Fradel, resolved to tell
all, nodded and then solemnly confessed: "The venerable Zukan Rurik
Korvald, in truth was my adopted father, who’d rescued me from the clutches of
death and raised me as his own all these years. This fact was revealed to me on
his death bed."
Svein empathetically listened
to it, as Fradel gradually unfolded the threads of his confidential,
distressing past:
Zukan Rurik Korvald, a
celebrated scholar of his time, one faithful day on a return trip after
visiting a close relative, propitiously (impulsively) requiring some respite,
had had his boat moored on the banks of the river Tua, just a short distance
from a bridge. He had interrupted his
journey craving also, to partake (imbibe) a particular fine wine (a special
brew he’d procured from a winery), while absorbing proper appreciation of the
marvelous scenery that enhanced that region.
Subsequently inspired,
he’d composed some brilliant stanzas that were later to be highly prized by the
gentry; just before dusk, he’d laid down his brush and returned to his cabin to
recline for a short repose (rest) when, the blowing of horns and the
approaching thunder of hooves drove him back up on deck.
From afar, he had then
witnessed the gruesome tragedy of two people, unfortunate enough to be caught
on the bridge and, failing to clear the way, being trampled by Zakhertan
Yozdek's unruly steed as he led his mounted contingent in a fearsome race over
the hills, leaving a trail of dust behind. Overriding the protests of his
boatmen, Zukan Rurik Korvald still sent his two trusted servants to the bridge
to assess the damage and, perhaps, lend some curative help to the unfortunate
victims. As expected, their report of
the couple's fate came as no surprise to anyone. The couple had been trampled to death; however,
the mother's quick action, as she'd used her body to shield her infant son from
the deadly onslaught had spared the baby from a certain death. The chief steward, not knowing what else to
do, had returned with the scrawny, bawling infant in his arms.
The captain and crew put
up a strong resistance to having the baby on board, arguing that this was no
small matter. Refusing to become
involved, the captain had strongly advised Zukan to dispose of the infant along
with his parents’ corpses into the river.
"Field Marshal Zakhertan Yozdek,” he'd
vehemently warned, "is not one to be trifled with. You're a stranger to these parts; you don't
know the half of it. If you value your life,
you'd best forget all you've seen today.
The law can't touch mighty Field-Marshall, so save yourself from sure
future calamity. This infant is not
worth the serious trouble which it could beget, not only for you but for us
all."
"Nonsense; no one is
above the law!" Zukan had exploded.
Ordinarily a mild-mannered nobleman, he had regretted this outburst
immediately and thus added calmly, "I'll deal with this in my own way, you
will not be involved."
As a man of integrity and
chivalrous character, the venerable Zukan Rurik Korvald had delayed his
departure from this region thence, in order to appear before the local
Magistrate, named Luoki, to demand justice for two unidentified, dead peasants.
Magistrate Luoki and the other prominent local
authorities, disgruntled atop quaking with fear, had shown reluctance, furthermore,
banding together had done their best to discourage Zukan from this dangerous
pursuit. Discreetly, and unofficially,
the scholar was counseled to leave well enough alone and was again told that
Field Marshal Zakhertan Yozdek was too powerful a man to offend.
“This misdemeanor,” as
they called the murder of two peasants, who were obviously also strangers to
the region, “was too light a charge to even think of summoning Field Marshal
Zakhertan before a rural court to give account.”
The Magistrate had, meanwhile, wrapped up the
case quickly and efficiently, after his subordinates had obtained (secured) false
evidence from the boatmen and his crew, all of it substantiating the final
verdict, the pronouncing of the couple's death, a deliberate act of a double
suicide.
Outnumbered, Zukan Rurik
Korvald’s protests had, via other measures, been totally curtailed; he was
rendered powerless to beget any justice for the innocent victims. In this way,
though, local authorities and the deemed ungrateful Zukan Rurik Korvald, were
shielded from the certain future wrath of Field Marshal Zakhertan Yozdek.
The matter thus summarily
settled; the Magistrate Luoki demanded next, that the child be turned over to
the authorities for his proper disposal.
Rather than surrendering, however, Zukan and his servants fled the area
under cover of night.
Later Zukan had sent a
trusted aide back to the region under disguise in order to make discrete
investigations into the identity of the victims and about any prior (erstwhile)
links (relations, possible family, contacts).
When this effort proved to be in vain, Zukan had embraced the child as
his own and, since he was himself childless, named the infant Fradel Rurik
Korvald.
