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

(SOVEREIGN ZAKHERTAN’S NIGHTMARE ENSUES)

 

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

01- ZAKHERTAN YOZDEDK 999 (1)

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

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

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

02- LORD ASGER THUXUR MARROG ZHON (182)JP

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

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

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

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

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

03- QARZTEN CAMUND (33)JP4

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

05- ZAKHERTAN YOZDEDK'S IRE 999 (9)

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

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

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

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

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

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

06- ZAUR STUGR  IN WARROOM JP (7)

Is that one, Minister Zaur Stugr?

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

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

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

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

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

07- ZAKHERTAN YOZDEDK  ENCOUNTERS HELLHOUNDS 999 (6)

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

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

 

(END OF SECTION 2)                                                                                       ~

 

 

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC – THE RENEGADE IMMORTAL – SECTION 11

                                         

Back at the Under-Secretary Lenny Sukzor’s private residence, for a long while sleep had averted the intrepid Minister; lying awake in deep contemplation, Lenny’s stare had been for some time now affixed (glued, set) on the canopy of his four-poster bed. Incessantly his eyes (pupils) traced each cleverly executed embroidery, woven so colorfully yet mockingly beautiful, depicting patterns of marital fidelity and family’ loyalty, that of which now taunted him with their lies.

01- -LENNY SUKZOR (12)JP

Their creator, his wife Juyin, was as beautiful as she was talented and, if the truth were to be known, he had loved her deeply from the first moment he had set eyes on her.  Despite his present denial, despite all that had since come between them he was still enamored of her. He still treasured every moment they spent together and warmed in the ecstasy, the pure, unadulterated joy she infused down into the very cockles of his heart.

On this night of all nights, he longed to embrace her, to pretend that all was simple and good between them, but his adored wife was not where he desired her to be. She was not in bed beside him. The moment he had feigned sleep, Juyin had snuck away.  Extending his hand, he felt the residual warmth of the mattress. His brows knitted as he turned to his side and (smelled) smelt her perfume still lingering on the pillows and sheets.

02-JUYIN SUKZOR (1).pngJP

He had known of her recruitment from the very start. Until this major incursion he had boasted with impunity how he had kept his household clear of spies but on that day when he had received certain confirmation his anger had welled up intolerably in his chest.  He had conjured up thousands of tortures to pay her back for this ultimate betrayal.

It mattered little that she had most certainly been (coerced) forced into carrying out her actions, if she had been truly loyal, she would have taken her own life rather than submit to the course that was imposed on her.  He had even considered disposing of this viper nestled in his bosom, by administering a slow-acting poison that mimicked “Breakbone Fever”, killing her with long, lingering, excruciating pain.  Then the anger and disappointment had subsided to rest deep within his marrow, and he’d reasoned in a cool, dispassionate way that, he was being too idealistic, and, even if he’d disposed of her, another would be planted in her stead, one who might be far harder to detect.

Subsequently, with things seemingly remaining as they were, Juyin was only given to convey the certain information that Lenny wished for Zakhertan Yozdek to know.

03- JUYIN SUKZOR (6)JP

Even with the apparent benefits of having this direct link (contact) to the Sovereign, he had to argue his case long and hard before Egil Viggoaries and, had endured the lasting humiliation of being verbally, virtually cuckolded in front of his brothers and peers, in order to merely win the continuance of her life for just a while longer before her eventual and certain, sentence to a painful and ignominious death (demise). For nothing less, would satisfy Egil Viggories. The Dark Eunuch Egil, his superior, had so many varied ways to inflict pain and humiliation on a being, and after filling Lenny’s ear with it, each time Lenny had felt wronged by her, like tonight, overriding his mixed emotions, his imagination simply ran rampant with the many possibilities of her imminent, dire punishments.

“Oh, what is the use of tormenting my-self?  That day will come soon enough!” Lenny Sukzor quickly shunted these thoughts aside.

“Better to think of something more to the point, like Dwengzur, for instance. Where has he gotten himself to?”  Inwardly Lenny Sukzor reviewed the same, haunting questions. He had asked discreetly about but none knew of the Immortal's whereabouts since the last assassination attempt on His Royal Highness Zakhertan Yozdek. It was as though Dwengzur had vanished into thin air. The wizard's disappearance without a trace, though not out of character, the long duration (timespan) of it, had baffled everyone.  Of course, the usual rumors circulated, some even reaching the status of a plausible hypothesis, but Lenny had not given any of them much credence.

