11- LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - EVIL PERSONIFIED - SECTION 8

Royal Tutor Worren Youkup’s sleep of late had often been troubled by violent dreams. This night being no different, he turned and tossed, thrashing this way and that, held fast in the vice grip of a terrible nightmare. Worren saw himself as he was once, a young, adventurous lad; in this dream episode however, he was alone in a tiny skiff, riding the swift currents down the Yawjun River and negotiating the turbulent, aggressive waves that threatened to topple his small craft (boat). Regardless of the danger, in his heart he felt certain of the urgency of reaching his destination; he must get there before it was too late, for time was of the essence!

01- WORREN YOUKUP AS A YOUNG MAN

Oddly enough, he could not remember for the life of him where it was that he needed to go; only that it was of vital importance that he got there. When the wind abruptly died down and all was still, he at once grabbed the oars and rowed as fast as he could towards the mid section, to take advantage of the swift currents and therefore, propel the boat swiftly as before,  gliding across the water as if his life depended on it.

Subsequently, the still air altered (was replaced), as the sun ominously took quick refuge behind the mountain that loomed over the left bank of the river. Shafts of lightning split the sky and peals of thunder crushed through the flotilla of clouds that had been swirled into being by the just then rising winds. Soaked now to the bone, Worren Youkup knew that his only safety lay in reaching the banks of the river as he applied his oars in that direction. He rowed and rowed, huffing and puffing, exerting himself to the point of exhaustion but still not getting any closer. To compound his difficulties, a thick curtain of pelting rain followed by a gray mist just swept off the land to erase (hide) all indications of the shore; his soul gripped in trepidation, he helplessly rode the undulation of angry waves, rising and falling on the great expanse of the water. His fear intensified realizing that he was now cast in the middle of a vast ocean. If the skiff overturned, because he had never learned how to swim, he would most certainly perish. What to do? What to do?

All right, so the talons of ill fate had carried him out to the centre of the ocean but being a pragmatist, he concentrated, not on how or what had instigated his dire predicament but rather, on the possible recourses where which he could extricate himself from this terrible danger. To his great consternation however, the little boat just then started to whirl around and round, with increasing velocity. He strained to fight the dizziness, to keep his eyes open and to maintain focus.

What is going on? He felt his forehead for the possibility of fever. Nope!

Then he saw it!!  Thousands and thousands of fish rising to the top, all floating belly-up on the surface, stunned by the churning waters; however, they suddenly transformed, all resembling (looking like) knives, stilettos, penknife’s, the ordinary kind scholars used!

 What did it all mean? A certain foreboding anew gripped Worren Youkup’s heart.

02- WORREN YOUKUB IN NIGHTMARE

All this while the whirling had continued and he got sucked down to the depths of the ocean by the funnel until the boat touched bottom where which a quaking, sandy bed tossed him mercilessly to and for. His heart’s palpitations intensified when he saw swimming towards him just then, the open red mouth of a huge grotesque black eel that was at least thirty feet in length. Another larger, even more monstrous eel chased away this monster however, which then turned and advanced towards him with an even greater zeal (vehemence). Worren Youkup clenched his jaw, same time his hand gripped the upper part of his nightshirt, as if to contain the fierce hammering in his chest and held on tight.   

Steady, steady on now. He told self, to calm his raw nerves. Except that, Worren saw that the eel now nearer still, had a human head. It swam closer and then flashing its razor-sharp teeth, it greeted Worren: “It will not be long now, Elder Brother. Oh, but how I missed you; I have been all alone and miserable all this while!"      

Worren realizing it was his long dead brother Kosi, he was about to accost him when, from the side another giant fish with mouth wide open suddenly advanced to, in one gulp swallow Worren and the skiff together. The old tutor and the boat, now in the belly of an abdominal cavity filled with toiling, turbulent, stomach acid- smelling putrid and burning everything, it touched, were quickly spirited away into the depths. The wood of the skiff began to smolder, and Worren knew that it was just a matter of time before, his flesh too would burn; meanwhile, his chest constricted from breathing in the steaming stench, rising from this sea of gastric juices. Oh, what a horrible way to die!

But Worren Youkup suddenly woke up with a start, drenched in sweat. Outside his door he heard rushing feet and urgent whispers. "What's going on there?” he mumbled to himself as he rose from his bed. He lethargically reached for his robe, his old bones creaking as he called out to his steward. Aside from minor ailments and the occasional slight headache, such as the one that plagued him now, he was in fairly decent (physical) shape for a man close to sixty-five years in age. Longevity ran in his family, so it was expected that he would live for yet another fifteen to twenty years.

03- WORREN YOUKUP (6)JP

Steward Chutek was quick to respond with the tepid cup of tea Worren Youkup needed to wash away the parchment that usually wrapped the inside of his throat. After gratefully gulping part of the lukewarm tea, he held the cup just a slight distance away from his lips.

"What in damnation is going on out there at this beastly hour? Has the whole city gone mad?"  He was a bit more than disgruntled by the pandemonium outside and believed the household should have long been asleep, snuggled in their quilts by now. In fact, it was his intention, once his thirst was quenched; to retreat (withdraw) swiftly under the sanctuary of the warm quilts and, hopefully, this time, get a good night's sleep.

