THE ASSASSINS- SECTION 17 (CONCLUSION)

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC- THE ASSASSINS- SECTION 17

Brandishing his sword as he stood in ready stance, Alec bellowed, “I am Heng Erling, the only surviving son of Marshal Gustav Erling and I have waited all my life for this day of vengeance!”

“I should have known you were (false) duplicitous right through” Nevetsecnuac fumed.

“A leopard doesn’t change its spots!”

 “Call it what you will, “Heng Erling laughed. “Brace yourself, for you shall be the first to perish at my hand, and that cursed Lord Asger isn’t going anywhere, either.  He forsook his own flesh and blood son Ivar Marrog Zhon, in place of you and, while you grew up in relative safety and comfort in that mountain cabin, his son from infancy has been languishing in a dark, foul dungeon beneath the Capital, never knowing a day without torture.”

“Hah, you think him a noble Lord, but in all these years, he never strove or mustered able men to rescue his own flesh and blood; instead, he cowered like a spineless fiend, biding his time and nourishing dreams of glorious return on your coattails, in that mountain retreat?”

“I’ve heard enough out of you. How dare you malign uncle, a noble Lord with your false, delusions; is there no end to your treachery?”  Nevetsecnuac brandishing his sword, raced towards him with the ferocity of a tiger.

All during the ensued fight Nevetsecnuac tried desperately to repute Heng Erling’s shocking revelations (disclosed facts) about Lord Asger’s forsaken son; unbidden however, certain facts too swiftly rushed to mind validating some of it, such as the seemingly benign incident in the “Heaven’s Gate Spiritual Temple”. Nevetsecnuac recalled all too vividly, Asger’s (Stark’s) accidental inclusion of the name “Ivar Marrog Zhon” in the list, before his quickly erasing it. And recently still, when at the stables Alec, rather Heng, had made the mention of Asger’s son, Nevetsecnuac recalled, how he was curtly stopped. Nevetsecnuac’s conscience thus troubled him as he fought two wars within and without; therefore, for a time Nevetsecnuac’s prowess had been hampered while he fended off Heng’s repetitive, fierce offensives.

Heng with his physiological warfare, thus, once or twice had almost got the upper hand and very nearly vanquished Nevetsecnuac. On one instance, Nevetsecnuac back flipped to escape the brunt of the blade that instead, cut a razor slice across his chest.  Rebounding quickly however, for Nevetsecnuac’s admiration and love for his uncle, Lord Asger was infinite; he had again picked up the momentum and very nearly bested Heng.

Equally resilient Heng withstood these offensives with his remarkable strength, skill and agility; meanwhile, encouraged by the prior result, again he strove to further disarm Nevetsecnuac.

“Some say Ivar Marrog Zhon has been kept alive, barely, as a ruse to draw the traitor from his secretive lair, but our Sovereign could not have known the heartlessness of this Lord,”

Heng spat the word Asger, as he continued with his deadly strikes.

“Some hero; he ran away in the heat of the battle, while his castle, his lands were being besieged, forsook his obligation to his father’s bloodline, for the likes of you? Answer me this, does Lord Asger hold aspirations of grandeur, thinking of the day of your being reinstated to power?  Fool, as if that would ever happen!”

“You know nothing of the truth.” Nevetsecnuac could not help but bellowed back, even though grasping Heng’s sly strategy, he had already resolved to maintain inner composure while concentrating an all-out effort at defeating this very dangerous, and cunning   adversary.

  “As for your beautiful wife, when I’m done with you both, she'll make a fine present for His Royal Highness Zakhertan Yozdek to defile and torture.  Eunuch Egil Viggoaries can (devour) chew on the bones of your twins afterwards!"  Undeterred, Heng threw his head back in a monstrous laugh.

Despite his doggedness, Nevetsecnuac felt as though ice water had been poured all over his steaming body.  At the same time inexplicable sorrow had seeped into his heart as he, a recent dad, grasped the full implications of Lord Asger’s supreme sacrifice.

Fiery contempt for Heng flamed in Nevetsecnuac’s chest and filled his spleen with rage.  Grinding his teeth, he reviled Heng, and at lightning   speed he again powerfully struck the other.  They clashed, weapons thrusting, flailing against each other.  During this deadly exchange (skirmish) Nevetsecnuac suddenly realized that Heng had concealed his true abilities at all prior confrontations; in fact, his fighting skills were most formidable, far more formidable than Duan’s.  With the added advantages of incorporating Nevetsecnuac's fighting style alongside his, he had now become a most fierce (challenging) adversary, a virtually invincible opponent.

