11- LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - EVIL PERSONIFIED - SECTION 2

LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - EVIL PERSONIFIED - SECTION 2

   

For some time now, Egil Viggoaries had employed a heartless, homicidal surgeon Lubin, one of only two in the whole Wenjenkun who excelled in the sadistic skill of prolonging the duration of the meted punishment to the maximum the body would stand. The other one Egil could not touch, for he was actively in the employ of Sovereign Zakhertan Yozdek.   

01- SURGEON LUBIN

 

There had been few precursors to Lubin, but all four had been abruptly terminated and then discarded by Egil Viggoaries when an unsatisfactory application of the blade had brought about a hasty end to the unfortunate victim. Egil Viggoaries was intolerant of least incompetence; furthermore, he often indulged in tormenting people as it provided him with the highest form of entertainment, and Lubin was his ringmaster.   

Lubin provided Egil Viggoaries with just the right dose of exhilaration to satisfy his perverse appetite for at least one briefer spell, before yet again the insatiable hunger (craving) resurfaced in the Dark Eunuch’s bottomless vile soul. Then the evil savagery and malice would recap (repeat) all over again.  

Zhadol Borym had never once in those abhorred compulsory (obligatory) episodes, where he had born witness to Lubin’s savagery, expected to be the next prey (target). Each time he hardened his heart, being so coerced and therefore believed (was sure), that those faceless phantom brutes, the barely human forms, were well deserving of such penalty. Nevertheless, and this he would never admit to anyone, his misled warrior’s conscience (scruples) and tempered soul still had to be forcefully willed to a distant, way faraway place,  before he could stomach (tolerate) the unfolding scene before his very eyes: Lubin in each case, had wielded the blade skillfully as if skinning a fish, ensuing days and weeks he would then painstakingly (meticulously) cut away, each strip, leaving only a jumbled mass of nerves to collect and transmit black ropes of pain that pulsed through, with fading life; all the while ensuring that the victim did not prematurely expire until the very end of this tortuous ordeal.  

Zhadol at present shuddered involuntarily, as he could not shut out the parade of gruesome images from his mind's eye; mindful of the fact, that Lubin's expert application of the razor-sharp scalpel (surgical knife) would soon be poised on his (Zadol’s) very flesh. He furtively glanced once more at Egil Viggoaries. The Eunuch's face was dark, and his jaw firmly set.  But what had seemed like an eternity to Zhadol Borym had in truth, been only a few minutes.    

“Was this the fate Egil Viggoaries had planned for him all along? No! He could not meekly accept such an ignominious punishment... He must contest this vile verdict! “  

 

Commander Zhadol rising to his feet, menacingly stepped forward but was instantly jerked back, as the chain about his neck was viciously yanked by one of his guards. His steadfast resistance only resulted in the metal biting deeper into his existing wounds. Blood oozed freely out from the corrugated scabs layered atop his blistered flesh. Undeterred Zhadol Borym stayed his ground, looking defiantly up at Egil Viggoaries, his eyes burrowing ferociously into Dark Eunuch’s, he then in resounding voice, loudly challenged him to one-on one personal combat; this was his right, Egil owed him this more befitting a warrior’s end, and that he refused to accept nothing (short) less.    

“Still, no reaction; all right then, he will defy Egil by other means. Pending something better, he   would goad (provoke) the Dark Eunuch using insolent words.”  

 

"You stupid fool!" Egil Viggoaries beat him to the punch however, as he abruptly just then, exploded in a bark. Then rising slowly, he menacingly approached Zhadol Borym until he was only but a hairline away. His right fist clenched, poised to strike. He glowered at his former Commander and then spat contemptuously into his face. "Even now you remain ignorant of your true crime."  He turned and gave a swift, brutal kick to Yennic's head. Stunned, Yennic fell backwards, blood spurting from the deep gash on his scalp. 

Egil Viggoaries’s head snapped back and pressed his face right up against Zhadol Borym's. Gritting his teeth and pointing the accusing finger down at the huddled mass on the floor, Egil Viggoaries spat out the incredible words Zhadol Borym wished he would never live to hear.    

