THE STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 31

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 31

On the appointed day at cockcrow the quiet city streets were rocked by the marching of armed guards, some decked out in full armor as though going into battle, and the rumbling, creaking crunch of the heavy iron mobile cage, hauled by two sturdy workhorses.  Heading up this procession was the mounted Hecun.

01- PRIONER TRANSPORT IN IRON CAGE

 The few vendors who opened up shop early rubbed their sleepy eyes and complained then craned their necks and sharpened their stares with interest when they awakened to the procession's significance.

 The barking of a stray dog accompanied the guards until a cast-off broom whisk landed on its muzzle and sent the beast scurrying off with sharp yelps.

 Leaving the gates of Denor City and the stir they had created behind, the long train forked off from the major highway and continued its snaking route through the undulating hills and valleys surrounding the city.  Hecun drove his men relentlessly, hastening them towards their destination, fearful that the prisoner would not survive a long ordeal.

The summer season was almost at an end and the gusts of easterly winds often arose out of nowhere to thrash the faces of the horsemen as the mounting, dark clouds sailed on continuously like an endless armada of war across the gloomy sky, driving the sun away into hibernation.

For the next two days the torrential rains soaked them to the bone as the uneven, slippery mud paths compounded the difficulties of this already arduous journey.  Any idea Hecun had of a swift advance was soon discarded.  The flat lands were turned into seascapes and in the bare hills the greatest danger was from sudden mud slides, which could bring half the hillside down onto the road in seconds.  Hecun's party apprehensively passed through this dangerous zone, too, until the rain tapered off to a light drizzle.

Looking out across the long, sodden grasses that flanked their path laid low by the weight of the water on their leaves then turning his gaze skyward to the menacing, mounting clouds roiling in the gray sky, threatening to begin the deluge anew, the Head Bailiff Hecun sighed repeatedly.

“This is possibly the worst season to undertake this journey,” He grumbled. “Heat on one hand, torrential rains on the other.” 

His dismal thoughts turned to the prisoner, locked up in the cage, it only opened a small hole in the upper left side which allowed food and water to be dropped in.  Shrugging his shoulders dispassionately, he mused, “He's the only one shielded from this blasted rain, but at what cost?  Confined in that restrictive, suffocating space, rotting in his piss and excrement…  Thankfully, I’m not that wretch.”

He stretched his limbs in appreciation. “That stupid Temple…  That trespassing charge is unwarranted after all this time.  Why not petition His Royal Highness to have that unjust law rescinded or amended?  Or just has the cursed place leveled or scorched to the ground so that it can't entrap or injure anyone else?  How many more lives will be wasted needlessly because of it?”

Hecun inhaled deep. At least the rain had finally stopped. As he rode on, his thoughts once more reverted to prior concern.

“How many times have I sounded out my reasoning to the Prefect… time after time without success?  He just turned a deaf ear to me.  It's all too convenient for him, isn't it, to keep things just the way they are?  After all, if he were to heed my suggestion, he would be hard pressed to fabricate another trap to rid himself of his enemies or other unwanted pests so conveniently.  I was a fool to even waste my breath.  Things never change.  It’s the same everywhere.  I really should try to mend my ways and still my tongue; I should be more like Mouro, so as to avert future disasters. Would it work if I utilized akin underhanded means as Mouro? I wonder though, how many more innocent souls like this scholar will be ensnared in future; how can I idly stand by and do nothing about it? Would my conscience (ethics) let me? “

But then Head Bailiff Hecun suddenly became aware of disturbance at the rear of the column.  Wheeling his horse round, he shouted, "What's all the commotion about back there?  And why aren’t you moving?"

"Look, sir.  Look!"  One of the panic-stricken guards pointed left to the menacing, fearsome mounted warrior figure at the hilltop.

Turning his head, Hecun looked up at the indicated spot.  His soul nearly took flight.  This was the sight he most dreaded seeing.  Mounted atop a black coal horse, standing like a crown on the crest of the hill, was the majestic, formidable figure of Zonar!