However, as the steward answered his unwitting question, he blanched and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, over the bloodless gooseflesh. His heart wildly palpitated in shock and, cup still poised in mid-air, he fought hard to control a sudden bursting anger.   

"That vixen, this is all her doing."  With a quaking hand he put the cup on the nightstand. "She sure has played me for a fool, and there is no fool like an old fool." He continued with his incensed mutterings. "But this has gone far enough." He steeled himself, “No, do not lose your temper. It will do no good for you to explode. Get a grip on your senses now; this matter must be managed with tact and decorum. Yes, this will require all your faculties, tolerance and the necessary wiles all presented in a rational and reasonable manner.”   

Worren Youkup refused to even consider the alternatives in view of their grim repercussions and quickly pushed all unpleasant speculations away from his mind in favor of the more positive outcomes. Besides, he told himself, it is highly unlikely that anyone, even one as cunning as Egil Viggoaries, would ever fathom the unthinkable. None could ever conceive of, let alone question such a bizarre, far-fetched notion. For the time being at least, he had nothing to fear. Yet his heart in defiance of his will, would not co-operate with the cool calculations of his mind and his rage mounted despite all Worren's efforts to hold his emotions in check as he pieced the events together. All the innocuous incidents, the fragmented questions, actions, and machinations that built up to this denouement fell into place as part of the culprit's expert plan to coerce him into becoming part of this despicable, diabolical plot.

Worren Youkup’s mouth creased into a grimace of pain as indignation burned a pit in the cavity of his chest. He let out a shuddering sigh and shook his head, reflecting on what little consequence the unwillingness of his participation would bring to his eventual judgment. The ridicule that public knowledge of his part in this would bring, he anticipated, would alone be far worse than ten thousand public executions. His integrity was in peril and his head now throbbed with pain as he searched for the best ways to extricate himself from blame and at the same time to preserve the prestige he had held, reveled in for five decades. In seething fury and contempt, he abruptly rose to his feet, overturning the cup he had so carefully just moments before placed at the edge of the night table. Oblivious to the spill, he began to pace the floor, hands clasped firmly behind him, grumbling indecipherable words punctuated by the periodic curse under his breath.

04- WORREN YOUKUP (12)JP

This unexpected, atypical reaction baffled and astonished the steward.  

“I had no idea master cared so much about the Crown Prince.” He bit his lower lip in consternation. “How could I have erred so?”  Like everyone else, he thought that Worren Youkup despised the worthless Prince Herleif, having so often expressed privately his displeasure at Prince’s contemptible conduct.   

Still, the signs of Worren’s mental anguish, the way his face flushed taut with pain and the sweats beaded his brow, were unmistakable and alarmed Steward Chutek. He volunteered immediately to fetch Royal Physician, but Worren would not hear of it.  

"As if I have nothing better to do at this time of the night than be poked and prodded by those overrated ninnies," he griped, glaring at the servant. Worren’s voice however became more even and controlled as he continued, "Their ministrations are quite unnecessary. See to it that I am not disturbed for the remainder of the night, not by anyone."    

"But...But..." Chutek was about to advance an argument that was abruptly cut off short by a gesture of Worren’s hand.  

"I said no one, and that includes you. Now go!"  Having barked out these orders, Worren turned his back to the steward. Chutek stared at the obviously tense shoulders of his master's rigid posture and shook his head in despair, understanding full well that, when Worren Youkup was in this determined state there was no arguing or reasoning with him. He knew his master's obstinate nature extremely well and, therefore, despite strong misgivings he obeyed. Shrugging, he turned and dragged his feet across the room. Just as he cleared the door, he hesitated and, turning informed Worren in a clean, crisp voice that, all the same, he would be stationed outside at arm's length should the old tutor changed his mind or need anything further, anything at all.

05- STEWARD CHUTEK 5- JP

"Sometimes you can be such a pest. Who made you a mother hen?"  His face hidden from the steward, Worren nevertheless donned a smile, touched deeply by Chutek’s deep concern and unwavering loyalty. That was so typical of Chutek, he quietly reflected. To date he had fostered quite a fondness for the steward and felt as protective of the young man as if he had been his own kindred, the son he had always yearned for, yet never could have created (conceived).

Worren Youkup himself, orphaned at an early age, had been raised as the adopted son of the acclaimed scholar Keonz of Curnan Province, who had later held the office of Royal Tutor. As it were, before Zakhertan Yozdek, the position of Royal Tutor’s was esteemed enough to extricate (spare) the acclaimed literate (erudite, academic) from being an obligatory eunuch. Worren Youkup, typically, as soon as he could read and write, had been extensively educated in all the skills necessary for him to one day hold a tutor’s post. When the dynasties changed, it was during this time, as another crucial step to the preparation necessary for Worren Youkup to assume Keonz's post upon his mentor's eventual passing or incapacity that he, at the age of twenty-one, in traditional (age-old) ceremony, had been made a eunuch.   

Worren had always felt that, in a way, Keonz had been more fortunate than himself since the tutor had experienced a normal life up until the time when he had lost his wife and family in a catastrophe and had then chosen to voluntarily become a eunuch to educate Prince Qijerrik.    