“Or maybe he’d returned to whence he came...Korion.” Lenny Sukzor, at present, speculated.  He had his certain reservations about Dwengzur from the very start, yet that night, he had been constrained by Egil Viggoaries's bidding to allow Dwengzur to penetrate his deepest most innermost thoughts, in the demonstration.

“If he had retrieved my most confidential stance (position, perspective) he had not let on, had not disclosed the one most damaging fact that would have spelled my immediate doom.  Moreover, he could have extorted me, to secure his silence.” Lenny, thinking back, now pondered on the concern once more.

04- DWENGZUR (AS lENNY REMEMBERS)

Lenny also recalled the fleeting, knowing smile and the Immortal’s perfunctory reaction had been, when the opportunity had finally availed itself for Lenny, to broach this most delicate subject in privacy with him. Dwengzur had curtly declared that he was not at all interested in the politics of Wenjenkun, or of Korion for that matter.  His manner, at the time, had indicated that he had a far greater purpose in mind. Of course, that purpose had since become clear, after the last assassination attempt on Sovereign Zakhertan Yozdek.

 Dwengzur had established himself at Court solely to apprehend one of his own!

“Perhaps the hoary legends of this red-haired race were true after all?”  Lenny nodded absently.

Just then Lenny Sukzor was startled from his reverie by the faint sounds of footpads in the hall.  The door handle slid against the latch.  He lay perfectly still in mimed slumber as she crept inside, quickly disrobed and slipped between the covers. She sniffed. “Was she crying?” 

Lenny longed to turn to her, clasp her to his heart and tell her that it was all right, that come what may, he would protect her in the end, but he knew that it would be a veil of lies that would only soothe his conscience temporarily.  He lay like a stone statue, cold and unmoving as her warm body snuggled next to his and she buried her head under the covers.

“Blessed sleep will overtake you soon, my love, and then you will find the solace you seek.  Or will you? Will the nightmare of your betrayal haunt your peace even then?”  Lenny Sukzor cursed himself, cursed his ambition, and cursed the times and everything else that kept him apart from his heart's desire (urgings). Soon, out of sheer emotional exhaustion he, too, was impervious (unreceptive, as he was asleep) to the stirrings of the night.

 

                                                                                  ~

 

In the dead of night an unusual thud had abruptly and with a start awakened Nevetsecnuac; but now all seemed deathly still in semi-darkness. Just then however, his ears detected (picked up) another slight thump. There it was again. This was followed by a faint rustling of leaves and then a crunching sound.

This very night being exceptionally hot and humid, to gain some relief Nevetsecnuac had left the windows wide open; a slight breeze moved the curtains aside at that point in time to expose the culprit crouched in a corner of the windowsill, but he scurried off, frightened by the minute disturbance in the room.  A fleeting smile brushed Nevetsecnuac’s lips as he rubbed his eyes and then languidly (indolently) surveyed the room.  Why had he slept so long? He had only meant to doze off for a few minutes, just long enough to fool that busybody steward!

He reached for the empty cup by his bedside and examined it. His nose creased having at once picked up the faint but distinct odor that anyone else might have easily missed.  Earlier on, alerted by the steward's uncharacteristic insistence, he had had only a sip before slyly giving most of it to the resident cat that, of late, had taken to sleeping in Nevetsecnuac's room.

05- SLEEPING CAT

The feline was now sprawled at the foot of the bed, (out cold) dead to the world. Nevetsecnuac’s keen ears at that moment having picked up yet another suspicious sound, this time from the hallway, Nevetsecnuac swiftly shoved the drugged feline under the bed where she could recover from her misfortune without alerting the staff to her state. 

