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)                                                                                       ~

 

 

 11- LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - EVIL PERSONIFIED - SECTION 14

Qarzten Caimund’s shrewd policy of routinely checking beyond the official records of everyone, who had entered government service in Capital Channing, had yet again proven fruitful. Especially since, his hand-picked expert team in no time at all had uncovered lost bits of interesting facts about Nijel Pinng; that, an astute Censorate official had incidentally, purely by accident discovered, just before his suspicious death from a sudden stomach ailment (rupture):  that Nijel Pinng was the illegitimate half-sister to Lady Sejon. 

 

01- KENON RIEN

On further inquiry Qarzten Caimund had found the circumstances of Nijel’s life unfurling like the plot of a lowest currency denomination, a marketplace performance (play):

Sejon's aristocratic, philandering father Kenon Rien, had once passed through Moulon Province and result of one nights’ unbridled passion, with one of that region's rare beauties an innocent young girl named Arnora, he had begotten (produced, precipitated) the illegitimate twin offsprings.

 

02- ARNORA (14)

As the beauty Arnora was, unfortunately so far below Kenon's station/class, instead of doing the honourable thing, Kenon had through intimidation (bullying, strongarming) secured the mayor’s (village burgomaster’s) and her parents’ silence and instead arranged, well before her pregnancy showed, for her to be hastily married off to an aged but respectable Esquire Niet Wanner. The Esquire’s young wife had recently passed away because of a fever, leaving behind a wailing infant girl, which was Sejon. Such things did happen in the remote villages.

At the time, the Esquire Niet Wanner was in his mid fifties, and Arnora barely eighteen years old. Despite the age difference, Esquire Niet was a gentle soul and so treated his new bride Arnora with gentle respect, tolerance, and adoration.

 

In this blissful co-existence, laughter, and music once more permeated through the halls of Esquire Niet Wanner’s modest size, three story-mansion (villa); and typically, during this harmonious period Sejon experienced the unconditional love from her stepmother Arnora- alas, it was not to last!

After the nine month’s pregnancy, Arnora had opportunely expired from a complication of a difficult birthing. The case of her sudden, unexpected demise, was expediently covered up (without the knowledge of Esquire Niet Wanner); this, with secretly dispensed generous bribes from the Rien Clan, therefore, permanently silencing the attending physician, the mayor, and the other pertinent (relevant) local officials.

 

03- ESQUIRE NIET WANNER - JP

Esquire Niet Wanner, meanwhile, was utterly devastated by this terrible loss, for he had from the first, been besotted (love-struck, smitten) with his enchantingly beautiful young wife; now, considering himself unlucky or jinxed, he swore never to wed again.

Consequently, the three infants, Sejon and the twins were thus placed in the care of a wet-nurse Luse, who had providentially (conveniently, luckily), when the old nanny suddenly succumbed to an accident, by falling down from a flight of stairs and breaking her neck, in Esquire Wanner’s household: At that juncture, Luse had showed up seeking employment as a wet-nurse.

Luse, claimed her Scholar husband, she, and their seven-week-old infant son, had just happened to have arrived at Moulon Province; unfortunately, result of a boating accident, she had lost them both. Furthermore, she had no other family in this region, she was now stranded here, left all alone to fend for herself. In truth, Luse had been secretly handpicked by Kenon, and furnished with documentation this background-story, to keep an eye on what he deemed was his property, till more apt measures could be implemented.

 

04- WET-NURSE LUSE

Qarzten’s men had also uncovered, that Arnora had in fact, as Qarzten Caimund had suspected, been murdered on Lord Kenon's implicit order; after her father Tom Raygard, in his desperation, had attempted to, unsuccessfully, extort funds from Kenon Rien.

As consequence of heavy flooding that year, his crops had failed miserably and he stood on the brink of ruin; more importantly, Tom Raygard had lacked the essential funds for the medical care that was required to preserve his wife’ life. Farmer Tom, as he was known to most, was a decent sort but was forced to this despondent (extreme) measure.

