11- LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - EVIL PERSONIFIED - SECTION 6

Subsequently, long after his firstborn's ignominious death, Zakhertan had thoroughly investigated all happenstances from varied perspectives and scrutinized even the remotest incidents (episodes) that could have given rise to his son’s shocking defiance; meanwhile, seeking any explanation to forgive his son and to absolve himself from least blame. He had even considered the possibility that his beloved son had gone temporarily insane, had suffered a medical mental affliction (episode) or injury that had resulted in his irrational, deplorable behavior.

Nevertheless, Qijerrik consequent unfilial breach could not be minimized (disputed) or denied; after considering this at present once more, Zakhertan shook his head and again hardened his heart. Qijerrik when captured and brought in chains before him (Zakhertan) to account for his crimes, though altered in personality, had been perfectly resolute and of sound mind. Zakhertan recalled with perfect clarity each nuance and subtlety of affectation, moreover, every brazen discord (articulated dissent) of that day when Qijerrik stood adamantly defiant despite his obvious grave injuries.

01- -QIJERRIK YOZDEK IN CHAINS

 Zakhertan gritted his teeth while the muscles on his face went taut (rigid, tense, tightened), just as it had done then, his heart in the throes of extreme emotional turmoil- observing (witnessing) his son’s  stoic bravely, hearing his son’s defiant responses to his culpable (accusatory), damning analyses and sadistic demands, never giving an inch, shackled and seriously wounded as he were beneath his armour (breastplate, chainmail), result of his prior gallant skirmish with the elite force!

Incredibly, even after all this time, despite all that had passed (transpired), Zakhertan still held deep affection for his firstborn son and he still yearned deep within the crevices of his soul, to have Qijerrik standing by him, as he had once done. Zakhertan had given him the single, unheard of until then, chance to repent, to explain his actions and to beg absolution from him (his Sovereign father). Though, Zakhertan had known all too well, that the offer of leniency was wasted on the son after his own heart. Predictably, Qijerrik had remained unrelenting and defiant until the bitter- end.

"I gladly welcome death (be freed by death) and decent into the debts of Hell than intake another breath and persist (live) under the noxious grid (net) of your tyrannical rule!"

 Those caustic words, then to present, were forever etched in (scarred, burned in) Zakhertan Yozdek’s heart and still pained him. At the time seeing red (enraged), Zakhertan’s fury had just exploded.

"Your death shall not come that easy."  In a blinding rage (not seeing his son), he had descended upon the insolent, shackled prisoner and, drawing his sword severed, in lightning strike, Qijerrik’s right arm above the elbow; but with incredible self-control he had stayed his blade, desisting the urge of cutting Qijerrik’s throat and in a sweeping motion amputating both of his (son’s) legs above the knee.  

02-ZAKHERTAN YOZDEDK  (68)

Qijerrik for a moment or two had fought hard to remain conscious as the stump of his severed arm, the severed artery, sprayed blood all over Zakhertan’s chest and on the guards who flanked him. Nevertheless, fuelled by indignation, for he possessed the same fiery temperament as Zakhertan, Qijerrik’s voice thence, thundered with his wrathful curses directed at his father, till his strength gradually but assuredly waned.

Zakhertan, his fury only satiated by the spilling of blood, consequently, in lightening speed sheathing his sword and then simultaneously withdrawing his dagger from his inner garment, grabbed the tongue of his son and cut out the offensive organ at the root.

His son, by this act, would be silenced forever, so he had thought. But those eyes, those hateful, burrowing eyes spoke louder than any battle cry. The look had extricated (wrenched) Zakhertan’s soul out from his body, then inexplicably plunged (plummeted, drawn) into the debts of those blazing blue eyes of Qijerrik’s; Zakhertan thus helplessly mesmerized, held captive (caged) by the force of it, had endured Qijerrik’s heaped on silent recriminations-making Zakhertan feel like an abhorred monster and worse, making him suffer (experience) the effects of his actions had had on others.

Zakhertan could have well tolerated (stomached, endured) all blame and that penetrating glare of loathing; but then his son’s eyes had unexpectedly softened and had insufferably next, got suffused with a deep, profound pity for Zakhertan, before Qijerrik succumbed to loss of blood and his eyelids dropped! That did it!

At that moment, unbridled fury had again exploded in Zakhertan for, “how dare his son, so abjectly pity him?”  Anew his heart turned to stone; Zakhertan had barked his orders to the guards to get the traitor Qijerrik out of his sight at once. His death, however, would not be so swift.

03- INFURIATED ZAKHERTAN YOZDEDK  (16) JP

The guards understanding Zakhertan’s unspoken command, had hauled Prince Qijerrik to the darkest of dungeons, had his wounds cauterized, and then had the prince chained to the far wall. Once a day Qijerrik was force-fed to keep him alive, for Zakhertan still demanded repentance from his son and if necessary, it would be extracted by torture. Subsequent days, the rebellious forces bereft of his leadership, had been one by one, swiftly, and methodically rooted out and vanquished; and in less than two months every whimper of rebellion had been crushed.  

