THE STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 34

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 34

At sunrise of the subsequent day with all accounts at the Inn quickly settled, Mouro and his company (Kade Luir and Dag Diez) quietly departed.  Reaching the dirt road they then relentlessly surged forward at lightning speed leaving in their wake a trail (cloud) of dust. Mouro, with secret purpose in mind,  led his group through a different sort of paths (that snaked over a rougher terrain) than the ones he had followed the previous night; nevertheless, despite the precarious topography, they had pushed on relentlessly not stopping to eat or rest until, finally, just before dusk, they arrived at the specific stone bridge, spanning a bottomless chasm.

 There they met up with three mounted guards who had taken an alternate route. Mouro frostily nodded to the fair-haired guard in acknowledgement, a sort of greeting, ignoring the two stalwarts, heavily armed, tall guards flanking him. Mouro held in check his fury, of the two guards’ obvious failure.

01- FAIR HAIRED GUARD

No words were necessary, all dismounting at once, Mouro in the lead, they cautiously led their mount across the bridge.  As they advanced a certain (foreboding) amount of trepidation, however, filled their hearts when no one accosted them on the opposite side; instead, an eerie silence prevailed, heightening the tension of the air. With only the sound of their footsteps filling their ears, those in front cautiously pushed open the half standing iron gates to the temple and stepped across the threshold. All at once (suddenly), the stench of death assailed their noses as they were struck by the sight of countless maimed and mutilated corpses littering the courtyard, floating in pools of their own blood.

"What treachery is this?" The fair-haired guard pointed at the corpses and glared at Mouro.

"Why do you ask me?  This atrocity is clearly the work of the assassin, Zonar." Mouro sneered as he froze Diez's hand on his sword hilt with a commanding glance.  “Not yet!” It spoke. “He’ll be dealt with soon enough.”

"No, this is not Zonar's work.  These men were all murdered by a coward, one who poisoned them before mutilating their corpses.  There's no use denying it, I tracked you here last night.  Your game is up.  Call the rest of your vile dogs out of hiding."  Fradel Rurik Korvald, bristling, with fiery contempt in his eyes, rebuked Mouro.

Checking his surprise, Mouro glared for a moment at the two companion guards of Fradel, seething with burning rage for their incompetence which had now placed him in this predicament; but then in a change of heart, he pinned his wrathful gaze back on Fradel.

"How dare vermin like you call me a coward to my face?  I'll wrest your quivering liver up through your throat and make you eat it with those words." 

Mouro’s hand involuntarily clasped his sword's hilt, itching to strike Fradel down right then and there; but curiosity getting the better of him, he released his grip and, suppressing his fury, with a scathing sneer, he coldly demanded: "How long have you known?"

02- (PINNING HIS GAZE) MOURO KERR

"From the start;" came Fradel's wry response.  "I knew I was not being led to a meeting with my benefactor, Zonar.  I went along; just the same, to see how far you and your goons would be willing to go."

 Fradel, with not a shred of fear, knowingly eyed his companion guards and then cast his gaze to the high compound walls circling him that had just then become dotted with armed foes.

Fifty-nine formidable warrior guards clad in full armor, specifically picked for their competence to contest Zonar's prowess, brandishing their swords, stood their ground, in readiness for the anticipated order for the onslaught.

It quickly (dawned on) became clear to Fradel that these were the inferred agents in the previous night's conversation between Mouro and Hecun, only they were planted, not by Micen as the former had claimed, but rather by the culprit, cunning Mouro himself.  Weaving the web of treachery ever tighter they, accordingly, had spread wild rumors and suspicions about the wine to the intended victims.  But when, in turn, they were invited by Hecun to partake of some, they had most willingly guzzled it down, avoiding instead the laced water from the well to conclude the vile, treacherous deed of barbarically annihilating the incapacitated where they had fallen.

Now, the instant the armed foe had sprung into view from their hiding places, Fradel had, with lightning speed, turning their weapons against them, vanquished (bested) those formidable assassins that had accompanied him. He then with his unyielding, unflinching, solid defensive stance (posture) faced Mouro.

A momentary shudder brushed against Mouro's heart; for unarmed as he was, Fradel Rurik Korvald still looked most formidable.

 Compounding his consternation, Mouro recalled just then Fradel's unusual doggedness (grit) and fortitude (resilience) in the court.  How when he was on the brink, incensed, chained though he was, he had strained his bonds almost to the breaking point.

“A fine, heroic, picture you represent.”  Disregarding his strong premonition of doom, Mouro, nevertheless emboldened by their numbers, simply sneered.

 He threw his head back and laughed uproariously next.  "What gall!”

“Hah; Clearly your benefactor has abandoned you to fend for yourself; what makes you think that you can take us all on, (unarmed) bare handed?" he scoffed.

"I have righteousness as my armor and weapon; that is more than enough. All your evil ways will end here! “Fradel responded sternly.

"And who appointed you judge?" Mouro indignantly spat on the ground.

 "You scholars disgust me, always spouting useless, empty rhetoric! Why not just surrender to your fate, a pretty boy like you, and get down on your knees to beg for mercy?"  Dag Diez just then interjected scowling. He next threw a quick knowing smirk at Mouro.