“At least he had been given a choice.” Worren groaned, the old bitterness gnawing at him. Sub-human, Worren had inwardly termed all eunuchs, including him, and had carried a deep sense of loss and resentment since that time. He had always kept this resentment secret; however, absolving his adopted father from all blame, for Worren’s code of moral conduct which included absolute filial piety, demanded nothing less.

“After all, my prominent position had enabled me to enjoy the uninterrupted and otherwise enviable life of pace and luxury.” Worren endeavouring to lift his spirits out of the abyss, shrugged. “And I escaped all those years of persecution, which had so often plagued my counterparts (equivalents).”  His worries somehow assuaged, Worren reflected on another piece of luck that had facilitated this satisfactory long life. Sometime in the past, Worren no less brilliant than his peers, had had the good fortune of being in position (being able) to extricate young Zakhertan Yozdek from a tight, dire situation and the Sovereign's memory had been long. Furthermore, since Worren Youkup had never openly repudiated Zakhertan Yozdek’s usurpation of the Throne, this, and his past good deed, had spared him the worst of the indignities and barbarous tortures that had been meted out to the other scholars during those terrible years of the purges. This special treatment had been a two-edged sword however, for it had also alienated him from all the close associates he had cultivated in his previous years.

Had Worren not been a pragmatist, he would have ended his own life in protest over the atrocities; as it were, after the tumultuous times had passed, he had been reinstated to his former position. In this contemptible gilded cage hence, he had executed his duties mechanically, seeing to three consecutive Royal offspring’s proper education, till one day he hoped to be rescued, from this mundane and frivolous existence, by the peaceful sleep of long-awaited death.  

Worren Youkup’s thoughts reverted to Chutek, and he again cogitated (ruminated) on how fortunate he had been thus far to have at this late stage of life, a comforting companion, who was much more than a steward, by his side. Chutek reminded him in so many ways his old young self, but of course Cutek was also different in characteristics, he wished he could have had. Chutek had entered his service in his early adolescence and under most bizarre circumstance and even though Chutek had come from an uncouth peasant family, he had from the first endeared himself to him and as well established a good reputation among his peers by his extraordinary intelligence, keen observations, sensitivity and, above all, his compassionate heart which was almost a rarity in Channing. 

06- OTHER STEWARDS AND STAFF

 

Indeed, Chutek was different, had always been different from the bunch living, sham coexisting or thriving in capital city. Most incredible, he had not been hardened by the harsh experiences (trials) of life, even though he had suffered more than his fair share of it. Unable to meet their tax burden one year, his father had sold the youngest son Chutek into bondage to keep the rest of the family out of prison. It had been a vein effort, for trouble came nevertheless and Chutek had never seen any of them alive again. At the tender age of nine he had been orphaned and left at the mercy of ravenous wolves that prayed on such hapless, unsullied brood. Cursed with striking good looks, he had quite early on unfortunately, drawn the unwarranted attention from a lascivious official, who had jumped at the chance to secure the boy for his own licentious uses. Heaven only knows what that poor lad had (endured) suffered at the hands of that vile beast. Chutek, up to the present day, had refused to make any mention of those six ignominious years that corrupt official had enslaved him.   

With a certain understanding and sympathy for the steward's pain, Worren Youkup had never pressed to learn, although he knew enough to make an accurate guess at it. He had after all, seen the scars permanently imprinted (crisscrossed, etched) at the boy's back and chest, which had borne a mute testament to six years of abuse. Worren cringed as he pictured it in his mind, shaking his head and hissing out a long breath as if to dispel all the fierce indignation and anger that once more welled up anew within him. Chutek’s face however, for economic reasons, had been spared from being marred; and it brought little comfort to the tutor to remember that the official had paid dearly for his crimes.

Charged with extortion, the minor functionary, Worren Youkup could no longer recall his name, had suffered apt torture at the hands of Egil Viggoaries's officers before an ignominious public execution. Since the crime had fallen under Provincial authority the entire holdings of the man and his family, including all the servants, had then been confiscated by the Governor Yenokos of Kentor Province for proper disposal in accordance with existing law. As luck would have it, Worren on his special time off and wanting to get away from Channing, anon had accompanied his good friend Lukes when he was assigned on a state inspection to Kentor Province. They were being entertained at the Governor's mansion when Worren had chanced on Chutek. Worren was infuriated when the Governor Yenokos, seeing the boy was favored, smiled enigmatically, and looked at them both with undisguised calculation in his eyes. However, the pragmatic tutor had masked his disgust and indignation long enough to rescue the boy from the clutches of that despicable opportunist.

07- GOVERNOR YENOKOS

As anticipated subsequent day, wishing to curry favor, Governor Yenokos had only been too eager to make a gift of Chutek to Worren. Politely refusing this bribe, Worren had nonetheless later, as if in afterthought, had legally purchased the boy and sent him on ahead to be added, as a kitchen staff, to those in his employ. Of course, this was included as a small insert in Lukes’s extensive report to Zakhertan Yozdek and, despite the Governor's hopes; Yenokos still suffered the inevitable, downfall two months later.

