11- LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - EVIL PERSONIFIED - SECTION 5

 

Zakhertan, turning his attention back on the task at hand, glowered (looked daggers) at the fourth stack of documents on his desk needing his perusal, he impatiently tapped his fingers on the desk and hissed. “Always the same… “    

Reluctant to begin, Zakhertan with disdain briefly watched the dancing flames of the brazier as Neru typically feed them, before reflecting on Lenny Sukzor’s latest submitted report on the covert and highly illegal activities of Egil Viggoaries. The slight discrepancy between Lenny’s and the subsequent information tendered by Juyin, the lovely wife of Lenny Sukzor’s, on her husband's activities, caused Zakhertan to frown.

01- JUYIN SUKZOR (3)JP

The two statements varied slightly on one minute detail; an irregularity so feeble that another in his stead might have entirely missed it. Should he be concerned with such a trivial contradiction (incongruity)? Was it an oversight? No! He must not leave anything, no matter how slight, to chance.    

Zakhertan’s mouth formed into a snarl as he drew another blank parchment before him and issued a set of specific orders to have the matter more thoroughly investigated.  

 “I’ll wait and see where this leads to,” Zakhertan briefly pondered, after which he quickly sealed the envelope, containing specific order, with his Imperial seal. A single logo (motif) drawn on the envelope and explicit sequence of numbers registered underneath, indicated the precise department and agent that it was to be handed to; this too was summarily put aside along with the rest in that growing pile.

Then there is still that other matter, Zakhertan Yozdek irritatedly drummed his fingers on the desk. No! There was no need to review it again. Why was he even debating that issue still?  

Such ambivalence angered him; the one thing he had always taken pride in was his decisiveness and exceptionally retentive memory. One glance at anything, any detail however insignificant or minute, and it would be permanently embedded in his mind. Now tapping that innate advantage, Zakhertan recalled with perfect clarity a certain trivial observation hidden in the report the Royal Courier had submitted upon the completion of his mission. This obtuse remark did not tally with the recently, thoroughly compiled accounts by The Shadow Brigade men on the activities of the newcomer, Fradel Rurik Korvald.    

Ordinarily such a minuscule discrepancy would not have elicited any concern from Zakhertan.  Reflecting additionally on the independent reports of Zyerne Stewor and Tizan, who had also curiously enough, raised doubts about the Scholar and considering the recent happenings, Zakhertan decided to delve deeper into the otherwise innocuous matter concerning Fradel Rurik Korvald.

02- FRADEL (NEVETSECNUAC) JP 7

    

He might well have inadvertently transported trouble right to the Capital. This farfetched notion now gripped his heart anew with a certain inexplicable foreboding, for far too many had already come-in-contact with the illustrious scholar. Zakhertan imagined the wide scope this investigation would entail, the deployment of manpower it would take to, either get at the simple truth or, expose all the subversives if his hunch proved correct. As it were, the scholars had again been gaining one third measure of their former prominence and along with it, their sphere of influence had expediently grown. In any event a quick confirmation of these nagging concerns was warranted; he must question the couriers Canbir Nonng and Cais Honger further, on the one minor irregularity in their report. Zakhertan had always insisted on complete and accurate assessments and, if this was the result of incompetence, sacrificing accuracy for expedience, then the couriers would have to answer for it with their lives. Quickly he dispatched another written order, this one to order the couriers to hand over their mission to the one who would be sent in their stead and return in post haste to the Capital.   

That was the end of it. Finally, Zakhertan leaned back and stretched out his limbs.

Grand Secretary Qarzten Caimund having concluded his assigned task expediently a short time earlier, had been waiting patiently for Zakhertan to finish his; he now came forward on the slight indication of Zakhertan Yozdek, to receive his verbal instructions in an ingenious code so secret that it was known only to the two.  Afterwards, Qarzten routinely picked up the order packets and, after bowing respectfully, hurried out the door to distribute them to the various department heads. All were required to work longer hours than the Sovereign.

The door quickly closed behind the Senior Grand Secretary, Zakhertan Yozdek watched with an uninterested blank stare Neru’s progress, then sat motionless in deep contemplative silence, dark clouds of thought swirling through his head and his guards only a whisper away.

    

                                                                                 ~    

    

Hastening out of the vestibule leading from the Imperial Chambers, the Senior Grand Secretary Qarzten Caimund’s head was full of the multiplicity of orders, arrangements, and duties that he must complete before the day’s session was over. So entangled was Qarzten Caimund in these thoughts that he did not see and nearly run into (collided with) a similarly distracted Crown Prince Herleif, as Prince rushed in the opposite direction armed with a stack of ancient scrolls and star charts.   

"On yet another urgent errand; are we, Master Caimund?"    

Prince Herleif’s tone, beneath that remark, grated on Qarzten Caimund’s nerves as it always did. The Senior Grand Secretary’s face tightened, and he averted his eyes for a moment, “You are such a barefaced weasel; still suckling your mother's milk after twenty-three years. Your derision is still palpable under that semblance of sarcasm.”  Qarzten Caimund looked squarely at the prince Herleif now and nodded tersely.

03- -QARZTEN CAMUND (16)Bjp

"I gather His Highness is free now."  The Crown Prince, with typical arrogance, had completely ignored Qarzten's response to his barb and spoke now in the icy tone he used for the servants. "You will step aside to let me pass."    

“This hall will fit five armored guards marching abreast. Did you expect me to acknowledge this childish attempt to flaunt your authority? Let us see just how far your authority will get you.” Qarzten Caimund mocked the prince inwardly.

 

 "By all means." Qarzten smiled tightly as he half turned and shot a knowing glance towards the guards at the chamber doors, moving as slow as he could to antagonize prince Herleif.