 Lord Asger would be disappointed in me and appalled, all with good reason. Nevetsecnuac bowed his head in shame. How could I, with all my years of training, allow myself to be so completely duped? Fueled by this added indignation and ire, with his unleashed innate (inherent) survival instincts Nevetsecnuac was instantaneously transformed into an intrepid, more indomitable warrior. 

Presently, with such ardent, livid antagonists, the earth shook (trembled) from the ferocity of their combat. Limbs of trees fractured or splintered, surrounding foliage and the like were all pulverized or destroyed, rocks, boulders were smashed to bits, split apart or uprooted, as the intense conflict ceaselessly continued.

Lasting all night, after countless rounds of pitched battle, still neither of them could gain the upper hand.  Each time Nevetsecnuac lunged at Heng his thrust was nimbly parried and each blow of Heng's was warded off with little room to spare.

Finally, Heng made an ill-timed thrust at Nevetsecnuac's heart and Nevetsecnuac, with incredible dexterity, spun around it and, twisting his opponent's sword hand, forced Heng to tumble to the ground, dropping his weapon.  Heng rolled then somersaulted to avoid the assault that followed, at the same time retrieving (grabbing) his weapon and landing back on his feet to immediately hack back at Nevetsecnuac.  Again, each attack was parried, each blow warded off, till the force and lightening   rapidity of the strikes barely managed, took its toll on Heng and at one point having lost his grip, his sword flew off his hand aching across the sky to land, rather, be buried in the midst of the nearby lake.

 Heng stood, defenseless, glaring at Nevetsecnuac.

"Ask for mercy", Nevetsecnuac shouted, "and I'll spare your life."

"I'll see you in hell, first!"  Heng swore and darted towards his horse. 

"Stop your running   and fight, you cowardly fiend!" Nevetsecnuac had raced after Heng.

Heng’s stallion spooked by this sudden charge however, had bolted and neighing wildly, nearly trampled Heng under his hooves. But not before had Heng retrieved something he’d needed from the secret compartment of the saddle.

As Heng fell back he quickly tugged the items under his waist wrap; he grumbled a curse on his breath while his eyes briefly trailed his horse galloping into the distance.

Heng swerved (veered) and looked askance at the other but knew better than to try approaching Fiery Comet; resigned to his fate, perfectly composed, he then turned to face Nevetsecnuac.

Now all this had transpired in the blinking of an eye.

 "Cowardly?  Who's the coward here? I dare you to fight without your precious sword!" Heng at this point, defiantly hollered back.

As it was, Nevetsecnuac's code of honor constrained him from striking an unarmed man.  "That suits me fine.” he tossed the sword aside and rushed to engage Heng in hand-to-hand combat.

They fought seemingly endlessly, with such force, such adroitness, the like of which was unseen in any mortal man.  Again, the surrounding area became the casualty of this intense battle. Perfectly matched, the hand-to-hand combat would have lasted forever and ever, but Heng was fast nearing his patience, and sought to bring a quick resolution to this obvious impasse.

And so, after his deadly strike, in an unexpected maneuver, Heng turned tail and fled, as he ran, he withdrew handful of tiny razor-sharp metal spikes with poisoned tips, from beneath his waist wrap, then while still running   he half turned and hurled them with lightning   speed at Nevetsecnuac.

 With incredible agility, Nevetsecnuac dodged the deadly spikes’ course, and the metal spikes continued, flew by and buried their heads in the same ancient tree that his sword had once sliced.

 “Blast!!”  Heng cursed under his breath, as he same time, taking advantage of Nevetsecnuac's momentary distraction, in lightning speed, retrieved the other concealed poisoned stiletto from his high leather boot.

First, he allowed Nevetsecnuac to catch up then, whirling, Heng swiftly (longlined it) thrust the blade into Nevetsecnuac’s chest, having held no qualms at all about killing an unarmed foe.

Failing in this, for Nevetsecnuac’s quick action hurled it from his hand and buried it into the midst of thick, thorny bush, Heng somersaulted, shot through the air and dove right into the frigid waters of the lake. He was gone from view only for a spell, emerging shortly after brandishing the blade in his hand; he landed squarely in front of Nevetsecnuac who was rushing to retrieve his discarded sword.  Unarmed Nevetsecnuac with sure proficiency fended of the deadly assault then swiftly arriving at the spot where he had discarded his sword earlier, he nimbly kicked it to waist height with his toe, grabbed it without breaking stride and turned to parry Heng's murderous slash.