Soon as he was back in Channing Worren initiated measures to free Chutek from bondage, giving him the option to select his own preferred livelihood (trade, vocation);  at his own behest however, Chutek had joined the ranks of the Eunuchs in the Palace and later still, became the new steward to Worren, whom he had served faithfully ever since. Sadly, Worren's partiality towards Chutek from the beginning had incurred the animosity of envious (green-eyed) Prince Herleif and consequently, the boy had suffered additional hardships and humiliations with his characteristic, stoic silence. Each time (whenever) Worren Youkup had found out about the harassment and put a stop to it, the spiteful (malicious) Prince had only become more adamant in his persecution. Committed to breaking Chutek's resilience, Prince Herleif with a surprising determination and cunning had consistently redoubled his efforts, as well as, drummed up support from among the other boys of his age at the palace, for his wanton (malicious) vindictive assaults (attacks) on Chutek.   

Worren Youkup, with his mind reeling with such concerns, for several minutes had remained rooted to the spot with his back to the door and stared blankly out the window into the darkness.

“This fresh trouble with Prince Herleif, the bane of my past and now present trouble, will certainly involve Chutek; and I fear this time I may not be able to extricate him from dire harm.” Worren thoughtfully nodded and sighed. “All those countless hours I'd wasted on Prince Herleif, trying to instill some goodness and benevolence in him, it was all, to no avail.” Worren Youkup pursed his lips, dismally reflecting on the fact that no amount of effort or discipline had ever gotten through to Prince’s selfish, greedy heart. “He’d always been and would always be an unconscionable, devious brute.”     

 And there was no denying what everyone knew but kept silent on: Prince Herleif, most unlike the revered Prince Qijerrik, had precious few good qualities to speak of. There was one thing, nevertheless, that Prince Herleif excelled in; since early childhood he had shown a rare, uncanny talent in astrological interpretations and, accepting the encouragement of others in this one field, he had gone on to surpass all expectations.  

Recalling the results that Prince Herleif had obtained in the past, Worren realized that the predictions had indeed always been of good account, not that it mattered to him now. The old tutor's opinions on the art were akin to those of Zakhertan Yozdek; lending the art no real credence despite all the prophecies he saw fulfilled, for he was sure there were many more predictions that were off target and therefore not remembered. He did find the exercise useful in much the same way as the Sovereign, as a source of entertainment for the higher classes and a means of manipulating the thoughts of the crowd and it did serve yet another purpose in that, for a few hours every night, it kept Prince Herleif out of trouble. For the latter reason Worren had kept his opinions on astrology to himself in order not to discourage the prince on the only endeavor for which he had shown any real promise.

Now, Lady Sejon's interest in the arcane philosophies was of a more recent vintage, Worren mused. But that was to be expected of the fairer sex. Still, with clear hindsight he wished he had not been so forthcoming about the recent, most dire, predictions concerning the present Regime. Prince Herleif had always run his findings past Worren first, so the old man could function as a sounding board, but Sejon had demanded proof of these findings when told, which once asked for, was difficult for Worren to refuse. He could well understand that her chief concern was for her child (toddler) Magnian. She had implored him, saying she could not rest until she had learned the specifics and as she believed, try making even a doomed effort to alter the future's bleak outcome.    

As it was within his means to help her, she asked that he borrow the Prince Herleif’s latest astrological work and show them to her. Then by applying her own knowledge in the field she could examine the findings herself. The scrolls would be returned afterwards, and no one would be the wiser.    

It seemed such a harmless request, and the alternative, her temper tantrums, and her wrath (fiery fury), would have been far more of a nuisance. Inwardly he had been amused by her naivety and had understood well her natural averting (avoidance), of having any direct dealings with Crown Prince. Besides, who could blame her for not wanting to feel obligated to one such as Herleif? Despite the outward congenial exchanges and though close in age,   

Worren suspected that those two had been in truth, anything but adversaries. In fact, Worren Youkup could not remember there ever been an issue they did not clash over except this prophecy. Feeling that the prince Herleif was quite unreasonable nuisance to begin with, for being so miserly (niggardly) with his findings, wanting always to extricate most recompense from each result, he had seen no reason he should not comply with her wishes. Who would have thought that innocuous act he had been persuaded to do, would land him in such serious predicament.  

All this trouble had germinated from the one harmless, yet evil kernel that had been planted, none the less, with his consent.

08- WORREN YOUKUP (13)JP

  

Worren Youkup looked down, re-examining the akin (copy, duplicate) document, chewing his lower lip as he admonished himself for not standing firm in his long-time resolve of noninterference. He should never ever have consented to the Lady's request. Oh, but she had been so wily (canny) with her persuasion. She had made him feel so special, entreating him so humbly while same time artfully buttressing (building up) and stroking his ego. It had simply melted his heart when she had looked up to him with those beseeching eyes with flickering (fluttering) eyelashes, appearing oh so vulnerable, so very helpless.    

“Those two are, as the saying goes, cut from the same cloth.” Worren Youkup grumbled under his breath and nodded. With hindsight now, he marvelled at the proficiency in the obviously kept up sham which had masked the actual truth. Those two were and always had been serious competitors. Worren Youkup felt foolish for not having realized till now, the full measure of it.  

“She was far from helpless doddering fool! The more is the pity that you had not figured her out beforehand. Anyone looking at the way she behaved would have reckoned she was up to no good.”    