"I would like to mention however, that this time may not be appropriate for an unannounced visit."  Qarzten Caimund informed the prince, in his even tone. "Perhaps, you should defer your objective of seeing His Highness this very evening unless, of course, it is a matter of the utmost importance." Qarzten tautly grimaced; but kept the words, “particularly the way you are clad; did you just leave one of your debauched (decadent, base) bashes?” and derisively (scathingly, sarcastically) looked away.

"Impudent wretch, how dare you treat me like an imbecile (dullard) child.” The Prince Herleif's protruding earlobes had turned beet red, as he, seething in contempt, violently shoved the Senior Grand Secretary aside. "Wait until I am your Sovereign, you arrogant dog!"  His face suffused with anger and a stream of abuse gushing off inwardly, he strode quickly forward to cross the vestibule in only a second.  

Caught unaware by this outburst of temper, the Senior Grand Secretary Qarzten Caimund had dropped one of the sealed envelopes onto the marble floor. Anger smoldered in his breast as he stooped to pick it up and his face distorted with contempt. Half-turning his head, he witnessed the Prince Herleif’s way being barred by the two stout guards who had crossed pikes in front of the door to the Imperial Chambers.  

Herleif’s face reddened by rage and pressed menacingly against the senior guard’s, the prince growled, "Are you going to announce me or not? Fine! Step aside, for I mean to walk in immediately and report your insolence myself." 

04-PRINCE HERLEIF YOZDEK (2)

“Go ahead and slither in, you miserable worm, but you won't, will you?” Qarzten Caimund drew in a breath through his teeth then, catching the guard's eye, gave him a simple nod. He had proven his point.  

"I shall inform His Highness of your presence immediately." The stone-faced guard, not in the least perturbed, responded mechanically. "Please wait here, Prince Herleif."  Turning smartly, he stepped up to the door and knocked. After receiving begrudging consent, he opened the door and abjectly entered. After crossing half of the room and bowing briskly, he announced Price Herleif’s presence outside and his request to see the Sovereign.

 "What does that fool want now?' Zakhertan Yozdek snorted impatiently, expecting no answer, and turned his back to the guard to stare out at the serene scenery.   

 Awaiting orders, the guard had stood silently at attention, while at outside, under the transitory (brief) amused gaze of the departing Qarzten Caimund, Prince Herleif had for a spell simmered at his father's disdainful words. Then, he took in a slow breath and composed himself; subsequently, his hand reached inside his pocket, withdrew a rolled-up document, and waited.

 

                                                                                            ~

 

Sovereign Zakhertan Yozdek with a blank expression, meanwhile, had continued to stare outside at the placid (tranquil) garden; his stern gaze next, focusing on the oblivious bird, taking in a drink or two from the fountain. Different troubling thoughts however, grievously (incorrigibly) and unbidden, anew robbed him of the peace he sought.

“If only Qijerrik had not turned on me.”  Zakhertan’s cold eyes blinked, filled with a deep hurt as he hissed out a long breath and shook his head. “If only my firstborn had lived instead of this wretched spawn.”  The grievous loss, the events of those days long gone, rushed in to crowd his mind again, searing his heart and soul with self-recrimination and regret. When the stabbing constriction in his chest became too overwhelming, Zakhertan summoned his will to push it aside and concentrated instead, on the positive attributes of his late son.

Zakhertan recollected fondly now with perfect clarity his proudest moments of Qijerrik. From the start, he’d been an offspring worthy of his sire. Not only Prince Qijerrik was most handsome warrior, as he was tall and athletic, though bit more handsome than him; but he had also been endowed with the same temperament, the same wits, tactical brilliance, and akin (parallel) martial ability (prowess) to Zakhertan at a corresponding age.

Zakhertan had hung great many hopes on his son Qijerrik’s shoulders after noting the potential in the boy, especially after, at age fifteen Prince Qijerrik had become, under his strict tutelage (guidance), an accomplished and indomitable warrior. What was more, Prince Qijerrik thrived on dangerous military campaigns just as Zakhertan did. The more perilous the task or more challenging the combat action the greater the thrill, the deeper the sensation the young Prince would derive from it. This feeling was one only Zakhertan would understand and, they were not just father and son but kindred spirits.  

05- QIJERRIK YOZDEK  (4)JP

But then cruel, capricious fate had instigated, on that fateful seventeenth’ year of his son's life, those infamous chain of events that had led up to his son’s betrayal, all of which were now permanently etched in Zakhertan 's memory by the same cursed talent that served him so well in his bureaucratic duties. Consistently every evening, as soon as he had time to himself, they had surfaced despite his best efforts to quash them and, fiercely, obsessively haunted his peace and tormented his soul.     

If only he had acted more swiftly and without qualm to stem the divergent tide earlier.    

 As it was Zakhertan had been preoccupied with obliteration of resurgent rebel forces at 

Wenjenkun’s western borders, while same time he was constrained to adopt far more severe, more brutal measures to eradicate the infestation the serious unrest by the rising literati (intellectuals or educated class) within Capital Province Holger. Unfortunately, while he was otherwise engaged, the contrary seed had been planted and had germinated in the one Zakhertan had least expected. That single oversight had cost him his firstborn son. When he became aware of this fact, of course by then he could not have altered the outcome, not in the slightest.   

Again, considering his then options in hindsight, Zakhertan shrugged with a certain resignation, admitting to himself that he could not have done otherwise for, on that cursed day when the dark flotilla of clouds congregated ominously on the horizon atop the rising sun, his beloved son Qijerrik, had insisted on, and unfortunately received, his permission to lead vanguard in the attack against the rebel scholars.  After all, Zakhertan had no reason to doubt his son's competence.     

The campaign had gone well enough, with the Imperial forces emerging victorious as expected; after which came the punitive action that wreaked total devastation on the entire populous which had aided and shielded the defiant scholars. Unfortunately, something had gone awry, something else quite unforeseen had transpired either on the battlefield or in aftermath, which had forever altered his beloved son Prince Qijerrik.      

