Svein’s
heart weighed with trepidation, he advanced (sped his steps) towards Seno’s
steed, peeking over his shoulder only once more to reaffirm Yagu Dorka’s
position. Yagu Dorka rooted to the spot, had trailed Svein’s
advance with his keen eyes, his projected passive facial expression altering
gradually to seething hatred. No sooner
was Svein hidden from view by a rise when, grumbling to himself, he turned tail
and headed to the front.
“Why should I spare their
miserable, unworthy lives so they can go on pillaging and molesting innocent
people? After the initial robbery, when there is no more to be had, did they
not carry the intent to murder me also? My life would have been forfeited, if
it wasn’t for this good hearted but very, very naïve hero. No, I am not so
gullible. The authorities, bah, piss on them!” He spat on the ground. “Hah, a
good bribe and these ruffians will be back on my case, to finish me off
properly this time. No, they must not be given the least chance!”
First and foremost, he
went searching for a blade or an axe and found his old trusty machete, where
he’d laid it by the covered well, he nodded.
Then donning a disarming
smile, he retraced his steps back to the ruffians and, he hauled them one at a
time; each still bound and gagged, to around the back to the side of that
(fount) well. Not expecting any ill fate,
Roux and Koji had given him no resistance.
Still, it was almost more than he could handle. After each trek he sat
on the ground to catch his breath, panting heavily.
Damn them! He cursed under his
breath. Must they be so heavy, pigs
that they are?
When he regained his
strength, he then went over, fetched the weapon that had been hidden from their
view. As he approached, brandishing the machete, murder registering in his
pupils and a sinister smile on his lips, the hapless victims each had squirmed
and struggled in vain to free their bonds. Roux had remained defiant to the
bitter end, cursing under his breath; but the other, Koji, mistakenly believing
he might affect his fate, had tried all he could in muffled voice to plead for
his life.
“No use begging,” Yagu
Dorka ‘s heart already turned to stone, he’d responded with the scornful
retort, “he gave you his word, but I did not.
I will show you the same mercy you would have shown me!” Without pity or conscience, he thereafter
partially slit Koji’s throat and hurled the dying ruffian’s body straight down
the well right after Rou’s - committing both to a slow, agonizing death.
When Svein returned after
meeting success, leading the steed, he noted at once the absence of the
prisoners from the spot where he had left them.
“Have they escaped?” He
questioned Yagu Dorka with a dubious look.
“No, how could they, with
bonds that secure? I just moved them to
the back, by the well, where they would not be so easily spotted. Fine horse, isn’t he, son? Well, I’m ready. Let us mount and be on our way.” The old man grabbed hold of Svein’s sinewy
arm and steered him away from his intended aim.
“The winds might pick up
later. They are, of course, placed at a safe distance from the possible
kindling remnants of smoldering fire?” Svein felt he had to ask, desperately
trying not to guess at their true fate.
“Yes, yes, the fire will
not hurt them. For heaven’s sake, why
worry about them so much, as if they were kinfolk? They really don’t deserve that much
consideration.”
Suppressing the serious
misgivings in his heart, Svein chose not to investigate any further and, in a
leap, mounted the horse. He then reached
out and hauled Yagu Dorka up to a seat behind him.
“Now hold on tight, elder. We must ride swiftly to gain the advantage.”
he said sternly, just before galloping into the distance.
The old man’s heart nearly
jumped into his mouth. In his fright he
wound his arms tightly around Svein’s waist and, trembling, burrowed his face
into Svein’s back. He remained in this
state of fright even after they’d slowed down, trotting over uneven ground.
“You can relax your grip
now, elder.” Svein had to remind him.
But Yagu Dorka’s heart was still palpitating fast, he hung on tighter
than ever. After a spell he gradually
relaxed his grip as his fear of falling eased. Besides, his arms had started to
ache something fierce.
You did that on purpose…. Trying to give me
a heart attack! More himself now and feeling that Svein had suspected him
of what he had done, he conspired to prove his innocence by airing his
grievance with an indignant voice, “We really should have killed them, you
know. Leave no loose ends I say. It was
wrong of us to leave them behind to perhaps succeed in freeing themselves. What if they were rescued sooner than we
figured, and hastened to trouble us, well before we rescued my grandson? Aye, that won’t be any joke!”
Suppressing his rising
temper at this blatant deception, Svein responded with an even tone, “That is
not likely to happen, elder. We are
making good time.”
