LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - ON THE WAY TO THE CAPITAL - SECTION 17

The ensuing days and nights the relentless journey passed in much the same way: during daylight hours riding as hard as the mare's endurance would allow it and, stopping briefly at nightfall, in some secluded safe spot (away from the main highway), to allow the animal to recoup part of her spent strength.

Eventually on the fifth day, the road ahead merged with the new major trading route that accordingly (according to general hearsay), would be winding its way alongside the river leading to, at some point, to the bustling trading post.

01- NEVETSECNUAC

When at dusk, Nevetsecnuac’s sharp eyes spotted the beginnings of habitation in yonder (in the far distance); he halted the mare’s gallop and paused briefly to ponder whether it was time for him now to revert to his scholarly disguise.

 Concluding in the end that assuming Fradel Rurik Korvald's identity was more appropriate, despite the traps that may lie- in- wait on the road ahead, Nevetsecnuac steered the horse away from the road and, in a perfectly (hidden) secluded spot, clad himself once more in the poet's finery.

Just as he was about to discard the (bundled up) hunting clothes into a deep crevice, his eyes suddenly caught the jutting head of the miniature key, previously given to him in the pit by the tortured skeleton.

Pulling it out, he examined the item more intently (carefully) in daylight, before returning it to his inner pocket and resuming his journey.

Along the way Nevetsecnuac cogitated (deliberated) on how the metal of the miniature key had been sturdy and, strangely, shared certain similar properties, same texture, sheen, and resiliency, with the sword Zonar, at the start of their combat, had given him (furnished him with) for his use. 

Nevetsecnuac further mulled over (nominated) on, those precious small jewels all inset (inlaid) into the stem and around three cursive pictographs, a rare feat, so ingeniously crafted (worked) into the metal. 

His focus suddenly straying (drifting), “Zonar?" he abruptly queried.

"Your presence has been sorely missed.  When and where, I wonder, will our next destined encounter be?"  His lone cry, left unchallenged, resounded in the thin air, losing itself in the whisper of the wind rippling through the hills.

“Indeed, in a strange way he’d missed his most formidable adversary.”

Nevetsecnuac’s thoughts veered, this time, to his recent hallucination and he questioned yet again whether it was a premonition of the future after all.

 “Would the invincible warrior Zonar, really bring about my premature doom?” 

An inexplicable shudder passed through Nevetsecnuac just then, as the cryptic, cold hand of Death tapped his shoulder.  Despite it all, however, he still felt an absence of malice or disdain towards Zonar.

 “Perhaps that is where my own weakness lies?”

When rider and mount halted for a brief respite, Nevetsecnuac’s attention reverting on the miniature key, he pulled it out and studied those three cursive pictographs that had been worked into the metal.

They were unlike any he had seen or studied.

Unable to decipher their meaning, he decided to postpone solving it till later and quickly secured the key back this time, in his luggage.  He then in one fluid motion mounted the horse and in keeping with the pretense of Fradel Rurik Korvald, picked up the reins in the fastidious manner of a casual rider rather than his usual, expert grip.

Carrying the ornate crop that fashionable scholars used, he quickly spurred the horse back onto the road.  This time, however, he kept the horse's speed more moderate and, in keeping with the disguise, he allowed his rudiment traits (mannerisms, characteristics) merge in conformity with Fradel Rurik Korval’s.

Be that as it may, a sudden query (inquiry) prayed on Nevetsecnuac mind, a deep concern on how his sworn brother was faring in his own journey towards the mountain home where Lord Asger Thuxur Marrog Zhon and Teuquob awaited.

Nevetsecnuac understood that once Fradel had appraised them of the current political situation, so vastly different from the fictitious one by Heng Erling, and consequently, the amended goal; they would be despondent, comprehending (grasping) that he (Nevetsecnuac) would, forever be lost to them.

 Unbidden, Nevetsecnuac shed a silent tear, his soul now torn at their imagined, inevitable, inconsolable grief.  A Gut-wrenching sadness gripped his heart further, knowing he would miss out on seeing (his identical twins,) his son Alric Svein (boy) and daughter Lueling (girl), grow up.

                                                                                       ~                                                                                     

The journey thus far had been long and arduous, yet these rigors paled in comparison to the impending difficulties that lay ahead.  The Capital Province Holger, with all its rigid rules, regulations and stirring of the political soup made Nevetsecnuac a bit uneasy at first, but as he had been preparing for this eventuality all his life, he remained fully confident in meeting these challenges.  And for now, passing as the esteemed scholar Fradel Rurik Korvald presented the least problem of all.

Suddenly, Nevetsecnuac was rudely awakened from his hopeful reverie by the vociferous sounds of gambling, vigorous gaiety and strident music emanating from a string of inns lining the road up ahead.  The savory smells of every imaginable kind of dish assailed his nostrils, and he became aware for the first time that day of his empty stomach.  Reflecting, he realized that he had neglected to eat since the day before yesterday.

Dusk was falling once more, and he finally succumbed to the strong yearning within him for a warm bath and a cooked meal.

Halting the mare in front of the sixth inn by the side of the road, the most modest and respectable looking one of the lots, Nevetsecnuac dismounted and handed the horse's reins to the eager young stable hand.  Another page boy ran up as he dismounted and scooped up the baggage Nevetsecnuac had already tossed down.  Pausing for a moment Nevetsecnuac watched the stable boy gently handling the horse and leading the mare to the stables out back, then quickly mounted the marble steps (stairs) that led up to the posh (well-constructed) ebony door of the Inn, with the page burdened with the luggage following (trailing) close behind.

Nevetsecnuac was politely greeted by a dignified, rather young-looking, tall, lean, stern-faced proprietor seated at the makeshift desk. The original desk, Nevetsecnuac was to learn later on, had been badly damaged the previous night, casualty of an unprecedented brawl (fight, scuffle) between the two members of a rival faction, and was taken away for prompt repairs.  

02-  PROPRIETOR KJELD ROSKO

The proprietor had keen (intense), intelligent eyes, which its scrutiny penetrated deep within one’s soul. Rising to his feet at once, he’d approached the scholar, and with a slight bow of the head had introducing himself as Kjeld Rosko, the humble proprietor of that establishment, then courteously ushered the obviously distinguished scholar (Nevetsecnuac), to a comfortable seat by the makeshift registry desk.