03- DAG DIEZ

 Before Fradel could respond Mouro, highly incensed by Dag Diez's insubordination, had struck him a severe blow across the mouth with the back of his fist, knocking loose the guard's incisor teeth. The shamefaced Dag Diez, swallowing his fury, spat the teeth to the ground; next, submissively wiping the blood trickling off his chin, he grunted an insincere apology to Mouro.

Ignoring him entirely, Mouro had instead locked his burning gaze on Fradel. Seeing Fradel now in a different light, Mouro (with his hand signal) forestalled the order for the assault and fixedly (keenly) at present, scrutinized this mystifying, worthy adversary.

A scholar…  He looked more Like a...  Mouro could not rightly grasp the… thought.

Disregarding the feeling of an ominous shadow falling over his own self perceived omnipotence and coveting Fradel's noble air; with intense curiosity trampling reason, he scathingly hissed:

"So, you’d anticipated me all along, yet you willingly walked right into this ambush.  That makes you either a very courageous man or a foolhardy one.  But tell me first, since you are so smart at figuring things out, did you also guess that, to create a diversion, the humane physician Sullen Adams would be sacrificed, condemned to slow, torturous death in that iron cage in your stead?"

Mouro had pointed at the discarded, upturned (overturned) prisoner’s iron cage off to the side; but then, answered his own query (question) with a gloat, as he circled Fradel menacingly.

 "No, I see you did not.  To tell the truth I felt no real animosity at all towards Sullen personally, when I presented (offered, posed) the suggestion to Micen Do. Mouro smirked.

04- PHYSICIAN SULLEN ADAMS

“Yes, he was rather an amiable fellow, and we are kinsmen, after all but," he shrugged his shoulders dispassionately; "he brought this on himself.  He had become expendable you see.  Foolishly ignoring all good advice, he kept on preaching justice and morality to Micen and me, as if in such precarious times that it mattered, and worse still, he always stuck up for the underdog, amassing (accruing) unwarranted enmity (rancor, malice)."

Mouro pursed his lips mockingly, "He was supportive and obliging to you as well, was he not?  Well, I had to repay him for his courtesy to you, since you were indisposed.  You scholars, so righteous and honor bound, you always insist on settling all old accounts (scores).”

“Do you wish to know how I did it, how I paid him back in full on your behalf?  No need to thank me for it."  Mouro threw his head back and laughed menacingly.

 "Oh, but it was entirely, my pleasure, your honor (eminence)," then slightly inclined his head mockingly.

 "Yes, you require details…But I'll be succinct.  After his visit with you I had his tongue cut out, his face mutilated and then, bound up like a pig about to be taken to the market for slaughter, he was stuffed in there, to rot in your stead.  But then, it was a strategic (importance) imperative that he took your place and, “Mouro smirked. “Also, that you now perish here, by my hand."

Mouro, facing Fradel squarely (directly) now, brandished his sword.  "Now I will double my pleasure by doing the same to you, only worse! I'll savor your death in bits.  My sword will split you asunder like a ripe melon and leave you swimming in your own entrails."

The absence of fear or emotional reaction of any kind on the stone (wooden) face of Fradel Rurik Korvald infuriated Mouro to the point of total exasperation.

“This is truly a momentous occasion, well deserving of attribution from posterity, for within the next few minutes the overrated illustrious Fradel Rurik Korvald will cease to exist.  He will be no more!" Mouro had uttered the last sentence in resounding voice, disguised as boastful proclamation, as the specific command for the armed force that had already encircled Fradel, to stand ready for the assault (onslaught).

"The only thing you will savor will be your own end."  Fradel's retort was, at first, in an even tone. "By your own vile deeds, you have flouted Heaven's will.  The time for retribution is near at hand, yet you are too blind to see it.  Very soon, in the afterlife, you will be judged and asked to account for your abhorrent crimes against humanity.  Instead of boasting about your prowess, you should be on your knees, trembling in fear, and begging for redemption."

As he’d continued, Fradel's voice by degrees had grown in intensity, thundering across the ground to send cold shivers down Mouro's spine and make his hair stand on end.

"Enough said!"  Mouro regained his grip on himself then, on his hand signal, simultaneously with the rest of the guards, launched a deadly assault on the scholar Fradel.

Fradel repulsed them all.  Dodging and swerving to avert the many murderous, repeated blows, the strikes from swords, spears and halberds as they were thrust at him from all directions, now on the defensive, now on the offensive, in a maneuver unseen before and waylaid dozens of them in a flash.

05--FRADEL (NEVETSECNUAC)

Then in an astonishing turn he delivered a fierce, swift kick directly to Mouro's chest which hurled Mouro up into the air and, flipping him over, landed him flat on his rear end on top of the others who had fallen.  His sword flew from his hand, landing upright a few feet away.  Had Mouro not worn his armor under his civil garb, he would not have been able to get up off the ground in one piece.

  As it was, his ribs were unbroken and only his pride was hurt.

"All of you stay back!  He's mine!"

 Mouro fiercely bellowed his order as he rushed to pick up his sword from the ground.  Then he charged (on horseback) like a mad bull straight for Fradel Rurik Korvald, wielding the sword in zigzag, across and interlaced styles.

The well-armed guards, silently nursing their grievance, picked themselves up off the ground and, in compliance, joined the others to assemble into a tight, impenetrable cordon encircling the combatants.  There, with blood boiling and burning eyes pinned to Fradel Rurik Korvald, they studiously traced his every maneuver, his every move during the ensuing hours of fierce fighting.  Avidly they searched to find any weakness in Fradel's combat style, but he appeared to be invincible and continued to be just as lethal without a weapon as his opponent was when armed.

