THE WEDDING - SECTION 5

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE WEDDING - SECTION 5

BRANDT DUSTIN

 

The vivid recollection of that first ride’s thrill and joy to date still stirred (fired) Svein’s soul and brought prompt smile to his lips.  At present (currently) on route to town Karene, the added (bonus) excitement and delight stemming from his expected union with Teuquob bursting his heart, Svein urged Fiery Comet to equate that first time’s speed till they felt as if they were riding on air, goaded on by the wind, with the horse’s hooves hardly touching the ground.

 After several days’ ride when Svein reached Karene by mid-afternoon, he and the horse were both parched by the all-consuming heat.  Though the wind had picked up during the last hour or so and white clouds now sailed on by across the sky in speed, it still did not offer the earth any real respite.

Svein led the horse through the wind-swept streets, straight to the familiar inn, located at the far western edge of town.  The middle-aged, stout innkeeper, being notified of Svein’s approach well in advance, hurried down the steps with his hands clasped obsequiously to personally welcome Svein and invite him into the inn. 

After Svein returned his greetings with similar humility he obligingly followed alongside the innkeeper up the stairs.

Meanwhile Fiery Comet was led around to the back stables by the stable hands to be washed and fed, in short, to be well looked after.  They worked diligently, begrudging the horse nothing, knowing their efforts would be well met by a generous tip from Svein in the end.

After Svein was refreshed and had a change of clothing, he came down and was shown to a seat and promptly served a complimentary tea, the innkeeper politely inquired after his health then asked to learn of his requirements.  Once these were imparted and some funds changed hands he then rushed off at once to see to the details.  Not daring to waste any more time, Svein, forgoing lunch, left the premises and went off into the main marketplace to acquire his purchases.

In the past, keeping a low profile, Svein had always concluded his business and had departed town the following day, without any adventures to speak of.  His formidable bearing had discouraged local hooligans from accosting or assaulting him, while his quietly reserved nature had kept him from becoming the object of idle gossip among the locals who droned the gambling halls and whorehouses.  As a result, he had always wandered in and out of town without touching anyone’s lives or making a single friend or foe.  This time, however, his list was longer than usual and contained some (unusual) odd and specialty items and he could not conclude his business all in one go.

The innkeeper, with delight, had prepared for Svein’s lengthier stay upon being so informed.  Himself a respectable and quiet man, the innkeeper had curbed his curiosity all these years and had allowed Svein his right to privacy and secrecy.  Though he knew practically nothing of Svein’s background other than the false name, Audun Colden, which Svein had invented for his outside excursions, still, over the years he had developed a special fondness and respect for the youth, appreciating greatly his virtues of politeness, honesty, and the manner of speech that had marked Audun as learned literati.

After securing the day’s purchases in his room, at dusk Svein came downstairs to consume some supper.  He was led at once to a clean table in the far corner of the room, and tea and food were then punctually served to him.  It was towards the conclusion of this last course when Svein’s attention was suddenly drawn to an ornate sword handle and its sheath worn by a stranger who had just then appeared at the doorway (entrance).  By now the place was crowded by a large boisterous crowd that kept the waiters on their toes rushing to and for with orders.

From where he stood the stranger first surveyed the room, ignoring the waiter who had rushed over to invite him to an available table.  Wrinkling his nose, his narrowed eyes telling of his disdain for this place, he then somewhat reluctantly made his way over to an empty table of his own choosing by the window and sat himself down.  The stranger next impatiently threw down several gold coins onto the table and voiced his requirements. The apologetic waiter nodded, and then snatching the gold at once hurried off to fetch a jug of the best wine of the establishment, that were typically kept in the cellar, under lock and key.

As the stranger again looked contemptuously about him, his eyes full of daring suddenly fell on Svein; latter on his part not wishing to incur any undue curiosity seemingly pensive, kept his focus pinned on the plate in front of him. Subsequently the stranger’s gaze moved on to a more interesting target, the clustered heads with hushed wagging tongues that appeared to be scheming some conspiratorial, unsavory plan.

Towering well over six feet in height, with a bearing so formidable, the stranger’s intimidating presence had discouraged even the rowdy group of law enforcement officials seated next to his table from accosting him; in fact, they’d swiftly moved on further away to a new table that had just then become available.  With a continuing frown on his lips the stranger downed cup after cup of the wine, losing his temper at the slightest delay in the next supply which was kept steady to his table.  But, despite the amount of wine he had consumed, he’d remained quite unaffected and not the slightest bit inebriated.

By now most of the customers had moseyed on to elsewhere to pass the night- for no one took in sleep in this heat, leaving the dining-room half empty.  The wind had long ago subsided and had allowed the heat to increase to still greater, more intolerable levels. 

With many of the regulars (patrons) pouring outdoors for relief they crowded the streets, more so than during the daytime.  The stranger continued with his drink, his expression changing only slightly to register boredom.  He had noted Svein’s brief but interested look at his sword at the time of his entry to the premises.  Recalling that fact, he again stole a sidelong glance at Svein, who was thoughtfully sipping his tea, his void stare affixed to his cup.

“I can simply take my leave; never knowing more…Hmm. Then again, what harm is there in casual conversation…?”  When the waiter just then brought over a fresh pot of tea, Svein discreetly made his inquiries about the specific stranger.