Quite discontented with
the rampant corruption under Zakhertan Yozdek's growing power, observing how
the Field-Marshall’s hands gripped the nation's neck, choking tightly until the
pulse ceased its flow; the indignant (aristocrat) scholar Zukon, had eventually
been constrained (forced) to become a recluse.
Zukan's peaceful domain
was so completely insulated that it allowed no outside infiltration at
all. Fradel had grown up perfectly
schooled in literary skills and religion, cocooned in this tranquil atmosphere,
oblivious to the harsh realities in the so-called civilized world outside. The truth about his parentage was revealed to
him only at Zukan's death bed.
Unfortunately, before the three years of mourning for the venerable
Zukan Rurik Korvald was over and Fradel had fully explored his avenues of
vengeance against Zakhertan, Fradel had been summoned to court.
Fradel at this point,
falling silent, had pensively looked away beyond the curtainless window, to
observe the night sky dotted with blinking stars.
"It is as I had
expected,” Svein (Nevetsecnuac) just then rejoined with fire in his eyes, startling
Fradel from his ephemeral brooding (ruminating). "We share the same purpose, you and I.”
Svein smiled and then nodded. “It may have started as a personal vendetta, but
it has now gone far beyond that, hasn't it?" Svein, next, answered Fradel's silent query.
"Yes, my parents and all my family, too, were cruelly murdered by
Zakhertan Yozdek."
Fradel gazed at Svein
nonplused, realizing only then that, despite the intense and extensive
interchange that led them to the brink of becoming sworn brothers, he still
knew virtually nothing of Svein's background.
How far can I hinge on this blind faith?
But before Fradel could
give voice to his thoughts, Svein inquired directly and with sincere concern,
"Your courage and aim are both most commendable, Fradel; and I don’t wish
to give offense, however, it is obvious that you lack both knowledge and skill
in pertinent strategy, medicine, toxins or Martial Arts. How do you propose to best (assassinate) this
most formidable foe Zakhertan Yozdek? Lest I miss something vital, may I be
permitted to learn of your plan?
Besides, I doubt that you have ever killed an animal, let alone a human
being."
"You are quite
correct in your supposition.” Fradel replied coolly. "I've always been opposed to the taking
of life. I've espoused the philosophy of
Zuox which holds that 'All life, its form and expression, is sacred. They must be cherished and preserved.' But that hardly applies to a villain like
Zakhertan, a monster arrayed (clothed) in human form. I'm well aware of the past, unsuccessful,
numerous attempts on usurper Monarch's life.
Though I have comparatively little fighting ability, this inadequacy
does not deter me from my noble aim. I
have the will, and I am prepared to die to attain justice for my parents and for
my countrymen. The monster must be made
to atone for his crimes." As he
vehemently expressed his hatred of Zakhertan once more, he grew quite flushed,
his ears burned, and his voice grew hoarse.
"You have echoed the
sentiments of my own heart.” Svein responded thoughtfully when the other fell
silent. "But, Fradel, this is no
small task, and it should not be taken lightly.
I, at least, was trained and conditioned since childhood for such a
purpose while you were not. Every fabric
of my being stands in readiness for this fight.
Far be it that I should deter you from your just cause, but I fear that
your noble attributes, exceptional courage may not be enough; why, then, should
you throw your life away?”
"No.", Svein
waved a dissenting hand to still the retort forming on Fradel's tongue. "Please hear me out first. A man can only die once. All that I ask is that you postpone your
vengeance until I have had a go at it first.
In the event that I should fail then it will be your turn. By then, perhaps, you would have attained the
necessary skill and be able to succeed where others before you have
failed."
"I know that you mean
well, Svein, and I will certainly take your words under advisement.” Fradel
stubbornly replied. "Still, being
the least likely person to attack the Monarch, I would have the element of
surprise on my side and may be more likely to inflict a mortal wound on
him. He is on his guard with formidable
men (civil or military) with fine physiques, wary of fighters of all sorts
(male or female), dissident scholars or any citizen with adverse views. But he would never suspect a nature loving recluse
such as I. I’m aware of the fact that
his elite security has checked me out thoroughly." Fradel stopped and went over to his luggage
and began rummaging around inside.
Finding what he sought for, he withdrew an antique-looking writing brush
and presented it with a flourish.
"Besides, this provides me with the perfect means of killing
him."
Suppressing a chuckle,
Svein queried, "And how, may I ask, do you propose to use that? However, genius a contraption, a concealed
weapon in the form of a brush would be detected at once.”
Ignoring Svein's obvious
misgivings, Fradel smiled wryly and pointed the bristles of the brush towards
the headboard. Instantly a small metal
dart buried itself with a twang half-way into the wood.
