THE STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 11

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC- THE STATE OF THINGS- SECTION 11

Fradel, resolved to tell all, nodded and then solemnly confessed: "The venerable Zukan Rurik Korvald, in truth was my adopted father, who’d rescued me from the clutches of death and raised me as his own all these years. This fact was revealed to me on his death bed."

Svein empathetically listened to it, as Fradel gradually unfolded the threads of his confidential, distressing past:

Zukan Rurik Korvald, a celebrated scholar of his time, one faithful day on a return trip after visiting a close relative, propitiously (impulsively) requiring some respite, had had his boat moored on the banks of the river Tua, just a short distance from a bridge.  He had interrupted his journey craving also, to partake (imbibe) a particular fine wine (a special brew he’d procured from a winery), while absorbing proper appreciation of the marvelous scenery that enhanced that region. 

Subsequently inspired, he’d composed some brilliant stanzas that were later to be highly prized by the gentry; just before dusk, he’d laid down his brush and returned to his cabin to recline for a short repose (rest) when, the blowing of horns and the approaching thunder of hooves drove him back up on deck.

From afar, he had then witnessed the gruesome tragedy of two people, unfortunate enough to be caught on the bridge and, failing to clear the way, being trampled by Zakhertan Yozdek's unruly steed as he led his mounted contingent in a fearsome race over the hills, leaving a trail of dust behind. Overriding the protests of his boatmen, Zukan Rurik Korvald still sent his two trusted servants to the bridge to assess the damage and, perhaps, lend some curative help to the unfortunate victims.  As expected, their report of the couple's fate came as no surprise to anyone.  The couple had been trampled to death; however, the mother's quick action, as she'd used her body to shield her infant son from the deadly onslaught had spared the baby from a certain death.  The chief steward, not knowing what else to do, had returned with the scrawny, bawling infant in his arms.

The captain and crew put up a strong resistance to having the baby on board, arguing that this was no small matter.  Refusing to become involved, the captain had strongly advised Zukan to dispose of the infant along with his parents’ corpses into the river.

 "Field Marshal Zakhertan Yozdek,” he'd vehemently warned, "is not one to be trifled with.  You're a stranger to these parts; you don't know the half of it.  If you value your life, you'd best forget all you've seen today.  The law can't touch mighty Field-Marshall, so save yourself from sure future calamity.  This infant is not worth the serious trouble which it could beget, not only for you but for us all."

"Nonsense; no one is above the law!" Zukan had exploded.  Ordinarily a mild-mannered nobleman, he had regretted this outburst immediately and thus added calmly, "I'll deal with this in my own way, you will not be involved."

As a man of integrity and chivalrous character, the venerable Zukan Rurik Korvald had delayed his departure from this region thence, in order to appear before the local Magistrate, named Luoki, to demand justice for two unidentified, dead peasants.

 Magistrate Luoki and the other prominent local authorities, disgruntled atop quaking with fear, had shown reluctance, furthermore, banding together had done their best to discourage Zukan from this dangerous pursuit.  Discreetly, and unofficially, the scholar was counseled to leave well enough alone and was again told that Field Marshal Zakhertan Yozdek was too powerful a man to offend.

“This misdemeanor,” as they called the murder of two peasants, who were obviously also strangers to the region, “was too light a charge to even think of summoning Field Marshal Zakhertan before a rural court to give account.”

 The Magistrate had, meanwhile, wrapped up the case quickly and efficiently, after his subordinates had obtained (secured) false evidence from the boatmen and his crew, all of it substantiating the final verdict, the pronouncing of the couple's death, a deliberate act of a double suicide.   

Outnumbered, Zukan Rurik Korvald’s protests had, via other measures, been totally curtailed; he was rendered powerless to beget any justice for the innocent victims. In this way, though, local authorities and the deemed ungrateful Zukan Rurik Korvald, were shielded from the certain future wrath of Field Marshal Zakhertan Yozdek.

The matter thus summarily settled; the Magistrate Luoki demanded next, that the child be turned over to the authorities for his proper disposal.  Rather than surrendering, however, Zukan and his servants fled the area under cover of night.

Later Zukan had sent a trusted aide back to the region under disguise in order to make discrete investigations into the identity of the victims and about any prior (erstwhile) links (relations, possible family, contacts).  When this effort proved to be in vain, Zukan had embraced the child as his own and, since he was himself childless, named the infant Fradel Rurik Korvald.

Quite discontented with the rampant corruption under Zakhertan Yozdek's growing power, observing how the Field-Marshall’s hands gripped the nation's neck, choking tightly until the pulse ceased its flow; the indignant (aristocrat) scholar Zukon, had eventually been constrained (forced) to become a recluse.