Again, they fought for another twenty to thirty rounds but this time, despite his prowess, Heng, chilled to the bone, began to falter.  In contrast, Nevetsecnuac maintained his speed and agility and wielded his weapon with such consummate skill that, in the end, he cut a three-inch-deep swath under Heng's ribs.

Heng froze in mid-parry then collapsed to the ground in a swelling pool of crimson.  Blood and curses spat from Heng's lips, each breath making him writhe in agony as he muttered bitter recriminations against his own impatience, arrogance and folly in underestimating Nevetsecnuac's competence.

"If only I had waited for the reinforcements and been content letting the axman take your head.  I've failed miserably.  My life's ambition has been frustrated."  Hot tears mixed with the blood on Heng's cheeks.

"My doomed father, forgive me.  I've condemned you to an eternity of torment, wearing the chains of ignominy, in the underworld!  My beloved ill-fated mother, Lingrace, forgive me, oh how I have failed you both!”

 Heng swallowed hard, thinking the rest.

Oh mother, you forsook your virtue and bore such shame during all those years you suffered the lustful, lecherous pawing of Zakhertan Yozdek.  You debased yourself as attendant at his wife's feet, just so I could live and avenge my father's death. Please mother, don’t curse me forever; find it in your heart to forgive, to absolve me of my failings for I’ve done my best, always have; unfortunately, the fiendish foes are backed by powerful demons. With Heaven forsaking the good, I was doomed to fail.

This was the only version Heng had desperately clanged to, always believing in his heart of hearts that his supposed angelic, saintly mother had been forced into that compromising situation, in order that her son's life was spared and also that the scant hope was kept alive, the prospect and the sole aspiration of avenging her husband’s untimely, ignominious death! 

Ensuing years of her coercion Zakhertan  Yozdek had been, by degrees, spared from any and all blame; instead, intense hatred and animosity had been fueled and then deferred to that vilified Lord Asger Thuxur Marrog Zhon and Prince Nevetsecnuac.

 In blind faith Heng envisioned his mother, to his dying breath, as a self-sacrificing, tragic, victimized and molested heroine, rather than the deceitful, conniving and ambitious woman that she was. 

How could Heng face the ugly truth and keep intact his sanity?  How could his tormented mind surmise, the underlying, contemptible sole reason, that he had been spared for the horrific, sickeningly gruesome demises of his elder siblings, all because his mother had, long before the usurpation, covertly had intimate liaison with Zakhertan  Yozdek. And that suspicion, the question of Heng's paternity, was what had excluded him from the executioner’s block (gallows) or fate worse than death.

 How could Heng have guessed at the root of deceit that ran so deep in his mother that, on this day, when he was sacrificing his own life not to avenge his father's death, but rather to further her underhanded, selfish desire to ingratiate herself back into Zakhertan's good graces.  And that was the sole reason she had hired covertly this assassin Duan and constrained him to take her son Heng along for the ride.

 In the meantime, despite the treachery, contempt and duplicity all that had passed between them, Nevetsecnuac, had felt certain compassion for this dying man, curled up in excruciating pain on the ground. And so, he leaned over to ask, “Can I do anything to ease your pain?"

"You can rot in hell; whelp!"  Heng's face contorted in pain at the effort it took to curse.

"I suppose there is no rebellion either,” Nevetsecnuac grumbled as he looked away, understanding the full scope of his deception.

"Haa, ha, haak!," blood welling up in Heng's throat cut short his sarcastic laugh.

 He spat it out at Nevetsecnuac and gritted his teeth in contempt. 

“That’s right, fool.  There are no rebels, no battles. The Generals lead an army of the dead.  Ha, ha, ugghh!" 

Pain again cut short his laughter as he uttered his last words with regret, “Pity that I should be the one to die, not you.  Heaven is not just."

Nevetsecnuac looked away to hide his surging emotions because he had been dealt with a crushing blow.  The lack of rebellion was not the cause of his turmoil, his deep dismay; however, rather, it was the knowledge of Lord Asger’s forsaken son.  So much had happened during these last few months. With those entire facts in a streamline racing through his mind, he plumped his seat down listlessly beside the lifeless body of Heng.

A great deal of reality had altered. He was not the person he thought he was, neither was his uncle. He’d grown up with, albeit necessary deception. As the past life in quick succession once more flashed before his mind’s eye, it resolved all that mystery he’d grown up with; so much more made sense now.

