passed.

Feigning incomprehension, Nevetsecnuac raised an eyebrow at the innkeeper.  The apologetic Kjeld nervously rushed to give some lame excuse for the merchant's rude behavior, glancing fearfully at the cracked door to his left as he spoke.  Then, with polite rhetoric (pomposity), he motioned to the room on the right and, inclining his head slightly, ushered Tonng Yennik into the hastily prepared Room Twelve.

"Is this room more to your satisfaction, sir?  Does it meet with your approval?"  Kjeld’s deep etched lines on his face, tell-tale-signs of fret, creased further with impatience as he, waited for an answer.

"Hmm… It will do." Nevetsecnuac responded, after a brief perusal.  Walking over to the far corner, he sunk into a comfortable chair by the mantle.

 “Odd,” Nevetsecnuac noted the recently disturbed dust floating in the air; “this room had not been used for some time.  It obviously wasn't my needs that dislodged that merchant.”

Highly pleased and, showing no inclination to leave Kjeld, meanwhile, had walked up to the tray bearing a teapot and cups and, turning, graciously offered his guest a seething cup of fragrant tea. Receiving a negative response, he next, on the pretext of showing the amenities of the room and how it accorded with his guest's instructions, prodded Tonng Yennik discreetly, so he thought, for more information, his background, destination, and the nature of his business in the Capital.

With a seemingly agreeable disposition, Nevetsecnuac provided him with only the minimum of harmless information, just enough to satisfy Kjeld's curiosity.  Then, feigning distraction, inquired pointedly after the stranger with the broadsword whom he had seen earlier in the dining hall.

06- FAMOUS BATHOUSE  (3)JPG

The shock, which Kjeld Rosko so miserably failed to mask and, his subsequent, evasive answers, piqued Nevetsecnuac’s curiosity.  Nevertheless, for the time being, he decided to simply let it pass.

To Kjeld’s relief just then, an underling after knocking poked his head in and hastily offered his apologies for the intrusion; he next, happily announced that the provisions for the bath had been made ready in the bathing hall.

"A communal bath," Tonng Yennik, his face showing obvious signs of displeasure, derisively asked.

"Why, of course." Kjeld with a profligate grin, explained.  "And you’ll be attended by rare, exquisite beauties of either gender, depending on your preference of course. We have become quite famous for our bathing facilities here ever since we found the means to channel the nearby hot springs in an unlimited supply.  Sir, you are quite fortunate that you have come at this time before high Season.  Winter is our busiest time, and nearly all our rooms are reserved far in advance by gentry from near and far.  Oh, but I'm keeping you from your enjoyment of your bath."  Seizing this opportunity, Kjeld Rosko beat a hasty retreat.

“Yes, hasten forth and report your findings to that stranger.  I'm sure he will be impressed by the uselessness of your observations,” Nevetsecnuac thought as the Innkeeper departed.

“I’m in need of a bath, “Nevetsecnuac reflected, “but only that and nothing else.”

Before he left the room however, Nevetsecnuac took the precautionary measure of concealing his identity papers in a supposed, secure place.  Locking the door after him, he swiftly traversed the long hallway and descended the stairs, following the painted images of a man in a tub down to the bathing chamber.

 

                                                                                            ~

 

(END OF SECTION 17)