Unexpectedly once more, her angelic face floated before his mind's eye and part of him, even now, looked for ways to absolve her from all blame. “She had not, likely, planned it at all, only when the circumstances presented themselves that she had astutely seized the opportunity (chance). Who could blame her.”  But the damning, irrefutable evidence rushed forward again to trouble his heart and force him to face the dreaded humiliating truth, that he was indubitably, used!   

Worren Youkup shuddered, imagining the far worse repercussions that could have happened with such an unpredictable person as Zakhertan Yozdek as it was things still looked pretty grim. Egil Viggoaries had been put on the case and given only three days starting at dawn to arrest the culprits and report back. Royal Tutor feared for the countless innocents that would suffer under his ruthless investigation.

“What to do? What to do?”  

 

(END OF SECTION 8)  

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE RENEGADE IMMORTAL - SECTION 9

“It appears that majority are split on the idea; please be good enough to furnish us with your unreserved opinion." His Excellency Lamont Gudaren asked Fradel Rurik Korvald.

 

01 - PM LAMONT GUDAREN -1-JP

“What...?” Suddenly Nevetsecnuac, having regained his full senses, grasped that was back to present reality. He was seated at the honored place at table as before, the large hall filled with animated, boisterous dignitaries enjoying the sumptuous feast and conversing with those nearby; but, apparently him included, few were engaged in a heated discussion. No one had experienced any lapse in time or his strange feeling of having been part of a …...?

What had happened?  Again, he inwardly queried. Had he (because of too much wine) fallen into a momentary stupor? Nevetsecnuac was still preoccupied in his mind with this mysterious feeling and clear lapses of memory, knowing, sensing he’d been part of a fantastic experience, only he could not recollect, what?

"Surely you don't condone it?" His Excellency Lamont Gudaren, taking Fradel’s prolonged silence as, an unexpected opposition to his view, with his relentless zeal, pressed the illustrious Scholar, for an answer.

During the brief interval that Fradel Rurik Korvald had closed his eyes, another dignitary misinterpreting his hesitation, had boldly began advancing his own argument in full support of the illustrious scholar.

"Are you all, right?" Zaur Stugr, the only one with astute sensitivity, now leaned forward closer to Fradel, to express subtly, in muted whisper, his genuine concern.

"Come to think of it, your complexion has turned abnormally pallid."  Unfortunately, the inebriated Lord seated beside Zaur loudly and brashly interjected, which directed (those seated at proximity,) the three or four bureaucrats’ unsolicited, pseudo (bogus) concerns to momentarily scrutinize Fradel Rurik Korvald. Subsequently, from those mouths the torrent of thoughtful, nonetheless ersatz blather, poured forth.

 

02-FRADEL (NEVETSECNUAC) AT PM PARTY

Fradel assured his host and everyone about that it was nothing serious and that he had felt momentarily lightheaded because of having consumed far too much of the excellent brew. Asking hence to be excused for a spell, and politely declining all offers of company, Fradel then quickly rose to his feet and escaped to outside; for a stroll and, to (presumably) clear his head, in the magnificent (well manicured) grounds. His lungs welcomed the crisp air. Twenty feet distance away, after crossing a meandering stilted (wooden) bridge, he came across an azure pavilion situated at a higher ground near the periphery of a heart-shaped pond; the whole structure was nestled by the exotic trees and in front of them, there were scores of colourful flowering bushes. After quickly ascending the eight steps, going over he sat down in one of the comfortable rattan-(wicker) chairs. Leaning back, he exhaled thoughtfully and then looking into distance, tried to gather his thoughts. Since the time he had for a spell, lost all consciousness, he had been haunted by the strong intuitive feeling that something had been amiss: something vital had transpired during that time and that it had something to do with an incantation (charm), an odd species (sentient being), or a talisman (object, trinket).

 “Yes, an amulet… one definitely, startlingly similar to Zonar's,” He suddenly recollected (recalled), the particularly, obscure memory, looking at the ripples on the pond.

Strangely enough, he had a keen sense of experiencing tonight, manifold episodes: supernatural attacks, spells, flareups, wily bouts, excruciating pain, magic, ogre, which had occurred in an instant, but had unnaturally, was erased from his memory. And why was the word, talisman, and another, the word, a name, Samnuk, both had persistently, kept on haunting his thoughts?”  Infuriatingly and for the life of him, he could not recollect.

 

"There you are!"  A familiar voice snapped Nevetsecnuac back from his reverie. "Please excuse my disruption, but His Excellency the Prime Minister was rather quite concerned; he sent me to look for you." Zaur Stugr came towards him apologetically after swiftly climbing the steps.

"He insisted." Zaur stopped and shook his head. "Actually, I wanted to assure myself that you were all right. I do apologize for this intrusion.”

“Seeing that you’re all right; I will leave you now to enjoy this all too brief solitude and to let you return back to your profound thoughts."  He grinned knowingly as if sharing a mischievous secret.

03- ZAUR STUGR   JP 21

Nevetsecnuac avoided Zaur's eyes. "No, please stay and take a seat. As a matter of fact, I wish to inquire as to the outcome of your investigations regarding that most singular key."

"Oh, that thing," Zaur drew closer and informally (casually) sat down at the adjacent (nearby) seat. "I meant to tell you earlier but with all these distractions."  He waved his hand in dismissal then, looking directly at Fradel assumed a hushed, officious tone, "Actually there have been some curious developments, if you can call it that." 