Zukan's peaceful domain was so completely insulated that it allowed no outside infiltration at all.  Fradel had grown up perfectly schooled in literary skills and religion, cocooned in this tranquil atmosphere, oblivious to the harsh realities in the so-called civilized world outside.  The truth about his parentage was revealed to him only at Zukan's death bed.  Unfortunately, before the three years of mourning for the venerable Zukan Rurik Korvald was over and Fradel had fully explored his avenues of vengeance against Zakhertan, Fradel had been summoned to court.

Fradel at this point, falling silent, had pensively looked away beyond the curtainless window, to observe the night sky dotted with blinking stars.

"It is as I had expected,” Svein (Nevetsecnuac) just then rejoined with fire in his eyes, startling Fradel from his ephemeral brooding (ruminating).  "We share the same purpose, you and I.” Svein smiled and then nodded. “It may have started as a personal vendetta, but it has now gone far beyond that, hasn't it?"  Svein, next, answered Fradel's silent query. "Yes, my parents and all my family, too, were cruelly murdered by Zakhertan Yozdek."

Fradel gazed at Svein nonplused, realizing only then that, despite the intense and extensive interchange that led them to the brink of becoming sworn brothers, he still knew virtually nothing of Svein's background.  How far can I hinge on this blind faith?

But before Fradel could give voice to his thoughts, Svein inquired directly and with sincere concern, "Your courage and aim are both most commendable, Fradel; and I don’t wish to give offense, however, it is obvious that you lack both knowledge and skill in pertinent strategy, medicine, toxins or Martial Arts.  How do you propose to best (assassinate) this most formidable foe Zakhertan Yozdek? Lest I miss something vital, may I be permitted to learn of your plan?  Besides, I doubt that you have ever killed an animal, let alone a human being."

"You are quite correct in your supposition.” Fradel replied coolly.  "I've always been opposed to the taking of life.  I've espoused the philosophy of Zuox which holds that 'All life, its form and expression, is sacred.  They must be cherished and preserved.'  But that hardly applies to a villain like Zakhertan, a monster arrayed (clothed) in human form.  I'm well aware of the past, unsuccessful, numerous attempts on usurper Monarch's life.  Though I have comparatively little fighting ability, this inadequacy does not deter me from my noble aim.  I have the will, and I am prepared to die to attain justice for my parents and for my countrymen.  The monster must be made to atone for his crimes."  As he vehemently expressed his hatred of Zakhertan once more, he grew quite flushed, his ears burned, and his voice grew hoarse.

"You have echoed the sentiments of my own heart.” Svein responded thoughtfully when the other fell silent.  "But, Fradel, this is no small task, and it should not be taken lightly.  I, at least, was trained and conditioned since childhood for such a purpose while you were not.  Every fabric of my being stands in readiness for this fight.  Far be it that I should deter you from your just cause, but I fear that your noble attributes, exceptional courage may not be enough; why, then, should you throw your life away?”

"No.", Svein waved a dissenting hand to still the retort forming on Fradel's tongue.  "Please hear me out first.  A man can only die once.  All that I ask is that you postpone your vengeance until I have had a go at it first.  In the event that I should fail then it will be your turn.  By then, perhaps, you would have attained the necessary skill and be able to succeed where others before you have failed."

"I know that you mean well, Svein, and I will certainly take your words under advisement.” Fradel stubbornly replied.  "Still, being the least likely person to attack the Monarch, I would have the element of surprise on my side and may be more likely to inflict a mortal wound on him.  He is on his guard with formidable men (civil or military) with fine physiques, wary of fighters of all sorts (male or female), dissident scholars or any citizen with adverse views.  But he would never suspect a nature loving recluse such as I.  I’m aware of the fact that his elite security has checked me out thoroughly."  Fradel stopped and went over to his luggage and began rummaging around inside.  Finding what he sought for, he withdrew an antique-looking writing brush and presented it with a flourish.  "Besides, this provides me with the perfect means of killing him."

Suppressing a chuckle, Svein queried, "And how, may I ask, do you propose to use that?  However, genius a contraption, a concealed weapon in the form of a brush would be detected at once.”

Ignoring Svein's obvious misgivings, Fradel smiled wryly and pointed the bristles of the brush towards the headboard.  Instantly a small metal dart buried itself with a twang half-way into the wood.

 As Svein went to retrieve the dart, Fradel removed a small, wooden box from his pocket and opening it, announced, "This is no ordinary ink box.  It contains the highly noxious ink that can paralyze the heart within seconds of coming in contact with the skin.  Loading the brush for writing laces the tip of the dart and a concealed trigger launches it.  This trick should bring about Zakhertan's destruction instantly. “

“I most certainly will be searched for concealed weapons before I'm brought into his presence, but they would not take away the tools of my trade; I need these to fulfill my purpose in being summoned there.  I ask you; would anyone suspect the simple writing implement of a non-political, scholarly recluse?"