Mouro was a competent fighter in his own right, with an untarnished record of victories over many worthy opponents and famed champions.  Mouro's style of fencing, especially his waterwheel and reverse dragonfly styles, was superb; still, it soon became apparent that he was experiencing difficulty in keeping Fradel Rurik Korvald at bay, let alone in besting him.  Whirling like a devil, Mouro struck, thrust and hacked at Fradel repeatedly but all his efforts were in vain.  After ten rounds, as hungry as his blade was to taste blood, it could not effect (realize) even so much as a scratch on Fradel Rurik Korvald.  Worse still, while the scholar had maintained his strength, Mouro's effort looked to be waning.

When Mouro's blade, meeting resistance under Fradel's grip, suddenly snapped in two in the midst of the fierce fighting, Mouro quickly jumped out of the combat circle to retrieve another weapon.  Diez and the rest of the guards, anxious to display their might, seized this opening and, brandishing their weapons, were spontaneously spurred into action, launching offensive after offensive.  As they continued to engage Fradel, Mouro, having flung aside his broken ancestor sword, pried loose the good sword from the half-severed hand of Hecun then charged back in fury through the lines to join in the fray and again combat Fradel Rurik Korvald head on.

Just then on the opposite side Diez, taking advantage of the general mayhem, had ducked and swerved fiercely to get into a position to fiercely thrust his sword at Fradel's lower back.  Meeting a resistance, he received instead a serious blow to the head which then knocked him to the ground, unconscious.

06 -FRADEL (NEVETS)

 Mouro, deflecting the second blow aimed in his direction, managed to fall behind the lines of fighting men then rushed to Diez's side.

 Instead of lending him assistance, reviving him or pulling him aside, as everyone expected he might do, he instead severed Diez's head from his limp body in one swift stroke of his blade then, stepping squarely over the headless corpse, pushed on ahead through the line of combat to launch his deadly assault on Fradel Rurik Korvald anew.

 In the ferocity of the struggle, no one had stopped to make sense of this treachery except for Fradel, who readily understood in light of what he had heard of Mouro's conversation the previous night.  Mouro's precaution had made it apparent that part of the tale he concocted for Hecun was the truth.

As the Earth was mantled in darkness, beacon fires had been lit to assist the crescent moon in lighting up the dilapidated temple grounds.  Meanwhile the fierce fighting continued without pause as the battle cries filled the silence of the night, disturbing the dead.

 Despite the guards' effective armors, their superiority of arms and their joint deadly assaults, their combined tactical offensives against one unarmed man whose wounds had not yet completely healed, with all the odds seemingly against Fradel Rurik Korvald he still managed to turn the tide of destiny in his favor.

Besides effectively repulsing their ineffective assaults, unyielding in strength and resilience as he was, he seemed to be endowed with a superhuman ability, striking swiftly like the wind.  So powerful were his maneuvers, his deflections and his counter assaults that, in a whirling feat, the blades of his opposition snapped asunder at the hilts, spears got entangled and halberds became totally ineffective as his fierce blows penetrated through the armor to vanquish them all.

 All, that is, except Mouro.

Realizing the hopelessness of their situation well before the rest, Mouro, in mortal fear for his life, created a diversion and had turned tail and ran, abandoning his men in the thick of battle to their own devices of defense or, more specifically, to their own impending doom but Fradel, disposing of the rest in one sweep, had raced after Mouro.

The culprit, Mouro, having previously scouted the temple grounds, knew well which turns to take or which path to follow to avoid the many pitfalls, perilous snares and booby-traps that the years of neglect and the ravages of nature had compounded.

 Having led Fradel to a maze of underground tunnels in the interior, designed specifically by the former denizens to entrap unwanted intruders, Mouro, weaving in and out, tried his utmost, though unsuccessfully, to shake Fradel off of his trail.

“He is so formidable; just my luck to come across someone so prodigious, so entirely relentless….” Suddenly an inexplicable fear filled Mouro’s heart realizing his own measure of inadequacies, limitations, while being pursued by this invincible foe.

 What kind of Scholar was he… endowed with such incessant superhuman qualities? Or was he a Demon posing as a scholar?

                                                                                   ~

 

(END OF SECTION 34- THE CONCLUSION OF THE STATE OF THINGS)

THE STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 16

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 16

At sunrise Fradel was nudged awake by Fiery Comet.  After washing his hands and face once more and helping himself to some dry rations, Fradel begrudgingly mounted Fiery Comet, expecting the worst.  Surprisingly, this time around, the stallion's pace was more moderate and only picked up speed once again, after a short noon recess.

With Fiery Comet's consistently high velocity, the odd and changing times of day they traveled and the short cuts the steed took through untamed wilderness, Fradel was unable to precisely determine the length of time or the distance they had covered.  Only the changing of the seasons, the brisker temperatures and the thinning air of higher altitudes gave Fradel the abstract notion that four months had elapsed since he had undertaken this long, arduous trek.

Endowed with good health to begin with, the trials of this journey had left their indelible mark on Fradel, transforming the once weak, pampered individual that he once was, into one now stronger, tougher, more resilient and rugged.  His bearing and appearance also attested to this change.