The rebel army had fought gallantly and employed brilliant tactics right up until the bitter end, but that would not have brought about that kind of change in Qijerrik, for he had bested gallant foes before. Was it the gruesome mass suicide of the rebel forces when all hope had been lost? Or was it the subsequent events, the countrywide hunt for and the extreme persecution of the many sympathizers? Could it have been the madness of the pillaging, the extensive carnage and mass extermination of the scholar class? Or was it simply the proliferation (creation) of the earthen mounds that had contained within it, countless living bodies of men, women, and children? Could any of these or all, have been the contributing factors?

“No! Absolutely not! Qijerrik was no weakling coward. “Zakhertan once more vehemently denied that hurtful notion. It had to have been something entirely different, something inconceivable and one day he (Zakhertan) would surely pinpoint the real cause. Zakhertan yet again lied to himself. Technically that had been the day he had lost his firstborn son for, from that day forth Prince Qijerrik had undergone a drastic change in heart, mind, and character. He had become increasingly unruly and finally, downright disobedient.  

“If only my son had been a fallen casualty in war.” Zakhertan mulled over, though he surmised that, in a sense, Qijerrik had been just that.  

“Could the fault have been partly his? He should have listened to his son more?”    

“If only he’d paid more attention and timely intervened with apt measures to protect and isolate Qijerrik from those damaging influences, instead of reacting in anger and ostracizing his son for being contrary and too outspoken?” Zakhertan once more pondered on the nagging concerns, with his empty gaze affixed on the swaying trees (that seemed to be bowing obsequiously), for the wind had just then picked up in the garden.  

 “Had he been too stringent? Had he pushed his son too hard, too soon? No, that was not it either.” Zakhertan scowled. Whatever he might have done wrong, one thing was for certain: he had never been lax in Qijerrik’s upbringing or discipline. In fact, up until that time, Zakhertan had taken an active interest and taken great care in ensuring that Qijerrik had received proper, well-rounded education in both civil and military.   

“Then, how could he have failed to instill in the boy, the most important filial virtue, right alongside loyalty and honor?”  Zakhertan was angry and remained at a loss to find reasons for that drastic change in Qijerrik and the subsequent, catastrophic series of events. Searing fury rose in him anew as he recalled the distressing incident in Council when his son sharply stood up in front of all assembled, to openly oppose him. Admittedly, it was over a minor issue, but the act was still one of open, brazen defiance; a legitimate move under the law but it harbored graver undercurrents which would expose Zakhertan’s single weakness and challenge his overall authority in Imperial Court.

 Zakhertan Yozdek regretted now not using right there and then the provisions in the law which would have allowed him to exercise his option to incarcerate Qijerrik summarily. If only he had imprisoned him, indefinitely or even executed him, instead of banishing him?

Zakhertan had repeated the same haunting question thousands of times and each time the same regret, recrimination, hurt, disappointment, furious rage, and bitterness gripped his heart, in that merciless, wrenching grip. Had he done that, he would have spared himself the mortifying, wounding torment of knowing that his beloved son, his own flesh, and blood, was capable of such treachery against him and all he stood for.

There was one other in the family, his youngest sister, who had likewise betrayed him; but Zakhertan had understood and eventually forgiven her for her misplaced loyalty, for she’d from the first, been deeply infatuated (besotted) with her husband, Lord Shonne Gulbrand. But to be so betrayed by his once beloved son was something Zakhertan had never expected or imagined as a possibility. Each time that memory surfaced, the same fierce indignation and fury welled up from the depths of his soul and he suffered that akin, bittersweet sensation of bile rising to his mouth, as the day Prince Qijerrik’s war slogans had reached his ears.

06- QIJERRIK YOZDEK  (3)JP

Zakhertan’s eyes had burned with intense heat from reading those seditious adages posted for all to see in the towns’ squares, which rallied the populous restive and ripe, for an all-out rebellion. Those contemptible words (like gnawing parasites) were permanently etched (engraved) in his brain. One of those had said: “Arise good people who has suffered for so long under the severity of despotic Zakhertan Yozdek's oppressive regime, time to oppose his repressive laws and demand reckoning for the wrongs that had never been redressed; unite and take up arms, for yours is the righteous cause!”    

“My son, my most beloved son; how deeply you’d injured me!”  Zakhertan’s mouth presently, creased into a grimace of pain for each one of those seditious words had been a stiletto in Zakhertan’s heart and the damage hence, had been irreparable.

Zakhertan would have judged Qijerrik more leniently, had all this been done because of high ambition, Prince wanting to seize the throne for himself; that Zakhertan could have lived with, but Qijerrik had taken on the mantle of a liberator.     

This had been unforgivable, and it had unleashed the culmination of all that unbridled fury Zakhertan Yozdek had amassed in him; consequently, he had acted swiftly and more savagely than ever before to bring about total devastation of innumerable (myriad) Wenjenkuners.

 

(END OF SECTION 5)    

 11- LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - EVIL PERSONIFIED - SECTION 4

Month after month, each night’s routine was the same for Sovereign Zakhertan Yozdek; this evening as well, he was burdened with so many imperative official (bureaucratic) documents needing his special perusal.

“I detest squandering my time in this way, even with the most able of help, monitoring and controlling the wolves that are my vassals.” Zakhertan Yozdek scoffed inwardly, shifting in his seat. “What an utter waste of my talents. This cursed dreary existence … This never ending; cloying, suffocating, bureaucratic red tape could drive a lesser man to madness. Darn it all!” Zakhertan ground his teeth. “Even the slowest of torturous death would be preferable to this present inertia (inaction).”