Nevetsecnuac was first offered a complimentary cup of fragrant tea and asked if he would like some delectable tartlet to go with it.  Before Nevetsecnuac had a chance to reply, however, a shapely maid had brought in a tray bearing the steaming pot (of more tea) and some colorful, fluffy pastries. As Nevetsecnuac politely nodded and reached for the offered cup, the proprietor Kjeld Rosko, assuming his businesslike persona, steered around the table/desk and, fetching the elaborately bound registry book from the drawer, he opened it to a specific page.  After picking up the writing brush from its stand and loading it with ink, his eyes lightly trailed down the list of names on the parchment page to the last entry.

Smiling, Kjeld Rosko (the innkeeper) then looked up to pleasantly inquire after his honorable guest's name, his intended length of stay and his immediate and long-term requirements.

"Tonng Yennik." Nevetsecnuac, wishing to escape the scrutiny and unwarranted attention that the name of Fradel Rurik Korvald would attract, without the least change in his serene, but firm countenance, responded.  As Nevetsecnuac was dictating his other requirements his eye, covertly turned towards the crowded dining hall, where he caught sight of a singular stranger, armed with a finely made broadsword under his tailored garments, taking his evening meal in the company of two stout guards.

The stranger, though seated in a far corner, cut such an imposing figure that everyone in the hall was obviously ill at ease with his presence there.  A slight look of displeasure, after sampling (nibbling) one of the morsels, immediately unleashed, a fit of rage and hurling abuses from the guard on the left, directed at the manager who, in turn, red-faced, berated the hapless waiter who appeared to be laboring for breath from fright, but before he could pass out cold, he’d been perfunctorily dismissed.  On a signal from the manager, the more efficient, seasoned staff burst into the scene to fawn (toady, grovel) and to serve on the demanding two.

Kjeld Rosko momentarily distracted by this, his face twitched failing to hide his irritation and suppressed hostility, but only for a spell; the expression in his blue eyes now unreadable, he sported (wore) for a time a wry (sardonic) grin, as he followed the ongoing  frenzied activity to appease the occupants of that table in the dining hall.  Subsequently, turning away, he barked at the page (more like a snap command) to take the guest’s luggage on up to the available room at once then, hastened to complete his business with scholar Tonng Yennic.

03- KJELD ROSKO

In the midst of all that mayhem, the stranger’s eyes had briefly, with a cold, callous air swept the room, totally disregarding the ruckus (commotion) the guard on his left hand instigated (set off); then, purposefully averting Nevetsecnuac’s gaze, he indifferently resumed his stern conversation with the bearded one on his right.

 “Who are you that you should warrant such fear?”  Nevetsecnuac mused, as he stole an impassive glance at the stranger. 

The moment Nevetsecnuac was anew engaged by the proprietor Kjeld Rosko, however, the stranger reverted his cold, piercing eyes with a calculating gleam back on Nevetsecnuac to study him more intently.  His obvious subordinate, the keen bearded companion, becoming aware of this, abruptly fell silent and turned slightly in the same direction to see Nevetsecnuac then, reverted (turned) his questioning gaze back on the latter.

Nevetsecnuac, from the corner of his eye, astutely observed how the bearded one receiving some silent instructions inclined his head towards the lobby and nodded to some unseen person.

“Now the trap will be set.”  Nevetsecnuac tad (smidgen), amused, nonchalant, at his leisure rose and followed the innkeeper and his assistant Rodny (who’s rigid demeanor was more akin to a bodyguard) up the stairs.

The subtle exchange, Kjeld Rosko catching the stranger's eye in passing and, giving the other a terse, obsequious nod, was of course shrewdly noted by Nevetsecnuac. Stifling a chortle, midway up the stairs he (Nevetsecnuac) turned and halted, boldly looking back at the stranger, giving him a complete once over.

“Who are you, really,” Nevetsecnuac intrepidly mused.

And when Nevetsecnuac’s eye caught the dour glower (stern scowl) of the bearded guard, he simply grimaced wryly and, undaunted, turned to continue following Kjeld Rosko and his assistant Rodny, to the top of the stairs.

The proprietor Kjeld Rosko observing scholar’s audacious (risky) demeanor, his face for a spell had turned ashen, but of course, he had quickly masked his dread and, from then on with a glint of admiration in his pupils, he’d covertly scrutinized this unusual scholar, while he hastened his steps towards the assigned room. Finally, at the end of the long hall Nevetsecnuac was solicitously ushered into an airy, comfortable room.

“Lavish decorations,” Nevetsecnuac noted after a cursory glance, “far too lavish, in fact.”

 A frown appeared on his face, and he shook his head, "This will not do!"

"But sir, it’s the best room we have, the most luxurious one at this Inn." Suppressing his fury, Kjeld Rosko reticently (reservedly, warily) protested.  Clearly, he had not anticipated the objection.  His assistant standing rigidly on the side, looking aghast and tongue-tied, wrung his hands as he nervously searched his brain for more persuasive words, to assist his boss in this.

Nevetsecnuac disdainfully walked past both, to stand before a magnificent tapestry hanging over the far wall.  His stern eyes surveyed the fine stitching until they pointedly rested on a miniature hole concealed by the design, and he grimaced coldly.

On the other side the spy blanched and instinctively recoiled with a jerk, fearing he had been found out.  Then, acknowledging that that was impossible, he pressed a single eye back to the portal only to meet Nevetsecnuac's cold stare once more.  Excitement and fear coursed through his veins as he shuddered anew, filled with apprehension.

04- SPY (FRASTOS) - JP 11

Nevetsecnuac, however, smiled sourly and half turned to address the inwardly seething Kjeld Rosko.

"Are you daft or hard of hearing; I said, this room is unsatisfactory. “He said crossly (irately) then softening his tone, explained. “For one thing, it’s too drafty," he shot a glance back at the tapestry, "for another, I prefer the western exposure.  Perhaps I've neglected to inform you of these particular requirements."

"Please, reexamine facts sir and reconsider," Kjeld Rosko clenched his right fist, hidden behind his back, as his assistant, now tongue-tied, clamoring for an apt excuse.  "If I may be candid with you, the rooms facing west are all occupied.  Besides that, they are all second rate and decidedly draftier."  Kjeld said in a placating tone, though he held his hard gaze on the arrogant scholar, "Won't you reassess?  I'll do everything in my power to make your stay here most pleasant and comfortable.  This is truly our finest room, as befits one of your ‘stature, sir.  I assure you that, even if another room becomes available, it will fall considerably short of the luxury you see here."