02- EGIL VIGGORIES 11- JP

“You disgust me; for you were played all along; your strings were jerked, like a despicable puppet, by this wretched, insignificant maggot!"  Egil Biggoaries gave a derisive snort and once more violently kicked Yennic Zhiborym hard with the back of his heel just for the sport of it. 

The Dark Eunuch then swung back to Zhadol and rasped, "Your abject weakness sickens (nauseate) me!" Egil with a disdain spat on the ground and haughtily turned his back to his long-time friend Zhadol. His steps thereafter with deliberate slowness mounted the platform, and he returned to his seat.  

Aghast, Zhadol Borym turned his questioning gaze sideways and looked down at Yennic Zhiborym slouched (curled, doubled over) on the ground, then, tilting his head upwards to face Egil Viggoaries, he indignantly demanded, "This is nothing more than a dastardly plot to discredit me. I know it is!  State clearly the crime which I am truly accused of!  Furthermore, I challenge you to muster any proof which would substantiate your implicit (roundabout) claim? False confessions extracted under duress and torture does not count!”   

"Proof," Egil Viggoaries’s thundering bark shook the room.    

"He wants proof." Dark Eunuch addressed the assembly after a derisive laugh.   

 "Proof." Repeating the word third time, at first thoughtfully, then stone faced, Egil Viggoaries reverted his venomous eyes to rest for a time on Yennic Zhiborym, before turning it back again on Zhadol.  

Egil’s face then surprisingly placid (calm); lips formed an eerie, menacing smile. "I had wanted to spare you ignominy (this terrible disgrace, shame), but proof you asked for and proof you shall have."  He shrugged then leaned back and motioned to a guard waiting by the door.   

Zhadol Borym's heart filled with apprehension at that instant with what he might hear. He swallowed dryly; his stomach suddenly tightened into a hard knot; but now it was too late to stop it. The guard had already re-entered leading two members belonging to the “Wraiths” division of Black Molochs. These incorruptible eunuchs, clad in black and wearing face masks to hide their identity, were most proficient at gathering evidence.  They came forward quickly and abruptly halting before Egil

Viggoaries, reverently bowed to him. Such was their status that they were answerable only to the Leader of the Order. From their preamble it turned out that, for some time now, Yennic Zhiborym had been kept under close surveillance.  His every word, action, and habitual need, however insignificant, had been routinely and meticulously documented in the minutest detail. In the interest of brevity, however, Egil Viggoaries ordered them to summarize their findings.   

The spokesperson for the two then recounted the high points, most of which proved extremely embarrassing for Zhadol Borym.  In a very brief time they presented overwhelming evidence, far beyond any possibility of doubt, that Yennic Zhiborym was an informant for the Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren’s Office. However distasteful, Yennic's heinous designs, and Zhadol’s unwitting part in them, were all exposed.   

What is more ignominious to Zhadol Borym was that Yennic's inextricable link to the sabotage of one specific case. This assignment had gone terribly awry and had cost the lives of nine Black Molochs 's most competent men, among whom had been Zhadol 's only living relative, a distant cousin.   

At this point Egil Viggoaries lifted his hand and stopped the report. "You want more culpable (chargeable) proof?"   

Zhadol Borym ruefully (repentantly) looked down, "No, I've heard enough."     

He heaved a dejected sigh, now resigned to his fate. He so absolutely (thoroughly) regretted his past foolhardy ways with Yennic Zhiborym.  Zadol’s shame being far too great, he could no longer lift his head to look at his fellow members. More infuriating still, was the way he had been duped by Yennic and utilized to, in betraying the Order.  The love he had once felt for Yennic Zhiborym had suddenly got supplanted with pure, unadulterated odium (abhorrence, loathing).  Fire raged through his limbs now, as he stared belligerently down at this despicable spy.  If his hands were free, he would have violently torn Yennic limb from limb, and then plugging his heart from his cursed chest, just eaten it raw; however, curbing his fury Zhadol with certain resignation uttered, “Then my allotted punishment is too lenient; I deserve far worse for being so inept.”   

The members of the Inner Circle (of Black Molochs) were appalled at first but now disappointment was starkly written on all their faces, as their piercing, harsh gazes silently remonstrated with Zhadol   Borym.  

“You had so utterly failed us, failed the Order.  You deserve this cruelest end!”  