"It seems you’ve given this a lot of thought.  And admittedly it’s the most ingenious device. The barbed dart is most cleverly camouflaged as one of the bristles.  Now suppose you are fortunate enough that it does escape the meticulous scrutiny (search) of the elite security. But the target may not be such an easy one to hit.  Zakhertan Yozdek is renowned for his military prowess; he's reportedly unsurpassed in agility, strength, and cunning.  Moreover, he might be wearing under his court vestments, light metal armor (cuirass, shield); you, taking that into account, no doubt plan to aim for his neck, hand or face. Nevertheless, with his incredible reflexes he may still successfully elude the dart and what then?    Have you an alternate plan to follow in this one's wake?"

"No!” Fradel stamped his foot in vexation.  In truth, he had not configured every possibility, and, Svein’s points had certain validity.  Going against such a formidable foe he should have devised a more plausible secondary, even a tertiary plan to fall back on in order to ensure his success.  He sat down to ponder with a sinking heart.

"Do not lose heart, brother, for I shall not fail.  The monster's days are numbered."  Svein lightly tapped Fradel's shoulder in consolation.

Svein's addressing him as "brother" recalled to Fradel’s mind, his earlier resolve.  Rising to his feet, he proposed that, since there were now no obstacles, they should take the oath of brotherhood without further delay; after which they could plan at length how best he and Svein, as individuals or jointly, could best serve their cause.  But it was now Svein's turn to (hesitate) show reserve; nevertheless, in the brief silence that ensued, Svein had swiftly resolved his inner quandary.  Svein sincerely addressing Fradel, first asked forgiveness for his prior deception, and then drawing near, in a low voice revealed the name of his mentor, Lord Asger Thuxur Marrow Zhon, and subsequently, confessed to his true identity.

Overcoming his shock, Fradel was about to drop to his knees to show his proper respect, when he was swiftly, courteously, stopped by Nevetsecnuac.  “Since they were practically brothers already,” Nevetsecnuac, same time had reasoned, “such formalities were quite unwarranted.”

"But I, the orphan son of lowly peasants, am unworthy of such great honor.  I cannot hope to ever become the sworn brother of a Prince (Nevtsecnuac Alric Therrain Valamir).” Fradel protested.

"You have now offended me deeply, brother.” Nevetsecnuac frowned.  “I never figured you to be so pompous.  After all that we have shared, nothing has changed between us."

 The emotion filled speech that followed, imbued with such humility and honesty so overwhelmed Fradel that, his eyes brimming with tears, he finally acquiesced.

In the private ceremony that followed, the Prince and the Scholar both fell to their knees facing south.  Voicing their petition to the Heavenly Gods, they swore an oath before them to be brothers for life.  After a small cut was inflicted on each one’s index finger, the dripping blood was then collected in a ceramic goblet half filled with wine.  Taking the cup in both hands, Nevetsecnuac ceremoniously presented it to Fradel, calling him elder brother as Fradel was five years his senior.  Receiving the cup, Fradel drank the first sip from it then, with just as much ceremony, offered it to Nevetsecnuac, addressing him as his younger brother.  After Nevetsecnuac had obliged, the cup was hurled against the fireplace and broke into a thousand fragments, sealing the oath forever.  The (sudden) just then rising winds outside vigorously rattled the shutters as if in shared joy and approval.

Nevetsecnuac and Fradel, now as brothers sat across from each other and toasted to their future success. As they partook the wine, they reminisced about family members and dear friends that could not be there; later still, slightly inebriated, they drowned their sorrows in yet more capfuls of wine. 

During this time Fradel was told of the great deeds and sacrifices of Lord Asger Thuxur Marrog Zhon, Lord Shonne Gulbrand, Lu Moldan and the rest, marveling at their greatness, loyalty and scope of heroic attributes, comparing each to the legendary historical figures.

As the topic gradually veered towards the exacting of vengeance, Fradel asked Nevetsecnuac if he had on him the special ID Permit, a vital official (two-part) document essential in allowing one access to Capital Province Holger and then to Imperial city Channing.

Nevetsecnuac shook his head in the negative, then asked, "An ID Permit? This is the first time I’ve heard of such a requisite."

"Just as I suspected,” Fradel nodded thoughtfully.  "But that's to be expected."  He went on to explain that few officials, never mind influential citizens, were aware of the necessity for such a certificate, even though its use had been strictly enforced by the authorities in the Capital province, Holger, for half a year now.  He recounted how he, himself, would have been caught unawares, had it not been for the Palace Guard's explicit reminder when he'd delivered the summons from the Court.

"I'm afraid that, without it, entry to the Capital is impossible.” Fradel intoned grimly. 