The waiter, concealing his surprise for Svein, had never shown such interest in anyone, drawing close, imparted to Svein what little he knew about the arrogant stranger.  He told of how only twice before the stranger had wandered in to consume a meal and large quantities of their best wine, behaving with consistent haughtiness and condescension.

“Furthermore, he seemed to have an endless supply of funds, an abundant gold in his possession.” The waiter then as if just been reminded, added quickly in a hushed voice: “But both those other times he was in the company of another and from the looks of him, a foreigner also.  They are not from these parts, I’m sure of it.  Do you wish to make his acquaintance?  Perhaps I can be of some service.”

No, no,” Svein rejoined hastily, “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary… A passing curiosity, that’s all.”

A pair of other waiters, who happened to be close by, noting this exchange, craned their necks and picked up their ears to overhear the conversation.  The innkeeper suddenly appeared on the scene, boxed the ears of the one farthest back; then scolding them both, sent them scurrying back to their tasks.

“Anything else I can get for you, sir?  How about some sweet buns, a specialty of the house, to go with your fresh pot of tea?” the waiter tending Svein, clearing the spare dishes, now asked.

“Nothing further thank you; the tea is quite sufficient.”  With that Svein promptly paid the waiter the amount owed, slipping in something extra for his trouble.  Delighted, the waiter thanked Svein and turned to tend to his other customers.

Affixing his gaze outside the window, “now where have I seen that design before?” Svein inwardly queried, his thoughts reverting to the insignia, the crested eagle design on the sheath and the pommel of the sword’s handle. 

“I know I’ve seen it somewhere before, perhaps another likeness, but why is it I cannot recollect just where?” Absentmindedly he again glanced back up at the stranger and their eyes met in a mute clash.

 It was too late to turn away!  Svein smiled and nodded his head in polite greeting, which was reciprocated by the other. It might have ended there, except the stranger, after exchanging a few words with his waiter, next rose from his seat and, with bold steps, advanced towards Svein’s table.

 A momentary silence seized the room, as all present, suspected trouble as the only likely outcome from one such as him.  But, to their great chagrin, the stranger carrying a formal manner and with courteous words, duly introduced himself as Brandt Dustin then stated his wish to make other’s acquaintance, upon which he waited patiently to be asked to take a seat.

Obliged to respond favorably, Svein at once rose to his feet and, after delivering the formal customary greeting, stated his own name as Audun Colden and invited the stranger to be seated. 

Brandt Dustin expressed his thanks and took the seat across from Audun (Svein).  All those who had witnessed Brandt’s lack of deference and almost hostile manner now rubbed their eyes in disbelief, and at safe distance, huddled their heads together to exchange views and nosh rumors.

Svein was about to call for the waiter for some wine for his guest when a second waiter suddenly appeared behind him carrying a sealed jug of the best wine and two cups.

“I hope you don’t think me too presumptuous”, Brandt apologized, “but I took the liberty of ordering it before.  Please join me in a drink to mark our meeting.”  Then, without waiting for Svein’s response, he broke the seal and emptied wine into a cup, after which he, with both hands, offered it to Svein (Audun Colden). 

This being a gesture of respect and friendship, Svein felt constrained to accept it.  Thanking Brandt, he took the cup (with both hands also) and had the customary three sips before returning the courtesy to Brandt.

“Now, with the formalities out of the way, let us drink as brothers and talk without reserve.” Brandt proposed.

Svein’s polite upbringing would not allow him to show rudeness and refuse the next drink or the next after that.  In this way coerced into consuming several cups Svein deeply buried his feeling of guilt which had again arisen from this defiance of his uncle’s rule. 

Brandt, ignoring Svein’s subsequent protests and claims that he was not a drinker- pressed on Svein to consume still more.

 Though Brandt, on Svein’s insistence, drained thrice the number of cups as Svein did he showed no ill effects.  Svein, meanwhile, became aware of his own state of slight intoxication.  Afraid that he would lose control, he took smaller sips and ultimately longer and longer time to empty each cup.

 Brandt, a consummate drinker, after draining several more cups, had in the interim carefully steered the topic of conversation to the martial arsenals, then to the priceless, famed swords that were passed on to posterity through successive generations.

“Take this sword, for example,” fondling it affectionately while pretending to be slightly inebriated, he boasted, “it’s an heirloom, a priceless treasure also, with a story all its own.

 As one of a pair, it once belonged to Lord Asger Thuxur Marrog Zhon” 

He paused to gauge Audun Colden’s reaction, when none was forthcoming, bit peeved, he nevertheless continued, “Of course, you would be far too young to know of that traitor’s name.”

He again, took several more sips, a deliberate hiatus (break), and then quickly added, “But I digress, after the fall of the last dynasty, when our illustrious Sovereign gained his rightful place on the throne, the priceless pair of swords was presented to my master Haskell as a gift, amid other favors, for his rendered valuable services to the throne.”

Svein with his ardent discipline had curtailed his shock and surprise with admirable zeal; on the surface his demeanor appearing perfectly placid and well composed.  His expression had remained unchanged as he continued to listen to the strange accounts of Brandt.  Inwardly, however his soul had been set alight, after hearing the name Asger Thuxur Marrog Zhon.