 

01- ZAKHERTAN YOZDEDK   JP

 Wearily, Zakhertan closed his eyes as if to escape it all. Never had he felt so empty in heart, so utterly alone; his true aspirations had always been to- as a brilliant tactician, a great general with invincible prowess- burgeon (thrive) at the battlefield… That was the only life for him. Zakhertan heaved a deep, dejected sigh, pining to be once more in the combat zone (at the front line); at least there, Zakhertan had no qualms, no artificial worries to be addressed, nothing taxing his patience. There he would be in his element, thriving on solving precise, (clear) arduous yet all too familiar tactical problems while accepting the perils that each new campaign entailed. Dicey warrior’s life was unquestionably preferable to this cackling of barren hens that called itself a political arena. What a waste it was, for someone who has had war pulsing in his veins, ever since he had been a suckling…

Zakhertan’s mind just then was diverted (sidetracked) by the recollection of a once propagated hearsay (rumour), that had described how he, Zakhertan, had come into this world:

 Purportedly (supposedly), at the time of his birth, he had kicked so violently that he had ruptured the very womb that had prior nourished and sustained his life; hence, he had claimed his first victim, his very gentle and loving mother, Lady Rosaline, before he had even drawn his first breath.

This tale (false account) imparted to Zakhertan during his early childhood by none other than his hateful stepmother Lady Serafina, had left an indelible (permanent) mark (blot) on his conscience till adolescence and had irrevocably fashioned his innate character.

 It was not till much later that he had learned of the truth; that his birth had been a breach-birthing and, his Lord father valuing a son more than his wife, had ordered the tending physician to slice open her womb and extract the male offspring, regardless of the (blood-loss  and) consequence.

02-  ZAKHERTAN'S FATHER

Zakhertan’s father Lord Kade Yozdek, back then had been an influential personage in the Northern border province. He controlled massive resources and vast lands which had been owned (inherited) by the Yozdek clan for five generations; furthermore, he regulated most trade and maintained a small private army in addition to the border imperial troops, allocated to him supposedly for stability and maintenance of peace. His generals perpetually guarded (patrolled) the northern region, for the purposes of preventing and subduing the sporadic violent incursions from ethnic tribes that trespassed into his lands, as well, invaded or pillage the remote border towns and regions. The governor of the district, toadied to the lord, recognizing the fact that he held the real power in this northern territory (state).

Lord Kade, a cold, calculating, impious (licentious) man, had remarried quickly after the death of his principal wife Lady Rosaline, well before the period of mourning had been officially over. This advantageous union however, had been a strategic, loveless union, and though his new wife, Zakhertan’s stepmother Serafina, had borne his Lord father first a girl offspring and then a boy, the boy had not lived long enough to see his second year.

The young Zakhertan had no regrets about eliminating his rival sibling, despite the untold grief it had caused to his, by then odious Lord father. The licentious brute had often when drunk derided and brutally beaten willful and defiant Zakhertan senseless.

03- YOUNG ZAKHERTAN

Despite his oppressive and violent childhood, or perhaps because of it, Zakhertan had always, for as long as he could remember, taken solace in battle and in living life on the edge (of death). Even now he could smell the carnage and envisioned with a certain longing the terrible havoc, the glorious devastation he would wreak on his next campaign. Alas, he knew that for the time being at least he had to forbear (be patient) and resolve few more snags (glitches) in his governance (control) before he could venture anew at the head of a massive army and, finally met his most worthy adversary (nemesis), Emperor Deng Hedenko of Kontu.

Zakhertan’s gaging and astute (keen) mind had already factored in the inevitability of the prolonged and costly campaign (battle) and the resulting gory before that anticipated eventual victory (triumph). It would be a conflict the like of which had no precedence in Wenjenkun’s history; nevertheless, one his heart frenziedly craved (yearned for).

Patience, however, had never been Zakhertan’s innate virtue; it had to be doggedly (resolutely) forced and perpetually (constantly) learned.

“Curse Dwengzur for cheating me out of that fight!”  Denied that fundamental (essential) reprieve, Zakhertan’s thoughts had just then reverted to the Immortal; thus, his fists involuntarily clenched, as he crossly (irately) cogitated (deliberated) on that nagging concern.

“Where was that bothersome wizard anyway…How could he still be at large, a man of Dwengzur's caliber… Escaping his (Zakhertan’s) vast network of spies which was entrenched right across the known world?”

But even as he had asked this, Zakhertan already knew the answer. And it was for that reason that despite Zakhertan's protests and denials, the Immortal’s disappearance had deeply troubled him; especially since the extensive, persistent search, which had even encompassed the regions of Korion all the way up to the island of Kontu, still furiously, had failed to deliver least trace of Dwengzur or his sort’s abode.     

Zakhertan Yozdek had of course inwardly laughed at the circulating blathers, refused to give least credence to the preposterous, imbecilic notions, belief of couple of his supposed, brainy officials, that Dwengzur was a demigod. (Minor god- one regarded as such in a hierarchy of other gods.) 

04- DWENGZUR THE DEMIGOD (49)JP

These key bureaucrat sucker fools, had hypothesized that “Dwengzur had in fact been sent by Divine authority, to assist and protect their illustrious and righteous Sovereign Zakhertan Yozdek from serious harm and, once the earthly task had been completed, Dwengzur had returned from whence he came.”     

Meanwhile it had served his (Zakhertan’s) purpose well, to let the plebians be gulled by all that superstitious nonsense. Ordinary folk (plebs) had always been prone to (deducing then) attributing strange manifestations to the work of Supreme Gods. Zakhertan grimaced wryly and shrugged. The Hexocian religion, one of the surviving orders, to date had been secretly manipulated and utilized to bend the inferior minds, enabling that contemptuous lot to be herded like sheep into doing his (Zakhertan’s) bidding whenever the need rose? Did they think that he would ever tolerate, let alone perpetuate that farce, that contemptible pretext of those religious orders, without reason?