 In the beginning he had tried to maintain his civilized appearance and form by constant trimming of his hair and beard and by refusing to give in to the barbaric practices the wilds of nature had repeatedly inflicted upon him.  Obsessively clean, Fradel frequently showered in the rainstorms or bathed in the rivulets and pools they encountered.  But gradually, being of a practical mind, he had condescended to roughing it in the wild.

 In a relatively short time, he had adjusted to sleeping under a blanket of stars and bearing the increasingly severe, bone-chilling night temperatures.  Putting into using his extensive knowledge of botany, he supplemented his rations from the start with sustenance of wild roots, nuts, fruits and berries.  To add variety, he had even taught himself to snare a small game, which Fiery Comet obligingly herded into his makeshift traps.

 Like a kindred spirit to the original settlers of this land, Fradel became quite adept at skinning, cleaning and then cooking these small animals over an open fire.  Sometimes, as he was washing his meals, Fradel would gaze at his reflection in a still pond, noting his long beard and disheveled hair, and laugh boisterously.

 “Ha!  If those pompous, literate friends of mine could see me now!  Would they say such lofty things about the dignity of natural man?  They would be horrified!  Yet, I've never felt better, more alive, in my life.”

Sometimes, at the conclusion of his bathing, he would spread himself on the dry grass carpet of the riverbank and bask under the golden rays of the autumn sun as he let his adventurous spirit soar into the sky.  With a trembling heart he envisioned how, one day, he would gain the necessary skill and perhaps become as accomplished a fighter as his sworn brother, Nevetsecnuac.

 "Beware, then, all you wicked men!" he would shake his fist into the air.  His optimistic nature resisted any notion of a dismal fate for either himself or Nevetsecnuac.  He saw, parading before his mind's eye, Nevetsecnuac at the (head) lead of a great army of a million men, sweeping across the land, vanquishing all opposition and ridding this stricken, teetering nation of the pernicious, parasitic, bureaucratic vermin that were picking its bones.  Subsequently, lasting peace, stability, justice, then the rule of law and order would be restored to Wenjenkun under the wise and benevolent rule of Emperor Nevetsecnuac Alric Therran Valamir. 

"I will serve you faithfully, my Prince, until my dying day." he would sit up, fist over heart, and renew his vow.

By then a bond of mutual respect had developed between the scholar and the stallion, though Fiery Comet's stubborn will had, at times, tried Fradel's patience. Because the snow came earlier to the high altitudes and they were, by now, well out of reach of any serious danger, Fiery Comet abandoned the mountainous slopes and opted in favor of following the more level topography of the valley.  From time to time as the opportunity presented itself, and always guided by the stallion’s intuition, they took a reprieve at remote inns that infrequently crossed their path.

Still, at other times, Fiery Comet was alerted to some danger and refused to stop, breaking into a day-long gallop to bypass these establishments entirely.

These all too frequent periods between inns always spelled renewed hardship for Fradel, when his rations would be depleted, and he would be constrained to improvise and forage for sustenance as he had learned to do before.  He bore these difficulties without complaint, as he had learned for himself how true Nevetsecnuac's council regarding this horse had been.

 

(END OF SECTION 16)

 

THE STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 14

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 14

 

After Magistrate Yakove Zewe’s departure, Judicial Commissioner Birgergu Gunt had ridden his closed carriage at breakneck speed to the residence of his good friend the Provincial Governor Rexi, in order to submit a report.  On his arrival, however, he was informed that the Governor was away on a short pleasure trip and was expected to return in a fortnight.  After leaving a message with Rexi's trusted aide, Birgergu returned home not in the least bit ruffled by the distant smoke and the glow of the fire on the horizon; subsequently, he entered his study in order to manage some pertinent neglected matters. First, removing a specific document from his locked cabinet, he placed it under the lamplight and perused it carefully searching for key correlations (crucial parallels, any links) or discrepancies between its account of facts and the detailed report of the Magistrate’s.

All was in accord, save for one: the glowing description of the stranger's horse remarkably resembled Yakove's account of Fradel Rurik Korvald's mount.

 It could very well be a coincidence. This gave Birgergu no concern as, shrugging his shoulders slightly; he put the reports aside and picked up another document from the pile for examination. Despite his outward calm, however, he was inwardly fuming over the failure of the bandit's attack on Fradel, which now complicated matters greatly.  He frowned, thinking of the berating he would get from the hot-tempered Governor, and then his thoughts reverted to Fradel's letter.  Dropping everything, he rang for his trusted steward and verbally relayed his wishes to him.

That night a cloaked figure quietly stole through the darkened alleyways to rendezvous with another whom, scaling the city wall with a cat's agility, vaulted onto a waiting horse and galloped into the hills.

At dawn the next day Birgergu's trusted aide handed him a packet.  After examining the contents in his study, Birgergu donned (gave) a wry smile and cast both the letter and its wrapping into the fire.  A short time later the aide returned with an urgent message from the Governor and Birgergu made haste to respond to the summons.

                                                                                   ~

  "I don't want to know anything about it!" the Governor Rexi raged at Birgergu with icy finality.  "Just get it done!"

"It has already been taken care of, Your Excellency." Birgergu assured him.

"Then why do you bother me with this?"  Rexi shoved (thrust) the report in Birgergu's face. 

"I have no time for such trifles.  You are dismissed."  Before the Commissioner of Justice could even respond Rexi turned his back on him and stormed out of the anteroom.