 “Was that not the name on his uncle’s list before it had been so completely erased, during their recent stay at the ‘Heaven’s Gate Spiritual temple’?  What did all this mean?  Had his uncle once served under this vilified Lord?” 

Oblivious to Svein’s inner turmoil, Brandt meanwhile had continued, “My master treasured these twin swords above everything else he owned, and he took them out frequently to admire them and to demonstrate lessons with them.  Since, however, master agile as he was, excelled in fighting with only one sword, often during these special demonstrations he entrusted the other sword to his most prized pupil, Kochi.

“My master had no kin and no offspring to speak of; now trusting and being particularly fond of Kochi, he later adopted him as his own son.  That was why he was especially devastated when Kochi, without conscience, betrayed him.  When one of the gemstones on the handle of the sword was loosened, master wishing to have it repaired right after dinner, had left it outside of its locked cabinet.  How was he to know his adopted son, claiming illness, would excuse himself from the dining area early and, stealing into his room like a common criminal during those few hours, would run away with the treasured sword, never to be seen again.”  Brandt, grinding his teeth with contempt, again reached for the cup and downed its contents all at one go.

 “My master had taught him everything he knew, thinking that Kochi would one day succeed him.  That error in judgment, plus his advanced age, stopped him in the end from recovering his prized possession and avenging the wrong that was done to him.”

“None of his other pupils were of any use.  In his disillusioned state he dismissed them all and withdrew into seclusion.  After some years, finally giving in to my persistence, he took me on as his next pupil on the condition; however, that one day, when I had mastered the skill, I would seek out this villain, avenge my master, and recover the sword so that my master could be buried with the pair.  Now taken ill, he is lying in bed on the brink of death.  Since I have never seen Kochi, and the swords were the only link, my master with some reluctance, allowed me to take the second sword from his side.”

“I’ve journeyed far and wide, spared no effort in trying to apprehend Kochi, yet all traces of that villain or the sword have eluded me.  Now and again, I fear that some great misfortune might have befallen him, and that he might have been buried under earthen debris or he’s in some watery grave along with the sword; but I cannot allow myself to think of such an end.  I have taken a vow not to return till I have completed my task, and my master has given me his word to hang on to life until the day of my safe return.”  At this point Brandt fell into silence, his face showing a mixture of frustration and despair, plus something else that Svein could not clearly discern.

Just then, like a lightning bolt, it struck Svein just where, precisely, he had seen this sword’s twin.  Of course! He now recalled. 

He was no more than six years of age at the time.  While his uncle had been away on a hunting trip he had mischievously gone through his uncle’s personal belongings, then his chest.  Groping about, he had hoped to find something of interest to while away the lonely and boring hours.  To his great delight and thrill, he had then discovered this fine sword at the very bottom, carefully enshrined in several layers of silk.  He could still recall vividly the resulting fury in Stark’s face when, upon his early return, he had caught him (little Svein) red handed, playing with this magnificent sword in his room.  Barely able to lift the sword, Svein was dragging it on the floor, pretending to be a mighty warrior, vanquishing all his enemies and dispensing justice to all. 

As Svein reflected such, he’d assumed the mask of indifference, mindful of Brandt’s scrutiny, latter seeking least sign, anything to substantiate his initial suspicion.  Why else would he have bothered to share a drink and as a gesture of trust, unburden himself so elaborately to a perfect stranger?

Meanwhile Svein had played his part so remarkably well that Brandt presently doubted his prior misgivings about Audun (Svein); moreover, Brandt’s inner frustration mirrored his professed outward words.

 “I’ve even offered a great reward for any information, however slight, that would lead me to achieve my purpose, again to no avail.  No one has seen the twin of this sword or its bearer.  It’s as though they have both vanished from this world.” He shook his head, refusing to call it quits, not after he’d invested so much of his time. 

Brandt suddenly growing serious and in the most direct manner, burrowing his pupils in Audun (Svein), asked, “I will not insult you, sir, by offering you the reward money but, out of compassion and due respect for my dying master, won’t you tell me why you had shown a slight, a glint of interest in my sword earlier at the point of my entry to these premises?  Can I hope, perhaps, that you have seen the likeness of it somewhere before?”

“Now comes the truth; a brazen move” Svein’s face donned a nonplussed (puzzled) look, as if he’d not heard Brandt right.

“I would be most obliged upon receiving any information that you may have, however trivial.” Brandt obdurately (pig-headedly) insisted.

“I am deeply sorry to have caused you any false hope.” Seven, feigning regret, shook his head.

“In truth, I was drawn to it for its striking quality of workmanship, nothing more.  The crested eagle design alone is done to perfection.  I profess to know something about these arts, and it was my appreciation of it which, in this case, drew my attention.  The weapon itself, I’m afraid, is of little consequence to me, since I lack any ability in swordsmanship.”

“Surely you are too modest.” Brandt sham rebuked Svein’s claim of limited knowledge of martial arts and arms.  “Why your physical bearing alone tells of your competence and no doubt, formidable skill.”

“You do me too much honor, sir.” Svein blushed with due humility.  “I do daily exercises to keep fit and, besides my other chores, I cut wood and, on occasion, scale the mountains or hunt for game.  That is all.”