“Divine intervention indeed, “Zakhertan Yozdek (the atheist) again scoffed venomously reflecting at this point on the incredulous notion that, Gods would take any notice of the bothersome, writhing, myriad creatures. “Earthly task ha!” Zakhertan Yozdek hissed out a long breath and smiled tautly, as memories of his hundreds and thousands of acts of (heathen) brutality came to mind.

“Surely none of those abhorred acts were condoned by these righteous Gods. And besides, where was the expected retribution; his reign to date had remained unchallenged and consolidated. That proved it: Gods did not exist. But Immortals did exist.”

Zakhertan’s gaze then pensively turned to the painting of the white tiger, mounted on the far wall. He stared at it for a time, then with awry smile he looked down.

05 - WHITE TIGER 10- JP

Few years back to expel his boredom Zakhertan had gone on a dangerous venture, a hunt for a fearsome white tiger that had terrorized three remote villages at high elevation at the northern end, and the  furthest reaches of Wenjenkun’s Toreaken Province.

The white tiger of incredible size and ferocity after his rampaging through these villages, had left behind countless mangled and mutilated corpses (both humans and animals). Hundreds of half-eaten parts littered the blood-soaked pathways (grounds), before the callous beast had finally retreated to his lair at that towering peak; with only a precarious goat’s path leading up to it, way passed the densely forested mountain ridge.

 Always up for a challenge Zakhertan Yozdek, perfectly disguised as ordinary hunter had gone alone on a venture to add this monstrous beast’s head to his other mounted trophies.

06- WHITE TIGER 5- JP

Zakhertan had pursued the carnivorous beast hotly, but then at the crucial juncture, when he spotted it, he’d taken aim at the edge of sheer cliff and was poised to shoot his poisoned arrow when, the earth underneath his footing had suddenly given way and he’d plummeted down into a deep, bottomless abyss (chasm) along with the fallen debris. Halfway down, he had gripped (gotten hold of) one or two of the (exposed,) resilient dangling roots, which protruded from the precipitous edge (vertical drop) and so escaped certain death.

Proceeding (climbing, advancing) once more towards the peak (summit), mid-way up he had discovered the hidden opening to a huge cavern (grotto) and fearlessly went inside. Advancing in pitch darkness, he had followed one of the subterranean tunnels and after escaping six or seven perilous pitfalls, had emerged unscathed, when it was nearing dusk, at the outside.

The topography (landscape) and the fauna that had greeted his eyes, when abruptly the miasmic (vaporous, gaseous, misty) fog cleared, had appeared to him most strange; moreover, he noted the sudden, stark (abysmal), all encompassing absence of all sound. He was considering which direction to advance, when just then a bot of lightening streak from a cloudless sky and then a tremendous ruckus at a distance drew his attention to a small clearing, beyond the dense (forest) grove of trees.

Zakhertan had approached the area cautiously and then, concealing his presence, had avidly and elatedly, watched the ongoing deadly and intense combat between two, sure to be Immortal warriors. Fortune smiling on him, he had also eye-witnessed and heard the subsequent invocation (incantation) of the “Nokuzikos Spell,” by the clearly senior rank Immortal warrior; after which, in a flash, his opponent had then been (utterly subdued) bested.

07- IMMORTALS FIGHTING (4)

The defeated and partially incapacitated younger Immortal had subsequently, been swiftly carted (lugged) away by the victor, both riding the clouds, to oblivion.  

Zakhertan Yozdek had always been gifted with retentive memory and the ability to recall information however complex, verbal, or visual, with great accuracy and clarity; forgetting all about the white tiger, for he had attained a far greater prize, he had joyously returned home. Possessing   this “Nokuzikos Spell,” his already indomitable powers subsequently further enhanced, he had since then been invincible in every battle or single combat. Notwithstanding how formidable the enemy been, his adversaries (foe, opposition) had always (been defeated without fail) suffered the same fate.  

This advantage, the sure gift, had a terrible drawback (derivative) however, for Zakhertan being a mere mortal, after each invocation of the Nokuzikos Spell, he had consequently, always suffered (succumbed to) the subsequent day, an intense and unimaginable smarting (painful) headache. No amount of medicine or care would alleviate (assuage, lessen) the extreme pressure and the excruciating, throbbing in his head. His personal physicians lived in dread at such times, fearing that Zakhertan might inevitably one day, undergo a fatalistic aneurism (aneurysm) in the brain and so expire.

Never forgetting the fierce combat between those two superior beings, Zakhertan had of course instigated for a long time, thorough searches for their kind. But all subsequent pursuits (quests, hunt) had been unfortunately proved in vain, till quite recently that is, when Zakhertan had learned of Dwengzur’s presence in Channing.

Dwengzur, an alleged wizard, employed for entertainment purposes during one of Egil Viggoaries’s infamous social gatherings, had left quite an impression on all that had been present. The culminated reports intriguing Zakhertan, he had at once summoned Dwengzur to his presence.  Zakhertan had at length questioned the so-called Wizard; though infuriated by his deceit, Zakhertan had nevertheless played along and kept his ire in check, to secretly monitor this Immortal’s activities, as well, uncover the whereabouts of his Race. Anticipating that, where there was one, there would be others and utilizing such beings would make him more omnipotent (all-powerful and unstoppable) Ruler.

(END OF SECTION 4)

 

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 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE RENEGADE IMMORTAL - SECTION 16

 "Once Zakhertan Yozdek had ascended the throne, the ensuing years had been the unparalleled goriest eon (era, age) in history." Hugen resumed his narrative (chronicle) after guzzling some more wine.  When he held out the jug for Uyuk to partake some, the latter, however, had declined, saying he had far too much already, that he would abstain for a while till his head cleared a bit, he just needed a breathing space, a respite.  Uyuk had urged Hugen nonetheless, to freely indulge, as the long night after all, stretched out before them.