He paused and looked about cautiously, as if to heighten the suspense before he inclined his head and spoke more seriously, "By a strange coincidence we have uncovered, I know you will be most interested to hear this, another gentleman named Yavgen Deny, living right here in the Capital. He is a young sophist philosopher in his twenties and holds a secretarial post to a minor official in the Board of Grain. We had him checked out, naturally, to determine the accuracy of the testimony and found all his claims to be legitimate. Still, there are one or two matters yet to be cleared up." Zaur once again paused for emphasis. Studying Fradel from the corner of his eye he was amused by the slight change of color in Fradel’s cheeks (discoloration, in his pallor), that belied the inner conflict the scholar was attempting to hide.

 

“But I had made up that name.” Nevetsecnuac thought, “Now it seems that I've inadvertently involved an innocent man.”

 

"Come now, you didn't expect that", Zaur held back the word rogue, "person to have confessed his real name to you, did you?"  Zaur good humouredly threw his head back and (chortled) laughed.

Very much relieved, Nevetsecnuac now smiling, nodded. “Right you are. I still have a-lot to learn, about…" He abruptly fell silent and looked away.

"Quite so; " Zaur politely cut in; dispelling (dismissing) further unnecessary embarrassment to his guest.

"My men will nevertheless continue in their ardent investigation and, as the reports come in, I will keep you apprised of any further developments. Just between us, however, I dare confess that this key is proving to be the source of quite profound mystery and I happened to have a particular weakness for this field.”

“It does (somewhat,) alleviate the boredom of my mundane official duties and predictable bureaucracy. Present company exempted (excepted), of course.”  Zaur then seemingly abashed (embarrassed), as if to cover up his supposed, inadvertently professed discontent, quickly changed the topic of conversation and, after a period of discourse covering more harmless subjects (including the one Fradel had prior prevaricated to respond), he rose to take his leave; at which point Fradel also rising, volunteered to return with him.

Back at the party, Fradel (Nevetsecnuac) armed with the knowledge, gave his apt diplomatic response when he was again pressed to give his viewpoint; then with certain eloquence, advancing a-number-of logical, indisputable facts (data), he was able to quickly resolve the contentious issues (points) to the satisfaction of all.

 

 

                                                                           ~

 

Halfway across the city, after having successfully completed his onerous and disdainful official obligations Lenny Sukzor then had hastened to succinctly apprise Egil Viggoaries of the latest developments. Three hours later Lenny armed with new set of instructions, his face grim and pallid (ashen), being perfunctorily dismissed, closed the door noiselessly behind him.

Egil Viggoaries’s eyes devoid of least mercy, pensively stared at the door for a time then, rising from his seat, slowly walked over to the window. Looking at the outside, the Dark Eunuch gradually sported a sinister wide grin, pleased with the inroads he had been making into the faction of his arch nemesis, the Prime Minister. His clever ploy, according to Lenny’s report, had worked wonderfully thus far. Moreover, this recently acquired (obtained) latest piece of evidence, should seriously undermine all of Lamont Gudaren's efforts to extricate that wretched nephew of his.

“Your days are numbered,” Egil Viggoaries gritted his teeth. “The line is cast. Soon, along with Yekov, I shall snare (net) the prime game.”

 

                                                                            ~

 

 

(END OF SECTION 9)

 

 

 

 

 

 

LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - ON THE WAY TO THE CAPITAL - SECTION 36

 

"Good girl!"  Zunrogo exclaimed in pleasure as he noted the mountain of bodies piled up before the still standing barricade.  The few who still showed signs of life were quickly disposed of then moved aside to clear a path to the blockage.

Disaidun Agripe (Ms. Jepipi) had been as good as her word, more than several dozen lives had been snuffed out by her excellent marksmanship; however, her lack of response to Zunrogo's call at present gave rise to silent speculation.

“Maybe she’s already done me the favor.” Zunrogo mused.

 

01- ZUNROGO TUGO- JP  19

Zunrogo glancing at the heaps of dead men, suddenly however noticed, another irregularity. Many more of the assailants had been cut down by a sword. These mangled and hacked down men were attacked by an expert swordsman or swordsmen.

“Oh, no!” A sudden alarm gripped Zunrogo’s heart, and he shouted at Tizan to help him clear the way quickly, for he needed to get to Disaidun at once.  Soon as they had a viable path (gap,), Zunrogo swiftly advanced through the narrow strip, while Tizan up ahead, continued diligently to widen the course.  Once through to the other side, Zunrogo knelt beside unresponsive Disaidun Agripe who sat with her head and back (leaned) slumped against the wall and quickly checked her pulse.  He was not entirely concerned about the state of her condition; however, first and foremost, he needed to know if the letter was still there. He shook his head to purge slight reminiscences of his last intimate encounter with her, then fixing his attention on the part of her bodice where she had concealed the letter, his hand quickly reached beneath, to promptly retrieve it and secured it underneath his armor.

Tizan’s curious, though somewhat licentious (profligate, wicked) gaze was met by the captain’s hardhearted and cruel smirk. Tizan swiftly turned his slightly reddened face away to conceal (hide) his dubious and racy thoughts.  “So, the captain’s prior, impious relation with her, his supposed foible, carried the purpose other than carnal (sensual) indulgence (desire, need).  As there is no room for mistakes in this detachment, I should have been more astute.”  

