THE STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 34

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 34

At sunrise of the subsequent day with all accounts at the Inn quickly settled, Mouro and his company (Kade Luir and Dag Diez) quietly departed.  Reaching the dirt road they then relentlessly surged forward at lightning speed leaving in their wake a trail (cloud) of dust. Mouro, with secret purpose in mind,  led his group through a different sort of paths (that snaked over a rougher terrain) than the ones he had followed the previous night; nevertheless, despite the precarious topography, they had pushed on relentlessly not stopping to eat or rest until, finally, just before dusk, they arrived at the specific stone bridge, spanning a bottomless chasm.

 There they met up with three mounted guards who had taken an alternate route. Mouro frostily nodded to the fair-haired guard in acknowledgement, a sort of greeting, ignoring the two stalwarts, heavily armed, tall guards flanking him. Mouro held in check his fury, of the two guards’ obvious failure.

01- FAIR HAIRED GUARD

No words were necessary, all dismounting at once, Mouro in the lead, they cautiously led their mount across the bridge.  As they advanced a certain (foreboding) amount of trepidation, however, filled their hearts when no one accosted them on the opposite side; instead, an eerie silence prevailed, heightening the tension of the air. With only the sound of their footsteps filling their ears, those in front cautiously pushed open the half standing iron gates to the temple and stepped across the threshold. All at once (suddenly), the stench of death assailed their noses as they were struck by the sight of countless maimed and mutilated corpses littering the courtyard, floating in pools of their own blood.

"What treachery is this?" The fair-haired guard pointed at the corpses and glared at Mouro.

"Why do you ask me?  This atrocity is clearly the work of the assassin, Zonar." Mouro sneered as he froze Diez's hand on his sword hilt with a commanding glance.  “Not yet!” It spoke. “He’ll be dealt with soon enough.”

"No, this is not Zonar's work.  These men were all murdered by a coward, one who poisoned them before mutilating their corpses.  There's no use denying it, I tracked you here last night.  Your game is up.  Call the rest of your vile dogs out of hiding."  Fradel Rurik Korvald, bristling, with fiery contempt in his eyes, rebuked Mouro.

Checking his surprise, Mouro glared for a moment at the two companion guards of Fradel, seething with burning rage for their incompetence which had now placed him in this predicament; but then in a change of heart, he pinned his wrathful gaze back on Fradel.

"How dare vermin like you call me a coward to my face?  I'll wrest your quivering liver up through your throat and make you eat it with those words." 

Mouro’s hand involuntarily clasped his sword's hilt, itching to strike Fradel down right then and there; but curiosity getting the better of him, he released his grip and, suppressing his fury, with a scathing sneer, he coldly demanded: "How long have you known?"

02- (PINNING HIS GAZE) MOURO KERR

"From the start;" came Fradel's wry response.  "I knew I was not being led to a meeting with my benefactor, Zonar.  I went along; just the same, to see how far you and your goons would be willing to go."

 Fradel, with not a shred of fear, knowingly eyed his companion guards and then cast his gaze to the high compound walls circling him that had just then become dotted with armed foes.

Fifty-nine formidable warrior guards clad in full armor, specifically picked for their competence to contest Zonar's prowess, brandishing their swords, stood their ground, in readiness for the anticipated order for the onslaught.

It quickly (dawned on) became clear to Fradel that these were the inferred agents in the previous night's conversation between Mouro and Hecun, only they were planted, not by Micen as the former had claimed, but rather by the culprit, cunning Mouro himself.  Weaving the web of treachery ever tighter they, accordingly, had spread wild rumors and suspicions about the wine to the intended victims.  But when, in turn, they were invited by Hecun to partake of some, they had most willingly guzzled it down, avoiding instead the laced water from the well to conclude the vile, treacherous deed of barbarically annihilating the incapacitated where they had fallen.

Now, the instant the armed foe had sprung into view from their hiding places, Fradel had, with lightning speed, turning their weapons against them, vanquished (bested) those formidable assassins that had accompanied him. He then with his unyielding, unflinching, solid defensive stance (posture) faced Mouro.

A momentary shudder brushed against Mouro's heart; for unarmed as he was, Fradel Rurik Korvald still looked most formidable.

 Compounding his consternation, Mouro recalled just then Fradel's unusual doggedness (grit) and fortitude (resilience) in the court.  How when he was on the brink, incensed, chained though he was, he had strained his bonds almost to the breaking point.

“A fine, heroic, picture you represent.”  Disregarding his strong premonition of doom, Mouro, nevertheless emboldened by their numbers, simply sneered.

 He threw his head back and laughed uproariously next.  "What gall!”

“Hah; Clearly your benefactor has abandoned you to fend for yourself; what makes you think that you can take us all on, (unarmed) bare handed?" he scoffed.

"I have righteousness as my armor and weapon; that is more than enough. All your evil ways will end here! “Fradel responded sternly.

"And who appointed you judge?" Mouro indignantly spat on the ground.

 "You scholars disgust me, always spouting useless, empty rhetoric! Why not just surrender to your fate, a pretty boy like you, and get down on your knees to beg for mercy?"  Dag Diez just then interjected scowling. He next threw a quick knowing smirk at Mouro.