  

03- IRATE BLACK MOLOCK  AFFILIATES

 

Egil Viggoaries nodded and grinned; quite satisfied with the effects of his theatrics.  He’d anticipated that there might have been some of the Inner Circle who, if they had dared at all, would have debated against his decision to terminate Zhadol Borym in that way; one who, with that sleek tongue of his, would have argued that Zhadol was in his prime, just shy of twenty-eight years of age and was as yet a formidable fighter, still an asset to the Order.   

“Now they’re precisely where, I’d wished them to be.”    

Egil Viggoaries had bridled his temper just long enough to reaffirm his otherwise indubitable, absolute judgment. Now no one in the assembly would dare express the least objection (discontentment) with his next, more arduous agenda (plan, course of action).  Zhadol Borym, well, he was only a lateral casualty. It mattered little to Egil that he had used his long-time friend Zhadol heartlessly as sure bait, knowing full well his weakness and habitual response.    

Egil Viggoaries now laughed sourly and gave a slight gesture to the guards with his chin. 

Dispassionately he watched the bloodied backs of Zhadol and Yennic as they were dragged outside, never to be seen again.   

                                                                                        ~   

   

Egil Viggoaries could have arranged for Zhadol Borym to have a less painful way out; certain drugs which numbed the senses instead of Lubin's usual medicines which enhanced the suffering.  

“Why should I? No,”    

Despite what Zhadol had once meant to him, how much he had done for him. Despite all the daunting images from the past, Egil Viggoaries remained firm in his resolve. He could not allow his hardened heart to dispense least charity; he could not weaken his doggedness (determination) nor feel least compassion for his once intimate companion.  Zhadol Borym meant less than nothing to him now, especially since he had been growing too arrogant of late. At least now he was rid of Zhadol's irksome and sanctimonious presence once and for all, before the so-called friend became more of a problem.   

Egil closed his eyes, quite angry with himself for this sudden, unexpected twinge of conscience. Why was he now second guessing his earlier resolve; had it been Zhadol’s last look that brought this unexpected rush of feelings he had thought long erased (dismissed)? Zhadol Borym was pegged (marked) to be terminated, and that was that!   

Vindictiveness, in Black Molochs ... he was above such ignoble emotions. Egil Viggoaries lied to himself, only to have another thought gnaw at him unexpectedly.   

True enough, if Zhadol had wanted to, he could have made good for his escape, reinforcements, or no reinforcements. Of course, he would have inevitably been hunted down and apprehended, but not before he cost the Order (organization) a dire toll in both manpower (loss of men) and resources. With his competence, it was inconceivable to think that Zhadol, one day, be so gulled, so completely taken in by the likes of Yennic Zhiborym. And why had he surrendered so easily?    

He had deep affections for Yennic…Was that it? Had that fool allowed his capture solely to appeal to the other’s case or die with him?  If that was his reason, then he certainly deserved his ignominious end. He deserved to perish, if for no other (reason) bases than that most contemptable, of weakness. Egil Viggoaries inwardly scoffed, overlooking the fact that he’d so many years been the recipient of that very akin sentiment; those tender, affectionate means and deeds that had filled in the void and warmed the otherwise cold, unfeeling crux of his being. Again, he lied to himself, entertaining the thought that, fortunately, he was above all that.  He had no use presently, for such a base, useless emotion, at all.     

Egil Viggoaries again hard-heartedly shrugged and turned his thoughts to another.  In the next week or two he will be initiating his recent recruit, Yuchemos Mantus, into the ranks of the Inner Circle.

04- YUCHEMOS MANTUS

  

 Yuchemos Mantus, showed real promise, and what is more, he had already subtly ingratiated himself into the good graces of both Sovereign Zakhertan Yozdek and Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren.  Egil Viggoaries smirked, reflecting on the fact Yuchemos was the sole male offspring of, Demarco Mantus, head of the most influential family in Channing; hence, strategically placed, he would be most beneficial in fulfilling his (Egil Viggoaries’s) ultimate ambition.   

