LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 5
After a day’s riding Nevetsecnuac, wishing for a break chiefly out of concern for his mount steered his horse off the beaten path. Reaching a remote section well hidden behind a small rocky hill, he dismounted.
He removed the saddle and let his horse free to cool off and forage on the scant grass by the stream. He splashed some water over his face to dispel the fatigue then, having something more urgent to do; he went over and sat down bracing his back against the thick truck of an ancient tree. At once he began cutting some strips of leather then carefully bound the hilt and sheath of the sword to conceal its identifying marks. Task completed, only then did he become aware of the hunger clawing at his stomach and so consumed some dry rations. He closed his eyes for a brief respite, with his mind however, still reeling with concerns for the old man.
~
Perhaps a lucky happenstance in life or a quirk of fate, a
distinguished scholar named Fradel Rurik Korvald had also happened to be
an-route to the Capital and had entered Wantherran province at the very same
period as Nevetsecnuac.
The illustrious literati Fradel Rurik Korvald, the only son of
Zukan Rurik Korvald, came from a long line of scholars in Birgershing
District. Fradel’s brilliance had shown
at the early age of eight when his famed poem entitled 'Flight of Dawn’ reached
the four corners of the Empire. After
the death of his beloved father, Zukan Rurik Korvald, Fradel had elected to
live the life of a recluse in his mountain retreat. His works, his remarkable
abilities had nevertheless spread among the elite classes in the Capital,
winning him well deserved national acclaim as one of the poetic geniuses of the
realm.
Now, Zakhertan Yozdek,
a military ruler, had never been particularly fond of poetry or even prose, nor
had he been an ardent admirer or supporter of scholars. Far from it, he
secretly despised them and used many cruel and ingenious means to underhandedly
suppress them. Age-old traditions are
hard to break, however, and so six months prior a Royal summons had come from
the Court ordering Fradel Rurik Korvald’s attendance at a landmark celebration
at the Palace, thereby forcing the scholar out of seclusion.
During the grueling months spent on the route to the Capital
City, Fradel Rurik Korvald had traveled on horseback accompanied by his two
manservants and a porter to carry his luggage. Fradel and his small entourage
had, whenever possible, stayed at modest inns. Opting however for anonymity,
they always registered under an assumed identity.
At the last Inn Fradel
had been warned by the kindly innkeeper to be on the lookout for bandits who
plagued the area.
After half a day's cautious advance, when they had encountered no danger, their apprehension gradually abated and, seeing a wooded area up ahead, Fradel now considered taking shelter for a brief respite from the midday heat. Though it was early autumn, his heavy garments which he wore, in the absence of wind and clouds in the sky, had made this day, in particular, unbearably hot for him.
He was about to give an order to stop when he observed a
stirring in the thick foliage up ahead.
"Watch out, there may be bandits over there!" Fradel had just
finished yelling his warning to the servant up ahead when suddenly the very
servant’s anguished scream pierced the air.
Next instant the servant wheeled around revealing an arrow buried
(imbedded) deep in his chest and thud, dropped (from his horse) dead to the
ground. At that juncture another arrow
whistled past the other servant’s ear to graze Fradel's arm. Then all at once a large body of mounted men
in a cloud of dust surged out of the woods to encircle them.
Terrified, Fradel Rurik Korvald veered his horse around in a desperate attempt to flee from this disastrous predicament as his other manservant, specially chosen for his skill in arms, brandishing his sword bravely stood his ground to obstruct the bandits’ charge towards his master.
The porter, like the manservant, had at once abandoned the
baggage and picked up his staff to join the fray. Though they were both competent fighters,
they proved no match for these seasoned warriors turned outlaw who cut them
down effortlessly.
Next instant,
surrounded on all sides Fradel was pulled from his saddle by a hook and thrown
face down on the ground.
While he remained pinned where he lay by some of the bandits’
staff and spears threateningly pricking his skin, some others were quickly
dispatched by a shout to collect the scattered horses and baggage.
The scar ridden, robust
leader, Cobarkek, wishing to toy with his new prey, slowly alighted from his
horse and came over to roughly turn Fradel over with his foot. His boot now squarely planted on Fradel's
chest and the blade firmly pressed against Fradel's neck, he grabbed at
Fradel’s collar and shouted for him to produce his money and credentials which
he assumed would be on his person. That is, if he wished to live.