"Look here," Nevetsecnuac cut him short with a curt gesture of his hand, "if you don't have the means to accommodate me as I wish, then I strongly suggest that you stop wasting my time.  Have my horse brought round at once!"  Feigning anger, he made to leave, pushing past Kjeld Rosko.

"What's all the commotion about?"  The bearded guard from the dining hall suddenly appeared in the hall.

"Sir, this is a private matter.  Your rude intrusion is not appreciated."  Nevetsecnuac glared at the guard provocatively.

“What business is this of yours?  Get lost!” his stern look plainly said.

Obviously unused to this kind of treatment, the guard looked sharply at Nevetsecnuac, his hand gliding over to rest threateningly at the hilt of his sheathed sword, and his polite smile instantly turned into an icy scowl of hatred.

 Any other would have been wasted for a mere cross look, let alone such a rebuke!

“Have you not the slightest idea whom you are addressing?” his eyes narrowed, as he glared venomously (furiously), the threat implicit in his silence.

“So,” Nevetsecnuac mused, “you've had orders not to molest (assault, abuse, mistreat) me; interesting!”

 In keeping with a scholar's arrogance, Nevetsecnuac was about to haughtily rebuff the restrained bully further, when Kjeld Rosko, with unusual agility, rushed past Tonng Yennik (Nevetsecnuac).

Eyes hard with steel determination, the resilient (tough and flexible) proprietor, nevertheless, bowed low to the guard.

"I apologize profusely, sir, for your trouble.  I apologize to you both."  Kjeld Rosko turned and bowed low also, to Tonng Yennik.  Despite his outward show of submission, he quaked in rage, inwardly. Nevetsecnuac was secretly impressed with Kjeld Rosko’s admirable stoical (tolerant, forbearing) nature.

"It’s just a slight misunderstanding, that's all."  Shifting his sham (pretend), nervous gaze back and forth between the guard and Tonng Yennik, he dabbed at the supposed perspiration on his mustache, with his handkerchief.  "The gentleman wishes to have another room.  I was just about to accommodate his wishes."

“It sounds like you're asking his permission, innkeeper!” Nevetsecnuac questioningly looked at Kjeld Rosko.

The guard's face, meanwhile, had crinkled in momentary disgust as, clenching his fist, he let the built-up anger drain slowly from him.  After a scornful laugh he averted Tonng Yennik's eyes and gave the briefest of nods.

 "I apologize for the intrusion."  Without another word, he briskly turned and left.

Kjeld Rosko was relieved that the volatile situation had been averted; after a furtive glance at the retreating guard, he politely turned to address the scholar: "Please, for the time being, make yourself comfortable here; I'll go and make all the specific arrangements at once." Attaining a nod of concurrence from Tonng Yennik, he exhaled deeply, bowed low once more, then hastily withdrew.

“What dramatics!” Nevetsecnuac shook his head after the proprietor.

 “It had not been his intention to be so hard on Kjeld Rosko.  He was only testing the waters to see how far they would go to keep him here.  But why have they made no contact yet?  What were they waiting for?”  Nevetsecnuac had already formed his own opinion on the singular stranger's role in all this or, at least, who it was that had ordered his accommodation here.  Nevetsecnuac had set the wheel in motion, forced their hands but, until the inevitable meeting which, he was certain, would transpire later that night, there was little left now for him to do.  With a shrug of his shoulders, he strolled to the far end of the room and stood in front of the window, thoughtfully staring out at the view.  The miniature gardens, with their man-made mountains and creeks, the snaking pathways bordered by elaborate lattices seemed to be pure ostentation. 

05-SCHOLAR TONNG YENNICK (NEVETSECNUAC)JPG

The shallowness of it all rather disgusted him.  “Only those who only experienced nature at second hand could find the tiny landscape appealing,” he concluded.  He disdainfully pursed his lips then turned away from the window, his mind returning to the stranger and his guards.

“I foiled their immediate plans and forced them into an alternate course.  Next, I'll appear agreeable, but not too much so.  Why should I make things too easy for them?”  His eyes once more surveyed the room.

“I wonder where the trap door is.”  Deducing (figuring out) the most likely spot, he walked over and tapped lightly, so as not to alert any guard concealed within.  Satisfied with the result, he turned back and sat down by the fireplace.

Short time later Kjeld returned somewhat panting (winded, breathless) and with flushed (red) face, for he had to oversee a lot of details and alter or shift the carefully devised plans and traps that had been in place for nearly a month.  After apologizing profusely to Tonng Yennik for the inconvenience and the slight delay he declared, with a certain satisfaction, that the room fitting his precise specifications had now been made ready for his perusal. Kjeld Rosko then, graciously inclined his head and invited Tonng Yennik to follow him.  As they were leaving, Kjeld turned and bayed at his underling Rodney, to; at once move the gentleman's baggage to the “Room Twelve”.

Down the hall, they came across a disgruntled merchant, hair disheveled and clothes akimbo, being hastily, unceremoniously deposited into a new room.  Too angry, or perhaps too frightened, to articulate his feelings, he glared furiously at Kjeld Rosko then stole a scornful glance at Tonng Yennik, before going in and pointedly slamming the door in their faces as they passed.

Feigning incomprehension, Nevetsecnuac raised an eyebrow at the innkeeper.  The apologetic Kjeld nervously rushed to give some lame excuse for the merchant's rude behavior, glancing fearfully at the cracked door to his left as he spoke.  Then, with polite rhetoric (pomposity), he motioned to the room on the right and, inclining his head slightly, ushered Tonng Yennik into the hastily prepared Room Twelve.

"Is this room more to your satisfaction, sir?  Does it meet with your approval?"  Kjeld’s deep etched lines on his face, tell-tale-signs of fret, creased further with impatience as he, waited for an answer.

"Hmm… It will do." Nevetsecnuac responded, after a brief perusal.  Walking over to the far corner, he sunk into a comfortable chair by the mantle.

 “Odd,” Nevetsecnuac noted the recently disturbed dust floating in the air; “this room had not been used for some time.  It obviously wasn't my needs that dislodged that merchant.”

Highly pleased and, showing no inclination to leave Kjeld, meanwhile, had walked up to the tray bearing a teapot and cups and, turning, graciously offered his guest a seething cup of fragrant tea. Receiving a negative response, he next, on the pretext of showing the amenities of the room and how it accorded with his guest's instructions, prodded Tonng Yennik discreetly, so he thought, for more information, his background, destination, and the nature of his business in the Capital.