Tom Raygard in his unrelenting pursuit of justice for his  deceased daughter Arnora, meanwhile, anticipating Kenon’s diabolical aim, had just made up his mind to confess all about the unlawful coercing which had forced him and Arnora to accede to the demands of  Kenon Rien and to warn Esquire Niet Wanner of the more current hidden threat from Rien Clan, pertaining to his infant twins.  Before he could act on this however, his aim had been abruptly, promptly thwarted (foiled, terminated); when during the violent, stormy night, a lightening struck the roof of his homestead, setting the structure completely ablaze. The ensuing (resultant) fire had gutted the decade old, partly decrepit two-story wooden farmhouse within seconds and, everyone previously tugged in their beds on the second story (floor, level) being unable to get to safety, had perished.

 

05- TOM RAYGARD -JP

There had been two or three mutely (wordlessly, murmured) raised, though quickly supressed queries (questions) about the spread of the fire being far too rapid; thus, feasibly precipitated by intentionally (purposely) placed tinder or a flare, it had unfortunately, tragically begotten multiple fatality.

Definitely one irksome speculation, in fervent whispers, had persisted; this,  founded on  an offhand remark, an accusation, from a bold constable- that besides the conflagration (inferno) caused by the lightening at the rooftop, there was also, though beyond coup (reduced to ashes, embers) scant evidence (trace) of strategically placed kindling that had proliferated (burgeoned) the seriousness of devastation from above and below.

Afterwards, these annoying inklings (whispers, notions) too were checked; particularly since the ultimate result had conveniently (for the aristocrat Rien Clan,) tied up the reminder loose ends. The matter was expediently wrapped up and filed away as consequence of natural disaster; this, so as not to impede (hinder, hamper) Kenon Rien’s future political ambitions.

Sejon, however, was soon to be orphaned herself as the Esquire Niet Wanner, a week before his suicide, had acquired an insurance policy with an efficient, fearsome organization covertly known as the Brotherhood of Kozurs. The powerful federation (association, alliance) that had operating members, even at the farthest reaches of the Wenjenkun Empire, for a minimal cost, discreetly (prudently) addressed without fail, extremely difficult and all outstanding injustices. No one, however powerful, could escape their deadly talons; two days hence, the invincible (indomitable) Kozur assassins sent the aristocrat Kenon Rien to accompany the Esquire in death, but on an ignominious journey, straight to Hell!

The twins, meanwhile, because Esquire Niet Wanner’s had overlooked this eventuality, had been successfully secreted away (abducted), the moment of Niet’s demise; this order was issued directly from the top echelon of the Rien Clan, which considered the twins, akin Kenon Rien, as Clan ‘property.

Subsequently, twins were separated; the fate of the male child was still a mystery, the girl however, had been successfully traced by Qarzten Caimund’s competent men, to the household of a Magistrate Ronian Keru in Moulon Province, now under the suzerainty of Lord Shouzi Yozdek.

 

06- MAGISTRATE RONIAN  KERU OF MOULON PROVINCE

Qarzten  Caimund had long suspected this region (the Moulon Province), to be a hotbed of insurgency, as well as criminal (illegal) activity, though regrettably, he had lacked solid evidence to indict His Lordship Shouzi Yozdek of a serious breach or a treason. As Ronian Keru was on his concise list of conspirators, Qarzten Caimund had been keeping Nijel under surveillance way before she had showed up in the Capital.

About a month ago, Qarzten’s patience had finally (paid off) been rewarded when his agents had intercepted a letter from her former master who, despite his leave of absence for health reasons, was still the pawn of his Lordship Shouzi Yozdek. Alas, the coded message had been more difficult than usual to decipher and though Qarzten Caimund had a special team working on it around the clock, to date there had been no real progress (reported).  

As it were, this setback had come closely on the heels of another more devastating one. A while ago the only sure evidence against Shouzi, an incriminating letter written by him to Kujoge Yozdek, had been the means of an extortion attempt on the Lord. This letter had been traced to a freelance spy identified as a Ms. Jepipi. Just as Qarzten Caimund’s operatives had been about to close in on her at the bustling port of Kenzo, she had mysteriously vanished along with her trackers. The trail of the letter had gone cold from there on.