“By your words, you profess to know archery at least.” Brandt grinned.

When pressed further by Brandt to give some account of his years and background, Svein had wisely hinted at an age at least four more years older than his own and purported to be the third or fourth son of some local official somewhere, undetermined region.  He had supposedly gained some formal education from private tutors and even this bit of useless info had been relayed as insinuation, hint or suppositions under the guise of plain humility (all without the benefit of real facts or details).

He is far too clever to cave. Brandt huffed.  Though inebriated he is still exercising caution, not giving anything away.  All night long his answers to my questions have been evasive.  I know nothing further, nothing tangible about him, than when I first took this seat at his table. 

“All right, perhaps I was mistaken.”  This time Brandt did not insist.  Surely this Audun Colden has private reasons of his own for his ambiguity and professed ignorance.  Perhaps he is afraid of meeting a challenge from me.  Perhaps he is but a coward after all.

 “Then perhaps you can still be of some assistance to me.  During your journeys to and from this town, have you ever encountered a stranger, an elderly gentleman with only one arm?”

Svein’s suspicions further escalated, on the outset he made a pretense of jogging his memory, then smiling, shook his head in the negative once more.

“That is most unfortunate.” With a despondent look on his face, Brandt sighed. 

After downing another cup, he dejectedly leaned back in his chair then explained further, “I had neglected to mention it earlier, but Kochi, because of an accident he’d suffered shortly before his evil deed, had his right arm severed at the elbow.  This description was given to me as my only other way of identifying him.”  His eyes once more burrowed deep into Svein, persistent on receiving a response from the other.

“I regret that I am still unable to offer you any hope, despite my sincerest wish to do so.”, came Svein’s standard, unruffled, genuine reply.

“I was just hoping.” Brandt pursed his lips, in feigned dismay. “Unfortunately, like so many, in this god-forsaken town not a single clue has surfaced to give me scant hope.  At least in other towns, other cities, we were led to people bearing some resemblance to Kochi, to some renegade cripples with one arm.”

We?...  Svein nevertheless, curbed his inquiry. 

Was Brandt’s other companion, the one the waiter told of earlier, also in pursuit of his uncle?  For, no mistaking it, it was Stark they were after.  These facts, the twin sword, the right arm severed at the elbow all tallied perfectly. Then again, it was inconceivable that Stark would have ever consented to being the pupil of a master who was once an advocate of the usurper Sovereign.  The subsequent accounts were equally implausible and thoroughly contrary to Stark’s nature!

Svein for a brief spell had mulled over the validity of Brandt’s claims and the alleged ignominy; this lapsed judgment and the unpardonable slur, undeserved dishonor to Stark’s integrity, both angered and at the same time shamed Svein.

 Curtailing these negative emotions however, he stole a discreet glance at Brandt. 

Oh, he is shrewdly deceptive.  Even his bearing does not correspond to what he claims.  Despite this disguise of plain clothes, he looks to have grown up amidst affluent surroundings. I would venture a guess: an aristocrat perhaps?  But why concoct such an elaborate story to slander Uncle’s good name and to entrap him? Surely this was more than an expanded attempt to recover a sword or settle an old (score) vendetta.  What was Brandt after? 

Svein could not shake the ominous feeling that there were far graver consequences at stake here.  He quickly estimated the time: “Uncle has lived in seclusion for at least the course of my life, some 20 years and Brandt was, according to him, only four years my senior.  How could one so young bear such contempt for Uncle and be seeking him to exact revenge?”

For there was no mistaking it, there had been that pure, unadulterated hatred and lust for vengeance disclosed in Brandt’s eyes at every mention of Kochi- clearly a fabricated name for Stark?

Though Svein wished to pry further into this matter to learn this stranger’s true aim in seeking out Stark, he abstained in favor of caution.  He was obliged nevertheless, in carrying out this charade to its natural conclusion and though this deceptive game sickened him at heart, he intoned his sympathies and understanding for the other’s plight, adding that no offense was taken to Brandt’s persistence.

From the start, Brandt had this nagging gut feeling that, at long last, he’d been poised at the heels of his allusive prey, a good solid whiff perhaps and he would uncover him- but nothing untoward had happened to substantiate this prior hunch. Subsequently, observing the sincerity of Svein’s tone and manner, Brandt had to concede that once more, he had followed a false instinct. 

 “Why, this man before me is no more knowledgeable or formidable than the local thug (ruffian).  Now, if only Audun here was some years younger, then I may have some slight cause to persist”. Brandt nodded absentmindedly, “but he is clearly a good four years older than the one I seek!”

Suddenly tiredness weighed heavily on Brandt.  Lapsing into brooding, he reflected impatiently and indignantly on how much time he had wasted questioning all manner of denizens of this and other such detestable outposts at the far fringes of the Empire, how he had searched every city, town, district or settlement all to no avail! 

As he downed several more cups in swift succession however, his expression changed momentarily, and his lips drew a most sinister smile.  Brandt’s thoughts had reverted back to Duan, the cold, unfeeling assassin who was his accomplice, his so-called companion. 

Had he been with him at this time, this so-called Audun Colden would not have lived to see another day? 