With a seemingly agreeable disposition, Nevetsecnuac provided him with only the minimum of harmless information, just enough to satisfy Kjeld's curiosity.  Then, feigning distraction, inquired pointedly after the stranger with the broadsword whom he had seen earlier in the dining hall.

06- FAMOUS BATHOUSE  (3)JPG

The shock, which Kjeld Rosko so miserably failed to mask and, his subsequent, evasive answers, piqued Nevetsecnuac’s curiosity.  Nevertheless, for the time being, he decided to simply let it pass.

To Kjeld’s relief just then, an underling after knocking poked his head in and hastily offered his apologies for the intrusion; he next, happily announced that the provisions for the bath had been made ready in the bathing hall.

"A communal bath," Tonng Yennik, his face showing obvious signs of displeasure, derisively asked.

"Why, of course." Kjeld with a profligate grin, explained.  "And you’ll be attended by rare, exquisite beauties of either gender, depending on your preference of course. We have become quite famous for our bathing facilities here ever since we found the means to channel the nearby hot springs in an unlimited supply.  Sir, you are quite fortunate that you have come at this time before high Season.  Winter is our busiest time, and nearly all our rooms are reserved far in advance by gentry from near and far.  Oh, but I'm keeping you from your enjoyment of your bath."  Seizing this opportunity, Kjeld Rosko beat a hasty retreat.

“Yes, hasten forth and report your findings to that stranger.  I'm sure he will be impressed by the uselessness of your observations,” Nevetsecnuac thought as the Innkeeper departed.

“I’m in need of a bath, “Nevetsecnuac reflected, “but only that and nothing else.”

Before he left the room however, Nevetsecnuac took the precautionary measure of concealing his identity papers in a supposed, secure place.  Locking the door after him, he swiftly traversed the long hallway and descended the stairs, following the painted images of a man in a tub down to the bathing chamber.

 

                                                                                            ~

 

(END OF SECTION 17)

THE STATE OF THINGS - SECTION- 15

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 15

 Though Fradel was an experienced rider (equestrian), he had never before been forced to undergo such trying circumstances.  The dizzying speed with which Fiery Comet had galloped (ridden) and the many twists and turns (in topography) he had negotiated had totally spent Fradel's energies and befuddled his sense of direction.  As the stallion flew over and around the many hurdles in its path, Fradel had gripped the reins tightly, clinging to the horse in mortal fear as he used all his innate skill just to remain in the saddle.

 When, finally, Fiery Comet reined in, it took some time for Fradel to catch his breath, calm his heart and steady his nerves before he could dismount.

With the solid earth beneath his (unsteady) feet once more, Fradel looked over Fiery Comet with perturbation, feeling some misgivings despite himself.  The steed, meanwhile, was impatiently neighing and stomping his forefoot on the ground beside the very rock.

“What is it boy?” But then Fradel suddenly realized that Nevetsecnuac's sword was buried at that very spot, just few feet under the rock.

"I suppose I really should be grateful to you for saving my life?"  Fradel dusted off his clothes.  "And I realize now that it would have been too dangerous for me to return home directly at this time." he acquiesced quietly.

 After a few moments deliberation he nodded his head, recalling to mind Nevetsecnuac's parting injunction regarding this horse, “When in doubt, you may rely on his instincts. He will deliver you form all danger.”

Going over, he managed, with great effort, to roll the rock aside then, resting on his knees, dug out the sword with his bare hands.  The sword was still encased in the layers of silk brocade he had given Nevetsecnuac.  Dusting the dirt off, he removed these layers and unsheathed the sword.  Holding it high, he carefully examined this awe-inspiring weapon for any damage.  There was not even a minute notch.  Not even the slightest scratch was visible on the scintillating surface of the cold blue blade.

Truly an amazing blade, one of a kind; it must be true of what they say, that it is cast from a meteorite.  As he shifted his arm’s position, admiring the sword's brilliance, the sword's blade caught the setting sun's rays and radiated ominous torrents of sanguine red light.  That same instant, an icy breeze arose from nowhere, sweeping the area clean and forcing Fradel to shudder to the depths of his marrow.

Mesmerized by the metal's flickering light, he saw on its surface the manifestation of three levitating faces.  He sharpened his vision to recognize Nevetsecnuac's face, but could not place the other two, one old and one young and their identities baffled him.

 After a moment's reflection, however, he came to understand who the other two might be and a mournful, tragic smile played on his lips.  As his heart flooded with renewed longing and grief and his eyes brimmed with tears, he dropped to his knees and, in woeful supplication, implored Heaven's assistance in their righteous cause.

 Fiery Comet fell unusually quiet and at this moment in time, enveloped in stillness, Fradel saw unfolding in his mind's eye Nevetsecnuac's heroic countenance, larger than life, wielding this sword with consummate skill as he vanquished his enemies in a sea of blood.

 Then, from behind the prince, a monstrous crimson wave arched its back, leaping to devour him.  Reacting instantly, even though he could not swim, Fradel, with a palpitating heart, rushed forward with outstretched arms to embrace Nevetsecnuac, to shield him and deliver him from this terrible danger.  A quivering cry escaped him instead as his arms flailed in the empty air beside the rock.  Cupping his face in his hands, he gave way to a storm of tears.  His face contorted with pain and rivulets of sorrow cascaded down his burning cheeks.  Clutching at his heart, he wailed in mournful regret, "What am I doing here?  My place is with my brother.  I want to live and die by his side.  Oh, how could I have abandoned him so?”

"What do you want from me?"  The persistent nudges of Fiery Comet suddenly brought him back to his senses and the burst of anger subsided.

Presently, he hung his head low in resignation.  Yes, the beast is right.  There is no time for agonizing over my negligence.  No time for regret, or remorse, or grief. 

He knew then what he must do.  As a man of honor, his own salvation dwarfed in comparison to his obligation to deliver this sword to its rightful owner and the future heir (descendant, successor). Moreover, it was essential to the success of the task that he permitted himself no weakness.   Collecting himself, he scrambled back to his feet and carefully secured the sword across his back underneath his cape.

Though apprehensive at mounting such a spirited animal again, he nevertheless braced himself, boldly placed his foot in the stirrup and hauled himself back into the saddle.

No sooner than he'd gripped the reins, Fiery Comet shot forward like a missile just sprung from a catapult and Fradel's ordeal began anew.