Every generation of Scholars’ families down to the extended members, servants, associates as well as, all other suspected sympathizers were one and all, rounded up and publicly executed throughout the Kingdom. Many villages and rural towns which had lent support to the Scholar rebels had been raised, incinerated and every life within them snuffed out of existence. Their severed, blood-soaked heads were hoisted on pikes over city gates or in village squares where the eyes were picked clean by crows and the empty sockets formed nests for maggots. Left there indefinitely to rot and stink, they served as a grim reminder, a deterrent, and a warning to all dissidents.  

Each day for well over a month, Prince Qijerrik chained and immobile, had spent long, agonizing hours, being kept appraised of the most recent atrocious and ghastly reprisals exacted (meted out) on his once compatriots.  

 Zakhertan had hoped that the self-recrimination alone, at all the suffering Prince had caused, would force Qijerrik to see the error of his ways and beg, by whatever means he could, Zakhertan's forgiveness. Only then swift death would be bestowed on the prince, along with the granting of full funerary rights. The alternative, Zakhertan let Qijerrik know, was to be kept in the dungeon indefinitely, to undergo sporadic tortures then be left to rot until his corpse would be tossed into the moat below like that of a common criminal. Qijerrik, defiant to the end, had, however still found a way to cheat Zakhertan of the pleasure of his demise (death). At the beginning of the second month of his incarceration, after eating normally for two days to build his strength and lull the guard's suspicions, he had taken advantage of the brief period when the shift changed and, gathering all his bodily strength, had swung his skull backwards with all his force against the wall he was shackled to.  Prince Qijerrik had always been a stalwart (strapping) young man and even in this weakened state, it had taken only one attempt to shatter his skull and therefore end his existence.

Both shifts of guards, finding out what had happened and fearing Zakhertan’s wrath, fell upon their swords and immediately ended their life. The news of his son's suicide had at first infuriated Zakhertan Yozdek, but the more he thought about it, the more he admired his son's resolve and courage despite himself. Though misguided, his son’s stubborn defiance right up to the end had earned Qijerrik, Zakhertan’s lasting esteem and deep eternal love, for being such a true warrior. Breaking his own rule of law, Zakhertan had taken Qijerrik’s remains and had them buried beside those of his mother Lady Elin, in the Royal Tombs; however, the corpse of Prince Qijerrik still received no funerary rites.

04-ZAKHERTAN YOZDEK 78

Zakhertan’s heart from then on had grown even colder still, for he had after all, lost the only person who had mattered to him in life. He had since then been, figuratively speaking, dead to the world. He had allowed himself no attachments and had taken solace only in wars, with murder and mayhem (pandemonium, havoc) being his constant companions; however, none of that had satiated his voracious, predatory soul’s gripe (or lament). His heart, already turned to chunk of ice and caged in an iron chest, had only last year, though hesitantly, had begun to thaw. Zakhertan’s thoughts at present reluctantly turned to Crown Prince Herleif, he speculated whether he had unfairly shunned his second son, born three years after Qijerrik to the same mother Lady Elin.

The two Princes could not have been more different. Prince Herleif was so vastly inferior to the firstborn, that it was hard for Zakhertan to believe Qijerrik shared the (same chromosome, gene pool,) same gene (genetic factor, DNA, RNA) with such a sorry specimen. Lately however, Zakhertan’s feelings about Herleif had been mixed and his heart at times had been tinged with small measure of guilt, for he knew deep down in the crux of his conscience being that he was partly to be blamed for those ill-gotten results. Hadn't he after all desired this outcome in Herleif, this weakling, the bane of his life, and took corresponding (apt) measures all along to perpetuate it? Yes, over the years he had followed his son's failings and his sorry progress, assured that no danger would arise from him but, unlike Yoshikan Sousing Nokuzuk Binchan of Korion, Herleif had not faked his incompetence.

05- YOSHIKAN SOUSING NOKUZUK BINCHAN   (44)JP

Zakhertan thence (from that time on) having changed his mind had subjected his second son to rigorous (arduous) training; try as he might however, after numerous failings and some physical injuries, Prince Herleif had proven absolutely that he had no knack for civil or military calling. He was a dismal failure and a bitter disappointment for one such as Zakhertan Yozdek. Unlike his late elder brother Qijerrik, Prince Herleif was not agile enough, lacked zeal, lacked compassion and benevolence, lacked stamina, courage, wisdom, and skill. Even the most stringent, rigorous training that would have otherwise transformed an ordinary being into a semi-competent commander or an acceptable soldier (warrior), missed its mark in Herleif; he was, at best, a mediocre fighter, and a dismally incompetent supervisor. Nor was this his only failing, prince Herleif was miserly and lacked imagination and foresight; he had failed to apply his extensive schooling in strategy into practice and so was also a failure as a tactical commander in the field. Sovereign Zakhertan had learned this lesson at cost of thousands of good fighting men and a near loss of a province; fortunately, the timely intervention from Prince Herleif’s replacement, a much abler Commander Zifel, had rectified the situation and secured the province. Zakhertan had never been able to forgive his second son Herleif for this terrible blunder and disgrace. Even after his banishment to a remotest province as Governor, much more suffering had been readied for him. In fact, it was only due to the sudden demise of Zakhertan’s third son, Prince Kendar that Herleif's life had been spared at all.  