"This strict measure had been put into effect after a latest, nearly successful attempt on Zakhertan's life by a small group of very competent assassins.  I have heard undisputed claims that since then, Imperial City Channing has been sealed like a fortress, allowing no entry or egress without proper authorization.”

It was most fortunate, indeed, that we talked long enough for me to recall this important detail otherwise, being caught at the gate without this official permit; you would have instantly been apprehended for questioning.  Your aim would have been frustrated very early on."

"Then I must act to secure for myself such documents,” came Nevetsecnuac's decisive response.  "Can I rely on your guidance and assistance, brother?"

"You don't understand the degree of difficulty involved.” Fradel shook his head. 

"It's not a question of my assistance, brother; I wish it was that easy.  I'm afraid that these two-part documents can only be obtained at your birthplace and are issued only by the resident Governor for a considerable fee.  You must also produce at least three other notable residents as witnesses.  Even under the best of circumstances, such a process could not be completed within a month."

Fradel drew out the documents from their protective covering of waxed parchment and pointed an explicit finger to the top left corner of one of them where, sealed under gum Arabic, a provincial court artist had drawn the poet's likeness.  Nevetsecnuac's eyes followed, with increasing misgivings and a heavier heart, the list of Fradel's identifying particulars, his physical description, parent's name, age and birthplace and finally, at the bottom, the long trail of official seals.

"Due to the urgency of summons necessitating my prompt departure, the obliging Lord and the new governor, Mojen, spared me the time and difficulty of procuring necessary documentation.  Taking me at my word, they acted as my guarantors and expediently processed the ID Permit with all due haste." Fradel, pensively(thoughtfully), meanwhile, had continued. "Of course, even if I did have the ID Documents of my deceased servants still in my possession,” Fradel interjected, "their particulars are so vastly different from yours that, I'm afraid, they still would have been of no use to you."

Having recently buried the men, Nevetsecnuac concurred with a nod of his head; meanwhile, it had become clear to Nevetsecnuac that without proper verification, he could never obtain, not at any length of time, this kind of vital documentation. 

"What is to be done, then?” he gave voice to his fret (hassle).  "How can I beat this unexpected hindrance (hurdle)?  I must seek another ingenious means to override this serious obstacle." Nevetsecnuac distractedly followed Fradel's bold strides to and for, as the scholar presently paced the room in contemplation.

"But, of course!” Nevetsecnuac jumped up in elation.  "Why didn’t I think of this before?"

Startled, Fradel grabbed Nevetsecnuac's arm.  "What is it, brother?"

"The answer to our dilemma is right before us. The problem has already been resolved by none other than you, brother." Nevetsecnuac responded with a bemused smile.

"Me? How?"

"Elder Brother, it just struck me how similar in appearance we are.  For instance, are we both relatively of the same height and bearing and share similar facial features?  Fortunately, due to haste, the hair and eye coloring were not precise. With a beard, could I not pass for twenty-five?"

"What an idea!" Fradel chortled.

 "I knew there was something about you I liked."  His eyes dwelt on Nevetsecnuac with a new intensity as he surveyed the prince’s features.  "Yes, it is possible." he had to concur.  "I must be getting muddle headed, strange how this simple solution eluded me."

"That's because, elder brother, despite all my previous reasoning you still harbor the desire to press on by yourself.  How stubborn you are."  Nevetsecnuac teased, shaking a finger at him.

Donning a long face, Fradel turned an aimless gaze to the crackling flames of the fire.  An inexplicable sadness just then, gripping his heart.

 

(END OF SECTION 11)

 

THE ASSASSINS - SECTION 10

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC

THE ASSASSINS- SECTION 10

 "Dufo, Kundrick Dufo?  Where have I heard that name before?” Stark (Asger) sounded a somewhat muted (whispered) query.

"Please forgive my presumption, my Lord, but, as I have understood it, you’re Lordship had the privilege of being tutored by numerous famed scholars in your youth, one of whom..."

"But of course!" Stark (Asger) raised an impatient hand recalling at once his esteemed teacher Sorgun Dufo and his son Kundrick; a meek little boy of two Kundrick was then, always accompanying his father to the study but remaining   attentive yet quiet as a mouse in the background.  Even so, Stark (Asger) stole a dubious glance at Alec.  "You are exceptionally well informed about things pertaining to me, sir."

Alec's response however was timely interrupted by an inquiry from Svein, and the details concerning Stark’s (Asger’s) tutor Sorgun, and son Kundrick were briefly relayed.

Stark (Asger) then lapsed into momentary silence, as images from the past, when he was but eleven years old, succinctly played out before his mind's eye.