 

Zunrogo meanwhile, was beset with some unsettling facts that had suddenly invaded his brain and needed clarification. “Decidedly she’d been overwhelmed from behind; was this carnage result of the suspected, but never uncovered, covert Black Moloch infiltrator on board? Was he still on board; for clearly, he hadn’t retrieved what he must have been assigned to do? What scared him off? Later, in private and away from Tzan’s prying eyes, he must examine the letter more (closely) carefully. “

Zunrogo’s quiet reflections suddenly ceased (halted, stayed), when she slightly stirred and at the same time, a faint groan emanated from her throat. Though her pulse was faint and her breathing shallow, a brief scrutiny revealed that she had sustained grave injuries to her head, her shoulder and left arm, as well deep cuts and scrapes here and there; therefore, as much as he’d liked to, Zunrogo could not bring her around to a sensible state, to inquisition her. True enough, she was at death’s door; however, even if she lasted long enough, still, it would take no small miracle for her to regain her faculties and in her poor state, even if she’d regained consciousness, she would still not be cognitive enough to satisfactorily answer his imminent queries, luxury of time he did not have.

For a second Zunrogo’s suspicions fell on Tzan.  “No,” He quickly dismissed that thought. Tzan had fought valiantly by his side and besides, wasn’t Tzan totally passed out, unconscious when Zunrogo regained consciousness.

Tzan had all this time, with his back to Zunrogo, continued with his dismantling the barricade.

As he labored Tzan grimaced coldly.  “Wonder what it was he took from her? …. Still, in all these years under his command, never once have I seen him do anything without a sinister reason or an underlying dark motive.  I wonder what’s really at stake here?”

 

02- 11-TZAN JP

Proceeding with methodical efficiency, Tzan had, in no time at all, disengaged (severed, disarmed) remaining, pertinent, lethal traps and cleared away the key barriers.  The rest Tzan was told, could later be safely handled by the crew, after they are released from their locked cabins.  This measure of keeping the crew safe had been deemed necessary, for they were essential in manning the vessel of this size.

 

 Tzan was about to go upstairs to first, finish disposing of the corpses into the river, when he was just then called to Zunrogo’ side. 

"She's not dead." the captain announced coldly, indicating Disaidun Agripe (Ms. Jepipi).

 "Take her body to her cabin and let her husband deal with her last-minute rites.”

Tzan, leaning over her warm body, understood her grave state of health at once and looked at askance (sideways, suspiciously) at Zunrogo.  “He is not known for showing least amount of mercy to anyone who’s outlived their usefulness; unless… she still has some benefit (consequence) to be utilized… hmm?”  But Tzan shifted his body with unease as he was once more mired (puzzled, stumped) by Zunrogo’s enigmatic mind, unable to phantom the captain’s decidedly sinister, future objective.

Only few hours prior, she’d been so full of life; now she was barely alive, what further use was she to Zunrogo?  Tzan could not help feeling a small measure of sadness for her short-lived ecstasy.  Zunrogo, contrastingly, with not a shred of sympathy or remorse, was already headed down the hall.

 

The time it took for Tzan to pick up the pliant body of Disaidun Agripe, Zunrogo was fast unlocking the scholar Fradel Rurik Korvald's door. Fradel emerged just in time to see Tzan, with her limp, broken body draped over his shoulder, going down the hall towards her cabin.

The scholar's inquisitive (questioning) gaze constrained Zunrogo to give a brief account of her involvement in the struggle: how she, being an accomplished archer, had offered her services and how, despite his own reservations, he had engaged (utilized) her abilities to safeguard the rest of the passengers, including Fradel.  He curtly (briskly) praised Disaidun Agripe’s courage and skill, noting how she had claimed few dozen lives before she, herself, had tragically been injured beyond recovery (saving); hence, she’d been allowed this precious remaining time to be spent saying farewells to her husband and child.

"There’s really no way she can be saved?" Zunrogo shook his head and gestured to sternly cut off Fradel's anticipated next inquiry.  "Pity, all the courage she has shown is totally lacking in Official Ceros Agripe.” Zunrogo derisively (sarcastically) snorted and looked away. “Let him come to terms with this new reality and then grieve for his impending loss in private; besides, the last thing we need now is the complications from a hysterical husband.  The rest, including the official Luvet and the crew, will be appraised of the near miss peril they’d been spared, all in good time, well after all the corpses are made fish meal.” 

“Meanwhile, for their sake and for ours, the less they know the better." Zunrogo impatiently then added that he’d taken this ill-afford time, out of courtesy to Fradel, to appraise him of the facts.  Now that the danger had passed, all that remained was the cleanup. He next went on to say, as a matter-of-factly, how to prevent pestilence, in the aftermath (result) of the deadly fray (fight, skirmish, battle), it had been deemed necessary to immediately dispose of all the corpses, into the cold, watery grave.

Fradel (Nevetsecnuac) reluctantly concurred with this hardhearted, but sound decision, then solemnly offered his assistance, where warranted.