Sovereign Zakhertan Yozdek robbed of any other adolescent male heirs, had reluctantly recalled (summoned) Prince Herleif back to the Capital Channing. This was of course a temporary measure, as Zakhertan had estimated that now Crown Prince Herleif might last just long enough till a pegged, more capable offspring was born to him (Zakhertan). For some time unfortunately, fate had denied Zakhertan this fundamental right; after the accidental death of Prince Turin Yozdek at the age of three (born to Lady Idona Yozdek), then the sudden demises at infancy of both the Prince Chucek (born to Lady Shayen Yozdek) and Prince Kureing (born to Lady Yinnis), Zakhertan had furtively next hung all his hopes on Prince Magnian, who’d fortunately had survived and was presently, five years old. Zakhertan fists had momentarily clenched then let go, as he had thought how opportunely, fate had given him one more chance to redeem his mistakes. This time he would take care not to repeat Qijerrik’s morose ending, Zakhertan inwardly vowed. He would, furthermore, ascertain that no undue or adverse influences be thrust upon Magnian in an unguarded moment and that, his training and education be far stricter and all encompassing. Though Prince Magnian was just five years old, he had been already showing signs of a great promise, much like Qijerrik.

06- ZAKHERTAN YOZDEDK  (91) AND LADY SEJON

Lady Sejon, as the mother of Prince Magnian, at present enjoyed Zakhertan’s special favors; she was after all, voluptuous, well endowed, beautiful young girl of twenty-two years of age, with honey-colored eyes and long, wavy, raven black hair. Besides being astute and quite ambitious, she was also the beloved niece of Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren; Zakhertan would therefore, tolerate her just a little while longer, while same time, keep an eye to make sure of curbing her influence. And then, Zakhertan grinned venomously, knowing the fate, regardless of circumstance, that awaited his lovely consort.

Zakhertan’s deliberations were interrupted just then by a cheerful chorus of chirps from the shallow pool in the garden outside his window. He absently watched, as the pair of songbirds drank, dipped their bodies into the water and then, flapped their wings to shake off the excess moisture. Zakhertan elucidated (interpreted) their ablutions (ritual cleansing) as a utilitarian exercise, much like the troops bathing after a long march (and before a victorious battle); turning, he glimpsed at the guard waiting woodenly all this time for his command.

"Very well, have him come in."   

The guard responded sharply and within seconds the expendable Crown Prince Herleif was ushered into the room.

 

                                                                                            ~

 

(END OF SECTION 6)

 11- LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - EVIL PERSONIFIED - SECTION 2

   

For some time now, Egil Viggoaries had employed a heartless, homicidal surgeon Lubin, one of only two in the whole Wenjenkun who excelled in the sadistic skill of prolonging the duration of the meted punishment to the maximum the body would stand. The other one Egil could not touch, for he was actively in the employ of Sovereign Zakhertan Yozdek.  

 

01- SURGEON LUBIN

There had been few precursors to Lubin, but all four had been abruptly terminated and then discarded by Egil Viggoaries when an unsatisfactory application of the blade had brought about a hasty end to the unfortunate victim. Egil Viggoaries was intolerant of least incompetence; furthermore, he often indulged in tormenting people as it provided him with the highest form of entertainment, and Lubin was his ringmaster.   

Lubin provided Egil Viggoaries with just the right dose of exhilaration to satisfy his perverse appetite for at least one briefer spell, before yet again the insatiable hunger (craving) resurfaced in the Dark Eunuch’s bottomless vile soul. Then the evil savagery and malice would recap (repeat) all over again.  

Zhadol Borym had never once in those abhorred compulsory (obligatory) episodes, where he had born witness to Lubin’s savagery, expected to be the next prey (target). Each time he hardened his heart, being so coerced and therefore believed (was sure), that those faceless phantom brutes, the barely human forms, were well deserving of such penalty. Nevertheless, and this he would never admit to anyone, his misled warrior’s conscience (scruples) and tempered soul still had to be forcefully willed to a distant, way faraway place,  before he could stomach (tolerate) the unfolding scene before his very eyes: Lubin in each case, had wielded the blade skillfully as if skinning a fish, ensuing days and weeks he would then painstakingly (meticulously) cut away, each strip, leaving only a jumbled mass of nerves to collect and transmit black ropes of pain that pulsed through, with fading life; all the while ensuring that the victim did not prematurely expire until the very end of this tortuous ordeal.  