Like his namesake, Fiery Comet's speed was such that Fradel felt as if he was riding a gale force wind.  The ground was a blur under the horse's hooves and the air moaned in Fradel's ears.  Flirtatious stars winked at him through floating clouds, as the trees, shrubs and grasses, casting their shadows by full moonlight, swayed in the breeze to bid them farewell.

Well into the night the lone rider sped, unfaltering, through the forests, hillsides, plains and valleys of the countryside.  Still, Fradel was not Nevetsecnuac Alric Therran Valamir.  Despite his determination and the care taken by his mount not to unseat his rider, the exertion still made Fradel's heartbeat with such wildness that he felt it would burst from his chest.

 His throat now parched, the hunger pains stabbing at his stomach merely compounded his misery. Had Fradel but known it then, this would be the norm from here on, that this was to be but the very start of the even more trying hardships that lay ahead- he might have had second thoughts and be fearful of the portended future.  As it were, from this day forth, he would never again be the one to bask in prior, carefree life of luxury (luxurious Lifestyle), one who’d devote many lonely hours to the adoration of beauty or contemplate on the philosophies of nature and of man.

 A true test to his innate (nature) characters however, he embraced wholeheartedly this new, arduous course (lifestyle), with courage and determination, wowing to do his utmost in furthering the righteous cause of Lord Asger Thuxur Marrog Zhon and his beloved sworn brother Prince Nevetsecnuac Alric Therran Valamir.

His will was one thing however, his physical strength and vigor (robustness) another. Despite his inner drive, his endurance taxed to the limit, he soon longed for rest.  Every fiber of his (being) body ached but his obstinate mount, as if to torment him, paid no heed to his commands and showed no sign of slowing down.

My stamina (physical strength and vigor) cannot keep up with this grueling ride, it is at ebb.  I fear it will fail me, then what?  Fradel dismally reflected. 

I should at least take measures to guard against falling. 

In desperation, he began winding the reins tightly about his wrists; securing himself somewhat he thought, in the saddle should he lose consciousness.  Before Fradel had secured the final loop, however, to his relief and elation, Fiery Comet began decreasing his speed until he came to a halt in a clearing at the edge of a forest. 

Acting on impulse, before this stubborn steed changed his mind, Fradel quickly loosened the straps and dismounted. He collapsed face down; spread-eagle on the ground in half conscious state.

When Fradel regained his senses the faint sound of a stream flowing nearby reached his ears.  So, I was not dreaming, he heaved a sigh.  Then he rubbed his throat, Oh, I'm so parched! 

Still teetering on the brink of collapsing once more, still saddle sore, he forced himself to his feet and, letting his ears and the horse, which had not left his side, to guide him, he groped his way in the darkness to the edge of the stream.  Once there he squatted, quaffing water from his cupped hands until his thirst was quenched.  Seeking further relief, he doused his face and neck with the cool, refreshing water.

Fiery Comet had moved downstream and was helping himself to drink when, feeling playful, he abruptly began to splash and spray flecks of water at the scholar.

Ignoring this dousing, Fradel rose, squeezed the excess water from his hair and, with a frown, headed straight for the nearest tree.  No sooner had he propped (leaned) his back against its trunk than his hunger disappeared, and he fell instantly into a deep slumber.

The stallion, disappointedly whinnying, trotted to Fradel's side where he began to quietly graze on the shorter blades near the tree, ignoring the lush, tall grass farther away in the meadow.

(END OF SECTION 15)

 

THE WEDDING - SECTION 2

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC

THE WEDDING - SECTION 2

Svein, spotting this magnificent horse had been unable to restrain his admiring gaze, and so had lingered on the spot a moment or two longer than usual.  However, prejudging that the horse of this breed and magnificent bearing would be far beyond his means, he then turned and prepared to pass it by when the burly (robust) steward Kurin rushed towards him and, grabbing hold of his sleeve and tugging at it, began steering Svein towards the horse, as he wagged his tongue in coercion.

“You look like an intelligent and discerning young man, one that recognizes the worth of this magnificent steed.  All about here are fools, pay no attention to them.  Come, come, and look.  Take a good closer look; see how spirited and strong he is.  Look at his strong body, his shining coat, his luxurious mane.  Is he not superior to any others you’ve seen in the market today?  Why, you should feel privileged just to be near such a magnificent stallion.”

Holding his awe in check, Svein nodded his head approvingly.  Truly the horse was a superb specimen, a breed the like of which he had not seen before- save for the pages of books.  Excitement filled his heart as he approached the animal.

“Listen, I can see that you are an astute young lad.  I mean to do you a good turn,” Kurin continued ceaselessly, encouraged by Svein’s lack of an outright refusal to take a closer look at the horse.  “For you are not like this other beggarly lots.  No sir, you are indeed a most worthy young man.  You deserve to own such a horse, and I mean to help you realize your goal.  The horse should be ridden by one such as yourself and no other.  What do you say?  Are you interested?  If you are, I’m willing to make further concessions, and, just for you, I’ll even lower my asking price still another notch.  Well, what do you say?  Now, don’t take too long to make up your mind, or I may realize that I’m being too generous and therefore rescind my offer.  I mean I may change my mind about letting it go for such a low price.  As it is, I’m already taking a big loss.”

Though he had kept alluding to ‘lower price’, no specific figure had been cited, and, having arrived late at the market, Svein had not the slightest idea as to what price the steward was referring to. Still, it would not do to inform the seller of this.

“Sir, you are most generous with your offer of this horse to me, and I remain not without gratitude for your consideration.  Indeed, I would feel it an honor to own such a magnificent steed.” Svein declared with an appeasing smile.  But then he hesitated with his next words as he fingered the few remaining gold pieces in his pocket.  “However, I doubt that I can meet your asking price, therefore I must ask you, sir, to allow me to continue on my way.”  So, saying, he tried to take his leave, but the seller pretended not to have heard Svein’s last words and hastened forward, leading the horse by the bridle, until he again stood in solid stance before Svein.

Kurin’s forced smile made the scar on his forehead and cheek even more seemingly, as he tried his best to appear congenial. “Though the asking price is quite low, it can be further negotiated to meet with your approval, sir.”  He then invited Svein to take another close look and mount the horse for a good try if he so desired.  When Svein showed reluctance, Kurin quickly quoted his rock-bottom price.  Svein, dumbfounded by the lowness of it, was devoid of any response.  Unfortunately, it was still not low enough for Svein.  Just as Svein was about to explain to the steward that he was not against making the deal, only that he had within his means, a slightly lesser amount than even the last quoted price, when a do-gooder, keeping his distance, extended his warning to Svein with a shout, not to make the purchase.