Looking away, again his lips parted in that venomous wry grin, uncovering perfect teeth as a fleeting picture of the cut up, maimed bodies of those who were merely suspected of knowing something flashed before his mind’s eye.

 “So, what if they had proven to be a false lead?” Duan had argued the point coldly, “In the end had it not been better to have snuffed out their miserable existence than, on the off chance, let the real one escape?”

 Of the two of them, Brandt was the one better natured; Duan, totally at odds with everyone, seemed to thrive on bloodshed and pain.  Unfortunate were those who crossed paths with him.  Indeed, Duan was incapable of feeling remorse or compassion, but Brandt needed him and without him he could not realize his wish.  For that reason, Brandt had put up with a lot and had always given in to the other’s whims and incessant demands.

Svein had persisted with this discourse, hoping in all that time to uncover the truth about Brandt and his accomplice; however, Brandt was quite adept at this game of deception, and had not let on any useful info; furthermore, increasingly seen as a dangerous adversary, Svein decided now to swiftly end this fruitless exchange.

Coincidentally just then, the innkeeper came to his rescue. “Gentlemen, now please,” he said plaintively, gesticulating in part as he approached them somewhat timidly, fearful of an angry response from Brandt, “Begging your pardon sirs, but please finish your drinks.  We are way past our closing time.  See, everyone else is already gone.”

Startled from his dismal contemplation, Brandt did not take this intrusion too kindly and threw a threatening glance at the innkeeper, which sent the annoyed proprietor, nevertheless, with lowered head, scurrying away to a safe distance.

 Cursing under his breath at this wasted time, Brandt, with a wry smile, turned to address Svein and, after some perfunctory words of farewell and other such, rose to his feet and, ignoring the waiters who rushed to get out of his way, exited the Inn.

Svein, following suit, rose from his seat and went outside, for supposedly a solitary walk to clear his head, deliberately choosing the opposite direction than Brandt.

Soon he was swallowed up by the dark, moonless night. A change in weather, and the sweeping, cooling winds had blanketed the sky with ominous clouds.  Using this to his advantage, he moved stealthily, with the agility of a cat, far above the ground.

 

(END OF SECTION 5)

 

 

 

THE WEDDING - SECTION 4

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC

THE WEDDING - SECTION 4

 

Svein’s heart weighed with trepidation, he advanced (sped his steps) towards Seno’s steed, peeking over his shoulder only once more to reaffirm Yagu Dorka’s position.  Yagu Dorka rooted to the spot, had trailed Svein’s advance with his keen eyes, his projected passive facial expression altering gradually to seething hatred.  No sooner was Svein hidden from view by a rise when, grumbling to himself, he turned tail and headed to the front.

“Why should I spare their miserable, unworthy lives so they can go on pillaging and molesting innocent people? After the initial robbery, when there is no more to be had, did they not carry the intent to murder me also? My life would have been forfeited, if it wasn’t for this good hearted but very, very naïve hero. No, I am not so gullible. The authorities, bah, piss on them!” He spat on the ground. “Hah, a good bribe and these ruffians will be back on my case, to finish me off properly this time. No, they must not be given the least chance!”

First and foremost, he went searching for a blade or an axe and found his old trusty machete, where he’d laid it by the covered well, he nodded.

Then donning a disarming smile, he retraced his steps back to the ruffians and, he hauled them one at a time; each still bound and gagged, to around the back to the side of that (fount) well.  Not expecting any ill fate, Roux and Koji had given him no resistance.  Still, it was almost more than he could handle. After each trek he sat on the ground to catch his breath, panting heavily.

 Damn them! He cursed under his breath.  Must they be so heavy, pigs that they are? 

When he regained his strength, he then went over, fetched the weapon that had been hidden from their view. As he approached, brandishing the machete, murder registering in his pupils and a sinister smile on his lips, the hapless victims each had squirmed and struggled in vain to free their bonds. Roux had remained defiant to the bitter end, cursing under his breath; but the other, Koji, mistakenly believing he might affect his fate, had tried all he could in muffled voice to plead for his life.

“No use begging,” Yagu Dorka ‘s heart already turned to stone, he’d responded with the scornful retort, “he gave you his word, but I did not.  I will show you the same mercy you would have shown me!”  Without pity or conscience, he thereafter partially slit Koji’s throat and hurled the dying ruffian’s body straight down the well right after Rou’s - committing both to a slow, agonizing death.

When Svein returned after meeting success, leading the steed, he noted at once the absence of the prisoners from the spot where he had left them.

“Have they escaped?” He questioned Yagu Dorka with a dubious look.

“No, how could they, with bonds that secure?  I just moved them to the back, by the well, where they would not be so easily spotted.  Fine horse, isn’t he, son?  Well, I’m ready.  Let us mount and be on our way.”  The old man grabbed hold of Svein’s sinewy arm and steered him away from his intended aim.

“The winds might pick up later. They are, of course, placed at a safe distance from the possible kindling remnants of smoldering fire?” Svein felt he had to ask, desperately trying not to guess at their true fate.

“Yes, yes, the fire will not hurt them.  For heaven’s sake, why worry about them so much, as if they were kinfolk?  They really don’t deserve that much consideration.”