 "I'm surrounded by incompetents.” His voice trailed off as he began to muse: 

How can I ever gain favor with His Excellency (Eunuch) Egil Viggoaries when a simple matter like this cannot even be resolved.  That idiot Birgergu assured me of Fradel Rurik Korvald's demise; that he would disappear without a trace.  He's as incompetent as that doltish brother-in-law of his.  They've both managed to botch things up oh, so perfectly!  I should have taken the matter into my own hands from the outset, instead of relying on that idiot.

His steps had led him into his private chambers.  Entering in a huff, he sank his heavy frame down on the couch.  Seeing his foul mood, the servants all kept their distance, all but hiding in the corners.

Seething in anger, Rexi reflected on the origins of the Eunuch's orders, the ongoing struggle between Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren and the Minister of Internal Security Egil Viggoaries, as each vied (contended) for significant clout (portion of power) at Imperial Court.  Viggoaries's latest attempt to undermine Lamont's inroads with the emperor’s favorite concubine, Lady Sejon, had led to the confidential word sent to him to oversee the Eunuch's interest in the matter of the Lady's favorite poet, Fradel Rurik Korvald.

 Rexi still remembered his delight at accepting the task and his assurances of prompt, favorable results.  Angrily he stamped his foot to purge his mind of the ugly, stubborn trepidation (foreboding) of the possibility of dud (failure), but the persistent, gnawing doubt and the consequences of a repetition of Birgergu's inability (incompetence) to set right what, by now, had gone so terribly wrong, so terrified him that all the blood drained from his face.  A cold shiver ran down Rexi’s spine, as his mind viciously fixed on the notorious reputation of Egil Viggories’s brutish intolerance of the least flop (failure). Springing to his feet, his brows stubbornly knit together, he paced the floor in agitation.

"What is it, darling?" the bewitching beauty but half his age mewed.  Her eyes still puffed from sleep; she had parted the bed curtains alluringly.  Though it was nearly noon, she yawned and stretched, settling back into sleep.

How beautiful she is!  This enchanting siren was a recent acquisition from his previous excursion.  Recalling the pleasures of last night, a smile grew on Rexi's lips, and the color returned hotly to his cheeks.  Going over, he gently sat at the edge of the bed.  Her sweet perfume assailed his nose, intoxicating his senses and enticing him to fondle her cheek once more.

"Oh, let me sleep!" she purred.  "I'm tired.  You wouldn't let me nap at all last night."

Grinning mischievously, he followed her under the covers as all his previous concerns and fury dissipated in her scent.

                                                                                       ~

At cockcrow that morning, as Birgergu received Fradel's letter, Magistrate Yakove and a few of his close associates had raised parting toasts to the scholar and had escorted him to the city gates.  Despite his protests, Fradel had been constrained to accept the protection of a squad of fifteen stout, well-armed bodyguards under the leadership of a lieutenant Zujor.  They were to deliver Fradel safely to the borders of the province.

With the walls of the great city long since lost in the distance, the party of seventeen traveled the lugubrious road at a canter for half a day, each cocooned in their thoughts.

 The uninspiring, desolate ground they traversed was but occasionally dotted with naked hillocks and the monotony left them riding in the miasma of a dream.

Fradel's reverie meandered to thoughts of his blood brother, Nevetsecnuac Alric Therran Valamir, and a troubled expression crossed his face.  To purge his heart of this longing and regret, he turned his gaze to the limitless sky, not heeding the refreshing wind that caressed his exposed neck.  He watched with misty eyes the white, billowing clouds as they converged, then parted, and then sailed (wisped) away across the sky.  When he lowered his gaze and looked ahead, he saw a small, scrub-covered knoll in their path, a precursor of a number of undulating, forested hills that skirted a great mountain whose peak seemed to scratch the clouds.

I don't remember ever having crossed such a mountain. Fradel reflected, surveying these strange surroundings.  Yet, if it was the guard's aim to injure me, they could have done it long ago.  Opportunities had abounded on that desolate path, so devoid of habitations or inns.

 He was about to query the stone-faced horseman alongside him regarding this choice of route when, quite precipitously, Fiery Comet halted and refused to advance any further.

Misconstruing this delay as Fradel's intent, Zujor left his scout and approached to reassure the scholar.

 "The reconnaissance bodes well.  The forest extending beyond these hills is clear of any danger.  If you desire, sir, we could take a short sojourn here and lunch in the shade of those trees."

Before Fradel could respond Fiery Comet, in another surprise move, suddenly bolted off on a course tangential to their line of advance (intended direction).

Zujor shouted Fradel to stop as he and the rest of the guards simultaneously fell into a hot pursuit.  That same instant a shrill whistle was heard from behind the woodland hill as a large body of armed brigands poured onto the road, brandishing their swords, charging by with the force of an avalanche out to bury its prey.

 Only the scout stood on his ground, a look of mute surprise froze on his face as his head hit the earth.  Alarmed, Zujor ordered two of his ablest men to forge ahead after the swiftly disappearing Fradel as he and the other dozen wheeled their horses about to bar the road at a defile between two hillocks.

"And just where do you think you're going, knave?" Zujor bellowed at the top of his voice.  So fierce was the lieutenant's cry that the point rider's horse stumbled, toppling its rider to the ground.

"Clear the way if you wish to live!" boomed the voice of the new Bandit Chief, as he whipped his horse to the fore.