Zhadol at present shuddered involuntarily, as he could not shut out the parade of gruesome images from his mind's eye; mindful of the fact, that Lubin's expert application of the razor-sharp scalpel (surgical knife) would soon be poised on his (Zadol’s) very flesh. He furtively glanced once more at Egil Viggoaries. The Eunuch's face was dark, and his jaw firmly set.  But what had seemed like an eternity to Zhadol Borym had in truth, been only a few minutes.    

“Was this the fate Egil Viggoaries had planned for him all along? No! He could not meekly accept such an ignominious punishment... He must contest this vile verdict! “  

 

Commander Zhadol rising to his feet, menacingly stepped forward but was instantly jerked back, as the chain about his neck was viciously yanked by one of his guards. His steadfast resistance only resulted in the metal biting deeper into his existing wounds. Blood oozed freely out from the corrugated scabs layered atop his blistered flesh. Undeterred Zhadol Borym stayed his ground, looking defiantly up at Egil Viggoaries, his eyes burrowing ferociously into Dark Eunuch’s, he then in resounding voice, loudly challenged him to one-on one personal combat; this was his right, Egil owed him this more befitting a warrior’s end, and that he refused to accept nothing (short) less.    

“Still, no reaction; all right then, he will defy Egil by other means. Pending something better, he   would goad (provoke) the Dark Eunuch using insolent words.”  

 

"You stupid fool!" Egil Viggoaries beat him to the punch however, as he abruptly just then, exploded in a bark. Then rising slowly, he menacingly approached Zhadol Borym until he was only but a hairline away. His right fist clenched, poised to strike. He glowered at his former Commander and then spat contemptuously into his face. "Even now you remain ignorant of your true crime."  He turned and gave a swift, brutal kick to Yennic's head. Stunned, Yennic fell backwards, blood spurting from the deep gash on his scalp. 

Egil Viggoaries’s head snapped back and pressed his face right up against Zhadol Borym's. Gritting his teeth and pointing the accusing finger down at the huddled mass on the floor, Egil Viggoaries spat out the incredible words Zhadol Borym wished he would never live to hear.   

02- EGIL VIGGORIES 11- JP

 

“You disgust me; for you were played all along; your strings were jerked, like a despicable puppet, by this wretched, insignificant maggot!"  Egil Biggoaries gave a derisive snort and once more violently kicked Yennic Zhiborym hard with the back of his heel just for the sport of it.

The Dark Eunuch then swung back to Zhadol and rasped, "Your abject weakness sickens (nauseate) me!" Egil with a disdain spat on the ground and haughtily turned his back to his long-time friend Zhadol. His steps thereafter with deliberate slowness mounted the platform, and he returned to his seat.

Aghast, Zhadol Borym turned his questioning gaze sideways and looked down at Yennic Zhiborym slouched (curled, doubled over) on the ground, then, tilting his head upwards to face Egil Viggoaries, he indignantly demanded, "This is nothing more than a dastardly plot to discredit me. I know it is! Clearly state the crime of which I am truly accused! Furthermore, I challenge you to muster any proof which would substantiate your implicit (roundabout) claim? False confessions extracted under duress and torture does not count!”   

"Proof," Egil Viggoaries’s thundering bark shook the room.  

"He wants proof." Dark Eunuch addressed the assembly after a derisive laugh.  

 "Proof." Repeating the word third time, at first thoughtfully, then stone faced, Egil Viggoaries reverted his venomous eyes to rest for a time on Yennic Zhiborym, before turning it back again on Zhadol.

Egil’s face then surprisingly placid (calm); lips formed an eerie, menacing smile. "I had wanted to spare you ignominy (this terrible disgrace, shame), but proof you asked for and proof you shall have."  He shrugged then leaned back and motioned to a guard waiting by the door.  

Zhadol Borym's heart filled with apprehension at that instant with what he might hear. He swallowed dryly; his stomach suddenly tightened into a hard knot; but now it was too late to stop it. The guard had already re-entered leading two members belonging to the “Wraiths” division of Black Molochs. These incorruptible eunuchs, clad in black and wearing face masks to hide their identity, were most proficient at gathering evidence.  They came forward quickly and abruptly halting before Egil

Viggoaries, reverently bowed to him. Such was their status that they were answerable only to the Leader of the Order. From their preamble it turned out that, for some time now, Yennic Zhiborym had been kept under close surveillance.  His every word, action, and habitual need, however insignificant, had been routinely and meticulously documented in the minutest detail. In the interest of brevity, however, Egil Viggoaries ordered them to summarize their findings.  

The spokesperson for the two then recounted the high points, most of which proved extremely embarrassing for Zhadol Borym.  In a very brief time they presented overwhelming evidence, far beyond any possibility of doubt, that Yennic Zhiborym was an informant for the Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren’s Office. However distasteful, Yennic's heinous designs, and Zhadol’s unwitting part in them, were all exposed.  