Of course, Qarzten Caimund could have incarcerated Nijel Pinng, on the charge of gaining her employment under false pretenses to spy on the throne and then tortured her to extract the required confessions. This would have only gotten him as far as her former master Ronian Keru however, who would have long been dead before the adequate law enforcement forces could arrest him. And so, temporarily Qarzten had ignored Sejon’s pitiful efforts to hide Nijel’s involvement in the business of the penknife. But then, Qarzten had much bigger fish to fry, and he did not want to draw up his net only to find two small shrimps ensnared in it. Nijel Pinng was far more useful kept as bait to trap all other significant conspirators. For that reason, if nothing else, Qarzten had bided his time till he had attained more solid evidence that was sure to follow. Then with these indisputable proofs in his arsenal, he could in one swoop (precise action), cleanse the system of all its parasitical elements.                                    

                                                                           ~

 

The subsequent day's extensively compiled report on Imperial Tutor Worren Youkup’s early morning unscheduled visit to Lady Sejon and the particulars of that meeting had both disappointed and exasperated Qarzten Caimund. He had expected more from one with Royal tutor’s competence; meanwhile, the specifics of Sejon's brilliant performance had made Qarzten wince. He had secretly abhorred her for her deceitful ways but now he held Sejon in even greater contempt for, not only corrupting the impeccable reputation of an innocuous old tutor Worren Youkup but also using his lifelong principles against him. This needless complication had come about because of Sejon’s informants had failed to pass on in time to her, Zakhertan Yozdek’s recent change of heart and his subsequent decision to establish Magnian, once the boy prince had reached the proper age, as the new Crown Prince. Nijel's palliative, sneaky suggestion meanwhile in reality, a double-edged sword, had caused Sejon to further jeopardize (sabotage) her standing.

Qarzten Caimund quietly reflected on the (previously) intercepted, second secret message from Nijel; though not yet deciphered, he could deduce (fathom) the contents from the subsequent corresponding events. The sudden onset of Lady Sejon’s illness after Worren’s visit for instance had come as no real surprise, although the choice of surrogate Royal Physician, who had attended her, had piqued (annoyed) Qarzten’s interest. Particularly since her ordinarily a robust personal physician had so abruptly was indisposed by a mysterious ailment, necessitating this opportune replacement by Enqui Rimeng, the personal physician of her nemesis Prince Herleif.

 

07- YOUNG ROYAL PHYSICIAN ENQUI RIMENG (1)

A barely detectable frown registered on Qarzten’s lips as he had quickly pinpointed the devious hand behind all this. Even though these recent developments would only slightly alter the portended course of events, Qarzten leaving nothing to chance, set to cover all bases, as well, manage any fluke insidious eventualities.

Later that evening, following his usual routine, Qarzten Caimund dismissed his assistant for a time and shut himself up in his study to deal with this and other most urgent (pressing) and delicate matters of the day. Most nights Qarzten had typically skipped sleep altogether (being a habitual insomniac) examining all vital reports, before presenting these with apt addendum resolutions, to Sovereign Zakhertan Yozdek (the only other who never seemed to need any sleep) later in the hour.   

In just less than an hour the first eight cases were summarily dispensed with when, upon opening a file and perusing its contents with one glance, a thin smile supplanted the habitual stern expression on Qarzten’s face.

“Good!” He hissed, very much relieved at having received confirmation of the postponement of Prince Herleif’s actual conspiracy to eliminate Magnian.

This was certainly welcome news for it eradicated another burdensome matter from Qarzten Caimund’s hectic schedule. Had his gentle coercion not worked, he would have had to implement dicey measures or lethal force to thwart the assassination attempt on Prince Magnian. It was not because he had been ordered to preserve Magnian's life, nor was it out of kindness that Qarzten had taken upon himself the task of safeguarding the boy. In the past he had not intervened in the demises of the other Princelings but then the circumstances had not been as volatile. This course was warranted because of the precarious (foreign) political circumstances created by both Korion and Kontu, with the greater danger stemming from Hedenko. In the likelihood of Herleif’s premature demise, the absence of an immediate replacement would set a dangerous precedence within the realm of Wenjenkun.