03- DAG DIEZ

 Before Fradel could respond Mouro, highly incensed by Dag Diez's insubordination, had struck him a severe blow across the mouth with the back of his fist, knocking loose the guard's incisor teeth. The shamefaced Dag Diez, swallowing his fury, spat the teeth to the ground; next, submissively wiping the blood trickling off his chin, he grunted an insincere apology to Mouro.

Ignoring him entirely, Mouro had instead locked his burning gaze on Fradel. Seeing Fradel now in a different light, Mouro (with his hand signal) forestalled the order for the assault and fixedly (keenly) at present, scrutinized this mystifying, worthy adversary.

A scholar…  He looked more Like a...  Mouro could not rightly grasp the… thought.

Disregarding the feeling of an ominous shadow falling over his own self perceived omnipotence and coveting Fradel's noble air; with intense curiosity trampling reason, he scathingly hissed:

"So, you’d anticipated me all along, yet you willingly walked right into this ambush.  That makes you either a very courageous man or a foolhardy one.  But tell me first, since you are so smart at figuring things out, did you also guess that, to create a diversion, the humane physician Sullen Adams would be sacrificed, condemned to slow, torturous death in that iron cage in your stead?"

Mouro had pointed at the discarded, upturned (overturned) prisoner’s iron cage off to the side; but then, answered his own query (question) with a gloat, as he circled Fradel menacingly.

 "No, I see you did not.  To tell the truth I felt no real animosity at all towards Sullen personally, when I presented (offered, posed) the suggestion to Micen Do. Mouro smirked.

04- PHYSICIAN SULLEN ADAMS

“Yes, he was rather an amiable fellow, and we are kinsmen, after all but," he shrugged his shoulders dispassionately; "he brought this on himself.  He had become expendable you see.  Foolishly ignoring all good advice, he kept on preaching justice and morality to Micen and me, as if in such precarious times that it mattered, and worse still, he always stuck up for the underdog, amassing (accruing) unwarranted enmity (rancor, malice)."

Mouro pursed his lips mockingly, "He was supportive and obliging to you as well, was he not?  Well, I had to repay him for his courtesy to you, since you were indisposed.  You scholars, so righteous and honor bound, you always insist on settling all old accounts (scores).”

“Do you wish to know how I did it, how I paid him back in full on your behalf?  No need to thank me for it."  Mouro threw his head back and laughed menacingly.

 "Oh, but it was entirely, my pleasure, your honor (eminence)," then slightly inclined his head mockingly.

 "Yes, you require details…But I'll be succinct.  After his visit with you I had his tongue cut out, his face mutilated and then, bound up like a pig about to be taken to the market for slaughter, he was stuffed in there, to rot in your stead.  But then, it was a strategic (importance) imperative that he took your place and, “Mouro smirked. “Also, that you now perish here, by my hand."

Mouro, facing Fradel squarely (directly) now, brandished his sword.  "Now I will double my pleasure by doing the same to you, only worse! I'll savor your death in bits.  My sword will split you asunder like a ripe melon and leave you swimming in your own entrails."

The absence of fear or emotional reaction of any kind on the stone (wooden) face of Fradel Rurik Korvald infuriated Mouro to the point of total exasperation.

“This is truly a momentous occasion, well deserving of attribution from posterity, for within the next few minutes the overrated illustrious Fradel Rurik Korvald will cease to exist.  He will be no more!" Mouro had uttered the last sentence in resounding voice, disguised as boastful proclamation, as the specific command for the armed force that had already encircled Fradel, to stand ready for the assault (onslaught).

"The only thing you will savor will be your own end."  Fradel's retort was, at first, in an even tone. "By your own vile deeds, you have flouted Heaven's will.  The time for retribution is near at hand, yet you are too blind to see it.  Very soon, in the afterlife, you will be judged and asked to account for your abhorrent crimes against humanity.  Instead of boasting about your prowess, you should be on your knees, trembling in fear, and begging for redemption."

As he’d continued, Fradel's voice by degrees had grown in intensity, thundering across the ground to send cold shivers down Mouro's spine and make his hair stand on end.

"Enough said!"  Mouro regained his grip on himself then, on his hand signal, simultaneously with the rest of the guards, launched a deadly assault on the scholar Fradel.

Fradel repulsed them all.  Dodging and swerving to avert the many murderous, repeated blows, the strikes from swords, spears and halberds as they were thrust at him from all directions, now on the defensive, now on the offensive, in a maneuver unseen before and waylaid dozens of them in a flash.

05--FRADEL (NEVETSECNUAC)

Then in an astonishing turn he delivered a fierce, swift kick directly to Mouro's chest which hurled Mouro up into the air and, flipping him over, landed him flat on his rear end on top of the others who had fallen.  His sword flew from his hand, landing upright a few feet away.  Had Mouro not worn his armor under his civil garb, he would not have been able to get up off the ground in one piece.

  As it was, his ribs were unbroken and only his pride was hurt.

"All of you stay back!  He's mine!"

 Mouro fiercely bellowed his order as he rushed to pick up his sword from the ground.  Then he charged (on horseback) like a mad bull straight for Fradel Rurik Korvald, wielding the sword in zigzag, across and interlaced styles.