                                                                       ~

                                     

In that fleeting moment, Stark’s (Asger’s) thoughts had trailed to this unusually tall, thin, distinguished scholar, clad in immaculate, black attire, with his deep, penetrating, lugubrious(melancholy) eyes and unchanging, serious expression who spoke softly with weighty words that commanded your undivided attention.  Perhaps the strictest of his tutors, Sorgun Dufo, had won Asger's lasting respect and awe.  From the beginning   Asger was enthralled by all the mystery that had surrounded his esteemed teacher Sorgun Dufo's past (previous years), and he recalled how tirelessly, but nonetheless fruitlessly, he had tried to get at the facts.  What little information he had at first procured had been gleaned over the longest while from hints his father and mother had let fall about this scholar.

For unknown reasons, scholar Sorgun Dufo and his only son Kundrick had left their stately home in far off Fukken province under the cover of night, never to return.  They had already traveled an immeasurable distance towards their mysterious destination when, dogged by several misfortunes and the incurred expenses, they were left destitute and stranded in Toren province. 

Asger's father, Lord Wutenzar Thuxur Marrog Zhon, recognizing the scholars worth the instant of their chance encounter, had treated Sorgun with utmost courtesy and respect and, in keeping with his generous nature, had invited Sorgun to be his honored guest, lodged in their finest guest house for the duration of their indefinite stay. 

The old Lord's warm hospitality and lavish gifts had, in turn, constrained Sorgun to stay on longer at the Zhon residence and to become Asger's tutor in order to reciprocate a small measure of his host's kindness.

All seemed to go well until, one day quite unexpectedly, Lui Durek, a distant relative, visited them.  At the informal reception feast when Lui was introduced to Sorgun the visitor was taken aback at once with an undeniable shock.  Quickly masking it he extended his felicitations and offered a polite conversation.  At the first opportunity, however, he had discreetly pulled Lord Wutenzar aside and whispered something grievous into his ear, throwing a furtive glance over the host's shoulder at Sorgun Dufo, who was engaged in intense conversation with another guest.

"Are you absolutely certain of this?’ the Lord had demanded crossly in a whisper.

"Absolutely, undeniably so.", Lui responded, smiling sardonically.  "In all the years you have known me, have I ever led you astray, my Lord?"

Lui looked directly into Lord Wutenzar’s eyes, his face dark, his jaw set firm.  "Now you must act on this at once, your Lordship.  The culprit must be apprehended and brought to justice.  Imagine his gall, taking advantage of your kind, generous nature like that!"  Then, noting Lord Wutenzar Thuxur Marrog Zhon 's frown, Lui scrambled to eradicate the damage, "Please forgive my presumption, my Lord.  I did not mean to, it was not my intention to...” he said contritely then, oddly enough, became tongue-tied.  In his exasperation in searching for the appropriate word his face contorted, appearing so absurd, so comical that Lord Wutenzar had been forced to constrain his amused laughter.

His stern expression thus erased, Lord Wutenzar nodded with a dismissive gesture, as if to say, don’t worry, no offense is taken.  I know you meant well.  You were overzealous in your conscientious efforts, as usual.  Meanwhile the Lord's keen senses had alerted him to how, even at this distance, the exchange had been ardently, though discreetly, observed by Sorgun and he'd noted Sorgun's subsequent fleeting, stiff grin.

 "You don't agree?” the family friend Hekin had asked just then loudly, shaking his head in astonishment, obviously misinterpreting Sorgun's momentary distraction.  Then, after looking about the room, Hekin affixed his eyes on Sorgun and abashedly apologized, his eyebrows raised in serious inquiry.

Subsequently to all seeming appearances Sorgun, with typical elegance, had immediately smoothed over the matter and proceeded to elaborate his opinion on the controversy under discussion.  As he reached out his hand to have his wine cup filled, however, he had again casually tilted his head and glanced sideways at Lord Wutenzar Thuxur Marrog Zhon.  For a brief, awkward moment their eyes met.

Acting as if nothing had happened, the Lord smiled stiffly and looked away, feigning being lost in abstract thought.  Admittedly, Lui was renowned for his sharp memory, meticulous handling of details, keen observation skills and for his deductive reasoning.  That is what had made him a good censor.  Hmm, Lord Lord Wutenzar remained indecisive, nonetheless.  What perturbed him the most was that, up until that time, he had taken pride in his ability to accurately discern a man's character.  Never had he erred on this point; never had he been so completely duped.  Yet the presented facts…” No; regardless of all the indisputable, incriminating evidence, this case warrants further investigation,” he turned his stone gaze to a crow perched on a tree outside.

Lending a casual ear to Lui's continued urgings, Lord Wutenzar heaved a dejected sigh; then slowly rising from his seat, he motioned Lui to follow him to his study.  The ensuing conversation behind these closed doors had left Lord Wutenzar Thuxur Marrog Zhon, after a time, pale and highly agitated.

 Peeking in, Asger had observed in astonishment the color gradually draining   from his father's grim face and how, after pacing to and for with hands clasped behind his back, his father had suddenly halted and slumped, listless and resigned, into his plush chair.