01- UYUK  (20)JP

Yea, right! Hugen inwardly scorned, despising Uyuk for this unwarranted deceit.  Why feign such weakness?  Hugen knew Uyuk had not reached his limit, not by a long shot…Latter could handle more, quite a bit more.  Hugen knew this for a fact.  Not as much as he can, perhaps.  Still… 

For a spell he considered goading Uyuk until the latter dropped his guard and relented. Then again, why bother, Hugen dismissing the notion, good humouredly shrugged and helped himself to some more wine.

Uyuk, despite his feigned inebriated state, keenly, from the corner of his eye had scrutinized Hugen, for the faint-hearted could not have managed the quantity of strong spirits Hugen had consumed thus far and remained still, maddeningly so, sober. Considering the extreme potency, the wine had cost Uyuk quite a substantial sum; this brand of smooth, fruity blend being particularly high in alcohol content, should have way before this intoxicated/incapacitated the most resilient (robust constitution) of men, but not Hugen! Why was that?

The corner of Hugen’s mouth slightly lifted as if in amusement, anticipating Uyuk’s inner query, and he looked away; fact is, he needed to consume at least four or five times the amount, to be totally inebriated or brought to a happy state; a condition he'd rarely indulged and always had done so in solitude. After a while the amassed consumed quantity, however, had eventually derived some adverse effect; the consequential fleeting moment of light headedness and nostalgic reflections nevertheless, through sheer willpower quickly dispensed (passed), Hugen once more reverted his somber gaze on Uyuk.  His head, his thoughts the product of a cool, calculating mind once more lucid and unequivocally defined, Hugen’s deliberations was again embroiled in the selfsame grave, harsh realities of life. 

What's more, after the subsequent several swigs (mouthfuls) of this fruity concoction (booze), far from being mellowed out, his senses disappointingly instead, had felt tauter (tense, wound up); hence, Hugen disdainfully put the jug aside and, his breathing regulated, he indolently stretched out his limbs. But this did little in dousing the fire coursing in his hot veins, his muscles twitching and flexing in an invisible restless craze, yearning to engage in a mortal combat with an invincible, (challenging)formidable foe.

Affixing his gaze to the far corner, his hankering heart tinged with sadness, Hugen thoughtfully reflected on the multitude, past, memorable combats; there was singular one that stood above the rest, General Zonar Kuntzu, a warrior with indomitable prowess. Hugen had heard much about his fame, his brilliant feats. Unfortunately, Hugen's line of work had kept him always on a different course than the General’s; but once he had been fortunate enough to have been an eyewitness to a friendly combat between the General Kuntzu and another competent fighter. The breathtakingly spectacular fight had ended the same way, with General Zonar Kuntzu being the victor as always.

02-GENERAL ZONAR KUNTZU

Hugen donned an ironic smile on his lips and looked away. How easily General Zonar Kuntzu had bested his opponent!

After that day Hugen had honed his martial skills so that one day, he could try his own luck against the General; however, when finally, his competence was up to par (the equivalence), fate had cruelly intervened to cheat him out of that opportunity.

Inclining his head, Hugen with a blank stare studied Uyuk, thinking inwardly how Uyuk unfortunately presented no such challenge.  True, he had never pitted his martial skill against Uyuk but he had observed Uyuk's ability in combat with others and, though his partner was comparatively good, Hugen had concluded that he could easily defeat (best) him without resorting to draw upon any of his special expertise. There was one thing Uyuk excelled in, however, his ability to... Hugen threw Uyuk a covert look.  Only that, he nodded. Yes, I’ll have to watch out for that.  In a way Hugen was grateful for Uyuk's somewhat amenable company.  At least Uyuk amused him, not like those intolerable, overconfident, superstitious boors whose presence strained his patience and made his blood boil.

Requiring more solitude, Hugen pointedly lent an ear to the howling of the gale force wind and the drumming, pounding of the rain pellets outside.  Oh, the nights are always so intolerably long.  Hugen inwardly moaned thinking, especially for one such as him who was an insomniac. Unfortunately, the pelting hail outside was a good deterrent for a long, brisk stroll, which was what he most desired at that moment.  Resigned to stay put, he shifted his weight to get more comfortable then, once more, somberly resumed his narration where he had left off: "Yes, we weren’t the only ones who’d suffered from his rancorous (malicious, spiteful ) wrath; all who’d tried to undermine or obstruct Zakhertan Yozdek's aim, all suspected loyalists and dissidents in Wenjenkun, were vengefully rooted out, vanquished or incinerated." 

Hugen’s eyes met Uyuk's gravely and he nodded.  "Furthermore, all who griped or raised even the slightest discourse of his harsh measures, among them countless brilliant scholars from various backgrounds, the nobility, courtiers, religious personages, priests, sages, hermits, even the stray beggars; all without exception were persecuted relentlessly and tortured before an ignominious death. The countryside, hence, is dotted with a multitude of man-made pits of death, sepulchres and catacombs where Zakhertan’s countless past and present enemies are all buried.”

Hugen paused for an effect and then resumed: “There are also hidden subterranean chambers of torture, (constructed) in Channing, equipped with abhorrent, specially designed instruments, which prolongs, any convicted felons or dissidents’ excruciating physical and mental agony before their ignominious (humiliating) end.  Some of the holding cells, chiefly used for minor offences, are all the same, ingeniously constructed to perpetuate (beget) permanent insanity; and that’s not all, but it would take me far too long to extrapolate on them all."  Hugen shrugged. "Perhaps another time, eh… Anyway, to put it succinctly, Zakhertan Yozdek's reign has been marked with extreme brutality unrivaled by anyone in history save perhaps, only by Deng Hedenko in present times."  He threw his head back and laughed at Uyuk's baffled look.