The well-armed guards, silently nursing their grievance, picked themselves up off the ground and, in compliance, joined the others to assemble into a tight, impenetrable cordon encircling the combatants.  There, with blood boiling and burning eyes pinned to Fradel Rurik Korvald, they studiously traced his every maneuver, his every move during the ensuing hours of fierce fighting.  Avidly they searched to find any weakness in Fradel's combat style, but he appeared to be invincible and continued to be just as lethal without a weapon as his opponent was when armed.

Mouro was a competent fighter in his own right, with an untarnished record of victories over many worthy opponents and famed champions.  Mouro's style of fencing, especially his waterwheel and reverse dragonfly styles, was superb; still, it soon became apparent that he was experiencing difficulty in keeping Fradel Rurik Korvald at bay, let alone in besting him.  Whirling like a devil, Mouro struck, thrust and hacked at Fradel repeatedly but all his efforts were in vain.  After ten rounds, as hungry as his blade was to taste blood, it could not effect (realize) even so much as a scratch on Fradel Rurik Korvald.  Worse still, while the scholar had maintained his strength, Mouro's effort looked to be waning.

When Mouro's blade, meeting resistance under Fradel's grip, suddenly snapped in two in the midst of the fierce fighting, Mouro quickly jumped out of the combat circle to retrieve another weapon.  Diez and the rest of the guards, anxious to display their might, seized this opening and, brandishing their weapons, were spontaneously spurred into action, launching offensive after offensive.  As they continued to engage Fradel, Mouro, having flung aside his broken ancestor sword, pried loose the good sword from the half-severed hand of Hecun then charged back in fury through the lines to join in the fray and again combat Fradel Rurik Korvald head on.

Just then on the opposite side Diez, taking advantage of the general mayhem, had ducked and swerved fiercely to get into a position to fiercely thrust his sword at Fradel's lower back.  Meeting a resistance, he received instead a serious blow to the head which then knocked him to the ground, unconscious.

06 -FRADEL (NEVETS)

 Mouro, deflecting the second blow aimed in his direction, managed to fall behind the lines of fighting men then rushed to Diez's side.

 Instead of lending him assistance, reviving him or pulling him aside, as everyone expected he might do, he instead severed Diez's head from his limp body in one swift stroke of his blade then, stepping squarely over the headless corpse, pushed on ahead through the line of combat to launch his deadly assault on Fradel Rurik Korvald anew.

 In the ferocity of the struggle, no one had stopped to make sense of this treachery except for Fradel, who readily understood in light of what he had heard of Mouro's conversation the previous night.  Mouro's precaution had made it apparent that part of the tale he concocted for Hecun was the truth.

As the Earth was mantled in darkness, beacon fires had been lit to assist the crescent moon in lighting up the dilapidated temple grounds.  Meanwhile the fierce fighting continued without pause as the battle cries filled the silence of the night, disturbing the dead.

 Despite the guards' effective armors, their superiority of arms and their joint deadly assaults, their combined tactical offensives against one unarmed man whose wounds had not yet completely healed, with all the odds seemingly against Fradel Rurik Korvald he still managed to turn the tide of destiny in his favor.

Besides effectively repulsing their ineffective assaults, unyielding in strength and resilience as he was, he seemed to be endowed with a superhuman ability, striking swiftly like the wind.  So powerful were his maneuvers, his deflections and his counter assaults that, in a whirling feat, the blades of his opposition snapped asunder at the hilts, spears got entangled and halberds became totally ineffective as his fierce blows penetrated through the armor to vanquish them all.

 All, that is, except Mouro.

Realizing the hopelessness of their situation well before the rest, Mouro, in mortal fear for his life, created a diversion and had turned tail and ran, abandoning his men in the thick of battle to their own devices of defense or, more specifically, to their own impending doom but Fradel, disposing of the rest in one sweep, had raced after Mouro.

The culprit, Mouro, having previously scouted the temple grounds, knew well which turns to take or which path to follow to avoid the many pitfalls, perilous snares and booby-traps that the years of neglect and the ravages of nature had compounded.

 Having led Fradel to a maze of underground tunnels in the interior, designed specifically by the former denizens to entrap unwanted intruders, Mouro, weaving in and out, tried his utmost, though unsuccessfully, to shake Fradel off of his trail.

“He is so formidable; just my luck to come across someone so prodigious, so entirely relentless….” Suddenly an inexplicable fear filled Mouro’s heart realizing his own measure of inadequacies, limitations, while being pursued by this invincible foe.

 What kind of Scholar was he… endowed with such incessant superhuman qualities? Or was he a Demon posing as a scholar?

                                                                                   ~

 

(END OF SECTION 34- THE CONCLUSION OF THE STATE OF THINGS)

THE ASSASSINS- SECTION 17 (CONCLUSION)

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC- THE ASSASSINS- SECTION 17

Brandishing his sword as he stood in ready stance, Alec bellowed, “I am Heng Erling, the only surviving son of Marshal Gustav Erling and I have waited all my life for this day of vengeance!”

“I should have known you were (false) duplicitous right through” Nevetsecnuac fumed.

“A leopard doesn’t change its spots!”

 “Call it what you will, “Heng Erling laughed. “Brace yourself, for you shall be the first to perish at my hand, and that cursed Lord Asger isn’t going anywhere, either.  He forsook his own flesh and blood son Ivar Marrog Zhon, in place of you and, while you grew up in relative safety and comfort in that mountain cabin, his son from infancy has been languishing in a dark, foul dungeon beneath the Capital, never knowing a day without torture.”