                                                                                           ~   

In the dark subterranean dungeons below, where the air was permanently rancid, and lichen (moss, fungus and mold) grew on the moist stone walls, Zhadol Borym that night had endured without a whimper the first measure of his punishment, and he had braced himself for the worst torment yet to ensue during the small hours of the same night. The surgeon had left his sight temporarily for repast, with his ghastly, lurid grin and a vicious promise to return and resume later with his special application, one specifically designed for Zhadol, whom he would administer, with definite zeal.    

No one, certainly not Zhadol Borym, had ever hoped or anticipated, the stray element (conduit), the mercifully unexpected reprieve from his ignominious end; this, by another powerful faction, the covert brotherhood of Kozurs, that dared to execute the impossible feat (brazen exploit, stunt).  

Nevertheless, this daring rescue had compounded ramifications; consequently, Egil Viggoaries would never cease (stop) his relentless hunt. Therefore, Zhadol’s Borym’s demise had to be staged so expertly that it would not warrant the Dark Eunuch’s least suspicion.    

In the aftermath of devastating explosions and the resulting seismic tremors, that had rocked the subterranean dungeons in the core capital Channing – that of which had completely obliterated (decimated) the cell which Zhadol Borym had been shackled to on the table, as well,  destroyed the perimeter (vicinity) cells around and above, all of it buried in ashen rubble- it its wake it had created a deep cavernous (yawning, gaping) sinkhole.

Unavoidably, many prisoners and captives’ lives (those in surrounding dungeons) had also (been lost) expired due to the devastating impact of the explosion. Though this could be deemed more an act of clemency to those already lost souls, awaiting interminable (unending) mortifying tortures.   

This breach, naturally instigated (provoked) serious inquiry (examination) by all major factions, including Sovereign Zakhertan’s Black Band Guard (and the shadow Brigade); however, the results (conclusions) all pinpointed to a catastrophic yet bizarre accident, indubitably a fortuity/a fluke happenstance, by a carelessly positioned volatile element which had beget that catastrophic blasts. 

Even subsequent month’s ardent investigations, by the persistent few, still failed to prove otherwise, failed to expose this expertly conceived strike... The details of which had been covertly finalized during the Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren’s party given in honor of Scholar Fradel Rurik Korvald. During the time, which Nevetsecnuac had sought refuge and by capricious fate, had chanced on Zaur Stugr and Lenny Sukzor, that memorable night, in the secluded part of the garden.    

Zhadol Borym’s close friends and affiliates were of course stealthily (privately) elated at this outcome, the quick and more humane (lenient) demise of a well esteemed, brave Commander Zhadol, deeming it a mercy of Heaven; for in truth Zhadol was well liked and, he had a quality about him that fostered (beget) intrinsic and lasting loyalty (comradery and devotion) among his men.   

 The Dark Eunuch’s fury, meanwhile, had still demanded blood and so, during ensuing days besides the copious wretched prisoners, many hapless prison-guards that had been on duty that night, and had the misfortune to survive the blasts, had paid for their incompetence (ineptness) and the resulting breach, of the deemed impenetrable prison.    

Eventually things had died down, especially after the ongoing excavations, had produced (unearthed

(dug up, retrieved) several small pieces (fragments) of Zhadol Boerym’s supposed charred remains (corpse) with irrefutable, identifiable markers. These (presented in a box) brought before the still incensed Egil Viggoaries, had finally alleviated (eased) his suspicious and demanding nature.    

                                                                             ~   

(END OF SECTION 2)    

LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC – THE RENEGADE IMMORTAL – SECTION 6 

Suddenly, Dwengzur struck an idea, and his menacing, calculating eyes yet again turned to burrow decisively into Fradel Rurik Korvald’s.

Fear- yes, first he will inject true fear into this upstart scholar. For fear, he believed, was the most potent ingredient to which all humans unequivocally responded. This, he had confirmed repeatedly, in all his past, aberrant dealings with the humans. Victory was so within his grasp now! He exhaled deeply, confident of his future triumph.

01- DWENGZU

"Enough! I have been civil with you long enough." He suddenly burst, slamming his palm down onto the table. "No more prevarication; I have no more time to waste with the likes of you. I would not care if you were the portended future Emperor of a New Dynasty, one that would reinstate this flea-bitten nation Wenjenkun to magnificence; you have tried my patience to the brink!" 