 "The Sovereign of Korion, ignoramus (numskull) you," Hugen paused to savor the other's stifled rage at the insult. "To continue; after consolidating his power Zakhertan Yozdek lost no time in raising another mammoth (gargantuan) force, this time to punish us anew, but by that time our Illustrious Sovereign Anguan Binchan had succumbed to a fatal illness, thus robbing Zakhertan of his chief grievance.”

“Korion, meanwhile, had been rocked by a volcanic eruption and three subsequent earthquakes that ravaged two major cities and most of the countryside which depleted the precious remainder of our valuable resources, our strength and vitality.  What real resistance a devastated and leaderless nation could have offered? Of course, that mattered little to such a blood-thirsty fiend Zakhertan; as a matter of fact, he had even taken it into account and used it to gain an even more swift and decisive victory." Hugen bristled.  "An honorable campaign was not something he’d consider in his evil plans.  In no time at all, his superior, predatory forces swept across the adjacent, inconsequential provinces to descend on us voraciously, with but one directive: to annihilate our race from the face of the Earth.”

03- ZAKHERTAN YOZDEDK  (22) JP

"Ah, but we (every citizen of Korion) were equally determined (resolute) to deny him his easy conquest.  Even though from the start our defeat was a foregone conclusion, our patriots resisted Zakhertan for a year and a half.  Hah!  I'd venture to guess that it was the costliest and bloodiest campaign Zakhertan had ever waged.  Alas!  Despite our courage and brilliant strategies, our impoverished army was pitted against an invincible rapacious force that, at the crucial point in the struggle, received fresh reinforcements.  I do admit that, towards the end Zakhertan's military manoeuvring and strategic offensives were flawless as only one who is the demon incarnate can devise.  In one ingenious, final stroke he had both rebel cities capitulate simultaneously."

Hugen exhaled deeply, morosely, "And so, on the solstice of the third lunar year of the reign of our Illustrious Sovereign Harkan Konzuran Binchan, a terrible nightmare was unleashed on us all."  At this point, Hugen's tongue was stilled by the anger, bitterness, and scorn he felt at the core of his being.

"Is it true what I had heard?  That after the Capital yielded Zakhertan had our late Sovereign Anguan Binchan's corpse exhumed, supreme sacrilege that it was, had it torn into minute pieces and then scattered in various cesspools throughout the country?"

"Yes," Hugen nodded grimly, "and that's not all.  On Zakhertan’s orders his men went on a rampage, digging up all the ancestral graves, some Centuries old.  They desecrated the corpses and had the remains discarded into fast flowing rivers.  The valuable artifacts were all plundered then shamelessly carted off (lugged) to their homeland."  Hugen dropped his head, swallowing hard.  "After the gruesome, ignoble execution of our Sovereign Harkan Konzuran Binchan, anyone with even a trace of royal blood was rounded up and humiliated in a public spectacle designed specifically to break our spirit before they, too, were executed.  However, this had quite the opposite effect, for it only strengthened (fuelled) our people's resolve."

Uyuk hissed; his absent gaze fixed at the far corner.

Hugen looked up sharply, pleased at the outrage in Uyuk, noting his face flushed to beet-red, his chest palpitating with indignation at the same time as his fists clenched so hard that, his nails drew blood from the sheer force and intensity of his feelings.  For a spell Hugen had forgotten Uyuk's true origin, but then, suddenly his thoughts darkened.

“Who are you trying to fool?  It was your kind, your race that inflicted these atrocities on us.”  He shook his head and bit his lip to contain his inner contempt. It was a strange idea, a hard concept for this hard-core patriot to swallow.  “No matter what, I cannot conceive of how anyone can forsake their own kind, their own race and country as absolutely as you have done, Uyuk! And for what reason, a personal grievance?” 

Seeing Uyuk in this light he questioned the other’s professed loyalty to Korion.  “What’s your actual ulterior motive?  What kind of game are you playing at anyhow?” With narrowing eyes, he covertly scrutinized his partner.

“Get a grip on your-self!” he fought the urge to strike, to act immediately.  “There’ll be ample opportunity later.  Go along for now, soon enough he will show his true colors and expose his dark heart.  You can deal with him then.”

But again, defiantly such bursting fury rose from deep within.  “Why on Earth had he bothered at all?  Why had he stuck his neck out for Uyuk in the first place?  Was it the element of danger, the challenge it posed?  Had he wished to exploit Uyuk as a game, a way to gratify his dark, morbid sense, his hatred for Uyuk's kind?  Or was it something entirely different, an alien concept long since abandoned; plain old pity?”  Hugen detested this new ambivalent feeling and looked down (lowered his gaze), trying to think of something else.

In his silent brooding, now with his eyelids closed, he reflected yet again how Wushing, his entire family, his colleagues and anyone who had been even remotely connected with him had all been hunted down and brutally eradicated (eliminated).  It mattered not whether they had been innocent lives, all ages of civilians.  Their fate had all been the same.  This extending to the (agrarian populations) countryside, the manifold atrocities that had been committed back then, to date hunted Hugen’s peace; countless ranchers (farmers, planters) had all been mercilessly cut down, their mutilated and mangled corpses piled high in heaps were then burned to ash. 

“In summation, Zakhertan Yozdek’s fierce persecution had extended way beyond those who had actively opposed him in both campaigns.  There had been so much blood spilled that for months after Korion's capitulation the rivers had ran red.  When pestilence struck during those warm months, it necessitated the burning of all the exposed corpses.  So many bonfires dotted the land, that the acerbic air stifled (burned) the lungs, while anguished wailing (cries) of mourners revibrated the land.”