“Hah, you think him a noble Lord, but in all these years, he never strove or mustered able men to rescue his own flesh and blood; instead, he cowered like a spineless fiend, biding his time and nourishing dreams of glorious return on your coattails, in that mountain retreat?”

“I’ve heard enough out of you. How dare you malign uncle, a noble Lord with your false, delusions; is there no end to your treachery?”  Nevetsecnuac brandishing his sword, raced towards him with the ferocity of a tiger.

All during the ensued fight Nevetsecnuac tried desperately to repute Heng Erling’s shocking revelations (disclosed facts) about Lord Asger’s forsaken son; unbidden however, certain facts too swiftly rushed to mind validating some of it, such as the seemingly benign incident in the “Heaven’s Gate Spiritual Temple”. Nevetsecnuac recalled all too vividly, Asger’s (Stark’s) accidental inclusion of the name “Ivar Marrog Zhon” in the list, before his quickly erasing it. And recently still, when at the stables Alec, rather Heng, had made the mention of Asger’s son, Nevetsecnuac recalled, how he was curtly stopped. Nevetsecnuac’s conscience thus troubled him as he fought two wars within and without; therefore, for a time Nevetsecnuac’s prowess had been hampered while he fended off Heng’s repetitive, fierce offensives.

Heng with his physiological warfare, thus, once or twice had almost got the upper hand and very nearly vanquished Nevetsecnuac. On one instance, Nevetsecnuac back flipped to escape the brunt of the blade that instead, cut a razor slice across his chest.  Rebounding quickly however, for Nevetsecnuac’s admiration and love for his uncle, Lord Asger was infinite; he had again picked up the momentum and very nearly bested Heng.

Equally resilient Heng withstood these offensives with his remarkable strength, skill and agility; meanwhile, encouraged by the prior result, again he strove to further disarm Nevetsecnuac.

“Some say Ivar Marrog Zhon has been kept alive, barely, as a ruse to draw the traitor from his secretive lair, but our Sovereign could not have known the heartlessness of this Lord,”

Heng spat the word Asger, as he continued with his deadly strikes.

“Some hero; he ran away in the heat of the battle, while his castle, his lands were being besieged, forsook his obligation to his father’s bloodline, for the likes of you? Answer me this, does Lord Asger hold aspirations of grandeur, thinking of the day of your being reinstated to power?  Fool, as if that would ever happen!”

“You know nothing of the truth.” Nevetsecnuac could not help but bellowed back, even though grasping Heng’s sly strategy, he had already resolved to maintain inner composure while concentrating an all-out effort at defeating this very dangerous, and cunning   adversary.

  “As for your beautiful wife, when I’m done with you both, she'll make a fine present for His Royal Highness Zakhertan Yozdek to defile and torture.  Eunuch Egil Viggoaries can (devour) chew on the bones of your twins afterwards!"  Undeterred, Heng threw his head back in a monstrous laugh.

Despite his doggedness, Nevetsecnuac felt as though ice water had been poured all over his steaming body.  At the same time inexplicable sorrow had seeped into his heart as he, a recent dad, grasped the full implications of Lord Asger’s supreme sacrifice.

Fiery contempt for Heng flamed in Nevetsecnuac’s chest and filled his spleen with rage.  Grinding his teeth, he reviled Heng, and at lightning   speed he again powerfully struck the other.  They clashed, weapons thrusting, flailing against each other.  During this deadly exchange (skirmish) Nevetsecnuac suddenly realized that Heng had concealed his true abilities at all prior confrontations; in fact, his fighting skills were most formidable, far more formidable than Duan’s.  With the added advantages of incorporating Nevetsecnuac's fighting style alongside his, he had now become a most fierce (challenging) adversary, a virtually invincible opponent.

 Lord Asger would be disappointed in me and appalled, all with good reason. Nevetsecnuac bowed his head in shame. How could I, with all my years of training, allow myself to be so completely duped? Fueled by this added indignation and ire, with his unleashed innate (inherent) survival instincts Nevetsecnuac was instantaneously transformed into an intrepid, more indomitable warrior. 

Presently, with such ardent, livid antagonists, the earth shook (trembled) from the ferocity of their combat. Limbs of trees fractured or splintered, surrounding foliage and the like were all pulverized or destroyed, rocks, boulders were smashed to bits, split apart or uprooted, as the intense conflict ceaselessly continued.

Lasting all night, after countless rounds of pitched battle, still neither of them could gain the upper hand.  Each time Nevetsecnuac lunged at Heng his thrust was nimbly parried and each blow of Heng's was warded off with little room to spare.

Finally, Heng made an ill-timed thrust at Nevetsecnuac's heart and Nevetsecnuac, with incredible dexterity, spun around it and, twisting his opponent's sword hand, forced Heng to tumble to the ground, dropping his weapon.  Heng rolled then somersaulted to avoid the assault that followed, at the same time retrieving (grabbing) his weapon and landing back on his feet to immediately hack back at Nevetsecnuac.  Again, each attack was parried, each blow warded off, till the force and lightening   rapidity of the strikes barely managed, took its toll on Heng and at one point having lost his grip, his sword flew off his hand aching across the sky to land, rather, be buried in the midst of the nearby lake.

 Heng stood, defenseless, glaring at Nevetsecnuac.