In one fell swoop many of his life’s queries had been answered.  But worst of it was the knowledge, how his beloved uncle, Lord Asger had sacrificed and endured such hardships and pain all on his behalf.

He shuddered at the thought of another innocent being, sacrificed and forsaken, worst still, imprisoned at infancy, forced to endure such torment, all because of him.

Lord Asger Marrog Zhon had sent Nevetsecnuac on, albeit with some reserve, hoping against hope that there would be some truth to Heng’s claims.  Looking at his bloodied sword, Nevetsecnuac recollected the entirety of his oath to self and Lord Asger; so, he sat, eyes cast on the ground, staring aimlessly in silent, pained concentration. 

He’d sworn the oath not to return without exacting vengeance, on behalf of all those living or perished souls. Heng’s treachery aside, Nevetsecnuac could not dismiss the fact that, Lord Asger’s son to date languished in some dark dreary dungeon.

 With lowered head, Nevetsecnuac ground his teeth and clenched his fist as he seethed.

  If he were to return, Asger would never let him go on this perilous rescue mission.

Teuquob and his bellowed children, their dependence on him could sway his determination. But how could he last another day, knowingly perpetuating this unethical, immoral feat (act)?  Lord Asger had sacrificed so much… Least he could do, is try, try to rectify this grave injustice and reunite him with his flesh and blood son!

Suddenly he knew the action he must take to make all these wrongs right. He could only estimate the scope of difficulty, the unforeseen challenges of his chosen (decided) course, but same time he knew it was the only honorable thing to do.

Springing to his feet, he threw both arms into the air and let out an earth-shaking roar

“Heaven bear witness to my new vow (pledge), whatever the cost; I shall exact vengeance on the Usurper Zakhertan Yozdek for all the wrongdoings he’s committed and, reunite Lord Asger Thuxur Marrog Zhon with his son Ivar Marrog Zhon.”

Nevetsecnuac afterwards (next) with meticulous care buried Heng Erling’s corpse under some rocks, poured libation (offering the entirety of wine which Heng had kept in animal skin vessel/container, and used it sparingly, since the time he’d accompanied Duan) over his grave and said some prayers for his soul.       

 At that moment in time, the first light of day broke; Nevetsecnuac’s eyes beheld a phantasm dragon suddenly manifest in the crimson sky, which it then quickly sailed on by amidst red clouds, till it dissipated.  

Nevetsecnuac thoughtfully nodded, then unable to stand still a moment longer he, vaulting into Fiery Comet's saddle, galloped the steed in the direction of the morning sun.

(THE END OF SECTION 17 – THE CONCLUSION OF THE ASSASSIONS)

 

 

 

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)

 

THE ASSASSINS - SECTION 15

LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE ASSASSINS - SECTION 15

Lord Asger had accepted the distinct possibility that Alec and Duan were but the advance guard of a squad of assassins waiting in the wings to launch the final assault. By preventing Alec from contacting his accomplices, Asger could be sealing their own fate. To determine the veracity (accuracy) of Alec’s claims, and perhaps in due course uncover any collaborators, Asger, with a heavy heart, had finally consented to Prince Nevetsecnuac’s departure at the earliest opportunity.

“He is a lot tougher and more cunning   than he lets on.”  Asger cautioned Nevetsecnuac, advising him to temper his own impatience, to remain vigilant and to be wise beyond his years. “The truth in due course will come to light.”

Asger had scant hope that the two (Nevetsecnuac and Alec) would join up with Lord Shonne Gulbrand and the amassed armies of General Kundrick Dufo, to realize that long awaited goal of purging the usurper Zakhertan  Yozdek.  What is more, he silently feared that he could be sending Nevetsecnuac into an elaborate trap.

Asger looked away to quickly dismiss these inhibitions, concentrating his thoughts instead on his innate, firm confidence in Nevetsecnuac’s prowess. Clinging on to the belief that his nephew would circumvent all danger, expunge all the villains, and return to them in safety armed with the facts.

Regardless, their security had been breached. Upon Nevetsecnuac’s safe return, they would have to, Asger, Nevetsecnuac , Teuquob and the twins, relocate elsewhere, till such a time as a grand action was warranted.

                                                                     ~

When Alec finally awoke late afternoon, he was allowed to wash up and shared some sustenance with Lord Asger and Svein (Prince Nevetsecnuac). During this modest repast, Alec was offered prompt apologies and a very plausible explanation for his prior incapacitation, which had been seen necessary so as to allow Alec this period to recover.