Nevetsecnuac then returned to bed and slipped under the covers to feign sleep just in time, when suddenly, the door creaked open, and someone tiptoed into the room.  Nevetsecnuac distinctly (became aware) felt, the change in airflow as the bedcurtains were parted and then the hot breath of someone bending over him as if to assure himself that Fradel Rurik Korvald was, as he should be, in deepest slumber. Once this had been ascertained the intruder walked over and shut the window, locked it, and pulled those curtains tightly together; he next reached over to the night table and picked up the incriminating cup.  Afterwards, just as silently he exited the room and closed the door behind him.

"Go to bed." Nevetsecnuac heard the hushed command at outside.  "There's nothing more to be done here. He will be sound asleep until the morning."  The sounds of their reassured footfalls gradually muted down the length of the hallway.

The evidence now gone, Nevetsecnuac bit put out, bolted upright in sitting position in bed.

 What warranted this precaution?

He had been intentionally, for an unknown reason, drugged to be rendered incapacitated. If it had been a foe, he would have certainly used this opportunity to finish him off.  His suspicions all the same aroused, Nevetsecnuac pushed the covers aside and quietly got out of the bed; after he changed into dark garments he walked over and pressed his ear to the door.

“Good!”  Nevetsecnuac exhaled deeply, knowing full well the sentry and the night attendants had all left; not a soul stirred at the hallway’s extended (comprehensive) perimeter, therefore, it was now perfectly safe for him to exit the room and (scout) reconnoitre the grounds. Having already conceived the notion, just what and where the main action- the covert meeting might transpire, Nevetsecnuac once at the outside, advanced stealthily and vigilantly through the pathways, for under the canopy of winking stars and the full moon’s silver rays the checkered grounds were perfectly (completely)illuminated.

Nevetsecnuac persistently then stuck to the right, his silent steps traversing (going forward) without hesitation on the snaking flagstone trails that would eventually around the bend, disappear behind the manufactured mountain. 

06- GROUNDS AT NIGHT

He crossed several small walking bridges that hopped over bubbling brooks and streams of diverse sizes and depths, taking care all the while to be swallowed up by the shadows to avoid detection by the increased number of security patrols that were out and about this very night, dutifully scouring that segment of the complex.

At one point, Nevetsecnuac had been constrained to wait in concealment as two groups of guards met midpoint and shared some bits of idle gossip before resuming their rounds. Soon as the coast was clear, Nevetsecnuac quickly skirted the heart shaped pool filled with golden carp sparkling in the moonlit water and delved into a thick pine grove to avoid the next cordon (barrier, blockade) of guards. Following the thin meandering gravel path, he quickly emerged at its far side in the forbidden section and headed straight towards the location of Zaur's secret office. 

Surprisingly however, the wing was just as dark and perfectly quiet. Nevetsecnuac climbed up the unusually tall trellis, covered with lush green vines (decked bluebell flowers), which was on the shaded side of the building, to reach the apex of the roof and then to survey the grounds from there.  Just as he was about to reach the peak (top), he noticed some ways off down below, a faint, quivering sliver of light blinking behind the iron shutters of an oblong window tucked under the eaves of a solid structure (building), nestled in the thick bamboo grove, in the most ancient part of the mansion.

His senses on the alert Nevetsecnuac crept stealthily towards it, as his determination to unravel this newest duplicity of Zaur's, wounded itself tighter and tighter into his will. Once there and perched under the eaves like a bat, he peered through the narrow slit that was his only view into the room and, strained his ears to make out what was being said. Despite the deceptively small proportions of the structure on the outside, the hall within was in fact spacious and, elongated away from his viewpoint, it comfortably (assembled) accommodated   some twenty or thirty stout (robust, sturdy) cloaked men. 

Nevetsecnuac quickly comprehended from their various accents that these were the sectional leaders, congregated here from the various, far-flung reaches of Wenjenkun.  He had to marvel at the apparent scope (extent, reach) of this secret organization and the strict discipline to which masked members unquestioningly adhered.  With keen interest he observed how they all moved as if one body to reverently face the alter and, as Zaur Stugr stood off to one side, swore the ancient oath of allegiance as if with one multi-toned voice, renewing their bond to the Brotherhood.

The ceremony ended in a bloody ritual sacrifice after which the cloaked figures, in a steady stream in which their positions were obviously dictated by differences in rank or seniority, exited the hall through a hidden tunnel.

 

(END OF SECTION 11)