Swallowing his fright, Hecun dispensed the orders at once for the men to surround the prisoner's cage, draw their swords in readiness of a strike, and make haste to the more defensible ground to the right.

"Remember men, despite his formidable appearance, he's only flesh and blood.  He can be bested, just like any other mortal man." Hecun shouted his encouragement along the way.

"He's also pitted against two hundred of us.  We'll make him taste a bitter defeat if he dares to attack us.  We'll show him what we're made of!"

These men (guards) were all hand-picked by Hecun and Mouro to ensure the success of this assignment.  All were seasoned warriors, capable of either mounting a strong, sustained attack or fighting a pitched defense with equal ease.

02-  ZONAR

Irrespective of this, however, the foe facing them now looked so menacing, struck such awe into their hearts that, as they assumed their defensive positions and waited for the dreaded confrontation, many once proud warriors entertained thoughts of dropping their arms and fleeing (running off) to safety, but all knew that at the first sign of desertion they would be cut down by Hecun or by one of their own comrades.  Even if they succeeded in their cowardly flight, they would be wanted men forever forsaking their homes and host of loved ones, the parents, wives, brothers, sisters and children who depended on them.

“What's he waiting for?” Hecun nervously tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword when the anticipated rush of the assassin still did not come.

“What’s his game?  Is he waiting for night to fall?  It may well be his tactic to wage war on our nerves first.  It would therefore be to our advantage to combat him now, while the morale of the men is still high.”  With this in mind Hecun, loudly reviled Zonar from his safe distance, challenging him, trying to draw him into a fight; meanwhile, emboldened by Zonar's lack of response, his men also joined in with added verbal abuse and taunts.

 “What, still no response?”  Though he had been tempted, Hecun knew enough not to divide his force and initiate the offensive when the opponent held the high ground. Instead, Hecun quickly dispatched four of his archers, armored with overlapping plates of laminated bronze which gave maximum protection and freedom of movement, to (in roundabout way) get closer to Zonar and let loose a volley.

The remaining men watched in horror as, the arrows loosed straight at his chest, Zonar swept his hand in front of him with lightning speed, caught the arrows and, using no bow, launched them back full force through the armor and into the hearts of the hapless archers.  As his black steed reared up, Zonar let loose an earth-shaking, ear-splitting laughter.  This made the hair on the back of all the guards’ necks stand up as their blood simultaneously froze in their veins.

The next moment, in an unexpected move, however, Zonar had wheeled his horse round and in the blink of an eye disappeared from view.

Far from being relieved, every man in the command had realized in that instant that they would not stand a prayer of a chance in any direct encounter with this demon.  And that they were, for the time being safe, so long as Zonar was only toying with them.

In the following days and nights, the guards kept up with their constant vigilance (did not dare drop their guard for one second) and in securing the prisoner; consequently, they were robbed of least respite and peace of mind.  On (perpetual) assiduous alert, every guard with taut nerves constantly panned the surrounding hills, the vast fields and valleys with fear filled eyes, anticipating and dreading the imminent mortal encounter with Zonar.

A few of the more disgruntled were in the process of conspiring to mutiny, to murder Hecun and turn the prisoner over without the least resistance, when Zonar again suddenly (appeared) manifested but after a spell, just as quickly disappeared. 

 

                                                                                      ~

 

As Hecun's guards had remained on high alert pending a surprising dire onslaught from Zonar, Micen Do back in the comfort of his study, had just settled down to, forsaking the tea, enjoying some delectable salty tidbits on the tray. His mind totally at ease, Micen remained quite certain that he had, with his brilliant ploy, outmaneuvered the grizzly-haired demon.

 It was the middle of the afternoon on an unusually hot day and Micen, now feeling parched, just put aside a document he had been studying, looked up and was about to send for some cool refreshments when, “What the devil?”