Persistent haranguer, undeterred by Kurin’s murderous look as he ground his teeth, at safer distance, continued with his barking his dire warnings and hurling at Kurin many vulgar, slanderous words.  As he did this his animated gestures anew, drew (magnetized) more spectators to the scene.  Others joined in; in safe distance as well, they flung their abusive words at the steward Kurin for trying to sell a dangerous animal to the unsuspecting youth; while still others directed their voices at Svein, advising him not to be duped by this cheat.

The exchanged hostility, the cacophony of hurled abuses, slanders and threats – this dangerous precedence was unexpectedly thwarted however, upon the sudden appearance of an armed regulator on the scene.   Many took to their heels; save for Svein and the Steward.

Kurin going forward, exchanged few words with the regulator some of it appearing to be a threat; but then he pressed the necessary bribe into the palm of the regulator, promised to conclude his business succinctly and about face, he retreated his steps back to Svein.

Encouraged by the fact that this brave youth had not scattered like the rest and in fact, remained on the scene, Kurin now did his best to finalize the deal. As an added incentive, he even lowered the quoted price further.

In truth, from the start Svein had recognized the horse’s fiery, untamed nature and had also been aware of the superstition concerning the markings.  Only, possessing a clearer head and understanding the root of it, he had remained quite undeterred in his aim.  The only obstruction to this transaction had been the shortfall (insufficiency) of his funds.

When Svein had left home, he had within his means more than enough in gold to cover any deal but, due to circumstances encountered along the way, the sum had been greatly reduced, leaving him now in this bind.  Still, he was not disheartened.  Recognizing his advantageous position he had simply bid his time and waited to hear the desired sum.

Short time before the appearance of the regulator on the scene, though it had been inconceivable, Svein had thought, for a spell, he’d recognized a certain old man among the jeering crowd; but after brief scrutiny, he’d heaved a sigh of relief knowing his eyes had deceived him, that in fact, it had not been him. A curious expression dawned (manifested) on his face just then, as the wagging tongues of the crowd around him gradually grew muted and another reality set in - the reality of the last two days.

                                                                                  ~

 Svein was back on the lone stretch of a dirt road in the middle of nowhere, advancing with bold strides.  Under the canopy of the smoldering midday sun, he remained oblivious to the rivulets of perspiration that ran down his forehead.  Not a breath of air stirred.  All was eerily quiet.  The dust kicked off by his feet leisurely settled back once more behind him to create shallow, solitary impressions of his feet.  Tall grasses, partially yellowed, drooped in a listless mood flanking the road. His feet subsequently led him to even more desolate section, where large areas of earth were mantled in misshapen mounts of black, at times sticky hard, charcoaled, amidst powdery black shapes generating bizarre, surreal landscapes.

Shortly before dawn, in another inhospitable segment that had cut through a rocky ridge (ravine), he had had a brush with the group of bandits.  They had pegged him an easy prey since he was traveling alone on this isolated route.  But even though they were armed, mounted and greatly outnumbered him, after several rounds of fighting, seeing that Svein could not be bested, they had scurried off in defeat to the safety of the hills.

At such a young age, caution being an alien concept to the youthful enthusiasm, it had occurred to Svein during the fight to unhorse one of the burly bandits and then gallop after the fleeing bunch, to teach them a proper lesson they soon won’t forget. But that same instant, unbidden had come to mind, his uncle’s stern face and words that quickly curtailed this objective.

Dusting off his clothes, he’d then with unfaltering energy, had continued on his way, in due course covering a great distance and though it was now midday, he still had kept up his speed without stopping for rest, food, water, shade or encountering another sort of brigand band or group of thugs, hence, missing out on another exciting opportunity to practice his prowess.

 A while back he had felt certain spying eyes tracking his advance, but after a time, they had shrewdly aborted the notion of another, equally unproductive engagement.

The surrounding landscape growing still more desolate with each step, he was on the verge of being despondent (glum) by the insipid surroundings and the subsequent lackluster (drab) trek that went on and on without end- when the tedious silence was broken by the distant, barely audible sobs and groans.  His acute hearing homing into this disturbance, he advanced towards it with renewed zeal- anything to break this monotony! The ejected sounds gradually increased in volume with each step, a telltale sign that he was headed in the right direction.  And sure enough, before long the obscure object on the side of the road, beside a ditch up ahead, began to take form of that of an old man, a peasant in somewhat tattered clothing.  He was crouched in the outline of a ball, hugging his knees and rocking back and forth.  At present he had his head buried between his arms as he continued to emit sporadic groans punctuated by heart- rending sobs.  Svein hastened his steps towards this unfortunate fellow and, nearing him, halted only a few inches away.

Reaching out and gently placing a hand over the old man’s shoulder, he then accosted him, “What ails you, elder?  Can I be of any help?”

With a start the old man ceased his loud sobs and looked up; so, consumed he’d been with his troubles and sorrow that he’d remained oblivious up till then, to Svein’s presence.  What greeted Svein was the weathered, dusty face, scored with wrinkles and scars, evidently wiped clean with the tears that had poured endlessly from his puffed, bloodshot eyes.  In the absence of words latter gazed fixedly at Svein’s face, surveying his features to see if he recognized him.

No, he did not know of him at all; and he always prided himself on having a good memory for faces.  A look of anger and scorn replaced his surprise just then, as his mouth tightened in a frown.   So, what business of his, was it anyway?  Was he mocking him?  Had he the intent to rob him also?

But Svein’s gentle caring face, the sincerity in his eyes quickly (muted all suspicion) melted away his frown and froze the subsequent words of retort on this tongue.  Instead, in a muffled voice he gave this reply, “It’s good of you to ask, stranger, there is really nothing you or anyone else can do to ease my pain. So be off with you lad.  My troubles are unsolvable; leave me alone with my misery.  Ah, if only I’d never been born!”  Having said this, he once more cupped his face in his hands and burst into loud sobs.  When he next raised his head, feeling spent, drained of all energy from all that grief, he abruptly ceased his crying; his curiosity piqued, he looked askance at the youth, interested in knowing why he still loitered about and not skedaddled like he should have. (Why hadn’t he taken his leave?)

