THE STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 11

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC- THE STATE OF THINGS- SECTION 11

Fradel, resolved to tell all, nodded and then solemnly confessed: "The venerable Zukan Rurik Korvald, in truth was my adopted father, who’d rescued me from the clutches of death and raised me as his own all these years. This fact was revealed to me on his death bed."

Svein empathetically listened to it, as Fradel gradually unfolded the threads of his confidential, distressing past:

Zukan Rurik Korvald, a celebrated scholar of his time, one faithful day on a return trip after visiting a close relative, propitiously (impulsively) requiring some respite, had had his boat moored on the banks of the river Tua, just a short distance from a bridge.  He had interrupted his journey craving also, to partake (imbibe) a particular fine wine (a special brew he’d procured from a winery), while absorbing proper appreciation of the marvelous scenery that enhanced that region. 

Subsequently inspired, he’d composed some brilliant stanzas that were later to be highly prized by the gentry; just before dusk, he’d laid down his brush and returned to his cabin to recline for a short repose (rest) when, the blowing of horns and the approaching thunder of hooves drove him back up on deck.

From afar, he had then witnessed the gruesome tragedy of two people, unfortunate enough to be caught on the bridge and, failing to clear the way, being trampled by Zakhertan Yozdek's unruly steed as he led his mounted contingent in a fearsome race over the hills, leaving a trail of dust behind. Overriding the protests of his boatmen, Zukan Rurik Korvald still sent his two trusted servants to the bridge to assess the damage and, perhaps, lend some curative help to the unfortunate victims.  As expected, their report of the couple's fate came as no surprise to anyone.  The couple had been trampled to death; however, the mother's quick action, as she'd used her body to shield her infant son from the deadly onslaught had spared the baby from a certain death.  The chief steward, not knowing what else to do, had returned with the scrawny, bawling infant in his arms.

The captain and crew put up a strong resistance to having the baby on board, arguing that this was no small matter.  Refusing to become involved, the captain had strongly advised Zukan to dispose of the infant along with his parents’ corpses into the river.

 "Field Marshal Zakhertan Yozdek,” he'd vehemently warned, "is not one to be trifled with.  You're a stranger to these parts; you don't know the half of it.  If you value your life, you'd best forget all you've seen today.  The law can't touch mighty Field-Marshall, so save yourself from sure future calamity.  This infant is not worth the serious trouble which it could beget, not only for you but for us all."

"Nonsense; no one is above the law!" Zukan had exploded.  Ordinarily a mild-mannered nobleman, he had regretted this outburst immediately and thus added calmly, "I'll deal with this in my own way, you will not be involved."

As a man of integrity and chivalrous character, the venerable Zukan Rurik Korvald had delayed his departure from this region thence, in order to appear before the local Magistrate, named Luoki, to demand justice for two unidentified, dead peasants.

 Magistrate Luoki and the other prominent local authorities, disgruntled atop quaking with fear, had shown reluctance, furthermore, banding together had done their best to discourage Zukan from this dangerous pursuit.  Discreetly, and unofficially, the scholar was counseled to leave well enough alone and was again told that Field Marshal Zakhertan Yozdek was too powerful a man to offend.

“This misdemeanor,” as they called the murder of two peasants, who were obviously also strangers to the region, “was too light a charge to even think of summoning Field Marshal Zakhertan before a rural court to give account.”

 The Magistrate had, meanwhile, wrapped up the case quickly and efficiently, after his subordinates had obtained (secured) false evidence from the boatmen and his crew, all of it substantiating the final verdict, the pronouncing of the couple's death, a deliberate act of a double suicide.   

Outnumbered, Zukan Rurik Korvald’s protests had, via other measures, been totally curtailed; he was rendered powerless to beget any justice for the innocent victims. In this way, though, local authorities and the deemed ungrateful Zukan Rurik Korvald, were shielded from the certain future wrath of Field Marshal Zakhertan Yozdek.

The matter thus summarily settled; the Magistrate Luoki demanded next, that the child be turned over to the authorities for his proper disposal.  Rather than surrendering, however, Zukan and his servants fled the area under cover of night.

Later Zukan had sent a trusted aide back to the region under disguise in order to make discrete investigations into the identity of the victims and about any prior (erstwhile) links (relations, possible family, contacts).  When this effort proved to be in vain, Zukan had embraced the child as his own and, since he was himself childless, named the infant Fradel Rurik Korvald.

Quite discontented with the rampant corruption under Zakhertan Yozdek's growing power, observing how the Field-Marshall’s hands gripped the nation's neck, choking tightly until the pulse ceased its flow; the indignant (aristocrat) scholar Zukon, had eventually been constrained (forced) to become a recluse.

Zukan's peaceful domain was so completely insulated that it allowed no outside infiltration at all.  Fradel had grown up perfectly schooled in literary skills and religion, cocooned in this tranquil atmosphere, oblivious to the harsh realities in the so-called civilized world outside.  The truth about his parentage was revealed to him only at Zukan's death bed.  Unfortunately, before the three years of mourning for the venerable Zukan Rurik Korvald was over and Fradel had fully explored his avenues of vengeance against Zakhertan, Fradel had been summoned to court.