Suppressing the serious misgivings in his heart, Svein chose not to investigate any further and, in a leap, mounted the horse.  He then reached out and hauled Yagu Dorka up to a seat behind him.

 “Now hold on tight, elder.  We must ride swiftly to gain the advantage.” he said sternly, just before galloping into the distance.

The old man’s heart nearly jumped into his mouth.  In his fright he wound his arms tightly around Svein’s waist and, trembling, burrowed his face into Svein’s back.  He remained in this state of fright even after they’d slowed down, trotting over uneven ground.

“You can relax your grip now, elder.” Svein had to remind him.  But Yagu Dorka’s heart was still palpitating fast, he hung on tighter than ever.  After a spell he gradually relaxed his grip as his fear of falling eased. Besides, his arms had started to ache something fierce.

 You did that on purpose…. Trying to give me a heart attack! More himself now and feeling that Svein had suspected him of what he had done, he conspired to prove his innocence by airing his grievance with an indignant voice, “We really should have killed them, you know. Leave no loose ends I say.  It was wrong of us to leave them behind to perhaps succeed in freeing themselves.  What if they were rescued sooner than we figured, and hastened to trouble us, well before we rescued my grandson?  Aye, that won’t be any joke!”

Suppressing his rising temper at this blatant deception, Svein responded with an even tone, “That is not likely to happen, elder.  We are making good time.” 

But irked Yagu Dorka would not let the matter rest.  In response to Yagu Dorka’s subsequent provocation, his dishonest, manipulative ways, Svein’s curt (brusque) response was unavoidable: “And I say enough blood was shed!  Besides, rendered incapacitated, killing them at such a state would be deemed nothing less than a murder.  How can we expect Heaven’s help, if we embrace evil and practice unjust, wrongful ways?”

“You are too naive, my son.  Bandits aren’t just misdirected men.  They have no morality or scruples and all the time they deliberately cause injury to ordinary folks for money and other such material gains. They prey on the weak, the vulnerable and all decent beings. They are no better than wild beasts.  They should all be done away with, exterminated like the vermin they are, if you ask me, wiped off the face of the earth!  You are wasting your sympathy on the likes of them?  But, why argue the point, since we are well on our way?  Eh well, I hope we won’t regret your good hearted, humane decision later.”

Svein made no reply to this pretend self-righteous sermon. Yagu Dorka had no shame, no shame at all!

Biting his tongue, Svein simply glared on ahead, and then once more, spurred the horse into full gallop.

Frightened to death over again that he might fall, the old man abandoned his next line of argument and tightened his strong grip around Svein’s waist.

After a quarter of a day’s travel, the farm dwelling in question finally came into view. 

Yagu Dorka, in his hopeful anticipation forgot his fatigue, his aching bones, his resentment of Svein, and, donning a broad smile he, with eager eyes, awaited Svein’s help to dismount.

The stern, robust farmer had harbored some misgivings when the innkeeper had approached him regarding the sale of the boy but, since the price had been irresistible and well within his means, and since he needed another farmhand at worst, or, at best, a prospective groom for one of his multitudes of girl children, he had therefore rushed to conclude the deal.

The innkeeper, a front for the bandits, had fed him the story that the boy’s father was an unfortunate traveler who had fallen gravely ill while staying at the inn and soon after arriving had succumbed to death.  In lieu of the lodging and medical expenses that had been incurred the innkeeper had, therefore, put the boy up for sale to recover some of his losses. 

Now this sort of transaction, resulting from the misfortunes of stranded travelers, occurred frequently enough with no trouble trailing after it, so the appearance of two strangers, who declared that the boy had been abducted by bandits and was theirs to claim, sent the farmer into seething rage, fear and regret.

 It was mainly due to Svein’s distinguished, commanding presence and his fine manner of speech, that they were at all received and allowed to air their grievances.  Had the old man taken this journey alone, he would have forfeited his life before single utterance of a word. 

The farmer would have sooner killed him as a trespasser or a suspected bandit, or simply driven Yagu Dorka away from the premises, professing ignorance of any such transaction and quickly disposing of the incriminating evidence, then plain turning the boy over to him.  As it were, compelled to admit ownership, the farmer still griped (complained) about the idea of returning the boy; insisting on being first compensated for the incurred expenses- such as his time, food, and funds.

 “Or we can take up the matter with the innkeeper or the authorities.” he bluffed.

Svein, wishing to end the matter quickly, asked the farmer to state his price for the boy’s redemption.

Since it was also in the best interests of the farmer to settle the matter quickly, fearing worse trouble in the wake of these two, he promptly quoted an exaggerated amount.

Before Svein could respond the old man hastily interjected, “Please, son, allow me.  He is, after all, my kin and you have done so much for me already.”

 But, as he reached into his purse, Yagu Dorka could not help but murmur: “The idea!  Paying to get back one’s own grandson!  He is but another robber!”

 Fortunately, his words were barely audible; otherwise, it would have simply added fuel to the farmer’s ire and growing discontent. 

The other, seeing the size of Yagu Dorka’s purse, angrily reflected on how he could have milked this old man for still more.