“Are you still here? Why don’t you go away? Scram. Go on, leave me alone.  Let me die in peace.” Finding his courage then, he shouted at Svein angrily as if to unburden his stored-up hostility and grief that so heavily oppressed his chest. Then within his erratic outbursts, his rage succumbing to his grief once more, he began to wail, “What, oh what have I got to live for, anyway? They are all gone. Now he will be lost to me, as well.  I will never see him again.  Why, oh why did I toil all these years? To what purpose was my youth spent? What retribution am I paying for?”  With crazed emotion then, he pulled hard at his disheveled, matted hair till small clumps of it came loose in his palms.  He stared at them as if in surprised disbelief, with eyes unfocused. He was clearly in shock, his brain atrophied; his senses, his strength began to ebb and, by degrees, emaciated with grief- this presupposed great tragedy had clearly proven too much for him to manage.

Svein’s heart ached for the devastated old man and so again he persisted in his offering of help, “Respected elder, please tell me of your troubles. Maybe I can be of some help.  No man is alone in this world. It was fate that set me on your path. Please allow me this chance to offer you some slight solace.”

“Why should you help me? Why should you want to, I don’t know you from a hole in the ground, do I?” he irately asked, not expecting an answer.

“No sir, we have never met, but that should not prevent fellow travelers alone on the road from giving aid to one another. My wish is most sincere.  Please accept my help.”

Still unconvinced the stubborn old man shook his head.  “This is a common road. It was not fate that brought you here. I know the God’s have forsaken me.  I am done for, finished.  No one can lessen my misery!”  Though he had said this punctuated by sighs, the note of tragedy in his voice nevertheless had lessened. He was, in fact, partially soothed by the stranger’s concern.  Inwardly he was grateful that at any rate he had received a sympathetic ear to his troubles, even though he expected little else to come of this.

 As Svein dispensed further kind words, little by little he won the old man’s confidence, grief gave way to reason and, by degrees, he became more disposed to divulging his troubles and receiving Svein’s help.

It was quite apparent from the old man’s earlier reluctance that he had never seen such kindness from others, let alone from a stranger.  After their brief introduction, in which Svein learned that the old man’s name was Yagu Dorka, the old man began, in a rather incoherent way at first, to relay the cause of his grief.

  Yagu Dorka told this sympathetic youth, how he once not too badly off, had bought a girl slave, Misa, with the intent of making her, after she grew up, his son’s wife.

 “They are cheaper if you purchase them young and rear them yourself.  On top of it, it would spare you the expense of a dowry.  Tell me, I know you are still young, but has your marriage been arranged yet?”

Svein’s reddened face brought a faint smile of amusement to the old man’s lips.

 “But it won’t be long, eh?  Your parents should think ahead.  It won’t be a joke if you were to come of age without the benefit of marriage.”

Svein felt extremely uncomfortable with this kind of talk.  As it was, until that very moment he had given girls no thought at all, let alone contemplating marriage.  He shifted his body with some discomfort.

“All right, I’ll say no more.” Yagu Dorka consented with a mischievous grin.  He was satisfied at having dispensed this piece of advice and was now eager to continue with the rest of his story.  “When she reached marriageable age, she was promptly wed, without too much fuss, to my only son. Oh, I forgot to tell you his name, Ake, it means to forbear.  Yes, Ake was my one and only precious boy, for his mother had borne me no other living children.  Ah, never mind.  As I was saying, Ake was truly handsome, and Misa had grown up to be quite a pretty girl, so it was a good match.  On top of that she was a good worker, a good, sturdy girl.  Never a day was she sick.”

Though, at the time of this marriage, Yagu Dorka’s wife had been deceased for some three years it still had not prevented the occasion from being a festive one.  When, ten months later, Misa bore a beautiful, healthy grandson, Yagu Dorka’s happiness had been boundless, and his future assured.

“Ahhh,” again he heaved a deep sigh, “little did I know that my happiness would be short lived.  Five years, five years was all that my happiness lasted.  I tell you; fate has been very cruel to me.  I am a hardworking, poor farmer with no vices.  I have only a few acres of infertile land to my name, and though my son and daughter-in-law toiled over that land from sunrise to sunset, just as I and my wife had done in our youth, we barely scratched out enough of a crop to sustain our meager existence.  Still, I was content for at least here, in this desolate corner, we did not have to pay heavy taxes or kickbacks, like so many, in other parts of the country.

“Last year we finally had a copious (bountiful) harvest, and we had enough spare after expenses, to buy us a mule.  My foolish son argued with me endlessly that if we had a mule pulling the plow, we would get double the work done and thus, land might yield us bit more harvest.  Why should we put the money away for a rainy day?  Little did I know that owning a mule would bring us such trouble?”

 Then, as if reminded, he looked Svein straight in the eye and cautioned, “Son, be careful, since you are headed for the town, for there are many disguised brigands that are there at the market, to pick out the potential victims, see what they are buying, and then follow them out onto the road…  Meanwhile word has been sent ahead for an ambush.  Sometimes they will follow you right to your home, learn your whereabouts, and then later return in numbers to raid your place for even greater gain.  Ahhh...”  The old man paused as he reflected.  This left no doubt in Svein’s mind that was what had happened to Yagu Dorka’s family.

“Though the mule is not that highly prized, wonder what was on that ruffian’s mind that he should have stalked my son all the way home?”, he loudly queried to himself, startling Svein from his rumination.  “But it must have been fate, for the villain from his hiding place caught sight of my daughter-in-law, who had rushed out to greet her husband, and being quite taken by her good looks- for I admit, she was rather blessed with feminine attributes- lusted after her.  Returning to his lair he then must have told enough convincing lies to lure some of his friends to accompany him, with the promise of good plunder.  This I concluded from all their bickering and swearing when they found so little to rob in our place and realized they had been properly duped on this supposed heist.  The coward had needed assistance you see, to carry out his evil intent.”