Fradel at this point, falling silent, had pensively looked away beyond the curtainless window, to observe the night sky dotted with blinking stars.

"It is as I had expected,” Svein (Nevetsecnuac) just then rejoined with fire in his eyes, startling Fradel from his ephemeral brooding (ruminating).  "We share the same purpose, you and I.” Svein smiled and then nodded. “It may have started as a personal vendetta, but it has now gone far beyond that, hasn't it?"  Svein, next, answered Fradel's silent query. "Yes, my parents and all my family, too, were cruelly murdered by Zakhertan Yozdek."

Fradel gazed at Svein nonplused, realizing only then that, despite the intense and extensive interchange that led them to the brink of becoming sworn brothers, he still knew virtually nothing of Svein's background.  How far can I hinge on this blind faith?

But before Fradel could give voice to his thoughts, Svein inquired directly and with sincere concern, "Your courage and aim are both most commendable, Fradel; and I don’t wish to give offense, however, it is obvious that you lack both knowledge and skill in pertinent strategy, medicine, toxins or Martial Arts.  How do you propose to best (assassinate) this most formidable foe Zakhertan Yozdek? Lest I miss something vital, may I be permitted to learn of your plan?  Besides, I doubt that you have ever killed an animal, let alone a human being."

"You are quite correct in your supposition.” Fradel replied coolly.  "I've always been opposed to the taking of life.  I've espoused the philosophy of Zuox which holds that 'All life, its form and expression, is sacred.  They must be cherished and preserved.'  But that hardly applies to a villain like Zakhertan, a monster arrayed (clothed) in human form.  I'm well aware of the past, unsuccessful, numerous attempts on usurper Monarch's life.  Though I have comparatively little fighting ability, this inadequacy does not deter me from my noble aim.  I have the will, and I am prepared to die to attain justice for my parents and for my countrymen.  The monster must be made to atone for his crimes."  As he vehemently expressed his hatred of Zakhertan once more, he grew quite flushed, his ears burned, and his voice grew hoarse.

"You have echoed the sentiments of my own heart.” Svein responded thoughtfully when the other fell silent.  "But, Fradel, this is no small task, and it should not be taken lightly.  I, at least, was trained and conditioned since childhood for such a purpose while you were not.  Every fabric of my being stands in readiness for this fight.  Far be it that I should deter you from your just cause, but I fear that your noble attributes, exceptional courage may not be enough; why, then, should you throw your life away?”

"No.", Svein waved a dissenting hand to still the retort forming on Fradel's tongue.  "Please hear me out first.  A man can only die once.  All that I ask is that you postpone your vengeance until I have had a go at it first.  In the event that I should fail then it will be your turn.  By then, perhaps, you would have attained the necessary skill and be able to succeed where others before you have failed."

"I know that you mean well, Svein, and I will certainly take your words under advisement.” Fradel stubbornly replied.  "Still, being the least likely person to attack the Monarch, I would have the element of surprise on my side and may be more likely to inflict a mortal wound on him.  He is on his guard with formidable men (civil or military) with fine physiques, wary of fighters of all sorts (male or female), dissident scholars or any citizen with adverse views.  But he would never suspect a nature loving recluse such as I.  I’m aware of the fact that his elite security has checked me out thoroughly."  Fradel stopped and went over to his luggage and began rummaging around inside.  Finding what he sought for, he withdrew an antique-looking writing brush and presented it with a flourish.  "Besides, this provides me with the perfect means of killing him."

Suppressing a chuckle, Svein queried, "And how, may I ask, do you propose to use that?  However, genius a contraption, a concealed weapon in the form of a brush would be detected at once.”

Ignoring Svein's obvious misgivings, Fradel smiled wryly and pointed the bristles of the brush towards the headboard.  Instantly a small metal dart buried itself with a twang half-way into the wood.

 As Svein went to retrieve the dart, Fradel removed a small, wooden box from his pocket and opening it, announced, "This is no ordinary ink box.  It contains the highly noxious ink that can paralyze the heart within seconds of coming in contact with the skin.  Loading the brush for writing laces the tip of the dart and a concealed trigger launches it.  This trick should bring about Zakhertan's destruction instantly. “

“I most certainly will be searched for concealed weapons before I'm brought into his presence, but they would not take away the tools of my trade; I need these to fulfill my purpose in being summoned there.  I ask you; would anyone suspect the simple writing implement of a non-political, scholarly recluse?"

"It seems you’ve given this a lot of thought.  And admittedly it’s the most ingenious device. The barbed dart is most cleverly camouflaged as one of the bristles.  Now suppose you are fortunate enough that it does escape the meticulous scrutiny (search) of the elite security. But the target may not be such an easy one to hit.  Zakhertan Yozdek is renowned for his military prowess; he's reportedly unsurpassed in agility, strength, and cunning.  Moreover, he might be wearing under his court vestments, light metal armor (cuirass, shield); you, taking that into account, no doubt plan to aim for his neck, hand or face. Nevertheless, with his incredible reflexes he may still successfully elude the dart and what then?    Have you an alternate plan to follow in this one's wake?"