 In a chair at the far corner of the room, casually seated and reading from an ancient scroll, sat Zonar; this sight instantly, therefore, froze the subsequent words on Micen's tongue.

Though Micen was mesmerized by fright at first, the casual, indifferent attitude of the assassin, completely immersed in the ancient literature, put the Prefect somewhat termporarily at ease.  He was not reconciled to dying and eyed the door, contemplating which course would be faster, calling for help from the five guards posted outside or making a dash for the door.

03- ZONAR KUNTZU

Micen’s blood turned to ice in his veins when just then Zonar looked up, and their eyes met.  Next instant, before Mucen could utter a single sound, he was cleaved clean through from top to bottom… For Zonar's gleaming sword had cut him into two perfect halves.

As Micen's right half watched with its waning eye, the left side collapsed onto the desk, dispersing a pile of documents.  Zonar instantly recognized Fradel Rurik Korvald's actual identity papers and summons, fallen three-quarters of the way out of a parchment envelope and, reaching for it, disappeared in the last beat of Micen's heart.

The secretary, coming into the room minutes later with some documents, made the grisly discovery and so alerted the household.  The news of Micen's assassination spread like wildfire throughout Denor City and the entire prefecture and all citizens rushed indoors, apprehensive about their own mortality.

 

                                                                                    ~

 

After an arduous, apprehensive trek, Hecun and his guard regiment at long last escorted the prisoner to the border crossing at Danlo Pass.  The disgruntled, weary group finally relaxed their vigil only after they had confirmed, from the border guards, that no person matching Zonar's name or description had preceded them across the border.  Accordingly, they relayed their warnings to the border patrol to be on the alert for such dangerous assassin, and to arrest or apprehend him on sight, if they were capable of doing so.

"You're the second group in five days that has made in depth inquiries after such a person." the border guards professed, scratching their heads.  "However, the others said nothing about him being a wanted criminal."

When Hecun ascertained that they were referring to Mouro's group, he was concurrently, both pleased and offended. He spoke thoughtfully to the sergeant Tubak that was riding alongside him. “It's not like Mouro to be so remiss.  Other, more serious concerns must have preoccupied his mind though, for the life of me, I cannot imagine what they could be.  He never disclosed to me the nature of his urgent task, not really.  But it’s just like him to be this evasive.  Now I think of it, those last two or three days he'd seemed rather more irritable than usual.”

Hecun had abruptly fallen silent at this moment, as he inwardly mused: “True, we've been good friends for a long time now, and I am fond of him.  Still, I cannot boast that I’ve fully understood him.  I know no more about him now than I did when I first met him.  When he was in such desperate straits I did set him on the straight course, welcomed him to my home, and even helped him get that job.  I remember how I watched in amazement as he, always an apt student, fully subdued all opposition and managed to ingratiate himself in the good graces of the Governor and Micen.  He even managed to pull off something I've never been able to do and curry favor with that stand-offish, condescending Luko clan.”

With a twinge of jealousy in his heart, Hecun now disdainfully further recalled how Mouro's ambitious undertakings had paid off.  Within a year's time Mouro, despite his youth and considerable inexperience, had taken advantage of his superior martial abilities, if one believed the official explanation, to bypass Hecun and win the promotion meant for (the Head Bailiff) him.

Annoyed only at first, Hecun, nevertheless, soon realized that it would be more to his advantage to remain on good terms with his new superior, than to become his adversary.

Besides, Hecun had found it awfully hard to refute Mouro's congenial qualities and his gracious side.  He certainly could not deny that Mouro had also reciprocated his previous kindness in full, and countless times had bailed him out of trouble with Micen. 

Mouro had also filled another desperate void in Hecun's life by fitting snugly into the shoes of the bailiff's deceased younger brother.  Hecun now recalled fondly also how, when they were alone, Mouro had respected and treated Hecun as the elder brother, but the closeness had remained chiefly one-sided. Not being the type to bear his soul to anyone, Mouro had constantly guarded his privacy and history even from him (Hecun), letting it be known only that he was born a native of Tenzo Province.