The wretched condition of the little boy when he was returned produced fresh tears in Yagu Dorka’s eyes and rehashed acute resentments towards the bandits and this undoubtedly cruel farmer.  Still, choosing not to make an issue of it, they took their leave without delay.

“Elder, from here on, you shall not need my help.  For your safety’s sake I think that you should make haste and travel out of this district.  My presence will only slow you down.”  Svein dismounted, leaving the old man, cradling his grandson, alone on the horse. 

“Hang onto the straps, Elder and gently tug, for slow advance. The steed is well tempered, but whatever you do, don’t kick his sides with your feet. I now bid you farewell, elder; go with Heaven’s blessings and may you prosper in your new life.”

So, saying Svein veered and made his way towards the hills for a shortcut.

“Eyyy!!! Stop…Come back! I don’t know how to ride…. And I’ve yet to thank you properly for all that you have done for me!” Yagu Dorka shouted after Svein.

 “That’s not necessary, elder.” Svein shouted back, looking over his shoulder, as he continued with his swift strides.

“Come back, son!  How can I take the horse, too?  It rightfully belongs to you.  And what about the remainder of the ransom money?”, again Yagu Dorka insisted.

“You will have more need of both than I. But that reminds me, when you are at considerable distance from here, before you reach a safe town, you should also consider releasing Chieftain Seno’s horse in the countryside. A recognizable mount could beget you, unwarranted trouble.   Now, please ride on to take advantage of the daylight hours.”  Svein then picking up speed rounded the hill.

The child, not understanding his grandfather’s anguish, began crying in fright. 

“Hush, child.  There’s nothing to be afraid of, not anymore.”  When Yagu Dorka next raised his head to look at Svein he found the young man had already disappeared from view.  Through the tears that misted his eyes the old man investigated the void and whispered his heartfelt gratitude to Svein; then, as directed he gently tugged at the reins (strap), and let out a deep sigh of relief when the horse began trotting along on the main road.

                                                                                  ~

                              

Svein had taken the path through the hills to make up for the lost time.  On his return he would, if he could help it, abstain from saying anything at all his escapade- if the sequence of events that had transpired could be called that- to his discerning uncle.  He had blatantly defied Stark’s rule of non-interference; and he was not entirely sure how best to explain this infringement (breach, violation) so as not to disappoint or anger Stark.

                                                                                       ~

                                                                                                                     

“Well, are you going to buy the horse or not?”  The mixed tones of agitation and desperation in the steward Kurin’s voice snapped Svein back from his temporary distraction.

“Oh, may I again inquire after your last quoted price?” Svein quickly getting a grip on himself politely asked.

“All right, all right, but you sure do drive a hard bargain.  I will lower my price another fifty, but that’s it.  That’s my final price, take it or leave it.”

“Then I’ll take it”, Svein announced in an even tone, after a brief pause, masking his bursting delight.

Grumbling, huddling their heads together, the few remaining spectators dispersed, some pitying Svein, others calling him ‘stupid’ behind his back.

 

A commencement of a strange conversation from shadows just then piqued Svein’s intrigue and so discretely, he poised (prepared) to listen to the rest.

“Shall we pursue him?” A seedy well-hidden character under the eaves, subsequently asked another.

“Whatever for, oh you mean the horse?  No, it’s not worth our while.” The taller one of the two shrugged.

“Granted, it has some strikes against it, but it is still a good stallion.” The stout shorter fellow insisted:” Why, if it weren’t for the mark and the color, it could rival the leader Seno’s horse.”

“Boy, are you way off!  You mean to tell me after all this time you still can’t tell the difference in breeds?”

“All right, no need to rub it in. One mistake, that’s all it was…one lousy mistake and you’ve never let me forget it! I suppose you’ve never erred, your highness the proficient wrangler.”

“Speaking of Seno” the other ignored the curt rebuff, “have you heard what had happened to him?”

Nodding, the first one answered, “Yes, I heard, a terrible, terrible thing. They found what was left of his partially burned headless carcass, and that’s because the winds had shifted. They found two more corpses in the bottom of the well. That took some doing; one had to be lowered down there with a lit candle to identify the cadavers. Fortunately, the well had been dry.”

Drawing nearer, the tall sinewy one lowered his voice to say, “Our chief was furious and dispatched men everywhere to find the culprits of this massacre, suspecting a group of at least ten.  If you ask me, though, I think it was the work of the rival Micko Gang, and they would have needed twenty or more to help vanquish them all in that gruesome way.  You know how skilled Seno and Roux were, and according to the reliable grapevine, there had been five in all that had set out for that old fool’s hut that day.  I’m convinced the stuff with the old man was but a ruse; this was a well-planned ambush, if you ask me?”

“I am with you on that, though according to the farmer that the alleged grandson had been sold to, he swears only two, a formidable youth and the old geezer that had shown up in mid-day I think, to demand the child’s return and to rob him. The farmer had complied suspecting also that the rest of the gang must have stayed well hidden in the small woods nearby ready to pounce, though I can’t imagine why?”

 “Yeah, why stop there, why not rush that place and raise it to rubble or ashes, also after pillaging…why be satisfied with, though I grant it, quite a sizeable sum… the farmer’s entire life’s savings.”

“You think he’s in on it too?”