Blinded by his indignant fury, he dismissed Fradel Rurik Korvald’s slight, involuntary wince. "You humans," Dwengzur, his face beet red with rage, spat out the words as if they were a mouthful of venom, "you're all alike: irrational, crude and intolerable. This is what I think of all of you!" Pointing at the nearest dignitary he invoked a short incantation in an incomprehensible murmur. The immobile man was just then released from his trance and, before he could utter a single word, even a cry of astonishment, he began diminishing in size until he was no more than the size of an ant.

In horror, Nevetsecnuac watched Dwengzur pick up the wriggling, tiny figure by a single leg between his thumb and index finger.

Nevetsecnuac relented, for having pushed Dwengzur this far. "Why take this out on him?" His angry shout, however, was ignored by Dwengzur, as he with a cruel smile on his lips, crushed the unfortunate dignitary to a pulp.

"There, one less vermin. He is no more." he said this with disdain, as he wiped his fingers clean, on the tablecloth.

The Undersecretary to Egil Viggoaries shared a similar fate soon afterwards. Next, the Teylon ambassador was turned into a ripe date which disappeared into Dwengzur's mouth in a flourish.

His anger still not satiated (abated), the Immortal turned his attention to the acrobats, invoking another incantation which instantly turned them into piles of steaming cow excrement. He scoffed, "An apt criticism of their dreadful performance, I say."

Stunned and outraged Nevetsecnuac was, he was now even more determined to deny Dwengzur the least satisfaction, "Are you through with your petty, childish tantrums?"

"Petty…  Childish did you say?"  With a deafening roar Dwengzur turned towards Fradel Rurik Korvald to chastise him proper, only to, quite unexpectedly, throw his head back and burst into a raucous roar of laughter which reverberated through the entire hall.

"You have such audacity (sheer guts), human, I'll give you that much credit. Of course, it will do you no good."  Rising, he faced Fradel (Nevetsecnuac) squarely and began to invoke an even more terrible spell.

02- IMMORTAL DWENGZU CASTING A SPELL 2

"Is this all you can do; these cheap parlor tricks?" Fradel (Nevetsecnuac's) deliberate provocation cut Dwengzur's concentration, breaking the spell.

"You need a good lesson in manners, human! I am through pussyfooting around with you!" Dwengzur bellowed, gnashing his teeth and began to recite yet another, different spell. A flick of his finger forced Fradel (Nevetsecnuac) to his knees.

Fradel tried to rise, but his knees felt as if they were bolted to the floor. His hands defied his will, weighed down as if by lead weights, they fell to the floor forcing him into a kowtow position. Again, and again his head was pressed down, his forehead touching the floor-rug in a gesture of abject humility.  Fradel (Nevetsecnuac) gritted his teeth. Frozen by the spell, his mouth and tongue refused to form the angry words of rebuke (scolding, reproof) he wanted to hurl at Dwengzur.

At first this display of humiliation delighted and amused Dwengzur but he soon grew tired of it.  He snapped his fingers once more and this time Fradel Rurik Korvald (Nevetsecnuac) was, gripped by a violent force which whisked him completely off the ground and hurled him across the hall to, have his back be, sadistically slammed against the far wall. It was only his martial training and the fact that, the wall was, cushioned by a thick tapestry that spared Fradel (Nevetsecnuac) from having his ribs crushed (and perhaps his spinal cord entirely (crushed) shattered /flattened) by the impact.

As it was, he still suffered a slight concussion and, few badly bruised ribs and limbs. Pinned and unnaturally propped up against the far wall seven feet above the floor, Fradel (Nevetsecnuac) struggled once more with all his might but failed to get free; nevertheless unyielding, he considered his options and strained his eyes to at least, see clearly.

Obviously enjoying Fradel Rurik Korvald’s fruitless struggle, Dwengzur flicked his fingers once more. Out of nowhere, two hundred fiery daggers suddenly manifested themselves, suspended in mid-air between them.

"Do your worst!" Fradel (Nevetsecnuac) shouted defiantly as soon as his tongue had been released. "Let’s see what a great marksman you are!"