What is more ignominious to Zhadol Borym was that Yennic's inextricable link to the sabotage of one specific case. This assignment had gone terribly awry and had cost the lives of nine Black Molochs 's most competent men, among whom had been Zhadol 's only living relative, a distant cousin.   

At this point Egil Viggoaries lifted his hand and stopped the report. "You want more culpable (chargeable) proof?"   

Zhadol Borym ruefully (repentantly) looked down, "No, I've heard enough."     

He heaved a dejected sigh, now resigned to his fate. He so absolutely (thoroughly) regretted his past foolhardy ways with Yennic Zhiborym.  Zadol’s shame being far too great, he could no longer lift his head to look at his fellow members. More infuriating still, was the way he had been duped by Yennic and utilized to, in betraying the Order. The love he had once felt for Yennic Zhiborym had suddenly got supplanted with pure, unadulterated odium (abhorrence, loathing). Fire raged through his limbs now, as he stared belligerently down at this despicable spy. If his hands were free, he would have violently torn Yennic limb from limb, and then plugging his heart from his cursed chest, just eaten it raw; however, curbing his fury Zhadol with certain resignation uttered, “Then my allotted punishment is too lenient; I deserve far worse for being so inept.”   

The members of the Inner Circle (of Black Molochs) were appalled at first but now disappointment was starkly written on all their faces, as their piercing, harsh gazes silently remonstrated with Zhadol   Borym. “You had so utterly failed us, failed the Order. You deserve this cruelest end!”  

 

03- IRATE BLACK MOLOCK  AFFILIATES

Egil Viggoaries nodded and grinned; quite satisfied with the effects of his theatrics.  He’d anticipated that there might have been some of the Inner Circle who, if they had dared at all, would have debated against his decision to terminate Zhadol Borym in that way; one who, with that sleek tongue of his, would have argued that Zhadol was in his prime, just shy of twenty-eight years of age and was as yet a formidable fighter, still an asset to the Order.   

“Now they’re precisely where, I’d wished them to be.”    

Egil Viggoaries had bridled his temper just long enough to reaffirm his otherwise indubitable, absolute judgment. Now no one in the assembly would dare express the least objection (discontentment) with his next, more arduous agenda (plan, course of action).  Zhadol Borym, well, he was only a lateral casualty. It mattered little to Egil that he had used his long-time friend Zhadol heartlessly as sure bait, knowing full well his weakness and habitual response.    

Egil Viggoaries now laughed sourly and gave a slight gesture to the guards with his chin. 

Dispassionately he watched the bloodied backs of Zhadol and Yennic as they were dragged outside, never to be seen again.  

                                                                                        ~   

   

Egil Viggoaries could have arranged for Zhadol Borym to have a less painful way out; certain drugs which numbed the senses instead of Lubin's usual medicines which enhanced the suffering.  

“Why should I? No,”    

Despite what Zhadol had once meant to him, how much he had done for him. Despite all the daunting images from the past, Egil Viggoaries remained firm in his resolve. He could not allow his hardened heart to dispense least charity; he could not weaken his doggedness (determination) nor feel least compassion for his once intimate companion.  Zhadol Borym meant less than nothing to him now, especially since he had been growing too arrogant of late. At least now he was rid of Zhadol's irksome and sanctimonious presence once and for all, before the so-called friend became more of a problem.  

Egil closed his eyes, quite angry with himself for this sudden, unexpected twinge of conscience. Why was he now second guessing his earlier resolve; had it been Zhadol’s last look that brought this unexpected rush of feelings he had thought long erased (dismissed)? Zhadol Borym was pegged (marked) to be terminated, and that was that!  

Vindictiveness, in Black Molochs ... he was above such ignoble emotions. Egil Viggoaries lied to himself, only to have another thought gnaw at him unexpectedly.  

True enough, if Zhadol had wanted to, he could have made good for his escape, reinforcements, or no reinforcements. Of course, he would have inevitably been hunted down and apprehended, but not before he cost the Order (organization) a dire toll in both manpower (loss of men) and resources. With his competence, it was inconceivable to think that Zhadol, one day, be so gulled, so completely taken in by the likes of Yennic Zhiborym. And why had he surrendered so easily?   

He had deep affections for Yennic…Was that it? Had that fool allowed his capture solely to appeal to the other’s case or die with him? If that was his reason, then he certainly deserved his ignominious end. He deserved to perish, if for no other (reason) bases than that most contemptable, of weakness. Egil Viggoaries inwardly scoffed, overlooking the fact that he’d so many years been the recipient of that very akin sentiment; those tender, affectionate means and deeds that had filled in the void and warmed the otherwise cold, unfeeling crux of his being. Again, he lied to himself, entertaining the thought that, fortunately, he was above all that. He had no use presently, for such a base, useless emotion, at all.    