 Though infuriated (irked), at least he had been spared the indignity of being bound.

 Alec, understanding their reasons therefore, meekly played along with this charade and acceded to all their wishes, as well, of him being indefinitely (incarcerated) confined to the small area within the barn. Subsequently, when it was all said and done, Alec was quietly taken aside and re-introduced to Nevetsecnuac, as the prince he sought to find. Alec on his part, feigning   surprise, had promptly paid his homage to his supposed beloved Prince. Later still, Alec was duly informed of the intended time of their departure, possibly as early as the very next day, and so elated was he that from then on, he’d remained quite contented to let things be. 

Long after they had taken their leave, Alec, unable to resist it, partook some more of the delectable morsels that had been left behind along with a pot of tea, for his at will consumption.

Overcome with sudden fatigue, too late he realized that yet again he had been duped; unable to fight the potent drug’s effects, he was rendered once more utterly dead to the world.

 

                                                                                     ~

 

Teuquob in all this time had been directed (advise) to keep well out of sight of Alec. She had thus far complied with understanding their innate concerns, but on this evening   at dusk, her curiosity overriding any reason, she’d on some pretext getting away, snuck back into the barn. 

Guilt and unease accompanied her hesitant steps as she drew nearer and nearer to the stranger. Besides which, she inwardly asserted, she needed to assuage her fears and perhaps resolve some of those persistent, annoying inner queries, before her husband embarked on this presumably dangerous, at best risky venture. She was curious to know also why,

If Asger did not trust this stranger to have him inside the cabin or at the table, why not then dispose of him and be done with it; why (would Asger) allow her husband to accompany this purported foe on the doubtless, precarious escapade?

 As she cast her gaze on the shadowy, sleeping foe’s form, the reasons suddenly were made clear. She knew then that for them to do otherwise would have been far more hazardous. Inwardly she hoped now that Asger’s confidence in Nevetsecnuac would not be in vain or misplaced.

As she had neared still closer, to place a newly filled washbasin over at the small table by the fire, Alec with his strong survival instincts, detecting a presence had at once regained consciousness. He did not let on however, and despite his groggy, dazed state, still managed to discreetly observe her. Before, during the fierce combat, he hardly had the time to note, to scrutinize her features, let alone register her exceptional beauty. Then she had been an object, a key opportunity targeted for sole destruction. But now at this proximity as if seeing her for the first time, he was taken aback and got quite incensed by the existence of such an incredible, indescribable magnificence in this remote dwelling, matchless in grace and most bewitching in allure, presumably a companion, or a mate to the prince.  The prince certainly lacks for nothing! Such a cozy arrangement! No wonder they have me persistently drugged and incapacitated! Alec gnashed his teeth.

Soon however, once again the sleep had claimed him.

                                                                         ~

The morning   of the departure Nevetsecnuac awoke with a start after a restless sleep and straight away noted his wife’s moist and puffy eyes, despite her attempt to hide her face from his view.

"What's wrong?"  Nevetsecnuac sat up, concerned, "Have you been crying?"  Turning   away, she was about to spring out of bed, when he tugged at her sleeve to hold her back. "Oh, you mustn't worry about my leaving, my love. There really is no danger involved in this undertaking.” he then embracing her whispered reassuringly into her ear, guessing at her concern. "Our parting will be so brief you won't even have the chance to miss me."  He did not dare tell her more. Then accordingly, in an excited voice spoke of his duty and obligation to not only the living but those long dead. Then, for Teuquob's sake, he spoke of their hopeful future and his triumphant return to her and their son and daughter, how they would then live out their lives under better circumstances, in relative safety, in contentment and joy until their hairs turned gray, with justice, peace and prosperity restored to the land.  "You must look ahead and rejoice in that future happiness not shed tears. Unless, that is, you doubt my ability.” he gently admonished her.

"It's not that.” her lips quivered, and she once again turned her face away to evade his questioning eyes. Though she tried to resist, her heart was breaking so much that, in defiance, few tears fell, coursing (trickling) down her cheeks.

Nevetsecnuac again gently took Teuquob in his embrace and touched his lips to her tears. "Won’t you give me a big, bright smile?” softly, in a broken voice he implored her. "I want to go away remembering you such."