With a smile on his lips, Dwengzur not deigning (condescending) to answer, simply motioned for the attack. In an instant the fiery blades shot across the room at blinding speed only to halt, a hairsbreadth away from the thin layer of skin protecting Fradel’s (Nevetsecnuac's) vital organs. Though they did not touch Fradel (Nevetsecnuac) at all the scorching heat of the fiery blades still seared his flesh and blinded his eyes. At a single breath from Dwengzur, the burning blades turned frosty blue, and the heat was replaced by numbing cold.

That same instant Nevetsecnuac's sight being restored to him, Nevetsecnuac saw that behind the blades, (just inches away from Nevetsecnuac’s face,) Dwengzur having had floated over, was presently, hovering in mid-air and leering at him with a cruel smile on his lips.

"Have you had enough, or would you like some more demonstration of my powers?" Dwengzur sardonically asked.

"Oh, but I'm having so much fun; why would I ever wish for this to end?" Fradel (Nevetsecnuac) used sarcasm to hide his mounting resentment.

“My aim is to please.” Dwengzur responded mockingly, disappointed, and yet amazed at Fradel’s resilience and his lack of fear, this being quite evident in the eyes that so defiantly met his own. Dwengzur snapped his two fingers and instantly all the knives vanished into thin air; subsequently, Dwengzur’s form begun to grow and grow. He then transformed into the most hideous, hellishly abhorrent creature that Nevetsecnuac had ever seen.

03- DWENGZU TAKING ON A HORRIBLE FORM

But then the form changed and got even worse. At the top of the creature’s forehead floated four blazing red, reptilian pupils and behind them, Nevetsecnuac observed, two ugly, razor-sharp spiraling horns fastened to Dwengzur’s oblong skull. His gaping red mouth, meanwhile, dripping with green, putrid saliva as if in anticipation of a feast, hovered just inches from Fradel’s (Nevetsecnuac's) face. Suddenly, with the back of his paw the vile creature swiped at Nevetsecnuac's head, nearly rendering him senseless.

The creatures’ long claws next dug in and tore away Fradel’s (Nevetsecnuac's) garments to expose naked flesh; at which point with a groan of pleasure the beast that Dwengzur had become, sunk his elongated fangs deep into the abdomen to tear out a raw chunk of flesh.  As the ogre Dwengzur chewed at this delectable piece, his eyes focused on another part, anticipating the flavor in his rank maw. Swallowing the last bit, Dwengzur was about to indulge in more when Nevetsecnuac, rising above the excruciating pain, invited the beast to sample a portion from the higher segment of his torso instead, and to feast on an unequivocally more delicious, living, pulsating heart.

Dwengzur's quadruple eyes blinked simultaneously; he looked down at Fradel and then up at the ceiling, as he considered this. Finally, he shook his head and groaned, as he (grasped) comprehended the ominous warning which had emanated abruptly, from deep within.

“No!” The siren had said, “You need this prey alive for the longest time possible, as his augmented anguish is the very nourishment your essence craves, far more than the scrumptious vital organs and tender human flesh.”

The beast reluctantly acquiesced, that is what is missing here; yes, the prey must not expire too soon; meanwhile, the portions tastes even better when it is seasoned with the juices of fear!

Its quadruple eyes of the beast now lowered, it targeted Fradel’s left thigh; sinking its fangs in deep, it tore away substantial chunk comprising both muscle and bone, then commenced to leisurely crunching it.

Fradel (Nevetsecnuac)had intrepidly gritted his teeth and bore this excruciating pain also, without a single groan or a whimper escaping his lips. Suddenly, he was reminded of the hallucinatory experience in the forest and, with an iron will, denied the existence of this current reality (actuality).

The beast in the meantime having finished his mouthful had licked his chops and now bit into Fradel’s right thigh. Yet, oddly enough, his fangs could not, would not penetrate the skin of his prey, let alone tear away any tender flesh. Refusing to give way, Dwengzur attacked repeatedly, only to be stymied time and, again. Then he noticed even the parts he had mauled prior, now gradually growing back and, in due process being returned to normal.  Again, and again his fangs targeted different segments of Fradel’s body, only to be denied least satisfaction at every turn. It was no use. Howling angrily, creature Dwengzur stepped back and, with his great, beastly head, nodded.