"Ask for mercy", Nevetsecnuac shouted, "and I'll spare your life."

"I'll see you in hell, first!"  Heng swore and darted towards his horse. 

"Stop your running   and fight, you cowardly fiend!" Nevetsecnuac had raced after Heng.

Heng’s stallion spooked by this sudden charge however, had bolted and neighing wildly, nearly trampled Heng under his hooves. But not before had Heng retrieved something he’d needed from the secret compartment of the saddle.

As Heng fell back he quickly tugged the items under his waist wrap; he grumbled a curse on his breath while his eyes briefly trailed his horse galloping into the distance.

Heng swerved (veered) and looked askance at the other but knew better than to try approaching Fiery Comet; resigned to his fate, perfectly composed, he then turned to face Nevetsecnuac.

Now all this had transpired in the blinking of an eye.

 "Cowardly?  Who's the coward here? I dare you to fight without your precious sword!" Heng at this point, defiantly hollered back.

As it was, Nevetsecnuac's code of honor constrained him from striking an unarmed man.  "That suits me fine.” he tossed the sword aside and rushed to engage Heng in hand-to-hand combat.

They fought seemingly endlessly, with such force, such adroitness, the like of which was unseen in any mortal man.  Again, the surrounding area became the casualty of this intense battle. Perfectly matched, the hand-to-hand combat would have lasted forever and ever, but Heng was fast nearing his patience, and sought to bring a quick resolution to this obvious impasse.

And so, after his deadly strike, in an unexpected maneuver, Heng turned tail and fled, as he ran, he withdrew handful of tiny razor-sharp metal spikes with poisoned tips, from beneath his waist wrap, then while still running   he half turned and hurled them with lightning   speed at Nevetsecnuac.

 With incredible agility, Nevetsecnuac dodged the deadly spikes’ course, and the metal spikes continued, flew by and buried their heads in the same ancient tree that his sword had once sliced.

 “Blast!!”  Heng cursed under his breath, as he same time, taking advantage of Nevetsecnuac's momentary distraction, in lightning speed, retrieved the other concealed poisoned stiletto from his high leather boot.

First, he allowed Nevetsecnuac to catch up then, whirling, Heng swiftly (longlined it) thrust the blade into Nevetsecnuac’s chest, having held no qualms at all about killing an unarmed foe.

Failing in this, for Nevetsecnuac’s quick action hurled it from his hand and buried it into the midst of thick, thorny bush, Heng somersaulted, shot through the air and dove right into the frigid waters of the lake. He was gone from view only for a spell, emerging shortly after brandishing the blade in his hand; he landed squarely in front of Nevetsecnuac who was rushing to retrieve his discarded sword.  Unarmed Nevetsecnuac with sure proficiency fended of the deadly assault then swiftly arriving at the spot where he had discarded his sword earlier, he nimbly kicked it to waist height with his toe, grabbed it without breaking stride and turned to parry Heng's murderous slash.

Again, they fought for another twenty to thirty rounds but this time, despite his prowess, Heng, chilled to the bone, began to falter.  In contrast, Nevetsecnuac maintained his speed and agility and wielded his weapon with such consummate skill that, in the end, he cut a three-inch-deep swath under Heng's ribs.

Heng froze in mid-parry then collapsed to the ground in a swelling pool of crimson.  Blood and curses spat from Heng's lips, each breath making him writhe in agony as he muttered bitter recriminations against his own impatience, arrogance and folly in underestimating Nevetsecnuac's competence.

"If only I had waited for the reinforcements and been content letting the axman take your head.  I've failed miserably.  My life's ambition has been frustrated."  Hot tears mixed with the blood on Heng's cheeks.

"My doomed father, forgive me.  I've condemned you to an eternity of torment, wearing the chains of ignominy, in the underworld!  My beloved ill-fated mother, Lingrace, forgive me, oh how I have failed you both!”

 Heng swallowed hard, thinking the rest.

Oh mother, you forsook your virtue and bore such shame during all those years you suffered the lustful, lecherous pawing of Zakhertan Yozdek.  You debased yourself as attendant at his wife's feet, just so I could live and avenge my father's death. Please mother, don’t curse me forever; find it in your heart to forgive, to absolve me of my failings for I’ve done my best, always have; unfortunately, the fiendish foes are backed by powerful demons. With Heaven forsaking the good, I was doomed to fail.

This was the only version Heng had desperately clanged to, always believing in his heart of hearts that his supposed angelic, saintly mother had been forced into that compromising situation, in order that her son's life was spared and also that the scant hope was kept alive, the prospect and the sole aspiration of avenging her husband’s untimely, ignominious death! 

Ensuing years of her coercion Zakhertan  Yozdek had been, by degrees, spared from any and all blame; instead, intense hatred and animosity had been fueled and then deferred to that vilified Lord Asger Thuxur Marrog Zhon and Prince Nevetsecnuac.

 In blind faith Heng envisioned his mother, to his dying breath, as a self-sacrificing, tragic, victimized and molested heroine, rather than the deceitful, conniving and ambitious woman that she was. 

How could Heng face the ugly truth and keep intact his sanity?  How could his tormented mind surmise, the underlying, contemptible sole reason, that he had been spared for the horrific, sickeningly gruesome demises of his elder siblings, all because his mother had, long before the usurpation, covertly had intimate liaison with Zakhertan  Yozdek. And that suspicion, the question of Heng's paternity, was what had excluded him from the executioner’s block (gallows) or fate worse than death.