Egil Viggoaries again hard-heartedly shrugged and turned his thoughts to another.  In the next week or two he will be initiating his recent recruit, Yuchemos Mantus, into the ranks of the Inner Circle.

04- YUCHEMOS MANTUS (3)

 

 Yuchemos Mantus, showed real promise, and what is more, he had already subtly ingratiated himself into the good graces of both Sovereign Zakhertan Yozdek and Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren.  Egil Viggoaries smirked, reflecting on the fact Yuchemos was the sole male offspring of, Demarco Mantus, head of the most influential family in Channing; hence, strategically placed, he would be most beneficial in fulfilling his (Egil Viggoaries’s) ultimate ambition.  

                                                                                           ~   

In the dark subterranean dungeons below, where the air was permanently rancid, and lichen (moss, fungus and mold) grew on the moist stone walls, Zhadol Borym that night had endured without a whimper the first measure of his punishment, and he had braced himself for the worst torment yet to ensue during the small hours of the same night. The surgeon had left his sight temporarily for repast, with his ghastly, lurid grin and a vicious promise to return and resume later with his special application, one specifically designed for Zhadol, whom he would administer, with definite zeal.    

No one, certainly not Zhadol Borym, had ever hoped or anticipated, the stray element (conduit), the mercifully unexpected reprieve from his ignominious end; this, by another powerful faction, the covert brotherhood of Kozurs, that dared to execute the impossible feat (brazen exploit, stunt).  

Nevertheless, this daring rescue had compounded ramifications; consequently, Egil Viggoaries would never cease (stop) his relentless hunt. Therefore, Zhadol’s Borym’s demise had to be staged so expertly that it would not warrant the Dark Eunuch’s least suspicion.    

In the aftermath of devastating explosions and the resulting seismic tremors, that had rocked the subterranean dungeons in the core capital Channing – that of which had completely obliterated (decimated) the cell which Zhadol Borym had been shackled to on the table, as well,  destroyed the perimeter (vicinity) cells around and above, all of it buried in ashen rubble- it its wake it had created a deep cavernous (yawning, gaping) sinkhole.

Unavoidably, many prisoners and captives’ lives (those in surrounding dungeons) had also (been lost) expired due to the devastating impact of the explosion. Though this could be deemed more an act of clemency to those already lost souls, awaiting interminable (unending) mortifying tortures.   

This breach, naturally instigated (provoked) serious inquiry (examination) by all major factions, including Sovereign Zakhertan’s Black Band Guard (and the shadow Brigade); however, the results (conclusions) all pinpointed to a catastrophic yet bizarre accident, indubitably a fortuity/a fluke happenstance, by a carelessly positioned volatile element which had beget that catastrophic blasts. 

Even subsequent month’s ardent investigations, by the persistent few, still failed to prove otherwise, failed to expose this expertly conceived strike... The details of which had been covertly finalized during the Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren’s party given in honor of Scholar Fradel Rurik Korvald. During the time, which Nevetsecnuac had sought refuge and by capricious fate, had chanced on Zaur Stugr and Lenny Sukzor, that memorable night, in the secluded part of the garden.    

Zhadol Borym’s close friends and affiliates were of course stealthily (privately) elated at this outcome, the quick and more humane (lenient) demise of a well esteemed, brave Commander Zhadol, deeming it a mercy of Heaven; for in truth Zhadol was well liked and, he had a quality about him that fostered (beget) intrinsic and lasting loyalty (comradery and devotion) among his men.   

 The Dark Eunuch’s fury, meanwhile, had still demanded blood and so, during ensuing days besides the copious wretched prisoners, many hapless prison-guards that had been on duty that night, and had the misfortune to survive the blasts, had paid for their incompetence (ineptness) and the resulting breach, of the deemed impenetrable prison.    

Eventually things had died down, especially after the ongoing excavations, had produced (unearthed

(dug up, retrieved) several small pieces (fragments) of Zhadol Boerym’s supposed charred remains (corpse) with irrefutable, identifiable markers. These (presented in a box) brought before the still incensed Egil Viggoaries, had finally alleviated (eased) his suspicious and demanding nature.    

                                                                             ~   

(END OF SECTION 2)   

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC – ON THE WAY TO THE CAPITAL – SECTION 14

“Now, you've heard how Kuric and Ruat had a falling out a while back?"   Zhadol paused to acknowledge the confirming nod from Yennic before continuing, "It’s no secret that, since then, they have become bitter adversaries, always trying to undermine each other.”

01-KURIC AND RUAT

“Sorek’s involvement was quite incidental.  In fact, it is my contention that he was victimized by the malicious slander that started it all.  Chakon, Kuric's brother-in-law, spread it with the hope of gaining much from Sorek's downfall."

"So, it was Chakon who told-on (betrayed) him?"

"No, Chakon doesn't have much clout.  He was only the instrument.  Ruat was behind it all.  He caused Sorek's disgrace after he'd finally succeeded in landing in Kuric, in serious trouble.  I suppose he feared repercussions from Sorek and worked to render him ineffective.  As for the trouble Kuric landed in, well you know Kuric has already been arrested, charged with conspiring with Frenzo in grand larceny and has had all his property confiscated."