At this point Qarzten Caimund feeling tetchy, rose and walked over to stand, hands clasped behind his back, before the open doorway that led to the private veranda. A gentle breeze stirred the curtains that had been pulled back to either side, letting in the cool, crisp air into the room to gently caress his face. Qarzten had worked all through the night yet felt unaffected by it. Stretching out his limbs, he absently observed how the first reddish glow of the dawn streaking in over the high wall, then bathed the tranquil scene in the garden. The low-lying mist on the dew simply glistened like precious gems on the green grass, plump leaves and on the petals of the exquisite orchids. No artist's brush could create such a breathtaking depiction as that which now lay before his eyes; nature alone, that one unrivaled expert craftsman, had the only means with which to embody (illustrate) such wonder!

The rising songs of the awakening birds and insects next greeted his ears announcing the impending arrival of another brilliant day; despite his outward passive complacency however, his mind was still beset with worrisome loose ends. Suddenly feeling famished he turned away, sauntered (moseyed) back to his seat then comfortably settled in, he called out to his assistant, the one who had just moment’s prior reported for work as the shift had changed.

Indicating with a slight movement of his chin, the night's completed work for him to dispense, Qarzten succinctly next instructed the trusted aid to see to it that, after his quick sluice (sponge down), he be served his customary light breakfast, this time at the terrace.

 

08 -QARZTEN CAMUND (17)A - JP3

Once the simple repast was placed in readiness before him Qarzten Caimund, followed his habitual routine and partook of it quickly then, returned inside and went immediately right back to work. Marveling at his master's stamina, the assistant brought in the newest stack of documents and then stepping aside quietly waited, for them to receive Qarzten’s stamp of office (mark, hallmark).

In no time at all the Senior Grand Secretary had finished with this first pile and reached for the smaller second set of correspondence, marked "Confidential" in red lettering, which had next been quickly brought in as soon as the first pile was taken away. Qarzten pulled these new documents squarely in front of him and picking up the topmost one, broke the seal, retrieved the inside letter, then eased back into his chair to peruse its contents. In one glance he had absorbed the contents of the carefully worded report. A glint of a smile just then brushed his lips, “Good, they have finally deciphered the code. From now on we will have a much better idea of her correspondence and of their future, illicit activities.

It was about time, too; fortunately, at present, no drastic measures were warranted. Nevertheless, he impatiently drummed his fingers on the desk for he had never liked being stymied. He re-read the last part of the report and the decoded succinct messages once more, this time more assiduously, his lips forming the words noiselessly. "Cock not in possession of prize. It’s whereabouts still unknown."  Qarzten Caimund leered despite himself at the whimsical reference to the feared Black Eunuch Egil Viggoaries as the 'Cock'. This was a good turn of phrase; Nijel had both guts and a sardonic sense-of-humor.

More importantly, Caimund’s hunches about Viggoaries being the extortionist had been right on the mark, but now the Dark Eunuch had lost the advantages of the leverage it had given him over Lord Shouzi Yozdek.

“He must be livid.” Qarzten Caimund looked away, continuing with his quiet reflection, “That explains the Eunuch's latest series (cycle) of unbridled, perverse tyrannies. Worse still for Viggoaries, Lord Shouzi Yozdek has finally put a face to his tormentor and will now bring to bear his full vindictiveness against him. Even so, Viggoaries has enough devious power to thwart these impending assaults and extricate himself totally from these troubles in the same way he always has.”   

 

(END OF SECTION 14)

 

 

                                                                                     ~ 

 

 11- LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - EVIL PERSONIFIED - SECTION 5

    

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

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

01- JUYIN SUKZOR (3)JP

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

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

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

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

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

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

02- FRADEL (NEVETSECNUAC) JP 7

    

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

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

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

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

    

                                                                                 ~    

    

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

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

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

03- -QARZTEN CAMUND (16)Bjp

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

04-PRINCE HERLEIF YOZDEK (2)

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

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

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

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

 

                                                                                            ~

 

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

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

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

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

05- QIJERRIK YOZDEK  (4)JP

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

06- QIJERRIK YOZDEK  (3)JP

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

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

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

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

 

(END OF SECTION 5)