Fradel’s (Nevetsecnuac's) resolve had broken the spell.

 

  

(END OF SECTION 6)

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC – THE CAPITAL CHANNING – SECTION 13

 

As Zaur Stugr further jogged his memory, he recalled the clandestine meetings Prince Wenzor had conducted with Zakhertan Yozdek and some other important Minister (within those very premises ) at Sorgun's stately mansion.

 

01- ZAKHERTAN YOZDEDK  (21) JP

 

Once, playing hide and seek with an older playmate, he had accidentally stumbled on the conspiring trio in the garden and would have thought nothing of it save for the great stir it had caused.  He had, consequently, received a stern reprimand from his father and had been subsequently sequestered in his room.

 His unluckier playmate supposedly had been sent away with orders never to return but, years later he had learned that the poor boy had met his untimely demise at the hands of one of Zakhertan’s henchmen.

 

“My father was playing host to those traitors.  But how can that be? I know he was a staunch (steadfast) loyalist of the Sovereign Zuronghan Alric Therran Valamir all his life. How could he have been drawn into this conspiracy? When did it happen? Was it by accident or by design? “

 

Zaur Stugr shook his head absolutely refusing to accept those perfidious, unconceivable treasonous notions; then suddenly an idea flashed in his brain, and he conjectured, (hypothesized), “Or was he… perhaps an undercover agent (a spy), working surreptitiously all along for the Emperor Zuronghan Alric Therran Valamir and that’s why they so sadistically murdered him?”

 

Zaur bit his lip, surmising now, how these incriminating letters would have solidly backed up, Sorgun's allegations. Here were the plans for an insurrection, the irrefutable proof that would have backed up his father's claim (disclosure) of their treasonous aim to overthrow His Majesty Zuronghan Valamir. Alas, his father had failed because of a despicable betrayer, a trusted friend no less.

 

Zaur Stugr recollected then one of Sanzo Tezcat’s discussions about the sudden, curious disappearance of the Third Prince Wenzor, seemingly at the height of his popularity and influence, soon after that of Sorgun Dufo’s.  In fact, that mystery, too, to present had remained unresolved.

 

Reflecting on what Fradel Rurik Korvald had recounted about Yakkasar’s findings in the pit that night, that there had been another clustered group of skeletons at the far end away from the solitary one that was presumably Sorgun; the accumulated facts all at once suddenly fell into place, forming in Zaur’s mind, most probable hypothesis of sequence of events back then.

02- PRINCE WENZOR  JP

 

“Yes, why not; it certainly stood to reason that one of the ones in that clustered group of skeletons must have been the very Prince Wenzor.”   Zaur Stugr inwardly fumed, grounding his teeth.

Undoubtedly the Prince had outlived his usefulness to Zakhertan Yozdek and, in keeping with the usurper's tenets (credos, stances), had been betrayed.  Another in Zakhertan’s place might have allowed the prince to rule for a time, as a puppet king forced to perform at every pull at the strings, till Zakhertan had firmly consolidated his power.

 This would have spared the country from the ensuing bloodshed and of Civil Wars; but that would have hardly satisfied Zakhertan’s insatiable appetite for carnage and bloodbath now, would it?  Meanwhile, this was more in keeping (more typical) with Zakhertan Yozdek’s perverted, vicious mind, (more akin to his wicked sense) to have two mortal enemies thrown into the same pit to die together.

 

Zaur shook his head (rushed), to block from his mind those horrendous means, instruments of brutal tortures and to purge the ghastly images of the sort, his father Sorgun Dufo must have been subjected to, his ordeal lasting long afterwards, in that pit, at the hands of the Prince Wenzor and his men.

His eyes misted over as he reflected how his father had expired still protecting the secret; meanwhile Zakhertan Yozdek, alive and well, still currently, reigned supreme.

 

That part of the countryside, Zaur Stugr knew, was riddled with such pits, as mass graves, they should frankly be called.  From the evidence gleaned from the few that had come to light, he had learned something of their nature, of the ingenious manner of their construction and the way in which the (trapped individuals) unfortunates therein had met their demise.

 

All these years while his father’s corpse had languished in that akin pit, been gradually reduced to a skeleton, the key long since forgotten, tauntingly, sardonically had remained, locked in Sorgun Dufo’s silent jaw.