 How could Heng have guessed at the root of deceit that ran so deep in his mother that, on this day, when he was sacrificing his own life not to avenge his father's death, but rather to further her underhanded, selfish desire to ingratiate herself back into Zakhertan's good graces.  And that was the sole reason she had hired covertly this assassin Duan and constrained him to take her son Heng along for the ride.

 In the meantime, despite the treachery, contempt and duplicity all that had passed between them, Nevetsecnuac, had felt certain compassion for this dying man, curled up in excruciating pain on the ground. And so, he leaned over to ask, “Can I do anything to ease your pain?"

"You can rot in hell; whelp!"  Heng's face contorted in pain at the effort it took to curse.

"I suppose there is no rebellion either,” Nevetsecnuac grumbled as he looked away, understanding the full scope of his deception.

"Haa, ha, haak!," blood welling up in Heng's throat cut short his sarcastic laugh.

 He spat it out at Nevetsecnuac and gritted his teeth in contempt. 

“That’s right, fool.  There are no rebels, no battles. The Generals lead an army of the dead.  Ha, ha, ugghh!" 

Pain again cut short his laughter as he uttered his last words with regret, “Pity that I should be the one to die, not you.  Heaven is not just."

Nevetsecnuac looked away to hide his surging emotions because he had been dealt with a crushing blow.  The lack of rebellion was not the cause of his turmoil, his deep dismay; however, rather, it was the knowledge of Lord Asger’s forsaken son.  So much had happened during these last few months. With those entire facts in a streamline racing through his mind, he plumped his seat down listlessly beside the lifeless body of Heng.

A great deal of reality had altered. He was not the person he thought he was, neither was his uncle. He’d grown up with, albeit necessary deception. As the past life in quick succession once more flashed before his mind’s eye, it resolved all that mystery he’d grown up with; so much more made sense now.

In one fell swoop many of his life’s queries had been answered.  But worst of it was the knowledge, how his beloved uncle, Lord Asger had sacrificed and endured such hardships and pain all on his behalf.

He shuddered at the thought of another innocent being, sacrificed and forsaken, worst still, imprisoned at infancy, forced to endure such torment, all because of him.

Lord Asger Marrog Zhon had sent Nevetsecnuac on, albeit with some reserve, hoping against hope that there would be some truth to Heng’s claims.  Looking at his bloodied sword, Nevetsecnuac recollected the entirety of his oath to self and Lord Asger; so, he sat, eyes cast on the ground, staring aimlessly in silent, pained concentration. 

He’d sworn the oath not to return without exacting vengeance, on behalf of all those living or perished souls. Heng’s treachery aside, Nevetsecnuac could not dismiss the fact that, Lord Asger’s son to date languished in some dark dreary dungeon.

 With lowered head, Nevetsecnuac ground his teeth and clenched his fist as he seethed.

  If he were to return, Asger would never let him go on this perilous rescue mission.

Teuquob and his bellowed children, their dependence on him could sway his determination. But how could he last another day, knowingly perpetuating this unethical, immoral feat (act)?  Lord Asger had sacrificed so much… Least he could do, is try, try to rectify this grave injustice and reunite him with his flesh and blood son!

Suddenly he knew the action he must take to make all these wrongs right. He could only estimate the scope of difficulty, the unforeseen challenges of his chosen (decided) course, but same time he knew it was the only honorable thing to do.

Springing to his feet, he threw both arms into the air and let out an earth-shaking roar

“Heaven bear witness to my new vow (pledge), whatever the cost; I shall exact vengeance on the Usurper Zakhertan Yozdek for all the wrongdoings he’s committed and, reunite Lord Asger Thuxur Marrog Zhon with his son Ivar Marrog Zhon.”

Nevetsecnuac afterwards (next) with meticulous care buried Heng Erling’s corpse under some rocks, poured libation (offering the entirety of wine which Heng had kept in animal skin vessel/container, and used it sparingly, since the time he’d accompanied Duan) over his grave and said some prayers for his soul.       

 At that moment in time, the first light of day broke; Nevetsecnuac’s eyes beheld a phantasm dragon suddenly manifest in the crimson sky, which it then quickly sailed on by amidst red clouds, till it dissipated.  

Nevetsecnuac thoughtfully nodded, then unable to stand still a moment longer he, vaulting into Fiery Comet's saddle, galloped the steed in the direction of the morning sun.

(THE END OF SECTION 17 – THE CONCLUSION OF THE ASSASSIONS)

 

 

 

THE ASSASSINS - SECTION 5

 

LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE ASSASSINS - SECTION 5

From his hiding place Brandt’s eyes had avidly followed Duan’s progress, only losing sight of him once or twice, but then, the full moon obligingly re-emerged as the last passing cloud drifted away to the north illuminating the grounds once more.

Brandt just then recalling to mind, the stipulated task which he presently had neglected, he at once fetched the remainder of the foul-smelling bundle that had been set aside and quickly smeared the contents of it on the well tethered mounts. It would effectively mask the horses’ scent from any predators for two to three days hence, even though thankfully after a bout, the overwhelming pungent stench dissipated, leaving only a slight residue of pong.