"Then there was some truth to that rumor but that's preposterous!  He never even knew Frenzo." Yennic objected.

"None the less, Ruat has produced enough solid, incriminating evidence to prove otherwise.  It is also my contention that this is pure fabrication but who is there to contest it and prove otherwise?  All of Kuric's associates have severed their friendships and dealings with him out of fear.  Some have even fled the Capital, anticipating the ensuing repercussions."

"But not Sorek," Yennic grunted (contradicted).

02- SOREK

"Sorek was a fool,” Zhadol scoffed.  "Still, they couldn't have touched him because of his powerful family but, instead of keeping his mouth shut and laying low for a while, he incited trouble.  Over one trivial word, that's all it took.  Egil Viggoaries's spies, once informed by Ruat, brought this to His Excellency's attention.  Sorek was kidnapped, interrupting his sleep, in the middle of the night and brought before the Black Molochs to give an account of his disrespect.  Instead of cowering before the ensuing secret tribunal and begging Egil Viggoaries's mercy, as any sensible person might do, the fool remained indignant and insisted on the falseness of the charge.  I have no doubt the report was greatly exaggerated to make it come out as it did, but still there was some grain of truth to it.  Anyhow, not only was Sorek whipped senseless, but he was also disgraced by being stripped naked to the waist and …"   Zhadol abruptly fell silent and dropped his head.

 "I have no love for Sorek, you understand," he lifted his eyes, "but I felt that this branding punishment was a bit too severe."

"Is that why you refused to take part in, hmm, “Riding the Colt”, at the informal gathering in wee hours that night in His Excellency’s residence?" Yennic eagerly asked.

"I thought you said you didn't know anything about it?"

"I ran into the physician Coj, who attended on Sorek the next day." Yennic confessed.

"He's an old friend of my father's and I was under his good care when I'd contracted that serious childhood disease, Lurox Sores. Seeing his distraught state, I treated him to some wine, and, in his intoxicated state, he finally opened up to me a little.”

“But that muddle-headed fool Coj was too incoherent with his accounts (facts) to be of much use. Truly, I remained ignorant of the precise details that led up to the punishment till; I'd pieced it all together while I listened to you, just now."

“A likely story,” Nevetsecnuac smiled broadly.

Zhadol, appeared totally taken in (convinced) for, typically, he was blinded by his affection where Yennic was concerned.

"Your mind works quickly." Zhadol complimented.

"Thank you.” Yennic was pleased. “Yet Sorek is from one of the most powerful, old-established families, and their influence has grown further since Her Ladyship, recently the most favorite of His Highness Zakhertan Yozdek, awarded them her patronage.  Surely if anyone could have brought formal charges against His Excellency Egil Viggoaries before His Highness, they could.  Why is it then that Sorek's father chose to cover up this incident?"

"They knew it was useless.  Don't you understand?"   Zhadol looked intently at the Lieutenant.

"Yes," Yennic nodded, comprehending. "It would have been rather pointless for them to pursue the matter.  If it ever did become public knowledge the family would have suffered far worse from the loss of face.  That is why the whole matter was hushed up, swept under the carpet, so to speak, so expeditiously."

"Egil Viggoaries, knowing their weakness, dared to act as he did, choosing the perfect humiliation for one of Sorek's breeding.  In this instance, political power had very little to do with it,” Zhadol summarized.

Yennic knitted his brows, "Yet Sorek's uncle, Chancellor Derez, is known to be a dogged, vindictive man.  How did they manage to keep him out of this?"

03-CHANCELLOR DEREZ

"He's been too wrapped up in his own questionable dealings of late to pay too much attention to family matters.  That extortionist,” Zhadol snorted. "He's the worst of the lot, but he enjoys the protection of you-know-who and no one may speak ill of him or dare to expose his dirty dealings.  You know of the recent case of the Kyu murder?"

Yennic was aghast.  "He wasn't involved in that, was he?"

"Involved," Zhadol sneered.  "He engineered the whole thing."

"You have proof of your allegations?"

"Yes, but I dare not breathe a word of it to anyone other than you.  Anyhow, it’s all been covered up and two other innocent parties have been made to pay for the crime."

"You don't mean that Jekon and Mayoz Dur were innocent, after all," Yennic gasped.

04- JEKON

05-MAYOZ DUR

"Yes, they were.  I found out who had really carried out that gruesome deed."

"But those two confessed to doing it." Yennic insisted in disbelief.

"You, too, would have confessed to anything if you were subjected to the same kind of tortures they had been." Zhadol grimaced.

"They were publicly hanged!  Their families wiped out!" Yennic mumbled grimly, finding it hard to swallow this travesty of injustice.  The revelation had hit him particularly hard.  He recalled being an eyewitness to the executions and, like so many others, feeling a sense of vindication, that is, until now.