As Svein went to retrieve the dart, Fradel
removed a small, wooden box from his pocket and opening it, announced,
"This is no ordinary ink box. It
contains the highly noxious ink that can paralyze the heart within seconds of
coming in contact with the skin. Loading
the brush for writing laces the tip of the dart and a concealed trigger
launches it. This trick should bring
about Zakhertan's destruction instantly. “
“I most certainly will be
searched for concealed weapons before I'm brought into his presence, but they
would not take away the tools of my trade; I need these to fulfill my purpose
in being summoned there. I ask you;
would anyone suspect the simple writing implement of a non-political, scholarly
recluse?"
"It seems you’ve
given this a lot of thought. And
admittedly it’s the most ingenious device. The barbed dart is most cleverly
camouflaged as one of the bristles. Now
suppose you are fortunate enough that it does escape the meticulous scrutiny (search)
of the elite security. But the target may not be such an easy one to hit. Zakhertan Yozdek is renowned for his military
prowess; he's reportedly unsurpassed in agility, strength, and cunning. Moreover, he might be wearing under his court
vestments, light metal armor (cuirass, shield); you, taking that into account, no
doubt plan to aim for his neck, hand or face. Nevertheless, with his incredible
reflexes he may still successfully elude the dart and what then? Have you an alternate plan to follow in
this one's wake?"
"No!” Fradel stamped
his foot in vexation. In truth, he had
not configured every possibility, and, Svein’s points had certain validity. Going against such a formidable foe he should
have devised a more plausible secondary, even a tertiary plan to fall back on
in order to ensure his success. He sat
down to ponder with a sinking heart.
"Do not lose heart,
brother, for I shall not fail. The
monster's days are numbered." Svein
lightly tapped Fradel's shoulder in consolation.
Svein's addressing him as
"brother" recalled to Fradel’s mind, his earlier resolve. Rising to his feet, he proposed that, since
there were now no obstacles, they should take the oath of brotherhood without
further delay; after which they could plan at length how best he and Svein, as
individuals or jointly, could best serve their cause. But it was now Svein's turn to (hesitate) show
reserve; nevertheless, in the brief silence that ensued, Svein had swiftly
resolved his inner quandary. Svein sincerely
addressing Fradel, first asked forgiveness for his prior deception, and then drawing
near, in a low voice revealed the name of his mentor, Lord Asger Thuxur Marrow
Zhon, and subsequently, confessed to his true identity.
Overcoming his shock,
Fradel was about to drop to his knees to show his proper respect, when he was swiftly,
courteously, stopped by Nevetsecnuac.
“Since they were practically brothers already,” Nevetsecnuac, same time
had reasoned, “such formalities were quite unwarranted.”
"But I, the orphan
son of lowly peasants, am unworthy of such great honor. I cannot hope to ever become the sworn
brother of a Prince (Nevtsecnuac Alric Therrain Valamir).” Fradel protested.
"You have now
offended me deeply, brother.” Nevetsecnuac frowned. “I never figured you to be so pompous. After all that we have shared, nothing has
changed between us."
The emotion filled speech that followed,
imbued with such humility and honesty so overwhelmed Fradel that, his eyes
brimming with tears, he finally acquiesced.
In the private ceremony
that followed, the Prince and the Scholar both fell to their knees facing
south. Voicing their petition to the
Heavenly Gods, they swore an oath before them to be brothers for life. After a small cut was inflicted on each one’s
index finger, the dripping blood was then collected in a ceramic goblet half
filled with wine. Taking the cup in both
hands, Nevetsecnuac ceremoniously presented it to Fradel, calling him elder
brother as Fradel was five years his senior.
Receiving the cup, Fradel drank the first sip from it then, with just as
much ceremony, offered it to Nevetsecnuac, addressing him as his younger
brother. After Nevetsecnuac had obliged,
the cup was hurled against the fireplace and broke into a thousand fragments,
sealing the oath forever. The (sudden) just
then rising winds outside vigorously rattled the shutters as if in shared joy
and approval.
Nevetsecnuac and Fradel, now
as brothers sat across from each other and toasted to their future success. As
they partook the wine, they reminisced about family members and dear friends that
could not be there; later still, slightly inebriated, they drowned their
sorrows in yet more capfuls of wine.
During this time Fradel
was told of the great deeds and sacrifices of Lord Asger Thuxur Marrog Zhon,
Lord Shonne Gulbrand, Lu Moldan and the rest, marveling at their greatness,
loyalty and scope of heroic attributes, comparing each to the legendary historical
figures.