Hmm, why not? Brandt   shrugged, glancing at the remainder then quickly patted it on parts of his clothes and hair. For a spell, typically, his nose wrinkled up and then he was immune. As he had every intention of joining   the fight, he grinned mischievously imagining   this to be an effective repellent not just to beasts but to man.

When the moon once more took refuge behind some dense clouds, Brandt   defiantly left his post and stealthily drew close to the cabin. His searching gaze again spotted Duan, whose swift advance had abruptly stayed (halted, arrested), by the unexpected loud disturbance arising from within the stable.

No chance of using hay from the barn to stack up against the cabin now. Flushing them out through fire, bah! It was a stupid idea anyhow. Brandt   scoffed then grinned pondering, what other bright ideas Duan had up his sleeves.

The mount presently again, was heard neighing, prancing, and stamping his hooves on the ground, overall raising quite a ruckus to give fair warning   to his master.

Unnerved, Brandt   abandoned his stealthy advance and hastily took cover behind a cluster (group) of trees.

 “Now where in blazes is he?” Brandt   grumbled under his breath as his eyes sought Duan, for Duan had entirely disappeared from his view, and this time for good. He did not have to wait long however, when suddenly a fierce fight erupted on the rooftop of the main dwelling. Aside from the thunderous sounds of hand-to-hand combat, swords clashed repeatedly and violently, sending sparks into the night air.

You shall not rob me of glory! Brandt, hugging the shadows, darted towards the cabin. He paused only for a spell to consider the more prudent course, a sure tactical advantage that seemingly lay ahead. But it was a trap, that of which he recognized just in time, therefore escaping a certain ghastly end.

Dodging similar traps, he relentlessly pushed on and finally got within proximity to the Cabin’s doorstep (porch). Grinding his teeth and brandishing his sword, he made ready to (in rapid strides) fly over the stairs and burst inside and deal a swift deathblow to those within. But at that precise moment the cabin door flung open and the other they had sought, the one-armed fiend emerging, brandishing his sword in a single jump, landed just before Brandt   to bar (block) his way.

 “Where do you think you’re going?” He shouted at Brandt, his attention at once drawn to Brandt’s sword, as he at the same time wildly hacked at him. Brandt ’s eyes blazed seeing the ancestor sword in other’s hand; rage swelling within his chest and with equal equanimity he fended subsequent nimble strikes and delivered his own deadly assaults on Stark.

Back on the icy rooftop a superb fighting had ensued between Svein and Duan, as the latter repeatedly whirled his sword like the fearsome wind and brought it down on Svein with a forceful blow. But Svein in lightning   speed each instance (case) escaped the course of the blade (the sword's path) and instead, dealt the assailant numerous damaging blows of his own.

 All the while Duan had also targeted the chimney, trying to dismantle or destroy stone/brick structure, in effort to suffocate (smoke out) those within the cabin, but this also were ably thwarted (foiled) by Svein.

At one point after parrying Duan’s sword, Svein then with lightning   speed landed Duan a most powerful punch on the jaw that sent Duan faltering backwards on his feet to the periphery (fringe, edge) of the (snow covered) roof. He halted only just, with his heels dangling in midair as the dislodged flecks of ice cascaded down.

No worse for wear however, in a flash Duan not only steadied himself on his toes, but in an agile move, with a swift summersault going right over Svein, he landed squarely on his feet behind Svein and lunged.

Quick maneuver on Svein’s part blocked this deadly aim and the subsequent lightening charges, thrusts, and stabs.

Duan, now in a more solid stand laughed aloud and shouted: “Not bad, not bad at all kid!! But these rooftop engagements are tiresome, don’t you think?” Then quick as the wind, he somersaulted down onto the solid icy ground and this time engaged Svein in so fierce a combat that even though the full moonlight bathed the premise, all that was discernable (visible) to the naked eye, was a whirling, streaking (whizzing) blur.

 Brandt   also caught (occupied) in a fierce battle with Stark, at one point had nevertheless drawn close enough to Svein to note in a side-glance, the features of the young man.

Why that is, what was his name again? Brandt   could barely contain his shock and surprise. That’s right… Audun Colden. Blast!!!  Brandt’s astute (shrewd, incisive) mind had at once pieced it together. Brandt, seething in anger now for being (duped) played the fool, he cursed Audun (Svein) under his breath and redoubled his strikes against Stark.

Once this foe was bested, Brandt next aim would be Audun; however, Brandt had pegged (gaged, judged) that one wrong as well, for despite Stark’s wounds, his consummate skill, and the intensity of the combat, was so swift and outstanding (remarkable) that it robbed Brandt any chance of besting him.

“Fool, all you are is an impediment!!” Duan furiously bellowed at Brandt, when at one point Brandt   got in his way.

Duan’s subsequent lightning   strikes in quick succession hacked and thrust at Svein's ribs and other body parts, but in each instance, incredibly, Svein with his nimble maneuvers (bend, twists, or turns), repeatedly averted and deflected the deadly course of the blade. Maddeningly still, in all that time Duan’s invincible deadly strikes had barely grazed Svein’s clothes.

Brandt   had witnessed Duan vanquishing whole contingents in the blinking of an eye. Yet thus far Duan with his indomitable fighting style and prowess had failed to gain the singular advantage over Audun Colden (Svein).