But irked Yagu Dorka would
not let the matter rest. In response to
Yagu Dorka’s subsequent provocation, his dishonest, manipulative ways, Svein’s
curt (brusque) response was unavoidable: “And I say enough blood was shed! Besides, rendered incapacitated, killing them
at such a state would be deemed nothing less than a murder. How can we expect Heaven’s help, if we
embrace evil and practice unjust, wrongful ways?”
“You are too naive, my
son. Bandits aren’t just misdirected
men. They have no morality or scruples
and all the time they deliberately cause injury to ordinary folks for money and
other such material gains. They prey on the weak, the vulnerable and all decent
beings. They are no better than wild beasts.
They should all be done away with, exterminated like the vermin they
are, if you ask me, wiped off the face of the earth! You are wasting your sympathy on the likes of
them? But, why argue the point, since we
are well on our way? Eh well, I hope we
won’t regret your good hearted, humane decision later.”
Svein made no reply to
this pretend self-righteous sermon. Yagu Dorka had no shame, no shame at
all!
Biting his tongue, Svein
simply glared on ahead, and then once more, spurred the horse into full gallop.
Frightened to death over
again that he might fall, the old man abandoned his next line of argument and
tightened his strong grip around Svein’s waist.
After a quarter of a day’s
travel, the farm dwelling in question finally came into view.
Yagu Dorka, in his hopeful
anticipation forgot his fatigue, his aching bones, his resentment of Svein,
and, donning a broad smile he, with eager eyes, awaited Svein’s help to
dismount.
The stern, robust farmer
had harbored some misgivings when the innkeeper had approached him regarding
the sale of the boy but, since the price had been irresistible and well within
his means, and since he needed another farmhand at worst, or, at best, a
prospective groom for one of his multitudes of girl children, he had therefore
rushed to conclude the deal.
The innkeeper, a front for
the bandits, had fed him the story that the boy’s father was an unfortunate
traveler who had fallen gravely ill while staying at the inn and soon after
arriving had succumbed to death. In lieu
of the lodging and medical expenses that had been incurred the innkeeper had,
therefore, put the boy up for sale to recover some of his losses.
Now this sort of
transaction, resulting from the misfortunes of stranded travelers, occurred
frequently enough with no trouble trailing after it, so the appearance of two
strangers, who declared that the boy had been abducted by bandits and was
theirs to claim, sent the farmer into seething rage, fear and regret.
It was mainly due to Svein’s distinguished,
commanding presence and his fine manner of speech, that they were at all
received and allowed to air their grievances.
Had the old man taken this journey alone, he would have forfeited his
life before single utterance of a word.
The farmer would have
sooner killed him as a trespasser or a suspected bandit, or simply driven Yagu
Dorka away from the premises, professing ignorance of any such transaction and
quickly disposing of the incriminating evidence, then plain turning the boy
over to him. As it were, compelled to
admit ownership, the farmer still griped (complained) about the idea of
returning the boy; insisting on being first compensated for the incurred
expenses- such as his time, food, and funds.
“Or we can take up the matter with the
innkeeper or the authorities.” he bluffed.
Svein, wishing to end the
matter quickly, asked the farmer to state his price for the boy’s redemption.
Since it was also in the
best interests of the farmer to settle the matter quickly, fearing worse
trouble in the wake of these two, he promptly quoted an exaggerated amount.
Before Svein could respond
the old man hastily interjected, “Please, son, allow me. He is, after all, my kin and you have done so
much for me already.”
But, as he reached into his purse, Yagu Dorka
could not help but murmur: “The idea!
Paying to get back one’s own grandson!
He is but another robber!”
Fortunately, his words were barely audible;
otherwise, it would have simply added fuel to the farmer’s ire and growing
discontent.
The other, seeing the size
of Yagu Dorka’s purse, angrily reflected on how he could have milked this old
man for still more.
The wretched condition of
the little boy when he was returned produced fresh tears in Yagu Dorka’s eyes
and rehashed acute resentments towards the bandits and this undoubtedly cruel
farmer. Still, choosing not to make an
issue of it, they took their leave without delay.
“Elder, from here on, you
shall not need my help. For your
safety’s sake I think that you should make haste and travel out of this
district. My presence will only slow you
down.” Svein dismounted, leaving the old
man, cradling his grandson, alone on the horse.
“Hang onto the straps,
Elder and gently tug, for slow advance. The steed is well tempered, but
whatever you do, don’t kick his sides with your feet. I now bid you farewell,
elder; go with Heaven’s blessings and may you prosper in your new life.”
So, saying Svein veered
and made his way towards the hills for a shortcut.