Yagu Dorka ground his teeth in contempt then impatiently wiped away a trickle of tears that had escaped his eyes.  “Our place, set out of the way, was built to guard against nature’s calamities and occasional, wondering wild animals, not against dangers from bandits.  I told my son, I pleaded with him, ‘Let them take all, let him have her.  Why resist?’  Though he was young and strong, what did he know about fighting?  Besides, he was one against many.  But no, foolish, foolish boy!  Ahhh!  Still, it was going to happen, what can I say?  I threw myself at the burly lout’s feet and begged him to spare my son’s life when he’d pinned him to the ground under his sword.  But he only laughed at me then, baring a fiendish grin, as he cruelly slit my son’s throat.  At that moment my whole body went numb, and the world darkened (diminished) before my eyes.  Meanwhile at the far end of the room the culprit ruffian had cornered Misa.  Her eerie screams just then as he began having his way with her, curdled my blood that had already gone cold and snapped me from my trance.  Before I could say or do anything, however, the swine, having had enough of her screams, landed her a powerful punch, which proved fatal and silenced her forever.  The brute, even after she was gone, he continued to...”  Yagu Dorka could not go on and turned his head away in silence.  It was some time before he could resume his story.

When he began anew, Svein rushed to stop him from telling further, seeing the pain it caused him, but the old man insisted.  “No, let me finish…The other goons, those disgruntled hoodlums ransacked my place, then they pried my grandson from my arms, the child screaming and kicking with all his might, and warned me that, unless I came up with some ransom money within a week, I would never see him alive again.  But where can I get this supposed money?  They have already cleaned me out, took everything I had of any value, carted away all my stored grain and seeds.  All I had been left with was that few acres of land out back and few lesser crops planted late and not yet ready for harvesting.  But all my pleas and cries for mercy went unheeded and I was left alone with the corpses.  Taking a grip on myself, I first buried them.  Then, taking the deeds to my land with me I headed to town.  After an extended try, I finally sold them, even then, for half of what they were worth.  But it was still not enough. Since then, I’ve wrecked my brain, trying countless ways to come up with the rest, all to no avail.  Now what am I to do?  Tomorrow is the day of their vowed return, and I have zip, zero, and zilch, nothing further left to sell.”

“Why didn’t you complain to the magistrate when you were in town?” Svein naively asked.  “Surely you could have gotten some help from them.  It is not right that you should give in to kidnappers’ extortion.”

“Are you not from these parts?” Yagu Dorka angrily snapped, but before Svein could give his reply, “Of course not,” came his own conclusion.  With a nod of his head, “Son, in this district the magistrate, the so-called law enforcement is but a farce.  In some ways he and his deputies are far worse than they are.  Some even claim that he is in cahoots with the bandits, just like the prior corrupt official he’d replaced.  Why do you suppose there are so many innkeepers, other such businesses that are thriving in town?  There really is no one, no honest citizen, or higher official you can trust to take on your case.  If I was not to heed their warning and go on complaining to the magistrate or anyone else and the word reached them, I would be in far worse fix…  There is no limit to their cruelty, I tell you, and I shudder to think what will befall my grandson then!” An involuntary quiver passed through him just then. After a momentary pause, he again, abruptly cried out in dismay, “Oh, I am getting too old for such trouble. All this worrying has taken years off my life and made me more muddle headed. And to think, all this happened because that son of mine wanted to better our lot…  If only he had remained content!  But what is the use of complaining about it now? They are all gone. All I have left is my grandson, which is why I must do all I can to save him.”  Then he mumbled to himself, “But how can I redeem him?”  Again, he fell into deep despair and, ignoring Svein, stared to sob as before.

“Please elder, stop crying. I meant what I had said before. And, since I am in a position, I will gladly cover the sum necessary to meet their demands.”

Had Yagu Dorka heard the stranger right? Were his ears deceiving him? “You would do that for me, someone you’d just met?” the old man asked in great surprise as he, same time scrutinized this youth’s attire now more closely. He was no pauper, that’s for sure.

Svein nodded his head, sporting a broad, supportive smile on his lips.

“Oh, son, you are too good to believe. Truly you must be a saint or an immortal, descended from Heaven. Well, I’ll be...There is justice on this black earth after all!”

So, saying, Yagu Dorka began shedding, but this time, tears of joy.

“As there is no honor among thieves, my only concern is that they might not return the boy,” Svein voiced his private misgivings, withholding the words “in safety.”

“That’s a chance I have to take.”  Yagu Dorka now with renewed spirits bounced back with his swift response. “Besides, he is only five years in age and a rather meek boy in physique.  More likely they will return him to me for another five years before trying to abduct him again, only I will not be here.  Even if I must beg my way, I will get away, far, far away from this place.  Come to think of it, I do have a distant, distant relative, a cousin of sorts from my father’s side that perhaps I could seek out.”  But wait a minute; he quickly checked his enthusiasm; he had not seen any money yet.   “Son, are you sure you want to give me this sum?”  So, saying, he now quoted a figure. “It is a bit much.” Then quickly swallowed the words and I am not sure when I can pay you back. He did not dare profess this outwardly, fearful of deterring him; nevertheless, his conscience forced him to add, “Are you sure you can spare it?”

“Of course I can, elder, and please do not concern yourself with how you can pay me back, for I am giving this sum to you as a gift.”  As he said this, Svein produced from his pocket a leather money purse.  After placing a smaller some from it into his pocket, he handed the pouch to the old man.  “I’m sorry I’m unable to give you still more.  Please keep the purse as a token of our meeting.”

When the old man opened the pouch and saw the amount, disbelieving the weight of it, his face at once flushed.  “Oh, but this is entirely too much!  You’ve made a mistake, son, you have given me far, far more than I needed.”

“No, elder,” Svein replied with a smile as he refused to take back the difference, “The rest is for your traveling expenses. Now please put it away in your safekeeping. I have more than enough to cover my expenses.”  So, saying, Svein patted his pocket on the outside for emphasis. In truth, he had kept only the bare minimum for the purchase of a moderate horse. He, in his generosity, had denied himself a place of sleep and food once in town.  But he was not concerned.

Meanwhile, the old man was beside himself with joy. Never in his life had he seen so much money all at once. Countless years of lucky, bountiful harvest and frugal living would not have produced this accumulated sum, which he now held in his hands. Fearful lest it should vanish into thin air, or that he would wake up and find himself deluded by a fanciful dream, he tightened his grip on the purse and then gave himself a pinch.  The pain convinced him of its reality. 

Now beaming in face, his heart filled with hope, he thanked Svein endlessly and insisted that Svein accompany him to his humble dwelling to pass this night as his honored guest.

 He reasoned with Svein that it was the least he could do to repay such kindness.  “Besides,” he reasserted, “the town is still two day’s journeys from this spot, while my home is but only a few hours’ travel in distance.”

Since Svein had committed himself to helping this old man, he accepted Yagu Dorka’s invitation with gracious words.

 

(END OF SECTION 2)