Fradel fought the instinct to gag with the latter’s foul breath on him and instead glared back defiantly. The murderous intent in the bandit's eyes, his own demise of a foregone conclusion, had struck a stubborn chord in Fradel. He next cursed the bandit leader and spat in his eye. A fierce blow across his face with the hilt of the sword cut open Fradel's cheek and bloodied his handsome, fine features. A second blow to the head rendered (made) Fradel almost unconscious. As he was about to receive the third, and fatal blow a fierce cry from the distance froze the blood in the bandit chief's veins and stopped his arm in mid-swing. All heads turned in the direction of this challenge to spot a solitary rider on a magnificent steed galloping towards them at lightning speed.
"Another fool comes to die!” the bandit chief, Cobarkek
scoffed.
The rest of the brigands, each vying to secure the mount for
themselves, had surged forward in response to engage the foe without waiting
for the leader's order.
"I will deal with you later.” Cobarkek spat at Fradel as
he delivered another vicious blow right across Fradel’s head then, vaulting
onto his horse, he broke into a headlong gallop to catch up to his men.
Fradel lay there, his
head swimming, eyes blurred, barely conscious and unable to move a limb; all
the while writhing in agonizing pain.
"Leave the devil to me!” the Cobarkek shouted after the
group, but the rest were already engaged in a fierce struggle with the
newcomer.
"Are you tired of living?” one jibed with scorn as he
swung his sword at the stranger’s neck but missed.
"No. Nor am I tired of purging (relieving) the earth of
vermin like you!" The stranger
dodged the ensuing lightning strike.
The infuriated bandit gaped in surprise as his sword was
knocked to the ground with his hand still attached. As the sword fell, the
second in command, a huge, stout fellow, shouted, “I’ll teach you to talk so
big!”, while he mounted a deadly assault from the opposite side. Deftly blocking the powerful blow aimed at
his head, the stranger at once reversed the attacker's momentum against him and
same time inflicted a deep, mortal wound across the bandit’s chest. As the spooked horse vaulted then galloped (dashed)in
lightening speed through the encirclement of the bandits, the expired body of
the bandit, meanwhile, had slipped down face down onto the dust. The incredible agility with which the
newcomer had dispatched these two formidable attackers struck fear in the rest
of the bandit’s hearts but the superiority of their numbers and arms still gave
them the bravado to foolishly keep on fighting.
Cobarkek growing impatient with his men’s inability to subdue
this warrior, shouted his command for the rest to (abort fray) stand down and
leave this foe for him to deal with alone.
"Meddling fool!” The leader Cobarkek’s face more crimson
than a blazing coal, he spat on the ground.
"You'll regret the day you were born by the time I'm through with
you!"
"You talk so grand,” the stranger smiled as he continued
fighting. "Let's see if your skill is any match of your narcissistic
boasts!"
The ensuing contest of arms between these two shook Heaven and
Earth as the band of thieves lined the wayside to watch with respect and awe
this stranger who could not be bested.
Others, however competent or formidable, had never survived more than
one round with Cobarkek, but the stranger far outlasted the five deadly rounds
and further, in a blink of an eye, forced Cobarkek on the defensive.
Many of the spectators could not help recalling Cobarkek’s past: how a reckless outburst resulting in the murder of an influential, high official had forced their leader to flee his post as an arms instructor in the Imperial Army. Later Cobarkek had gathered this band of skilled fighters to start a reign of terror in this far off District. Under his training the marauding band had become a formidable force, invincible in combat. They had from then on, unobstructed, robbed travelers on this highway, burned and pillaged nearby villages, and extorted money from the wealthy citizens and officials of the neighboring towns.
The Provincial government had been repeatedly rendered
ineffective in suppressing this bane, let alone in bringing them to
justice.
Meanwhile, Cobarkek's savagery defied description. Believing in magical powers and his own
invincibility, he practiced primitive rituals where, at certain times, a
selected victim's heart was consumed in a stew.
Besides coveting the stranger’s magnificent steed, Cobarkek
now hungered after the power he would attain from devouring the stranger's
heart and driven by this goal, fought harder still. But, after another five
rounds with no advantage gained, he began to worry and signaled his men to join
the fray.
Confident in their
numbers, each, determined to prove his worth, struck fiercely at the stranger
from all sides.
To their dismay however, they found those numbers rapidly
dwindling and realized that, even if there were scores more like them, the
stranger would not be subdued let alone bested.
In a short time, many forfeited their lives while the remainder soon
realized that their leader, Cobarkek, was the one who was being toyed
with. The formidable warrior (no older
than 20 years) fought with unequaled skill and strength.
Finally, taking advantage of atypical break in Cobarkek’s defenses, the stranger dealt their leader the mortal blow: the blade of opponent’s exceptional sword cutting through the armour as if it was a tender shoot, it cleaved (slashed) a deep wound (injury) from shoulder to chest. The bandit leader Cobarkek’s tendons (ligaments) of the sword-arm thus severely incapacitated, it lost its grip of the sword, meanwhile, Cobarkek loosing consciousness, his body with a thud fell off to the ground. The spooked war steed at that moment bolted and his hoofs clawing the air, next, trampling some underfoot, galloped straight through (scattering) the cordon of mounted men.