 Lui, meanwhile, looking every inch, a beast on the prowl, had turned his face away in Asger's direction, hiding his feral grin of satisfaction.

Just then Asger's attention was drawn back to his father; for at that same instant Lord Wutenzar's gaze, riveted onto the painting on the far wall, became suffused with immeasurable fury.  Asger knew the scene well: a harmonious family gathering and banquet on the edge of the river Yawjun.  His teacher Sorgun had given him that picture not too long ago.  His curiosity now piqued, Asger strained his ears still more, but all he could catch was a reference to Sorgun, to a mockery and something about a crime of, ’adultery’, a vague word, the meaning of which he had not yet fully comprehended.  Added to his concern was his father's changed attitude, his reserved, cold indifference to Sorgun Dufo from then on (that time onward).  But this was something he could not openly inquire about, as it was, even the merest mention of the word “adultery” had instigated raised eyebrows, disapproving looks and frowns from his old nanny, mother and maiden aunt.

The mystery had eventually been resolved when one moonlit night, because sleep had averted Asger, feeling particularly restless, he had slunk out of his bed and after divesting his bed clothes, quietly put on some outer garments. Careful not to wake up any of the servants he’d then went outside and begun aimlessly strolling in the vast gardens. Veering this way and that, he had finally halted his ambling to gaze distractedly at the moon's rippling silver rays charting a course over the emerald surface of the man-made pond, as a lugubrious symphony of insects serenaded his ears. 

Soon after he had tired of this distraction and, with his hot blood craving adventure, bypassed the Jadatek pavilion. Veering behind a hill, he had delved into the forbidden sector of thick grove of ancient pines whose branches blotted out the starlit night entirely.

 Groping his way across this canopy of darkness he'd skirted another pond, crossed the stone bridge and headed straight for the peach groves, drawn by the exquisite scent wafting from the blossoms.  Advancing at a more leisurely pace, he'd enjoyed the light breeze fanning his hair and the soft pink blossoms tenderly caressing his face until his eye suddenly caught a dim light streaming from the far side.

Craning   his neck and inclining   his head, he'd pinpointed the location, his father's old studio, abandoned and hardly ever used since the new one had been built. 

Who or what could it be there at this ungodly hour?  Asger had hoped it would be a ghost or robber, a promise of a thrill to rejuvenate this monotonous night.  However, no thief could breach the heavy security.  Shaking his head dejectedly he'd told himself, in all probability and in view of the recently implemented restrictions on the servant's favorite pastime, gambling, it could be but only one thing. Yes, decidedly, some of the servants must have chosen this isolated spot for their illicit activities.  Asger had never understood their fascination over such a benign, innocuous game.

 Is it worth investigating? Should I bother or not? He’d lingered at the spot indecisively for a moment or two as he drew a circle on the ground with his right foot.  Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained.  Who knows, it may well prove interesting. He simply shrugged, then sauntered towards the light.

When he'd gotten within hearing range of the building his ears were suddenly burned by his father's stern, icy tone as Lord Wutenzar confronted the tutor Sorgun Dufo.  Without thinking twice, Asger, in fear, ducked for cover. But this was too good to miss.  Steadying his heart, wildly thumping with curiosity and excitement, he'd then stealthily approached the open window to eavesdrop.

"I'm greatly indebted to you, my Lord, for the kindness you've shown both me and my son Kundrick.” Sorgun finally said after a prolonged silence.

"Are you mocking me?"  Lord Wutenzar Thuxur Marrog Zhon took a step forward, glowering, barely able to contain his rage.

Asger had never seen his father this angry.  Inwardly he quaked out of concern for his tutor Sorgun.

"Please, my Lord."  Sorgun, mustering self-restraint, indicated a seat for the Lord, then, with permission, he sat down across from him. Sorgun cleared his throat then in a somber and most sincere tone he promptly resumed his say, "You have every right, my Lord, to despise me for what you perceive to be my deception, my concealing the truth, but please believe me, it was done with the best of intentions."

Sorgun disregarded Lord Wutenzar's disdainful grunt, "I did not wish to involve yourself or your family in what would most certainly be a messy, lengthy litigation, and I certainly could not make you an accessory to my so-called crime.  That has been the chief reason why I have withheld my unfortunate past from you as long as I did.  But this grievous, totally erroneous account given by Lui Durek...”  Sorgun held out his hand to stay the Lord's angry rebuke, "Please, I wish no disrespect to the gentleman himself, for in all probability he is relaying exactly the slander that has been circulated, and that has, no doubt also been confirmed by your investigators, as it being on the public record.”

Lord Wutenzar’s stone face did not waver (falter); his eyes filled with hurt, he morosely (dourly) looked away.