04- HUGEN (54)jp

These were the haunting sounds and images which, permanently etched into his mind, had robbed Hugen of least peaceful, any tranquil existence.  Whether he was asleep or awake, the ongoing nightmares provided him no respite.  To present, Hugen's love for his country, his Sovereign and his craving for vengeance were all, what sustained him and gave some meaning to his wretched life. But alas, perpetually no absolution (pardon, release) was to be had, with his precarious, oftentimes violent existence.

"And it is for certain that one thing Zakhertan Yozdek had not counted on, was his own underestimation of the resilience of Korion’s ordinary folk." Uyuk , interceding, spoke up loudly, partly to test Hugen's state of (alertness) consciousness.

The slight frown on the other's features confirmed it, he was (alert and) awake. Uyuk was, of course speaking from personal experience.  Surviving the ignominious death of his mother and sister, he was on the brink of expiring himself when he had been given sanctuary and a second chance, by a tribe of nomadic herdsmen in Korion.  His foster father was one Muxor Kenny, a strong, stout warrior who never donned a smile.  Always rigid and stern, he had nevertheless taught Uyuk the survival skills that had served him well up to the present day. 

“Oh yes,” Uyuk inwardly scoffed (rebuked, chided), as he sized up Hugen quaffing some more spirits: “I am well aware of your low opinion of me and my skills. I may just one day shock the britches right off you, arrogant, smug bastard!”

 If the truth were to be known, Uyuk had it in his power to alter that opinion and countless times had been sorely tempted by Hugen's goading to show off and expose his deeply hidden talents. Indeed, Uyuk knew far more than he let on.  Despite his youth he had experienced numerous hair-raising, daring escapades that, if recounted, would boggle Hugen's mind, and earn him the respect and recognition he felt was his due.  Fortunately, his good sense had prevented him from doing that very thing.

Hugen, as if he had surmised other’s thoughts, suddenly looked up and meeting Uyuk's eyes directly, smirked; then in a conciliatory gesture, offered him the jug which the younger man this time obligingly took and raised it to his lips.

Even though Uyuk was parched, he took care to drink only a moderate portion however, just enough to wet his mouth, for it would not do if he were to become totally inebriated, despite the reliable company and relatively safe circumstances.  Feeling suddenly famished, he reached over and drew his bundle to him.  Groping about inside the sack, he found what he was looking for: the remainder of the dry rations.  He handed some to Hugen and, without ceremony the two began to tear and chew, the hard bits of venison to gratify their hunger.  Afterwards Uyuk stretched out his limbs and urged Hugen to continue with his recounting of his history.

Now more favorably disposed, Hugen picked up from where he had left off: "Time after time having encountered the gritty, dogged (resolute) resistance from every citizen of Korion high and low (ordinary folk), it soon became apparent to Zakhertan Yozdek that, Korion could not be governed by anyone other than our own.  The pacification of the rebellious tribes in the remote mountains proved particularly arduous and sanguinary.  The many costly expeditions aimed at annihilating these guerrilla fighters only resulted in a string of ignominious defeats at the hands of these nomadic herders. Many skirmishes, including those led by your foster-father Muxor Kenny, which incidentally, you’d failed to mention in your recruitment (enrolment) application.”

Hugen at this point, had abruptly fell silent, and then simply tossed Uyuk a knowing, fleeting smirk. 

05- MUXOR KENNY - KORION'S NOMADIC HORSEMAN

“To put it succinctly, these frays in time gave rise to other sporadic pockets of rebellion and soon after, there arose widespread, well organized, resistance of all sorts erupting simultaneously in all parts of the country.”

“Yes… we had demonstrated to them, once and for all, how this nation even though subjugated, could not be enslaved and all the oppressive measures, stringent laws and brutal, savage punishments would never, ever, crush our spirit or resolve!" Uyuk, getting a grip and pretending to be caught up in the moment’s hype (excitement), hissed.

Hugen gave (threw) him a pointed look, "As you seem to know the rest, I may as well save my breath." But Uyuk hastily leaned across to touch his shoulder and in an earnest voice protested his ignorance.  He confessed that, in his early pubescent (teenage) years, wanting to prove his worth to his foster-father Muxor Kenny, he had partaken in some acts of sabotage (resistance) but that he had never truly grasped the complete political picture; for his  subsequent adolescent (later teen) years were spent, totally cut off from any civilization, in the sacred Shouyou Mountains.  Appearing unusually co-operative, Uyuk without prodding volunteered that, this period had been lost to him, because he had been paying a penance for his serious breach of a key tribal law.

"What law?"

Uyuk's response was curt and cryptic.

“Have it your way.” Hugen inclined his head and inwardly scoffed: “I’ve offered you a chance to be straight with me, and yet again you’ve failed.  It’s your loss.” Of course, he knew all there was to it, he’d been well informed about Uyuk's unforgivable offense (felony, crime) and the consequential chastisement and more, much, much more.  He covertly kept Uyuk in his side-view as he grimaced coldly.

“Yes, that detailed report had encompassed data that, I suspect, even you are unaware of, my foreign friend.  I've trained my informants well, so well that they can even make the dead speak.  You would be surprised, no, shaken to your core if you knew what I know, that the one who had betrayed you, the key conspirator, was none other than you’re...”  Hugen averted his eyes. “No; why should I rattle your feathers?  Why destroy the only semblance of?”  Hugen turned (reverted) his stone-cold gaze back to Uyuk to look him straight in the eye.  But then suddenly an unexpected strong compassion seized his heart and his piercing pupils momentarily softened and he nodded.

When Uyuk once more entreated (beseeched) Hugen to enlighten him on the political aspects of Korion's and Wenjenkun's shared histories, Hugen quietly acquiesced, if only to pass the time.  Yet he did not begin right away, instead, he lent an ear for a spell longer to the pelting rain, which seemed to be tapering off. 

 

(END OF SECTION 16)