 Zhadol was perplexed by Yennic's strange demeanor and noted the strain, his grave expression which Yannic had failed to mask.  He was about to ask why Yennic took this news so hard when he was cut off.

"you’ve said you knew who the real assassins were…tell me before I burst; who were those darn cut-throats?" Yennic hotly demanded.

"Why, by the Heavens, are you getting all worked up for?  It’s all over and done with.  There isn't much that you, or anyone, can do now. Besides, it’s best that you remain ignorant of their identities.  Otherwise, with your hot head…"   Zhadol shook his head dismally, the concern evident in his voice. "With that explosive nature of yours you'll most likely land yourself in serious trouble.  I can't go around saving your neck all the time, you know.  Even I have my limitations."

 He held up a hand to cut short Yennic's bursting response.  "Honestly; it’s best you don't know of it.  I'm finding it hard to live with it myself."  He half turned, shrugging his shoulders, and looking away dispassionately.  "Then again, what's one more heaped on the mountain of injustices?"

Typically, his wise counsel fell on deaf ears as Yennic grasped Zhadol’s arm and swung him around till they were eye to eye.  "No, I must know!  You must tell me!" Yennic implored, charged with emotion.

Stone faced, Zhadol studied Yennic with curiosity. “Why are you being so persistent?  I've never known you to have ever been this emotional about a case before.”

"Don't you see?"  Yennic suddenly dropped Zhadol’s arm then abruptly confessed, "I was made their instrument, or don't you know that?  Of course, you were away on assignment when the case came up.  I helped capture Jekon and Mayoz Dur and deliver them to their unjust end.  I was the arresting officer!"  Yennic dropped his head in remorse.  "Even though they had once done me a good turn and they professed their innocence from the start, I still took them in."  Biting the corner of his lip, he looked up to Zhadol for absolution, "How was I to know?  Could I have acted any differently?"

Clearly Yennic was tormented by guilt and Zhadol nodded in understanding.  By putting his personal feelings aside, Yennic had, as always, done his utmost to impress his Superior.  Perhaps this once should have delved deeper into the reasons for it.

 "Then this portends (augurs) even more trouble."   Zhadol shook his head, "I'm sorry, Yennic, but..."  Yennic's contemptuous look froze the words on his tongue.

"You think so little of me?" Yennic turned his head away in dejection.

"If I do tell you their names, will you promise not to stir up trouble?"   Zhadol was softening.  "Promise me you won't go after them, for to do so would result only in your own undoing.  You'll be framed for some crime, or worse found lying dead in some ditch within a month.  You're too small a fish to fry and, though they may be insignificant in the scheme of things, they have powerful backing and they're treacherous, devoid of all conscience.  That's what makes them deadly for you."

"Yes,” Yennics responded. “I’ll take that into consideration.  I promise I won't do anything foolish; now, tell me who they are and, since this matter is so delicate, tell me how you found out about it."

"How I found out is not important, but..."

Yennic grasped Zhadol’s arm, squeezing it tight.  He already surmised how Zhadol had found out; the way he always found out about everything.  "You were about to tell me their names.  Stop all this stalling and tell me.  Tell me now!"

"You're out of line, Lieutenant!"   Zhadol jerked his arm free then, despite his better judgment, relented.  "It’s none other than Zunrogo Tugo and Gaos Zunkur."

These names, of course, meant nothing to Nevetsecnuac but he saw their profound effect on Yennic who, with clenched fist, gritted his teeth under snarling lips and dropped his head.

Concern registered on Zhadol’s face and, for the third time he reminded Yennic of his promise of constraint.  In his heart he knew, of course, that Yennic would break it for the Lieutenant had many other reasons for hating Zunrogo Tugo, especially Zunrogo.

06 - ZUNROGO TUGO JP 5

This latest bit had just added to the long list of grievances Yennic harbored against the man.  Yet this seeming calm on Yennic's part particularly alarmed Zhadol.  He would rather have seen Yennic explode with his predictable, searing rage, swearing abuse, and calling for hot, sweet revenge but nothing, not even a grunt or a muttered curse passed through those lips.  The brutal glint in his eye spoke volumes, however, about the inner resentment festering within him.

“Why are you holding me responsible?”  Zhadol shot back a questioning glance.

This unnerving silence had lasted only seconds but to all three it had seemed as though a far longer period had elapsed.

"Come now, we've been away long enough."   Zhadol placed a gentle, reassuring hand on Yennic's shoulder.

"The dawn should soon be upon us.  Let us return and get some shut eye."

Yennic responded with a mute nod then sprung smartly to his feet.  Halting briefly, they relieved themselves under the very tree in which Nevetsecnuac was hiding.  The cool breeze fanned their faces and delighted their senses as they lent a casual ear to distant hooting and the flapping of wings.

 

 

(END OF SECTION 14)                                                                                      ~