"Five days, eh, this is good."  Hecun, well across the border, was in better spirits and gloated to his subordinate (sergeant) Tubak.  "Why, that means that, despite all the setbacks we've suffered, we've still made pretty good time, especially considering that they're riding swift horses on a straight highway, and I'm pretty certain that they encountered no bandits like we did, or that assassin, Zonar.  Mouro would not have missed a chance to boast of it to those border guards."

"Yes, sir…  We were rather fortunate that he chose not to engage us after that first sortie.  Even so," the sergeant dismally hung his head, "the threat of confronting him again was still enough to drive many good men to contemplating desertion... pity."

"Are you blatantly aligning your sympathies with those cowards?  Their desertion seriously undermined our capacity to confront that gangster Lurin and his lawless bunch!" Hecun stormed.  "Perhaps it was your intention to desert as well?"

04- SERGEANT TUBAK

"Sir ...  I'd never ever considered such a thing!" the sergeant contested vehemently.  "Forgive my audacity for speaking as I did just then.  My thoughts were of Yozder, he was ordinarily a good sort.  Not too long ago he lost his wife in a tragedy.  Now his five young children, the oldest is only nine, are left without any means of support, and only Yozder's invalid aunt to care for them.  I could not help grieving for what will become of them now."  He hung his head, but his sidelong glance at Hecun framed his unspoken question, couldn’t you have, just this once, bent the rules just a little?  Why did they all have to perish?

Hecun fumed, "I'm not such a heartless man as you make me out to be, sergeant, but rules are rules.  The deserters knew full well what they were getting themselves into.  They got nothing more nor less than, what they deserved.”

“Remember, because of them we were all put at risk.  How can I expect strict obedience in the future from the rest if I showed leniency or, worse, made an exception?  Regulations in militia must be strictly adhered to, so that men can feel secure.  Your grievance against me is totally unfounded, sergeant, and I counsel you to think hard before airing your thoughts to me again."  After this rebuke, Hecun angrily spurred his horse toward the iron cage, ignoring his subordinate's gobbed (spat, expelled) apologies.

“That's more than I can say for this poor wretch.  Despite his innocence, he's been ensnared in an unjust law and is now being made to suffer for it.” Hecun grumbled to himself.

 His thoughts then turned to more immediate concerns, “Why hadn’t Zonar struck and vanquished them when he had them at his mercy?  Why had those bandits attacked just after they were through Danlo Pass?”

Hecun recalled presently what he had heard distinctly some of the gang members had said, as they attempted to seize (snatch) the iron cage.

 “But what on earth made them think that we were carrying gold in the cage, instead of a criminal?”

 

Now that they were inside Tenzo Province the general consensus was that the worst had been left behind them, nevertheless Hecun opted for caution and closely followed the course Mouro had charted out for him.

Their subsequent laborious advance took them through difficult terrain, over uneven paths that were often carpeted in vegetation that had withered in the dry heat and choked with debris blown in by the driving gusts of wind.  Beneath their concealment lay a multitude of dangers for horses and riders alike.

Rounding yet another sharp turn, Hecun shielded his eyes and gazed questioningly over the sharp precipice that loomed just ahead.  To his dismay the distant canyon, shrouded in twilight, disclosed no signs of human habitation.

“Was it conceivable that Mouro had miscalculated the details of the supposed settlement nestled in this valley's forest? Their water rations had been getting dangerously low in this high, arid region and there was no reprieve in sight. “Hecun, grimly hence, anticipated even more desertions among his disgruntled guards.

Taking out Mouro's map, he studied it once more.  A small mark indicated the ruins of a monastery close by.

 “Hmm…If there are wells, there will certainly be water there. “

 Hope sprung up anew in Hecun's heart.  Since dusk was fast approaching, Hecun resolved to set up camp at the monastery and so dispatched scouts in three directions to locate it.