Concern for him gave her the will to stop. She wiped away the tears then, forcing a smile to her lips. Then in a whisper, stammered, "Please love, keep yourself safe and send for us with due speed. Lord Asger and I will not rest easily until we receive words from you."

"You left out the twins; they won’t miss me I suppose.” Nevetsecnuac jested with an exaggerated pout.

"Oh! You can be so exasperating sometimes!"  Teuquob mockingly punched his shoulder. The fiery radiance in her eyes melted his heart when she next raised her flashed face to look into his eyes. 

"Why must you tease me in this way?"  Teuquob pursing her lips turned her head away, then just as quickly, swiveled back with such a loving gaze that “Nevetsecnuac’s chest heaved with the intense emotion surging up within him. Laughing, he tenderly embraced his wife anew and showered her face with kisses. 

A gentle knock on the door just then interrupted this tender moment announcing Asger’s presence; somewhat reluctantly Nevetsecnuac got off the bed and greeted his uncle who simply said:

"Alec, in his eagerness, has already packed and is even now readying his steed for the journey. When you are dressed, I wish to have a private word with you in my room, please."

When Nevetsecnuac next saw Asger, his uncle was fully clad in white ceremonial garb and was in the act of pouring pure, chilly water from the melted snow over the swords. After the ablution, which drove out all evil influences from the forged steel, Asger held the twin swords high over his head, their blade catching the morning   light that streamed in from the window and said a votary (invocation) to the ancestors within. Once again reunited with the swords through this ceremony, Asger then held it out one of them, hilt first, to Nevetsecnuac.

To Asger the ancestor swords were objects of profound veneration. Forged at his birth amid many rites of purification and prayers to his ancestors, the pair had hung above his bed until his rite of passage into maturity and then had been given to him to learn their use.  It was believed by Asger, and by his ancestors, that such a pair of swords carried the mental, physical, and spiritual powers of their owner and his family.  Hence, on termination of Asger's life, he expected the right to be buried with them at his side.

Understanding the deep significance of such a gift, or rather a loan, Nevetsecnuac knelt to receive one of the ancestor swords of Lord Asger Thuxur Marrog Zhon.  When the sword passed into his hands Nevetsecnuac, with deep reverence, touched the base of the blade to his forehead and vowed to use it only in the cause of justice, righteousness, and mercy.

"I, Prince Nevetsecnuac Alric Therran Valamir, son of Prince Shon Alric Therran Valamir, and grandson of His Highness Zuronghan Alric Therran Valamir, hereby promise to avenge the wrongful deaths perpetrated by Zakhertan  Yozdek and his followers.  I further vow to restore order and peace to this land. These vows fulfilled, I shall return to your presence, Lord Asger Thuxur Marrog Zhon, to pay my respects and entrust this sword once more into your keeping."

Asger smiled in approval and uttered encouraging words to the prince, ending with, "May Heaven assists you in your fateful task, my Prince, and may the sword vanquish all enemies in your path."

After Nevetsecnuac’s farewells to his wife and his loving children he exchanged a few more private words with his uncle, at the end of which Asger patted his shoulder affectionately and said, “Rest assured, my Prince, all will be well here. I give you my solemn word that I shall take diligent care of Teuquob, Alric and Lueling. I will shield them from the least harm and safeguard them with my life. All I ask is that you return to us safely (safe and sound).  Now at the risk of being redundant, remember that once you leave here you must concentrate your thoughts only on the task at hand and nothing else. "

 At the moment of their final parting, despite her promise to herself that she would be strong, Teuquob’s defiant tears had come perilously close to gushing out and so she bit her lip and lowered her head, missing Nevetsecnuac’s one last look back.

 A sudden cry from one of the twins inside the cabin just then beckoned Teuquob. Lord Asger stance however did not change one iota as he, with a somber face, continued to gaze after Nevetsecnuac leading Fiery Comet down the steep path slightly ahead of Alec and his mount. 

Abruptly the air at that moment grew much colder, the strong rising winds that had just then herded dark clouds over the blue fields of the sky, turning day into night; icy chill presently pierced Asger to the marrow, causing an involuntary shiver to pass through him. Dancing flakes of white snow sprinkled his garments, turning   them silvery white with random sequins. Refusing to go inside he stood woodenly, staring at Nevetsecnuac’s diminishing figure until they had entirely passed from his view.

                                                                              ~

(END OF SECTION 15)

 

THE WEDDING - SECTION 5

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE WEDDING - SECTION 5

BRANDT DUSTIN

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

(END OF SECTION 5)