 "Our business is not with you.  We only want revenge on the cursed scholar Fradel."

  As he brandished his sword his men let up a mighty yell to spur their murderous charge.

"You'll have to go through me and Hell first!"  Gritting his teeth the brave Zujor glowered at the new Bandit Chief as he steadied his horse, and his squad lowered their lances to meet the charge.

 The fierce fighting and bloodletting that ensued lasted several hours. Swords flailed the air and spears thrust out like pumps as the horses' hooves churned up the turf.  Though lieutenant Zujor and his men were all competent fighters, their adversaries, the bandits, were impregnable (in numbers) and unsurpassed in their cunning and maneuvers.

 When Zujor's strength ebbed, he was mercilessly cut down, sliced clear through from shoulder to waist and the four remaining guards dispersed in panic in all directions.

A small force was allocated to hunt them down while the main body of bandits, responding in one voice to their Chief's command, forged ahead after Fradel.

Riding their superb beasts on the wind, they soon overtook the two guards.  As a few stayed behind to engage the soldiers, the rest chewed on the dust trail Fradel had left behind.  The distance between Fradel and his pursuers widened further with every minute.  Fiery Comet, unequaled in agility and speed, pushed on until, diving into the wall of the forest, they were both lost to human sight.

For countless hours the relentless bandits scoured the dense forest, an evil place with hidden dangers of its own where ancient trees dramatically screened out the sun or altogether, turning day into night, blotting out the sky.  A lookout, climbing to the top of the tallest tree, ardently surveyed the area beyond the forest with his eagle eyes until finally, he spotted a lone, snaking trail of dust in the southeast that disappeared into a crevice between two hills.

 Racing towards it, they traversed a great distance until the strengths of both men and beast were spent beyond their endurance.  It was as though Fradel had been swallowed up by the earth or had vanished into thin air.  With the valley veiled in the shadows of twilight they set up camp, not daring to concede defeat and resolved to continue on with their search at the first break of day.

 

(END OF SECTION 14)

                                                                                        ~

 

STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 5

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 5

 After a day’s riding Nevetsecnuac, wishing for a break chiefly out of concern for his mount steered his horse off the beaten path. Reaching a remote section well hidden behind a small rocky hill, he dismounted. 

He removed the saddle and let his horse free to cool off and forage on the scant grass by the stream. He splashed some water over his face to dispel the fatigue then, having something more urgent to do; he went over and sat down bracing his back against the thick truck of an ancient tree. At once he began cutting some strips of leather then carefully bound the hilt and sheath of the sword to conceal its identifying marks.  Task completed, only then did he become aware of the hunger clawing at his stomach and so consumed some dry rations. He closed his eyes for a brief respite, with his mind however, still reeling with concerns for the old man.

                                                                               ~

 Nevetsecnuac’s ensuing endless trek lasting several months took him over expansive rivers, vast lakes, soaring mountains, rolling hills and deep valleys.  Varied (diverse) temperatures (microclimate, weather) came and went as he traversed several provinces.  Then, still some distance from the Capital at dawn one day, he arrived at the periphery of the Wantherran Province.

Perhaps a lucky happenstance in life or a quirk of fate, a distinguished scholar named Fradel Rurik Korvald had also happened to be an-route to the Capital and had entered Wantherran province at the very same period as Nevetsecnuac.

The illustrious literati Fradel Rurik Korvald, the only son of Zukan Rurik Korvald, came from a long line of scholars in Birgershing District.  Fradel’s brilliance had shown at the early age of eight when his famed poem entitled 'Flight of Dawn’ reached the four corners of the Empire.  After the death of his beloved father, Zukan Rurik Korvald, Fradel had elected to live the life of a recluse in his mountain retreat. His works, his remarkable abilities had nevertheless spread among the elite classes in the Capital, winning him well deserved national acclaim as one of the poetic geniuses of the realm.

 Now, Zakhertan Yozdek, a military ruler, had never been particularly fond of poetry or even prose, nor had he been an ardent admirer or supporter of scholars. Far from it, he secretly despised them and used many cruel and ingenious means to underhandedly suppress them.  Age-old traditions are hard to break, however, and so six months prior a Royal summons had come from the Court ordering Fradel Rurik Korvald’s attendance at a landmark celebration at the Palace, thereby forcing the scholar out of seclusion. 

During the grueling months spent on the route to the Capital City, Fradel Rurik Korvald had traveled on horseback accompanied by his two manservants and a porter to carry his luggage. Fradel and his small entourage had, whenever possible, stayed at modest inns. Opting however for anonymity, they always registered under an assumed identity.

 At the last Inn Fradel had been warned by the kindly innkeeper to be on the lookout for bandits who plagued the area.

 After half a day's cautious advance, when they had encountered no danger, their apprehension gradually abated and, seeing a wooded area up ahead, Fradel now considered taking shelter for a brief respite from the midday heat.  Though it was early autumn, his heavy garments which he wore, in the absence of wind and clouds in the sky, had made this day, in particular, unbearably hot for him.

He was about to give an order to stop when he observed a stirring in the thick foliage up ahead.  "Watch out, there may be bandits over there!" Fradel had just finished yelling his warning to the servant up ahead when suddenly the very servant’s anguished scream pierced the air.  Next instant the servant wheeled around revealing an arrow buried (imbedded) deep in his chest and thud, dropped (from his horse) dead to the ground.  At that juncture another arrow whistled past the other servant’s ear to graze Fradel's arm.  Then all at once a large body of mounted men in a cloud of dust surged out of the woods to encircle them.