 

03- FRADEL (NEVETSECNUAC) OFFERS ASSISTANCE (6)

“Kind of you to proffer (volunteer),” Zunrogo curtly refused his help, saying that the only task remained then, was still too gruesome and taxing, for one with Scholar’s delicate sensibilities and fragile constitution. There was no malice in his tone, just fact, so Fradel let this affront (insult) go.

Fradel was asked instead to, for a little while longer, remain in his cabin, until all the unpleasantness, in other words, all telltale signs of skirmish on deck, had been thoroughly cleared.

Zunrogo had another reason for keeping the meddlesome scholar away from the scene of the battle. He was certain, there were no survivors left above deck, however, perchance there were some, Fradel, with his moral rectitude, would be gallingly adamant for the wounded to be properly (cared for) tended; this contrasting with Zunrogo’s deemed sound judgement of, finishing them off and then swiftly discarding all the corpses into the watery grave, to prevent  any possibility of unforeseen, future complications.

By the time Zunrogo caught up with his Lieutenant, Tzan having already delivered the barely alive Disaidun Agripe to the care of her hysterical husband, at present his mind totally engaged with his work, was in the process of routinely adding weights to the neck and feet of last (group) batch of tied up corpses, before they too, unceremoniously were dumped (discarded) overboard into the river.

 

04- CHURNING WATERS OF THE RIVER

Tzan mopped his forehead off perspiration with the back of his hand then stood back to check and admire his clever workmanship.  Seeing that there was a slight movement, a twitch, a flicker of life, in one of the presumed dead, he quickly lifted the bound (roped, fastened, trussed) bundle and carried it to the railing then tilted it overboard.

 " Enjoy your long, blissful sleep at the bottom of the river." he hissed with venomous sneer, as he watched it sink into oblivion beneath the waves. When he turned, he was startled to find Zunrogo standing right behind him.

"Was that the last of it?" Zunrogo asked Tzan, with an unreadable expression on his face.  Receiving Tzan's nod of affirmation, he grunted cooly. "Good work."  Then he simply turned and walked away. 

“Well, Lance Diostin, despite your invincible prowess, you are now, indisputably dead and gone; and perhaps if you are lucky, your vestige (trace, hint) of brilliant exploits will be written onto the pages of history.” Zunrogo musing, scoffed (derided) then exhaled slowly the long, tense breath, which he’d been unwittingly (unawares) holding.

 

                                                                                     ~

 

Shortly after dusk the deckhands were let out to scrub the gore from the decks and mend those parts of the ship that had suffered in the attack.  For most of the night the crew slaved away not daring to make any suppositions or ask any questions about the day's events.

To a man, however, they were in unison with their intention, to abandon this cursed vessel and vanish into oblivion the very moment they docked at the next port. For they all had their own secret reasons for not wanting to undergo, the inevitably lengthy and grueling investigation and consequently, the impending penalties.

 

                                                                                       ~

 

Subsequent days, while the top deck buzzed with a flurry of activity, silence reigned in the cabins below.

Soon as Zunrogo could get away, he had stolen into his cabin to quietly inspect the letter. Noticing right from the start some oddities about the sheath, his face darkened, and deep frown set in. He did not wish to tamper with it any further, but was convinced nevertheless, that the contents within would most definitely be fake, which meant that the actual letter was in possession of that covert Black Moloch’s agent.

“Is he still on board?” Zunrogo wondered “or had he clear gotten away. “ 

In any case, this setback put him in a real bad mood, which would last several days.

Eventually he did, very carefully, bypassing the deathly traps and poisonous dart, removed the fake inside letter and unfolding it, quickly perused the contents. What he read infuriated him still more, knowing if he had in ignorance delivered the letter to the Prime Minister, it would have brought about his immediate, ignoble (dishonorable, dastardly) death.  In his rage he promptly fed the letter along with its covering to the hungry flames in the brazier.

Later still, Zunrogo keen on discovering the particulars and whereabouts of this presumed Black Moloch spy, his tireless efforts, and astute observances, had eventually revealed to him the presumed identity of the culprit. He’d been one of the crewmen, one called Zack, most probably a pseudo name; what’s more, after the battle, he had mysteriously (gone missing) disappeared without a trace, never to been seen or heard from again. Yet, this had not alarmed anyone, including him?

 

05 B CREWMAN ZACK - A BLACK MOLOCK SPY ON BOARD BOAT (5)JP

Zunrogo now faintly remembered how on the day they’d boarded the vessel, his keen eye had (caught) noted the exceptional physique of this particular crewman; nevertheless, in the aftermath Zunrogo had been so completely taken in by Zack’s assumed ordinary demeanor. This infuriated Zunrogo, subsequently, his ire (indignation), his fiery temper had rained misery on all, especially since Zunrogo, upon further reflecting, became acutely aware of his own (failing) prior oversight, resulting in his sorely missing the certain oddities that should have alerted his senses.

After further thorough search of the vessel and questioning at length the other crewmen and Tzan, Zunrogo’s suspicions were affirmed; that Zack, had not been among the discarded corpses, which meant that, he’d had clear gotten away along with the actual extortion letter! Be that as it may, the vessel charting a ceaseless course in the center of this fast flowing, wide river with barely visible shorelines, however a good swimmer, could Zack still have defied all the odds?

 

 

                                                                                     ~

 

(END OF SECTION 36)