The few daring bandits that had stayed, with dread gripping
their souls, now also sought to escape this sure calamity; they therefore,
scampered (darted) for their lives in all directions like panicking rats
running from a fire.
The stranger did not pursue the fleeing unlawful (felonious)
bunch; instead, he turned his steed around and secured the brown mare
(stallion) belonging to the scholar Fradel which had not wandered too far off.
He then rode over to the scholar, and reining his (mount) horse to a halt,
leaped to the ground beside Fradel.
Having regained
consciousness a few minutes prior to Cobarkek's death, Fradel had forced
himself to sit up to witness (his savior’s) the stranger’s brilliant feats of
arms.
"Are you all right, sir?"
"I am, thanks to your benevolence, sir.” came Fradel's
hearty reply. As he struggled to his
feet, he felt the stranger’s strong grip on his arm steadying him.
Bowing ceremoniously,
he expressed deep gratitude for other’s aid and profound admiration for his
skill before formally introducing himself as Fradel Rurik Korvald.
Seeing that his name stirred no reaction in the stranger, he
asked, "I am indebted to my benefactor for saving my worthless life by
your timely intervention. May I know of
your respected name, sir, so as to henceforth express my boundless
gratitude?"
"You exalt me unnecessarily with this talk of gratitude.”
The stranger dispersed his obligation with a gesture of his hand.
"All I did was to
extend meager assistance to a fellow traveler in dire straits."
Nevetsecnuac bowed respectfully and introduced himself as
Svein Therran (instead of Nevetsecnuac Alric Therran Valamir) then, noting the
strain with which the scholar stood upright, offered to lend a hand where
Fradel Rurik Korvald could reach the periphery of the woods for a prolonged
rest in the shade.
"If you don't think me too presumptuous, may I ask where
you hail from, sir?”
Fradel looked up as he sat comfortably under an ancient
tree.
When Svein showed no eagerness to reply, Fradel continued
insistently, "Forgive my impudence, but I am very much moved by your
gallantry, sir.”
“Another, however able or competent, would not have been so
eager to rush into trouble for the sake of a mere stranger. Alas,” the scholar sighed, "in these
desperate and selfish times such acts of merit are confined only to the
classical writings of old."
"I'll fetch some ointment to heal those cuts and
bruises.” Nevetsecnuac rather impatiently started for his horse. “Timely applied, it should leave no residue,
marks, or scars on your face."
Reaching into a bundle secured to the saddle, he removed a small, blue
bottle. Returning to Fradel's side, he
cut some strips and dabbed them with the poultice.
"Please excuse my rudeness,” Nevetsecnuac apologized
holding out the strips, "but I am not at liberty to discuss details of my
journey, not at this time." Then in
response to Fradel’s affirmative nod, quickly applied the strips to the face
wounds.
"I quite understand.” Fradel winced as the medicine
touched the open flesh.
"Please forgive my
inquisitiveness." He then thanked
Svein (Nevetsecnuac) for his troubles.
Just then the din of the carrion birds already crowded around
the corpses and fighting among themselves as they tore strips off the dead
flesh, drew both Fradel's and Nevetsecnuac 's attention. The sight so distressed the scholar that,
forgetting his own pain, he struggled to rise to his feet, to shoo them off.
"You're in no condition, sir.” Nevetsecnuac gently placed
a hand on his shoulder to keep him from rising.
"Please conserve your strength.
I'll attend their proper burial.
You may wish to say a few words afterwards before their graves."
"You are most kind, sir,” Fradel protested, "but
they are my servants, and I would not dream of shunning my responsibility and
imposing on you in this way."
Still, it was obvious that Fradel was in no condition to carry out his
intention and, letting himself finally be persuaded, he leaned his back against
the tree trunk.
From this vantage point he observed with appreciation how competently Svein undertook his servant's burial, and then also took pains to cover the bodies of the bandits with rocks, earth and branches in order to spare them from being mauled by the disgruntled vultures (carryon-birds, crows) circling overhead.
When the burial and prayer was over, Svein (Nevetsecnuac)
counseled a quick departure to a more secure camp, in case the fleeing bandits
returned with reinforcements.
They gathered up the scholar's scattered luggage into a single
bundle, which they slung onto Fradel's horse.
Since Fradel was recovered enough by now to ride, they lost no time in
mounting up and quickly rode away.