Terrified, Fradel Rurik Korvald veered his horse around in a desperate attempt to flee from this disastrous predicament as his other manservant, specially chosen for his skill in arms, brandishing his sword bravely stood his ground to obstruct the bandits’ charge towards his master. 

The porter, like the manservant, had at once abandoned the baggage and picked up his staff to join the fray.  Though they were both competent fighters, they proved no match for these seasoned warriors turned outlaw who cut them down effortlessly.

 Next instant, surrounded on all sides Fradel was pulled from his saddle by a hook and thrown face down on the ground.

While he remained pinned where he lay by some of the bandits’ staff and spears threateningly pricking his skin, some others were quickly dispatched by a shout to collect the scattered horses and baggage.

 The scar ridden, robust leader, Cobarkek, wishing to toy with his new prey, slowly alighted from his horse and came over to roughly turn Fradel over with his foot.  His boot now squarely planted on Fradel's chest and the blade firmly pressed against Fradel's neck, he grabbed at Fradel’s collar and shouted for him to produce his money and credentials which he assumed would be on his person. That is, if he wished to live.

 Fradel fought the instinct to gag with the latter’s foul breath on him and instead glared back defiantly.   The murderous intent in the bandit's eyes, his own demise of a foregone conclusion, had struck a stubborn chord in Fradel.  He next cursed the bandit leader and spat in his eye.  A fierce blow across his face with the hilt of the sword cut open Fradel's cheek and bloodied his handsome, fine features.  A second blow to the head rendered (made) Fradel almost unconscious.  As he was about to receive the third, and fatal blow a fierce cry from the distance froze the blood in the bandit chief's veins and stopped his arm in mid-swing.   All heads turned in the direction of this challenge to spot a solitary rider on a magnificent steed galloping towards them at lightning speed.

"Another fool comes to die!” the bandit chief, Cobarkek scoffed. 

The rest of the brigands, each vying to secure the mount for themselves, had surged forward in response to engage the foe without waiting for the leader's order.

"I will deal with you later.” Cobarkek spat at Fradel as he delivered another vicious blow right across Fradel’s head then, vaulting onto his horse, he broke into a headlong gallop to catch up to his men.

 Fradel lay there, his head swimming, eyes blurred, barely conscious and unable to move a limb; all the while writhing in agonizing pain.

"Leave the devil to me!” the Cobarkek shouted after the group, but the rest were already engaged in a fierce struggle with the newcomer.

"Are you tired of living?” one jibed with scorn as he swung his sword at the stranger’s neck but missed.

"No. Nor am I tired of purging (relieving) the earth of vermin like you!"  The stranger dodged the ensuing lightning strike.

The infuriated bandit gaped in surprise as his sword was knocked to the ground with his hand still attached. As the sword fell, the second in command, a huge, stout fellow, shouted, “I’ll teach you to talk so big!”, while he mounted a deadly assault from the opposite side.  Deftly blocking the powerful blow aimed at his head, the stranger at once reversed the attacker's momentum against him and same time inflicted a deep, mortal wound across the bandit’s chest.  As the spooked horse vaulted then galloped (dashed)in lightening speed through the encirclement of the bandits, the expired body of the bandit, meanwhile, had slipped down face down onto the dust.  The incredible agility with which the newcomer had dispatched these two formidable attackers struck fear in the rest of the bandit’s hearts but the superiority of their numbers and arms still gave them the bravado to foolishly keep on fighting.

Cobarkek growing impatient with his men’s inability to subdue this warrior, shouted his command for the rest to (abort fray) stand down and leave this foe for him to deal with alone.

"Meddling fool!” The leader Cobarkek’s face more crimson than a blazing coal, he spat on the ground.  "You'll regret the day you were born by the time I'm through with you!"

"You talk so grand,” the stranger smiled as he continued fighting. "Let's see if your skill is any match of your narcissistic boasts!"

The ensuing contest of arms between these two shook Heaven and Earth as the band of thieves lined the wayside to watch with respect and awe this stranger who could not be bested.  Others, however competent or formidable, had never survived more than one round with Cobarkek, but the stranger far outlasted the five deadly rounds and further, in a blink of an eye, forced Cobarkek on the defensive. 

Many of the spectators could not help recalling Cobarkek’s past: how a reckless outburst resulting in the murder of an influential, high official had forced their leader to flee his post as an arms instructor in the Imperial Army.  Later Cobarkek had gathered this band of skilled fighters to start a reign of terror in this far off District.  Under his training the marauding band had become a formidable force, invincible in combat. They had from then on, unobstructed, robbed travelers on this highway, burned and pillaged nearby villages, and extorted money from the wealthy citizens and officials of the neighboring towns. 

The Provincial government had been repeatedly rendered ineffective in suppressing this bane, let alone in bringing them to justice. 

Meanwhile, Cobarkek's savagery defied description.  Believing in magical powers and his own invincibility, he practiced primitive rituals where, at certain times, a selected victim's heart was consumed in a stew.

Besides coveting the stranger’s magnificent steed, Cobarkek now hungered after the power he would attain from devouring the stranger's heart and driven by this goal, fought harder still. But, after another five rounds with no advantage gained, he began to worry and signaled his men to join the fray.