“Eyyy!!! Stop…Come back! I
don’t know how to ride…. And I’ve yet to thank you properly for all that you
have done for me!” Yagu Dorka shouted after Svein.
“That’s not necessary, elder.” Svein shouted
back, looking over his shoulder, as he continued with his swift strides.
“Come back, son! How can I take the horse, too? It rightfully belongs to you. And what about the remainder of the ransom
money?”, again Yagu Dorka insisted.
“You will have more need
of both than I. But that reminds me, when you are at considerable distance from
here, before you reach a safe town, you should also consider releasing
Chieftain Seno’s horse in the countryside. A recognizable mount could beget you,
unwarranted trouble. Now, please ride
on to take advantage of the daylight hours.”
Svein then picking up speed rounded the hill.
The child, not
understanding his grandfather’s anguish, began crying in fright.
“Hush, child. There’s nothing to be afraid of, not
anymore.” When Yagu Dorka next raised
his head to look at Svein he found the young man had already disappeared from
view. Through the tears that misted his
eyes the old man investigated the void and whispered his heartfelt gratitude to
Svein; then, as directed he gently tugged at the reins (strap), and let out a
deep sigh of relief when the horse began trotting along on the main road.
~
Svein had taken the path
through the hills to make up for the lost time.
On his return he would, if he could help it, abstain from saying
anything at all his escapade- if the sequence of events that had transpired
could be called that- to his discerning uncle.
He had blatantly defied Stark’s rule of non-interference; and he was not
entirely sure how best to explain this infringement (breach, violation) so as
not to disappoint or anger Stark.
~
“Well, are you going to
buy the horse or not?” The mixed tones
of agitation and desperation in the steward Kurin’s voice snapped Svein back
from his temporary distraction.
“Oh, may I again inquire
after your last quoted price?” Svein quickly getting a grip on himself politely
asked.
“All right, all right, but
you sure do drive a hard bargain. I will
lower my price another fifty, but that’s it.
That’s my final price, take it or leave it.”
“Then I’ll take it”, Svein
announced in an even tone, after a brief pause, masking his bursting delight.
Grumbling, huddling their
heads together, the few remaining spectators dispersed, some pitying Svein,
others calling him ‘stupid’ behind his back.
A commencement of a
strange conversation from shadows just then piqued Svein’s intrigue and so
discretely, he poised (prepared) to listen to the rest.
“Shall we pursue him?” A
seedy well-hidden character under the eaves, subsequently asked another.
“Whatever for, oh you mean
the horse? No, it’s not worth our
while.” The taller one of the two shrugged.
“Granted, it has some
strikes against it, but it is still a good stallion.” The stout shorter fellow
insisted:” Why, if it weren’t for the mark and the color, it could rival the
leader Seno’s horse.”
“Boy, are you way
off! You mean to tell me after all this
time you still can’t tell the difference in breeds?”
“All right, no need to rub
it in. One mistake, that’s all it was…one lousy mistake and you’ve never let me
forget it! I suppose you’ve never erred, your highness the proficient
wrangler.”
“Speaking of Seno” the
other ignored the curt rebuff, “have you heard what had happened to him?”
Nodding, the first one
answered, “Yes, I heard, a terrible, terrible thing. They found what was left
of his partially burned headless carcass, and that’s because the winds had
shifted. They found two more corpses in the bottom of the well. That took some
doing; one had to be lowered down there with a lit candle to identify the
cadavers. Fortunately, the well had been dry.”
Drawing nearer, the tall
sinewy one lowered his voice to say, “Our chief was furious and dispatched men
everywhere to find the culprits of this massacre, suspecting a group of at
least ten. If you ask me, though, I think
it was the work of the rival Micko Gang, and they would have needed twenty or
more to help vanquish them all in that gruesome way. You know how skilled Seno and Roux were, and
according to the reliable grapevine, there had been five in all that had set
out for that old fool’s hut that day.
I’m convinced the stuff with the old man was but a ruse; this was a
well-planned ambush, if you ask me?”
“I am with you on that,
though according to the farmer that the alleged grandson had been sold to, he
swears only two, a formidable youth and the old geezer that had shown up in mid-day
I think, to demand the child’s return and to rob him. The farmer had complied
suspecting also that the rest of the gang must have stayed well hidden in the
small woods nearby ready to pounce, though I can’t imagine why?”
“Yeah, why stop there, why not rush that place
and raise it to rubble or ashes, also after pillaging…why be satisfied with,
though I grant it, quite a sizeable sum… the farmer’s entire life’s savings.”
“You think he’s in on it
too?”