The villain (fiend) Duan had finally met his match! Adroit Brandt’s blood boiled with fury, doubting hence, his and Duan’s prior, anticipated victory.

From the start, Stark and Svein had pegged Brandt as not being a serious contender within that fighting group and quickly relegated him to lateral combat. It still took all Brandt’s skill and might, nevertheless, to parry or fend off Stark’ sporadic (intermittent) assaults. Stark’s key focus directed at Duan, whenever he could, he had landed a helping hand to Svein. Nor could Brandt   get away now, to assault those in the cabin's interior, as a diversion, presumably (likely) the weak point of these two invincible warriors.

The intense combat, occasionally, with the three combatants Duan, Stark and Audun (Svein) interlocked in fierce struggle had, meanwhile, lasted indefinitely for Brandt. They had paid little heed to Brandt, who fought futilely on the flank. Jealousy gnawing his innards. Brandt regretted now having played his part all too well, Duan despised him and so it was far too late for an effective, coordinated strike against the foes; meanwhile, the adversaries’ combined force was invincible.

Brandt, as he fought on, with his astute observations, had irrefutably (undeniably) now, grasped the full scope of their impossible situation. In all the years of fighting, (even when based on sheer force, stamina, and skill) he had seen nothing remotely, akin to it.

How best to survive (outlast) this sure forfeiture?

Presently, with the two striking at Duan simultaneously at once, Brandt, knowing it was only a matter of time before Duan was (bested) vanquished- inwardly tallied (weighed, deliberated on) his scarcest options, and wracked his brains, till he reached an apt resolution.

                                                                                        ~

At one point in time, Duan ceasing a rare opportunity, in lightning speed struck Svein, then in a whirl, hacked at Stark’s back, only to find his blade in both instances simultaneously blocked, sending fiery sparks into the night air.

This for a spell, demoralized Duan, for good as Stark was the youth who fought only with ordinary sword, still wielded the blade with such consummate, deadly effect, furthermore, his unfaltering speed and agility were unlike any Duan had ever encountered (engaged in). This was far beyond any human skill; it must be…. Duan inwardly nodded, remembering his fortunate findings from the supposed cryptic chronicles (private journals) of the Abbot Boqast Tizanzenn’s in that vault.

Inwardly, Duan could not help but admire the youth’s super-human competence (thankfully, not fully realized yet,) that still far exceeded any proficient mortal martial arts’ expert, such as the one-armed foe.

Anyone else would have long ago perished by my blade (wielding of sword). So young, yet he possesses such consummate, invincible power. Hmm, Duan, presently demurred while keeping up the intense combat. The elder, despite his wounds and obvious handicap is also to be admired: a pity that I must slay such fine warriors.

 Svein and Stark, meanwhile, for an immeasurable time had kept up with their coordinated maneuvers, and presently, still effectively stayed both Duan and Brandt’s (assailants’) recharged deadly offensives.

Be that as it may, despite all seeming appearances, the unremitting intensity of combat combined   with the effects of the medicine Stark had ingested earlier, had in fact by degrees begun taking its toll on Stark; yet with tenacious vigor, he’d obstinately, persistently pushed to ward off Duan’s fresh unfaltering swift strikes, ignoring Svein's repeated urgings for him to withdraw from the circle of combat. 

"Please get back to safety, Uncle. I can manage them both.” Svein again urged Stark, before he swung with full force at Duan's chest then intercepted Brandt’s thrust by tripping him face down to the ground.

“Nothing doing” Came Stark’s stern response; however, just then seeing Teuquob armed and about to emerge from the cabin, both Duan and Brandt   shot through the air in an incredible speed, in a straight beeline towards her. It was all Stark and Svein could do to block their intent; and as Svein kept them both effectively at bay, Stark catapulted, swift as the sudden gust to land just before her.

“I told you to stay within! Outside is no place for you to be. Now get back in and bolt the door!”  His stern command, command of a general forced Teuquob to abort her aim at once and quickly withdraw inside.

 “Stubborn girl,” Stark shook his head, as he turned and rushed back to join the fray.

Teuquob with certain foreboding had bolted the door and stamped her feet, and then angrily casting the sword aside, went to look in on the just then squabbling twins.

 The sounds of the intense combat outside picking up momentum stirred her heart anew with further misgivings and she hugged her children as she bit her lip to stop the urge to scream in sheer frustration. Why wasn’t she allowed to fight? She was competent enough; was all her training for nothing but a show!

As she had squeezed them tighter still, the twins, very much surprised, ceased their rumpus (crying) and with confused expressions only a mother could tell, stared back at their mom.

“I should be out there, fighting alongside them. I am capable enough!”  She found herself explaining   to those staring, innocent faces. “In here I feel so utterly useless; there must be something I can do?”

Presently, she would pray for their salvation; then, she would defiantly, join in with the fight outside.

Subsequently, with the twins at close by, she prostrated herself before the altar of the mountain god, Rognar, (resting) set up over an ornate mahogany table in the private corner of the living area. There, with a heart-rending plea she entreated the God, till such time she participated in the fight, to be merciful and aid her beloved husband and esteemed uncle.  Furthermore, to bequeath her, Svein and Stark, utmost power, strength, and endurance, so that they may jointly, easily subdue the (assailants) enemy.

 

                                                                               ~

 

(END OF SECTION 5)