"You needn’t be concerned, my Lord, no one has breached your security," Sorgun rushed to reassure Lord Wutenzar, "it's only to be expected.  I would have acted the same had I been in your place.  This erroneous account of Lui Durek's has nevertheless obliged me to attempt to clarify the situation and, if nothing else, endeavor to set the record straight.”

“I owe your Lordship that much.  In absence of proof, however, I must beg your Lordship's indulgence until..."  He abruptly stopped short, seeing how, at this point, Lord Wutenzar Thuxur Marrog Zhon was fidgeting in his seat, clearly displeased with the scholar's evasions.

Stop wasting my time! Lord Zhon had nearly snapped, but being fair-minded and wanting to give Sorgun an equitable chance, he had instead sat back, constraining   his displeasure and fixing his stern gaze on Sorgun, he then indicated for the other to continue (resume his say).

Sorgun was a proud man and did not take too kindly to being held under such doubting scrutiny.  He considered taking his leave in a huff, why should he bear such humiliation; however, he hesitated, mindful of the Lord's past kindness. Inwardly he struggled hence, to curtail his fury and, to forgive this debasing hurt.   His Lordship at least deserves an explanation.  It is quite natural for him to be concerned, for hasn't he in the last while entrusted his most precious son's education to me, (an accused) a suspected criminal?

Lord Wutenzar, meanwhile, noting the tutor's indignation, his inner turmoil as he struggled with certain defiance, anger, indecisiveness and the whole range of other, unreadable emotions on his face, regretted his manner and, softening   his gaze, gave Sorgun an encouraging smile. 

"Please do go on, sir.  As you can see, you have my undivided attention."

Sorgun, after momentary consideration, nodded thoughtfully and began, "To the best of my ability I will spare any embellishment and confide in you the true account of my past circumstances and my reasons for taking this precarious, unenviable path.  After which I will, without the least resistance, surrender my fate to your good judgment." His resolute stare earned the Lord's approving nod.

So that was at the root of my teacher’s (Sorgun's) indecisiveness, Asger, now shamefaced, had at once realized.  And of course, this also accounts for his earlier reluctance and apprehension! And I thought it might be …. Hmmm.  All along he had been considering making this determination, as well as this request, of my father.

"I would have long ago surrendered to the authorities, come what may, my own fate being of no consequence,” Sorgun exhaled a deep, dejected breath and looked away thoughtfully, "but you see, my concern over my son's welfare had prohibited me from taking the path of least resistance."  His pain filled eyes reverted onto Lord Wutenzar.  "After the ultimate betrayal, whom could I trust?"  He shook his head dismally.

"Foolishly I'd expected, or rather hoped, that the matter in due course would resolve itself and the true facts be disclosed.  Now I see I've been gravely mistaken for, far from being cleared, I've been wrongly slandered and already convicted without even the benefit of a just trial."

What Asger next heard had filled his heart with inexplicable feelings and had awakened him to the otherwise unknown, harsh realities of life. 

He'd learned how Sorgun Dufo had come from a long line of aristocrats who ranked high in Royal favor and had been endowed with a sizable fiefdom.  After his grandfather's untimely end, Sorgun's father, Kerek Dufo, being the elder son, inherited the title of Squire and the full responsibilities of the position.

 As his only offspring Sorgun knew that much to his own regret, eventually that restrictive life would be his as well. As it were, being educated extensively and grilled and drilled daily, Sorgun had grown up to become a worthy sophist literati and able politician.

 On top of this, he had acquired a natural talent for the financial aspects of every kind of business on the estate.  But his true interests lay elsewhere. 

Determined as he was to have his fill of life before being restricted in obligatory duties, he had, despite the family's discouragement, devoted much of his free time to furthering his skill in the martial arts. 

Excelling in swordsmanship, he would, as soon as he was of consenting age, often disappear on lengthy excursions in search of hair-raising experiences and excitement.

 Gradually his father Kerek Dufo eased off on the punishments, seeing they were of little use as a deterrent, and had allowed Sorgun to have his way, for the time being at least.

Sorgun had suspected this having been partially due to his paternal uncle Minakos' convincing arguments on his behalf and so had remained most grateful for his intervention for the longest while. 

Minakos had been the one who had shown the most understanding and who had discreetly encouraged Sorgun to pursue his interests.  The bitterness in Sorgun's voice as he told of his uncle rather perplexed Asger at the time, but the answer was not far off.

After Sorgun was married, much to his parent's disappointment, he had ensued (kept on) with his eccentricities and not even the mourning period required for his deceased mother had deterred him from this practice.

 Upon his sudden (abrupt) return from one such adventure one night, however, he had unfortunately caught his sanctimonious father Kerek Dufo and his wife, Lady Linnsar, in a loving embrace during their secret rendezvous in the back garden.

