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.

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

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

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

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

 

(END OF SECTION 5)    

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC – THE CAPITAL CHANNING – SECTION 12

 

Minister Zaur Stugr just then was reminded of the recent disturbing developments in Chukset Province, particularly the local governor’s role (part) in it, all of which had been painstakingly recounted in Tonzeye Yevgun's recent report.

 Zaur’s brows knotted, and anger smoldered in his chest as he reflected how, despite all of his efforts, the corruption had been so rampant (prevalent), so great were the sufferings of the citizens that all of his prior efforts had barely made a dent in suppressing (throttling) their tyrannical schemes.

01 ZAUR STUGR JP 12b

 

Another dire concern also gnawed at his viscera (innards), for despite all his forces being kept on highest vigilance (alert), despite all the avenues the Kozurs had explored, Zaur had remained completely in the dark about Prince Nevetsecnuac’s current whereabouts.

Zaur shook his head to dispel all disquieting (troubling) thoughts, reminding himself that he must keep up hope, as he had still not received any word from the men sent in pursuit of the assassin Duan and his cohort, Heng Erling.

 

“What's that?” Zaur Stugr was instantly jolted from his reverie.  His acute hearing had picked up a barely discernible, fleeting creak outside of the room.  Tensing, he sat upright and listened intently. 

“There it is again.”  His keen ears had detected another, even more slight sound. “Could it be an intruder?” 

A moment later, the room locked securely behind him, he advanced stealthily down the long corridor of the East Wing towards the source of the noise.  Hiding in the shadows, he waited. 

When the soft, silent footfalls drew near, he stood ready to pounce in a flash, with his fist poised to deliver a most deadly blow, a single chop, to right under the intruder's ribcage, where in an instant it would block (intercept) the life’s blood to the heart.

"What in blazes are you doing here?" Zaur Stugr growled, halting his attack in mid-stroke. "You should know better than to sneak around here at night."  Shaking his finger at his strapping, young assistant, Zyerne, he admonished him, "I could have killed you."  Zaur Stugr angrily shook his head.

02- ZYERNE STEWOR

 

Zyerne Stewor was a broad-shouldered, tall, and stalwart (athletic) youth of about nineteen years in age, with fiery red-blond hair, clean shaven, one who had most striking handsome facial features, with keen blue eyes that never missed anything; furthermore, he had a brilliant mind and was courageous and loyal. 

He was also one of the most recent new recruits that had succeeded in a short span to become a valuable affiliate of Kozurs; nevertheless posturing (posing) as Zaur’s personal steward (butler, superintendent) in Zaur’s large household, he oversaw (managed) many of the most crucial, covert daily tasks.

 

“You’re always so dramatic; but then that is one of your most endearing qualities.” Zyerne instead, simply pouted (furrowed his forehead) and meekly lowered his head. He was rather fond of his Chief being always well treated, here (at Zaur’s residence) and in the organization, so fairly and considerately by him.

"I woke up suddenly, sir, and realized you were absent." the aide Zyerne ejected in a concerned voice.  "I hurried on here, thinking that you might perhaps be in need of my services."

"Your foolhardy conscientiousness is nevertheless commendable", Zaur smiled, "but in this instance I have no need of your assistance.”

“Tomorrow, however, I will be sending you on an important errand so you may as well return to your room and get what rest you can." Having said this, turning on his heels, Zaur Stugr quickly headed back in the opposite direction from his trusted aide, Zyerne Stewor.

 

                                                                                ~

 

 

Incredibly, both men had completely missed (remained unaware) the presence of a third figure well concealed in the shadows. 

Nevetsecnuac (Fradel) arriving later than Minister Zaur Stugr in this forbidden East Wing had suddenly spotted the scant light emanating from the small window high up (though mostly hidden behind a set of elaborate eaves,).  This was when Zuan had opened the window just a crack.