“We’ll soon know. The magistrate is landing a hand also, dispatching spies everywhere to get at the culprits. And I hear there’s been a bounty put on their heads.”

Gradually their voices had drifted (melted) into the distance within the dark alleyway, well beyond the reach of Svein’s sharp ears.

“You wouldn’t be having second thoughts now, would you sir? A deal is a deal!”  Meanwhile the impatient steward drawing Svein’s attention anew egged Svein on towards the completion of the transaction.  “I’ll even throw in the saddle for free, a sort of good measure.” he boisterously declared as Svein was about to sign the papers.  Then, no sooner had he received the correct amount and transferred the ownership documents over to Svein that he took to his heels and disappeared entirely from view.  He did not wait to see the result of Svein’s attempt at mounting the steed, nor did he care.  He was not about to stick around for the inevitable repercussions from the new owner, who’d without fail, like so many other prospective buyers had, be thrown off and consequently suffer physical injury, as well, the effrontery to his dignity.

Had he stuck around he would have witnessed the rarest occurrence, akin to a miracle. For this rider had hung on…. for how long, no one could say.

As it were, right from the start Svein had showed unusual daring by throwing away the riding crop that the steward had handed him, though he had approached the high-spirited horse with some caution.  He first patted the mane and imparted a few soothing words into the animal’s ear, as if in communication, then, setting foot in the stirrup, mounted the horse.  He had barely enough time to grasp the reins and sound the command to advance when the steed suddenly took off at a gallop. 

Market place, then the actual town, in a blinking of an eye, diminishing from rear view; as with lightning speed, oblivious to Svein’s commands, the steed, bounded over fences, rocks, thick bushes, ponds and other such obstructions, and cut a path under and over low-hanging tree branches.  Subsequently, with purposeful intent, the charger (horse) tried his best to throw his rider off his back.  But Svein, with skill and equal persistence, had hung on for the duration, fastening his grip on the reins and (his legs) clinging tightly to the animal.

After countless hours spent at the gallop the stallion, now soaked in sweat, finally conceded and came to an abrupt halt in the middle of nowhere.  Svein dismounted and sat on the ground to catch his breath, trusting the animal not to run away.  The arduous journey had left him drained of energy as well, but he remained neither angry nor resentful of the horse.  Quite to the contrary, the steed’s defiant spirit had won his approval and respect.

When his breathing had returned to normal Svein threw a sidelong glance at the stallion and burst into loud, hearty laughter; the horse in turn reciprocated the same, by whinnying and thumping his right foot on the ground.  Then an unusual thing happened.  The horse moved right up to Svein and, with his hot breath assailing Svein’s back, gently nudged him, clearly wanting another go at it.

“All right, I’ll oblige, but I dare you to show me more of your tricks.  Feel free to test my stamina and skill against your own and fear no reprisals.  But if I win, you must admit that I am worthy (person to be in charge) and accept me as your master.”

As if the horse had understood this new dare, he nodded his head and whinnied then stood perfectly still for Svein to mount him.

No sooner was Svein in the saddle than the horse shook the flecks of foam from his mouth then reared, bucked and, when that did not work, fell into full gallop once more.  Going faster than an arrow just released from the bow they raced through the strange countryside on and on, their path eventually illuminated, only by the countless stars that dotted the sky and the glorious full moon that looked on with his curious smile.

 With his unyielding nature the stallion did his utmost to exhaust, and at the same time goad Svein, essaying all manner of tricks to throw Svein off of his back.  During the incessant ride, at times low-lying branched grazed Svein’s back, while at other times the horse himself fell victim to his own tricks, with Svein barely escaping injury by straddling the horse’s side.

 In the end the horse had to submit to Svein’s will and acknowledged him as a worthy master.

Standing in the middle of a field astride the horse, Svein looked at the deep night sky.  “New master, new name, I think I shall call you Fiery Comet.”, Svein sounded his decision in the horse’s ear, receiving a whinny and nod of the head in compliance.

                                                                                

With pride swelling in his chest, Svein was able to reach the cabin after several days riding and had called out to his uncle, anxious to show off his treasure.

Stark was most impressed and wanted to know at once how Svein had come by such a superior breed of war-horse.

Concealing some facts, while embellishing others, Svein had told his uncle the whole story.  Stark, though aware that his nephew had not been entirely truthful with him, had not dwelt on it and allowed Svein a moment of respite.

 

                                                                  ~

(END OF SECTION 4)

A GALLERY OF IMAGES SHOWCASING THE CHARACTERS FROM LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC

 

ROUX

SENO

KOJI

YARI

YAGU DORKA

MISA AND AKE

FIERY COMET

YASMIN

KURIN

YERED

MURO

FAYET

LUKON

ABOT BOQAST TIZANZENN

TERON HEDENKO

KWONSU NON

DAZONG HEDENKO

LUELING AND SHAO

DENG HEDENKO ( COMANDER)

LORD DENG HEDENKO

KING MURONG DI

STARK

SVEIN

IMMORTAL MASTER OF MOKAK

CHENKO HAKEN

HAIXI YUENEN

MOKAK

ZIANKO

ZANDAR KUNTZU

TUFAN WUGAN

YOANSU

JIENSE (ON FLIGHT)

JIENSE

ENSA

KAIMU