A staunchly determined soul preserving a secret forever, eternally locked in the mouth’s cavity!

03- KEY HIDDEN IN MOUTH

 

“But that meant that he couldn’t even cry out in pain!”

 

“The irony!  And now that nothing could be done about it, the key had finally come to light (been discovered).”

 

Suddenly, scathingly, another detail came to his mind (had struck Zaur).

 

“No clothing?”  He whispered.

 

There had been no mention of it in Fradel's account, but he knew the procedure (process, modus operandi) all too well.

Zaur Stugr knew, for instance, that they would have been stripped naked (hence, been exposed to the harsh elements), before being thrown into the pit, to ensure that there would be nothing hidden under cloth, nothing at all that could identify them.  And that way they would be forever lost to posterity, their person (being) would simply vanish into oblivion. History would never recount their heroics, their exploits, or their grievous plight in the end.

 

Zaur Stugr envisioned Zakhertan Yozdek’s cruel face sneering in the end.

He further imagined him saying, "Go ahead, and contemplate your treachery and vengeance all you wish down there.  Curse me with your dying gasps.  See if I care in the least."

Then Zaur heard the usurper's grating, vicious laughter as he signaled his men, soon to die themselves, to pile the planks then the earth back onto the mouths of these entrances to Hell. 

Zaur Stugr shook his head and grimaced sardonically, knowing how useless the information in the box was now.

If only he had trusted Sanzo Tezcat enough back then (at the time) to reveal to his guardian the truth about the box, that it was his father, not mother, who’d given him the box!

 

04- THE BOX

 

 If only Zaur (Kundrick Dufo) had been brave enough to face the consequences!

Bearing in mind Sanzo’s competence (his skill, proficiency, and resourcefulness), knowing what he knew of Sanzo now, especially with the backing of the Brotherhood of Kozurs, Sanzo would have succeeded where his father had failed and so altered the grim course of history.

 

“What use is this information to me now…To anyone else, for that matter?” 

He clenched his fists in rage, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

 

 “The decision he’d made so long ago was irrevocable. Was this the cruel act (hand) of providence (destiny, chance, luck, divine intervention) or simply, his own stupidity; which was it?”  Zaur Stugr’s face burned with suppressed, searing rage. 

 

He imagined all the Gods with caustic, mordant glare, cursing him. He saw his enemies, even the dead ones, all mocking him.

 

Zaur’s fist clenched tight, he pounded on (struck) the hard wall, over and over, creating a big dent in it. Highly incensed (enraged), he remained oblivious to the pain of his hand that had become more and more badly bruised and bloodied with each strike; meanwhile, such intense rage swelled up in his chest that he felt he would just burst.

 

 It took strong willpower for him to finally restrain (contain, subdue) his self-destructive (detrimental, damaging) course.  But then, anon flood (flurry) of angry tears filled his eyes and few escaping over the rim, trickled down his cheek. Vehemently (fervidly) he wiped them quick.

 

He was still so livid (furious) with himself for after all those years of training, his countless daring feats (accomplishments, exploits), his machinations… all that power he presently held with the strong backing of Kozurs, all; in the end it amounted to big, useless nothing! Nothing! Nothing!

05- ZAUR STUGR (SADDENED BY IT ALL)

 

Again, irately, rising from his chair, he paced the room like a caged beast, hands clasped behind him, not trusted to do his bidding.

"What a fool I've been!" he inwardly howled.  "What a great and utter fool!" 

 

At last, resolving to never again be tricked by appearances or his own mistrustful nature, he closed the rooms, left the wing, and stepped out into the cold, frigid morning air.

Fate relenting, lent him to a soft breeze, to caress his face or perhaps, to taunting him further, with yet another cruel trick.

 

 Zaur Stugr left the compound, his urgent footsteps following a snaking path that skirted tall, unkempt hedges that sagged under the burden of dew.

 

 Just then a gust of wind bit at his moistened face, a shiver rippled through him, and his skin turned to gooseflesh all over.

                                                                              ~

 

 

(END OF SECTION 13 – THE FINAL SECTION, OF, THE CAPITAL CHANNING)                                                                          ~