    

                                                                                  ~

 

(END OF SECTION 31) 

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)

 

THE ASSASSINS - SECTION 16

 THE LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE ASSASSINS - SECTION 16

It had been some time since Prince Nevetsecnuac and Alec leading their mounts, had passed through that harrowing subterranean tunnel, thankfully unscathed. Even now, Alec shuddered at the mere thought of it. He had expected it to be less arduous the second time around; in contrast, the capricious horrific incidents and the ensued wearing experience, one in particular, to date had left Alec terribly traumatized and infinitely (markedly) on edge.

  Maddeningly, the Prince had sailed through it all, not in the least bit perturbed by the onslaught of catastrophic events, unleashed by none other than Alec’s steed, and the consequential near-death experiences.

They were trekking outside now braving the elements of a different kind; unfortunately, the precarious shortcut route proved as treacherous for it was the depth of winter at these high altitudes. The ingenious contraptions of footwear with good traction, one of Asger’s clever inventions similar to that of Duan’s, had preserved them, man and mount, from more than once sinking into the depths of snow, or sliding over the terrifying precipices.

 As the wind moaned in their ears, the dense, whirling flakes flailing against their faces, their backs bent to the wind, with their horses' hooves sinking a foot deep through the powdered top layer of snow and into the tightly packed underlying layer, Nevetsecnuac and Alec rarely exchanging a word, incessantly pushed on.

Day after day enduring great hardships and untold dangers while persistently being tested by the cruel, trying forces of nature, they had hurried on to cover great distances and descend a good portion of these dicey (risky, hazardous) high altitudes.

"Perhaps we should have delayed our departure a few more months.” Alec grumbled in a barely audible voice, knowing full well that was not an option.

Nevetsecnuac shook his head and tacitly ejected, “This weather will persist until mid-summer." 

Forcing a smile, Alec nodded and continued to blindly advance into the wall of dancing flakes.  Trailing behind Nevetsecnuac, just as he had once done with Duan, despite his stamina and layers of fur, his body, his limbs yet again became benumbed with ceaseless exertion and cold; he slapped and rubbed his limbs for warmth and pursed his lips to restrain his groans and curses. In an attempt to divert his attention away from the persistent pain Alec focused instead on gauging the extent of Nevetsecnuac’ strength and stamina that spared the prince this torment; as it were, the discovery of few surprising elements earlier on, had persuaded Alec to amend (and postpone) his original intent.

After a grueling month Alec had lost all track of time, with days and nights and ceaseless drudgery of this trek intermingling with the terror of being stalked by ravenous wolves or sporadically attacked by voracious predatory beasts, all blending into one. Competent as he was, being outside of his element, he would have been wasted by the harsh environment or been devoured long ago by the beasts that had persistently, relentlessly dogged (hounded) them. To his chagrin time and again he had been constrained to concede, this certain reliance for his survival, on this very resourceful youth and his feats.

"There is a fierce storm brewing.” Nevetsecnuac stayed his footing just then, (halting,) and after his brief examination of the sky, grunted. “A little while further perhaps then we can stop.” Nevetsecnuac looked at Alec askance (sideways). 

Alec nodded without raising his head. In truth he felt ill at ease, “Was his discomfort that obvious?”

"There is an abandoned cave up ahead in which we can take shelter for the night." 

Under the cloak of white all marks had vanished, meeting Alec's skeptical gaze, Nevetsecnuac grimaced. "Don’t forget, I grew up on these mountains.  As it is we are taking the shortest route possible and should be in the safety of the foothills before long.  Otherwise, it would have taken us until next autumn, to traverse this distance."

Arrogant Alec was inwardly livid, interpreting Nevetsecnuac’s sensible words as disguised mockery, choosing to ignore the actual length of time it had previously taken him and Duan to reach the peaks.