 In his rage Sorgun had drawn his sword to behead them both but, resisting, had only slightly wounded his father with the flat of the blade.  Turning away, deaf to the curses and threats heaped upon him by Kerek (his father) and the pitiful pleadings of his faithless wife Lady Linnsar, he'd stormed out of there.

 By Sorgun’s uttered admission, all feeling had died in him then, except for the need to safeguard his infant son Kundrick.  Heading straight for Kundrick's room he'd snatched the baby from its warm crib and dashed outside into the just then abrupt (precipitous) rainstorm, in his mad state of mind, quite oblivious to the pelting rain, never to return.

 Forsaking all family, even his great love of swordsmanship, he'd hurled his precious sword far into the currents of the Yawjun River and from then on had wandered aimlessly, much like a vagabond, over the back trails of the vast countryside.

Eventually his son's survival had necessitated his return to the literary field once more and, being exceptionally talented, he'd carved out a meager living by tutoring the children of minor gentry and rich merchants from time to time.  He'd never lingered too long in one place for fear of being found out.

Sorgun vehemently swore on his grandfather's tomb that he had not taken their lives that night.  Their demise had come to his attention much later.

 "In all likelihood,” Sorgun speculated with an icy grimace, "my repentant father, Esquire Kerek, in his shame had finished the job for me.  It was the incompetence and corruption of the authorities that later on led to this erroneous conclusion and, the issuing of warrants for my arrest."

"If you are truly innocent, sir, and I don't doubt that you are you should have nothing to fear.” Lord Wutenzar Thuxur Marrog Zhon said after a lengthy pause.  "I am sorry to hear that you have lost all faith in our judiciary process.  Regrettably, in many parts of the country, bad elements have taken root and infiltrated the process to undermine the probity of our courts, making mockery of our time-honored laws.  But, with persistence and an adequate outlay (dispensing) of funds, justice may still be had even there.”

His genuinely concerned gaze held Sorgun’s for a time then he added:

"Despite your success thus far in avoiding capture, you have still inadvertently injured the one thing you sought most to protect.  Don't you realize that, by your evasive actions, you have deprived your innocent son of his birthright and condemned him to a lifetime of hardship and misery?  I advise you therefore, for his sake if nothing else, to lay your trust once more in the judiciary system and surrender yourself to the authorities without further ado.  You may leave your son in my good care and relieve your mind of any undue anxiety.  I give you my solemn promise that I will do everything within my power, leave no stone unturned, to uncover the truth and extricate you from this wrongful indictment.  Wouldn't that be preferable to always being on the run, apprehensively looking over your shoulder, faced with an uncertain future?"

 Then, rising, he affectionately tapped Sorgun's shoulder and said, "Think this over carefully.  You need not reply just yet, but I expect an answer no later than tomorrow’s sunset."

Up until that time Asger had been intimidated by his father's stern persona, seeing him as an unbending, highly disciplined individual, strict in his adherence to convention, brilliant, articulate yet intolerant of weakness, a powerful being who put everyone at their unease and one whose presence always commanded respectful attention.  In short, he'd viewed his father more as a demigod than as a mortal man, a heavenly force he'd always striven to win the approval of. 

This unassuming, sincere manner, this compassionate side of his father had never been revealed to Asger for the sake of discipline, and so his ready championship of the unfortunate scholar had misted up Asger's eyes, and he'd found it hard to resist the urge to rush in and embrace him.

As it was, his father would have never approved of such an open display of affection and would have scolded him for eavesdropping on top of it.  Meanwhile Asger had noted how Sorgun had also been visibly touched by the concern and generosity (kindness) Lord Wutenzar had shown him.

 After pondering briefly, Sorgun, with lowered head, nodded his reply, his voice choked with emotion, "There is no need to wait.  I am, and always will be, most grateful (and beholden) to your Lordship for this consideration."

 He had then risen from his seat, straightened out his garments, and with all due humility, citing Lord Wutenzar Thuxur Marrog Zhon as his benefactor, had respectfully bowed low to express his gratitude.

 He was about to fall to his knees when Asger's father rushed to stop him and helped him rise.  Saying that such acts were uncalled-for, he'd proposed they both go outside for a stroll to get a bit of fresh air.

Frightened lest he be found out, Asger had shrunk into the shadows on all fours and then taken to his heels.  Stealthily beating a hasty retreat, he'd made his way back to his own room without incident.

 In his excitement he'd not bothered to change and had quickly climbed under the covers but, try as he might, sleep averted him.  He stayed up the rest of the night, relieving in his mind all that had transpired, all that he'd done, heard and seen.

Just before dawn he'd eventually drifted into an exhausted sleep with a contented smile on his lips.  He was confident that his father, with his resourcefulness, would soon deliver Sorgun, now his favorite, most respected tutor, from these terrible difficulties.

 

(END OF SECTION 10)