 As the window had been way too small (to permit even an entry of a small child), Nevetsecnuac next had tried but failed to gain stealth entry into either of the secret rooms. He tried peeking in (stealing a look) but the solidly built roof because of its angle had entirely obscured (obscured, masked) the inside. Discovering the only other window to one of the well concealed rooms, he had tried to breach (crack open) that, but it too had been securely sealed, this time with brass bars embedded in the stone of the sill.

Nevetsecnuac was considering his other options when in that instance, the interesting encounter between Zaur and Zyerne had transpired. He had waited for them to leave then carrying serious misgivings in his heart about his host, Nevetsecnuac too, had reluctantly retired, unseen, and unheard, to his room.

                                                                                                                                                               

                                                                                    ~

 

Following night, long after everyone had succumbed to slumber (sleep, forty winks); Minister Zaur Stugr had again stealthily snuck (sneaked) back into the East Wing.  He quickly recovered the mysterious box from its hiding place and, once more seated in the plush armchair in that secret library, reached into his inner pocket and retrieved the key.  Determined as he’d been to find out what the box had contained, once more his thoughts defiantly had drifted yet again, back to that specific time of his avowed disclaimer, the bane of his conscience.

Naturally, a fortnight after his father's departure, the box his father had entrusted with him had been discovered (detected) among his personal belongings by the tending servants and, at once, brought to Sanzo's attention. 

When Kundrick Dufo was confronted with the matter, he quickly snatched the box from the table and fearful of losing it, had held it tight to his chest and declared. 

"It’s my mother's!  It’s the only memento I have left of her."   And yes, at that moment, he’d told a blatant, shameless lie.

He had thought at the time that he’d been rather clever; especially since his guardian Sanzo had quietly scrutinized him (Kundrick) for a time then just dropped the matter.

“Perhaps he could not conceive of Sorgun, so careful in all he did, leaving anything of such great importance in the hands of a mere boy.” With hindsight, Zaur at present theorized. 

For in the end shrugging, Sanzo had turned his back and ordered in an icy tone, "Have the child made ready for bed." 

03- - SANZO TESCAT (2)

 

Sanzo Tezcat had never again raised the matter of the box, allowing Kundrick (young Zaur) to instead come around of his own accord and, if it was at all important, tell him.

The more Kundrick’s respect for his mentor had grown however, so had increased his fear and the shame for his damnable, detestable lie (he’d told his guardian). To make matters worse, Kundrick had learned bit too late, how much Sanzo prized integrity in a person, second only to loyalty and, how intolerant he’d always been of least deceit from those around him, his stern, harsh and judgmental stand on this matter not allowing for any mitigating circumstance. After having been an unwitting witness to the severity of the brutal repercussions suffered by one such offender, Kundrick had desisted confessing his lie (that he deemed was the result of his unfortunate lapse in good judgment back then), feeling the oppressive guilt, he’d suffered all this while, had been his just deserts (his punishment) enough.

Besides which, what he dreaded more than anything was losing the fragile trust, the rare privilege that Sanzo Tezcat had bestowed on him. 

Sanzo meanwhile had been far too preoccupied with other more pressing concerns, having deducted from the start that, whatever the nature of Sorgun's secret mission had been, Tojo Tugo's treachery had cost his dearest friend Sorgun his life. 

Highly incensed, despite the precariousness of their circumstance and the urgency of their flight from immediate danger, he had hankered (sought) instead, to extract the truth from Tojo and to mete-out apt vengeance on him on behalf of his friend Sorgun.  Delaying their departure hence, he had petitioned the Kozurs’ governing board requesting (demand) full cooperation and assistance in this matter.

Well before Sanzo and Brotherhood could take (or execute) any action however, Tojo had quite suddenly, mysteriously met his demise by a most gruesome accident, leaving behind him many unanswered questions.  Soon afterwards, all leads had dried up, as all of Tajo’s collaborators; his close associates who may have been able to shed some light on the matter, had all succumbed to lethal accidents. 