 Latter (prince) might have grown up in these mountains, but it paled next to his grueling combat training   in Capital. Brute force, enduring stamina were only one aspect of the basic requirements; with a certain smugness therefore, Alec dourly pushed forward to advance swiftly. 

That night in the cave, shielded from the elements and warmed by the small fire, they had passed the time in relative comfort and safety.  After ingesting a barely palatable repast Alec, forgoing further exchange and sullenly giving his back to Nevetsecnuac, reclined his head in supposed sleep. Far from it, while his active mind perused through his most viable options; suddenly a fleeting, sardonic (wry) smile dawned on Alec’s lips and soon after he was lost to the world.

 The next morning, Alec seemed more affable towards Nevetsecnuac. What’s more, the remainder of the trek being mindful of Nevetsecnuac’s diffidence and anticipating Nevetsecnuac’s certain misgivings about him, Alec strove to ingratiate himself into Prince’s good graces with his most upright and frank demeanor.  By his consistent sincerity, faithfulness, humility, glib tongue, unfailing generosity, stamina and occasional heroics, by degrees (gradually) he succeeded in winning   Nevetsecnuac over.

 Now an affable travelling companion, on occasion when survival wasn’t paramount, Alec had even regaled Nevetsecnuac with accounts of heroics, adventure and tall tales of intrigue from the capital and far off parts of the Empire, fueling Nevetsecnuac’s imagination with personification and wondrous representations of the quintessence (embodiment of) world he scants knew from books.

 As they conversed to while away the lonely hours of travel, the topic of conversation skimmed over various areas of interest but decidedly rested each time on combat styles and armaments used in battle.

During one such exchange, Alec so as not to be too obvious, declaring his admiration of Lord Asger, tactfully strove to learn the finer points of Lord Asger’s fighting style; assuming that Asger had perfected his skill in martial arts, that of which made him nearly invincible, and had painstakingly passed it on to Nevetsecnuac.  Coveting this rare gift, the ambitious Alec implored Nevetsecnuac to instruct him on the finer points, whenever they took time out to rest.

"It is my life's desire, my duty to my father, to Lord Shonne Gulbrand and to you, my Prince, to be the best I can be, so that when the day comes, I may better assist our cause in battle.", he reasoned.  "For this, you must not begrudge me the benefit of your instruction, your Highness.  I've waited too long, all my life to be exact, for the day of vengeance and justice."  A note of indignation never failed to be infused into these genuine sounding requests.

Already missing his morning   exercises with Asger, Nevetsecnuac eventually acquiesced to Alec's wishes.

The addition of intense martial exercises wedged (jammed) between the grueling duration of trek, made the days and weeks pass more quickly, until finally, they, leaving behind the snowcapped mountains, reached foothills where temperatures were more moderate. 

They rode on extended periods with more ease now, oftentimes spurring their steeds into full gallop and sporadically (occasionally) racing for sport, while covering great distances.  And even though Alec’s horse repeatedly came second in every competition with the spirited (feisty) Fiery Comet, Alec’s amicability, his buoyancy and ardor never faltered.  

On these more temperate grounds, with the more frequent cloud-filled azure skies, warmer temperatures and thawing ground, it all attested to the approaching of spring.  Patches of green or brown appeared here and there on the slopes. Even a few tiny buds could be seen peeking out from the crevices, wedged between the icicles on the rock’s face.

Once, at a brief respite, bending to pick up a frail, purple flower, Alec gave a brief, admiring gaze, took a whiff of its raw fragrance then grounded it mercilessly to a soggy pulp in his hand.  His fingers and palms, steeped in the wild perfume, were stained purple with the flower's blood. With a distant, strange expression Alec hissed incomprehensibly.

Nevetsecnuac could only make out the words, "father", and "the villain must die.” 

With an uneasy feeling Nevetsecnuac’s eyes trailed Alec’s slow progression till he disappeared behind some bushes, presumably to relieve himself. On his return, with a somber countenance Alec set himself across from Nevetsecnuac.