 Confident in their numbers, each, determined to prove his worth, struck fiercely at the stranger from all sides. 

To their dismay however, they found those numbers rapidly dwindling and realized that, even if there were scores more like them, the stranger would not be subdued let alone bested.  In a short time, many forfeited their lives while the remainder soon realized that their leader, Cobarkek, was the one who was being toyed with.  The formidable warrior (no older than 20 years) fought with unequaled skill and strength.

 Finally, taking advantage of atypical break in Cobarkek’s defenses, the stranger dealt their leader the mortal blow: the blade of opponent’s exceptional sword cutting through the armour as if it was a tender shoot, it cleaved (slashed) a deep wound (injury) from shoulder to chest.  The bandit leader Cobarkek’s tendons (ligaments) of the sword-arm thus severely incapacitated, it lost its grip of the sword, meanwhile, Cobarkek loosing consciousness, his body with a thud fell off to the ground. The spooked war steed at that moment bolted and his hoofs clawing the air, next, trampling some underfoot, galloped straight through (scattering) the cordon of mounted men. 

The few daring bandits that had stayed, with dread gripping their souls, now also sought to escape this sure calamity; they therefore, scampered (darted) for their lives in all directions like panicking rats running from a fire.

The stranger did not pursue the fleeing unlawful (felonious) bunch; instead, he turned his steed around and secured the brown mare (stallion) belonging to the scholar Fradel which had not wandered too far off. He then rode over to the scholar, and reining his (mount) horse to a halt, leaped to the ground beside Fradel.

 Having regained consciousness a few minutes prior to Cobarkek's death, Fradel had forced himself to sit up to witness (his savior’s) the stranger’s brilliant feats of arms.

"Are you all right, sir?"

"I am, thanks to your benevolence, sir.” came Fradel's hearty reply.  As he struggled to his feet, he felt the stranger’s strong grip on his arm steadying him.

 Bowing ceremoniously, he expressed deep gratitude for other’s aid and profound admiration for his skill before formally introducing himself as Fradel Rurik Korvald. 

Seeing that his name stirred no reaction in the stranger, he asked, "I am indebted to my benefactor for saving my worthless life by your timely intervention.  May I know of your respected name, sir, so as to henceforth express my boundless gratitude?"

"You exalt me unnecessarily with this talk of gratitude.” The stranger dispersed his obligation with a gesture of his hand.

 "All I did was to extend meager assistance to a fellow traveler in dire straits." 

Nevetsecnuac bowed respectfully and introduced himself as Svein Therran (instead of Nevetsecnuac Alric Therran Valamir) then, noting the strain with which the scholar stood upright, offered to lend a hand where Fradel Rurik Korvald could reach the periphery of the woods for a prolonged rest in the shade.

"If you don't think me too presumptuous, may I ask where you hail from, sir?”

Fradel looked up as he sat comfortably under an ancient tree. 

When Svein showed no eagerness to reply, Fradel continued insistently, "Forgive my impudence, but I am very much moved by your gallantry, sir.”

“Another, however able or competent, would not have been so eager to rush into trouble for the sake of a mere stranger.  Alas,” the scholar sighed, "in these desperate and selfish times such acts of merit are confined only to the classical writings of old."

"I'll fetch some ointment to heal those cuts and bruises.” Nevetsecnuac rather impatiently started for his horse.  “Timely applied, it should leave no residue, marks, or scars on your face."  Reaching into a bundle secured to the saddle, he removed a small, blue bottle.  Returning to Fradel's side, he cut some strips and dabbed them with the poultice.

"Please excuse my rudeness,” Nevetsecnuac apologized holding out the strips, "but I am not at liberty to discuss details of my journey, not at this time."  Then in response to Fradel’s affirmative nod, quickly applied the strips to the face wounds.

"I quite understand.” Fradel winced as the medicine touched the open flesh.

 "Please forgive my inquisitiveness."  He then thanked Svein (Nevetsecnuac) for his troubles.

Just then the din of the carrion birds already crowded around the corpses and fighting among themselves as they tore strips off the dead flesh, drew both Fradel's and Nevetsecnuac 's attention.  The sight so distressed the scholar that, forgetting his own pain, he struggled to rise to his feet, to shoo them off.

"You're in no condition, sir.” Nevetsecnuac gently placed a hand on his shoulder to keep him from rising.  "Please conserve your strength.  I'll attend their proper burial.  You may wish to say a few words afterwards before their graves."

"You are most kind, sir,” Fradel protested, "but they are my servants, and I would not dream of shunning my responsibility and imposing on you in this way."  Still, it was obvious that Fradel was in no condition to carry out his intention and, letting himself finally be persuaded, he leaned his back against the tree trunk.

 From this vantage point he observed with appreciation how competently Svein undertook his servant's burial, and then also took pains to cover the bodies of the bandits with rocks, earth and branches in order to spare them from being mauled by the disgruntled vultures (carryon-birds, crows) circling overhead. 

When the burial and prayer was over, Svein (Nevetsecnuac) counseled a quick departure to a more secure camp, in case the fleeing bandits returned with reinforcements. 

They gathered up the scholar's scattered luggage into a single bundle, which they slung onto Fradel's horse.  Since Fradel was recovered enough by now to ride, they lost no time in mounting up and quickly rode away.

 (END OF SECTION 5)