Result of discrete, thorough autopsies conducted on pertinent (stolen and dug up) corpses by the Kozurs’ top physician, had established the real causes and circumstances of each victim’s death. For one thing, the findings had revealed that they had all died (expired) well before their, obviously staged, fatal accidents.

The method of death in each case was the, long, poison-laced needle that had been inserted through the nostril into the brain, effecting (bringing about, causing) an instantaneous paralysis of the intended victims.

 This technique had been the preferred choice for murder, by only one well-known assassin, a henchman of Zakhertan Yozdek who, unfortunately, could not be touched.

The fact that Zunrogo Tugo and the reminder of Tojo's family had not been entirely terminated indicated that Zakhertan Yozdek considered Tojo’s service as being loyally rendered one and his demise was arranged, not as revenge but merely as a means of wiping the slate clean of all clues that could lead to the Usurper Emperor. After his initiation into Kozurs, as an affiliate (member), Zaur Stugr had finally been privy to these well documented findings. Strange though it may seem, despite this most likely outcome of his father's fate, still, over the course of many years Zaur had maintained the strong belief that, so long as he held onto the box (and the secret it contained) and, fact that his father’s corpse had not been found, he'd realize his wish of one day meeting his father or, at worse, of finding out what had actually befallen him. 

The subsequent years had spun rapidly by and, in the flurry of change that had swept the nation; the significance of Sorgun's box had rapidly diminished in Sanzo's eye just as, out of necessity and shame, it had acquired an ever-greater prominence in Kundrick’s heart.

 

                                                                      ~

 

“This cowardice is so unbecoming of you.”  Zaur inwardly chastised (reprimanded) himself. “Shame, how you’ve grown soft over the years.”

 

In fact, his hesitation, his inhibition had resulted from foreboding feelings of, the odd premonition, that he would be better off not knowing the contents of the box.

 

“All right; you've stalled long enough!”  Zaur Stugr, resolved to find out whatever the cost, he then inserted the key in that second keyhole and turned it.

The device (aperture) worked, and he heard a certain click.

 

Holding his breath in, he slowly lifted the lid and looked inside.  For a spell he was disappointed at the small collection of documents he saw, so frail they were laying at the bottom of the chest, hardly the sort of thing these many, weighty years of secrecy would have warranted.

Gingerly Zaur picked them up, one by one, and deposited them on the desk.  He studied the writing with sure interest until, realizing what they were all about, his face fell.  His brows knit and his expression grew grave as he nodded with grim understanding of the past consequences of their very existence and all the suffering it had caused.

04- THIRD PRINCE, WENZOR ALRIC THERRAN VALAMIR 2- jp

 

 It was a letter, several pages long, from the Third Prince, Wenzor Alric Therran Valamir, to Zakhertan Yozdek himself.  In it were the detailed plans for future uprisings both within and without Capital Province Holger, as-well-as, grateful thanks for the already rendered valuable services by then Field Marshal Zakhertan.  Prince Wenzor had additionally promised Zakhertan of future rewards after his continued, anticipated cooperation.

 Here was clear evidence of how Prince Wenzor Alric Therran Valamir had been completely duped by Zakhertan Yozdek.  Believing that Zakhertan sincerely had the prince’s own interest at heart, Prince Wenzor had, in all naivetés, provided the usurper with otherwise unavailable advantages. With this, Zakhertan had been able to move more swiftly, more effectively towards his goal of establishing himself as the future Emperor.

Added to this was the list which incriminated, some prominent, seemingly loyal Ministers, Lords, and courtiers as, co-conspirators in Prince Wenzor's schemes.

 

These very same men, Zaur Stugr (Kundrick) remembered, had later supported Zakhertan on his ascendency (to become present reigning Sovereign); their betrayal causing great shock and consternation among the Royalists camp.

 

“Yes, of course!”  

 

Zaur Stugr faintly remembered having seen Third Prince Wenzor Alric Therran Valamir once or twice at Sorgun's stately mansion.

 

 

(END OF SECTION 12)