Presently Alec appeared to have something grave on his mind, an urgent plight that was being forcefully constrained; after a dismissive shrug however, he abruptly rose and went to check in on his horse. Always respectful of another’s privacy, Nevetsecnuac chose to overlook these rare vacillating moods of Alec’s, deeming them to be just apprehension and understandable angst and disquiet stemming from impatience of reaching their set destination in time.

Subsequent days, the rocky, uneven ground, the enchanting yet precarious topography with deadly traps, constrained them to once more advance on foot. Neither of them minded this too much, for it also gave them the chance to discuss, compare and to exchange various views. Presently, as the sun's unobstructed rays bathed them in a shimmering, golden light that warmly caressed their faces, sounds of the gurgling of brooks and rivulets of melted snow and ice came from seemingly everywhere, flooding their ears.

 It was a truly spectacular warm morning that would have gladdened the weariest of hearts; but then that afternoon without warning, the rising, gusting winds whipped up the dark clouds overhead.

 The sun now in hasty retreat, the earth became gloomy, and its former gay tunes were drowned by somber whimpers and ominous drums.  There was no room for mercy in the incessant downpour that followed: its thrashing winds and rolling thunder shook all the hills around them. In the shrouding mists and pelting, wind-driven rain, Nevetsecnuac and Alec soaked to the skin, plodded (trod) mechanically, along the muddy, slushy, winding paths.

 Stopping only at night fall at a makeshift shelter, they ate some dried rations, oftentimes slept standing snuggled up to their mount for warmth or slept sitting up backs propped against some rock or tree-trunk, and then at first daylight they resumed their journey. In this way they had ridden out the storm that had lasted on and off, with persistent winds and overcast skies, for several dismal days.

                                                                                     ~

 It was quite some time before the sun’s rays had again graced the earth.  Anew, the hard ground invited Nevetsecnuac and Alec to ride in gallop. By then having reached the emerald, green flat plains, carpeted in flowers, their hearts filled with renewed anticipation, they spurred their horses to cover once more vast distances.  The incessant ride halted only when darkness enveloped the earth. As they were still far removed from the nearest dwelling, they made a camp at the edge of the densely wooded area skirting a good size lake. Finding a suitable spot, sheltered from the full fury of the elements, they tethered the horses, washed up, and then quickly consumed some sustenance.  Drained (exhausted) from the day’s strenuous ride, they propped their weary backs against sturdy trees and under the canopy of the moon and stars with the earth as their mat, they closed their eyes, finally, for that well-earned sleep.

In that dream state, Nevetsecnuac saw himself fetching some more firewood at dawn, which he promptly deposited inside the cabin, then went out to wash up by the creek. His uncle was there already, finishing up.

“You are being too remiss!” At once Stark (Lord Asger) sternly admonished him. “Danger abounds, you must remain at all times, on your guard!”

Suddenly he heard a wild ruckus coming from the stables, as there was an alarm raised by Fiery Comet, stomping and neighing. Dropping everything, in haste both, Svein (Nevetsecnuac) and Stark (Lord Asger) darted towards it to investigate.

At this juncture, Nevetsecnuac was awakened with a start and saw the blade of Alec Therkan poised over him in readiness to strike.  Reacting swiftly, Nevetsecnuac adroitly twisted to one side and the sword with a loud thwack clove the tree trunk instead.  Rolling over, Nevetsecnuac nimbly grabbed his sword just in time to dexterously block Alec's next deadly strike.

"Have you gone mad?” Nevetsecnuac shouted at him in bewilderment and sudden rage.  

Alec, his eyes glinting with murder, derisively jeered through his gritted teeth,

"Don't call me 'Alec'.  The traitor Taok Therkan died childless years ago at his own father's hand." 

 

(END OF SECTION 16)

(NEXT POST- SECTION 17- THE CONCLUSION OF THE ASSASSINS)