“We’ll soon know. The
magistrate is landing a hand also, dispatching spies everywhere to get at the
culprits. And I hear there’s been a bounty put on their heads.”
Gradually their voices had
drifted (melted) into the distance within the dark alleyway, well beyond the
reach of Svein’s sharp ears.
“You wouldn’t be having
second thoughts now, would you sir? A deal is a deal!” Meanwhile the impatient steward drawing
Svein’s attention anew egged Svein on towards the completion of the
transaction. “I’ll even throw in the
saddle for free, a sort of good measure.” he boisterously declared as Svein was
about to sign the papers. Then, no
sooner had he received the correct amount and transferred the ownership
documents over to Svein that he took to his heels and disappeared entirely from
view. He did not wait to see the result
of Svein’s attempt at mounting the steed, nor did he care. He was not about to stick around for the
inevitable repercussions from the new owner, who’d without fail, like so many
other prospective buyers had, be thrown off and consequently suffer physical
injury, as well, the effrontery to his dignity.
Had he stuck around he
would have witnessed the rarest occurrence, akin to a miracle. For this rider
had hung on…. for how long, no one could say.
As it were, right from the
start Svein had showed unusual daring by throwing away the riding crop that the
steward had handed him, though he had approached the high-spirited horse with
some caution. He first patted the mane
and imparted a few soothing words into the animal’s ear, as if in
communication, then, setting foot in the stirrup, mounted the horse. He had barely enough time to grasp the reins
and sound the command to advance when the steed suddenly took off at a
gallop.
Market place, then the
actual town, in a blinking of an eye, diminishing from rear view; as with lightning
speed, oblivious to Svein’s commands, the steed, bounded over fences, rocks,
thick bushes, ponds and other such obstructions, and cut a path under and over
low-hanging tree branches. Subsequently,
with purposeful intent, the charger (horse) tried his best to throw his rider
off his back. But Svein, with skill and
equal persistence, had hung on for the duration, fastening his grip on the
reins and (his legs) clinging tightly to the animal.
After countless hours
spent at the gallop the stallion, now soaked in sweat, finally conceded and
came to an abrupt halt in the middle of nowhere. Svein dismounted and sat on the ground to
catch his breath, trusting the animal not to run away. The arduous journey had left him drained of
energy as well, but he remained neither angry nor resentful of the horse. Quite to the contrary, the steed’s defiant
spirit had won his approval and respect.
When his breathing had
returned to normal Svein threw a sidelong glance at the stallion and burst into
loud, hearty laughter; the horse in turn reciprocated the same, by whinnying
and thumping his right foot on the ground.
Then an unusual thing happened.
The horse moved right up to Svein and, with his hot breath assailing
Svein’s back, gently nudged him, clearly wanting another go at it.
“All right, I’ll oblige,
but I dare you to show me more of your tricks.
Feel free to test my stamina and skill against your own and fear no
reprisals. But if I win, you must admit
that I am worthy (person to be in charge) and accept me as your master.”
As if the horse had
understood this new dare, he nodded his head and whinnied then stood perfectly
still for Svein to mount him.
No sooner was Svein in the
saddle than the horse shook the flecks of foam from his mouth then reared,
bucked and, when that did not work, fell into full gallop once more. Going faster than an arrow just released from
the bow they raced through the strange countryside on and on, their path
eventually illuminated, only by the countless stars that dotted the sky and the
glorious full moon that looked on with his curious smile.
With his unyielding nature the stallion did
his utmost to exhaust, and at the same time goad Svein, essaying all manner of
tricks to throw Svein off of his back.
During the incessant ride, at times low-lying branched grazed Svein’s
back, while at other times the horse himself fell victim to his own tricks,
with Svein barely escaping injury by straddling the horse’s side.
In the end the horse had to submit to Svein’s
will and acknowledged him as a worthy master.
Standing in the middle of
a field astride the horse, Svein looked at the deep night sky. “New master, new name, I think I shall call
you Fiery Comet.”, Svein sounded his decision in the horse’s ear, receiving a
whinny and nod of the head in compliance.
With pride swelling in his
chest, Svein was able to reach the cabin after several days riding and had
called out to his uncle, anxious to show off his treasure.
Stark was most impressed
and wanted to know at once how Svein had come by such a superior breed of
war-horse.
Concealing some facts,
while embellishing others, Svein had told his uncle the whole story. Stark, though aware that his nephew had not
been entirely truthful with him, had not dwelt on it and allowed Svein a moment
of respite.
~
(END OF SECTION 4)
JP.jpg)
.jpg)