As the topic gradually
veered towards the exacting of vengeance, Fradel asked Nevetsecnuac if he had on
him the special ID Permit, a vital official (two-part) document essential in
allowing one access to Capital Province Holger and then to Imperial city
Channing.
Nevetsecnuac shook his
head in the negative, then asked, "An ID Permit? This is the first time
I’ve heard of such a requisite."
"Just as I
suspected,” Fradel nodded thoughtfully.
"But that's to be expected."
He went on to explain that few officials, never mind influential
citizens, were aware of the necessity for such a certificate, even though its
use had been strictly enforced by the authorities in the Capital province,
Holger, for half a year now. He
recounted how he, himself, would have been caught unawares, had it not been for
the Palace Guard's explicit reminder when he'd delivered the summons from the
Court.
"I'm afraid that,
without it, entry to the Capital is impossible.” Fradel intoned grimly.
"This strict measure
had been put into effect after a latest, nearly successful attempt on
Zakhertan's life by a small group of very competent assassins. I have heard undisputed claims that since
then, Imperial City Channing has been sealed like a fortress, allowing no entry
or egress without proper authorization.”
It was most fortunate,
indeed, that we talked long enough for me to recall this important detail
otherwise, being caught at the gate without this official permit; you would
have instantly been apprehended for questioning. Your aim would have been frustrated very
early on."
"Then I must act to
secure for myself such documents,” came Nevetsecnuac's decisive response. "Can I rely on your guidance and
assistance, brother?"
"You don't understand
the degree of difficulty involved.” Fradel shook his head.
"It's not a question
of my assistance, brother; I wish it was that easy. I'm afraid that these two-part documents can
only be obtained at your birthplace and are issued only by the resident
Governor for a considerable fee. You
must also produce at least three other notable residents as witnesses. Even under the best of circumstances, such a
process could not be completed within a month."
Fradel drew out the
documents from their protective covering of waxed parchment and pointed an
explicit finger to the top left corner of one of them where, sealed under gum
Arabic, a provincial court artist had drawn the poet's likeness. Nevetsecnuac's eyes followed, with increasing
misgivings and a heavier heart, the list of Fradel's identifying particulars,
his physical description, parent's name, age and birthplace and finally, at the
bottom, the long trail of official seals.
"Due to the urgency
of summons necessitating my prompt departure, the obliging Lord and the new
governor, Mojen, spared me the time and difficulty of procuring necessary
documentation. Taking me at my word,
they acted as my guarantors and expediently processed the ID Permit with all
due haste." Fradel, pensively(thoughtfully), meanwhile, had continued. "Of
course, even if I did have the ID Documents of my deceased servants still in my
possession,” Fradel interjected, "their particulars are so vastly different
from yours that, I'm afraid, they still would have been of no use to you."
Having recently buried the
men, Nevetsecnuac concurred with a nod of his head; meanwhile, it had become
clear to Nevetsecnuac that without proper verification, he could never obtain,
not at any length of time, this kind of vital documentation.
"What is to be done,
then?” he gave voice to his fret (hassle).
"How can I beat this unexpected hindrance (hurdle)? I must seek another ingenious means to override
this serious obstacle." Nevetsecnuac distractedly followed Fradel's bold
strides to and for, as the scholar presently paced the room in contemplation.
"But, of course!”
Nevetsecnuac jumped up in elation.
"Why didn’t I think of this before?"
Startled, Fradel grabbed
Nevetsecnuac's arm. "What is it,
brother?"
"The answer to our
dilemma is right before us. The problem has already been resolved by none other
than you, brother." Nevetsecnuac responded with a bemused smile.
"Me? How?"
"Elder Brother, it
just struck me how similar in appearance we are. For instance, are we both relatively of the
same height and bearing and share similar facial features? Fortunately, due to haste, the hair and eye
coloring were not precise. With a beard, could I not pass for
twenty-five?"
"What an idea!"
Fradel chortled.
"I knew there was something about you I
liked." His eyes dwelt on
Nevetsecnuac with a new intensity as he surveyed the prince’s features. "Yes, it is possible." he had to
concur. "I must be getting muddle
headed, strange how this simple solution eluded me."
"That's because, elder
brother, despite all my previous reasoning you still harbor the desire to press
on by yourself. How stubborn you
are." Nevetsecnuac teased, shaking
a finger at him.
Donning a long face,
Fradel turned an aimless gaze to the crackling flames of the fire. An inexplicable sadness just then, gripping
his heart.
(END OF SECTION 11)
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