"No!” Fradel stamped his foot in vexation.  In truth, he had not configured every possibility, and, Svein’s points had certain validity.  Going against such a formidable foe he should have devised a more plausible secondary, even a tertiary plan to fall back on in order to ensure his success.  He sat down to ponder with a sinking heart.

"Do not lose heart, brother, for I shall not fail.  The monster's days are numbered."  Svein lightly tapped Fradel's shoulder in consolation.

Svein's addressing him as "brother" recalled to Fradel’s mind, his earlier resolve.  Rising to his feet, he proposed that, since there were now no obstacles, they should take the oath of brotherhood without further delay; after which they could plan at length how best he and Svein, as individuals or jointly, could best serve their cause.  But it was now Svein's turn to (hesitate) show reserve; nevertheless, in the brief silence that ensued, Svein had swiftly resolved his inner quandary.  Svein sincerely addressing Fradel, first asked forgiveness for his prior deception, and then drawing near, in a low voice revealed the name of his mentor, Lord Asger Thuxur Marrow Zhon, and subsequently, confessed to his true identity.

Overcoming his shock, Fradel was about to drop to his knees to show his proper respect, when he was swiftly, courteously, stopped by Nevetsecnuac.  “Since they were practically brothers already,” Nevetsecnuac, same time had reasoned, “such formalities were quite unwarranted.”

"But I, the orphan son of lowly peasants, am unworthy of such great honor.  I cannot hope to ever become the sworn brother of a Prince (Nevtsecnuac Alric Therrain Valamir).” Fradel protested.

"You have now offended me deeply, brother.” Nevetsecnuac frowned.  “I never figured you to be so pompous.  After all that we have shared, nothing has changed between us."

 The emotion filled speech that followed, imbued with such humility and honesty so overwhelmed Fradel that, his eyes brimming with tears, he finally acquiesced.

In the private ceremony that followed, the Prince and the Scholar both fell to their knees facing south.  Voicing their petition to the Heavenly Gods, they swore an oath before them to be brothers for life.  After a small cut was inflicted on each one’s index finger, the dripping blood was then collected in a ceramic goblet half filled with wine.  Taking the cup in both hands, Nevetsecnuac ceremoniously presented it to Fradel, calling him elder brother as Fradel was five years his senior.  Receiving the cup, Fradel drank the first sip from it then, with just as much ceremony, offered it to Nevetsecnuac, addressing him as his younger brother.  After Nevetsecnuac had obliged, the cup was hurled against the fireplace and broke into a thousand fragments, sealing the oath forever.  The (sudden) just then rising winds outside vigorously rattled the shutters as if in shared joy and approval.

Nevetsecnuac and Fradel, now as brothers sat across from each other and toasted to their future success. As they partook the wine, they reminisced about family members and dear friends that could not be there; later still, slightly inebriated, they drowned their sorrows in yet more capfuls of wine. 

During this time Fradel was told of the great deeds and sacrifices of Lord Asger Thuxur Marrog Zhon, Lord Shonne Gulbrand, Lu Moldan and the rest, marveling at their greatness, loyalty and scope of heroic attributes, comparing each to the legendary historical figures.

As the topic gradually veered towards the exacting of vengeance, Fradel asked Nevetsecnuac if he had on him the special ID Permit, a vital official (two-part) document essential in allowing one access to Capital Province Holger and then to Imperial city Channing.

Nevetsecnuac shook his head in the negative, then asked, "An ID Permit? This is the first time I’ve heard of such a requisite."

"Just as I suspected,” Fradel nodded thoughtfully.  "But that's to be expected."  He went on to explain that few officials, never mind influential citizens, were aware of the necessity for such a certificate, even though its use had been strictly enforced by the authorities in the Capital province, Holger, for half a year now.  He recounted how he, himself, would have been caught unawares, had it not been for the Palace Guard's explicit reminder when he'd delivered the summons from the Court.

"I'm afraid that, without it, entry to the Capital is impossible.” Fradel intoned grimly. 

"This strict measure had been put into effect after a latest, nearly successful attempt on Zakhertan's life by a small group of very competent assassins.  I have heard undisputed claims that since then, Imperial City Channing has been sealed like a fortress, allowing no entry or egress without proper authorization.”

It was most fortunate, indeed, that we talked long enough for me to recall this important detail otherwise, being caught at the gate without this official permit; you would have instantly been apprehended for questioning.  Your aim would have been frustrated very early on."

"Then I must act to secure for myself such documents,” came Nevetsecnuac's decisive response.  "Can I rely on your guidance and assistance, brother?"

"You don't understand the degree of difficulty involved.” Fradel shook his head. 

"It's not a question of my assistance, brother; I wish it was that easy.  I'm afraid that these two-part documents can only be obtained at your birthplace and are issued only by the resident Governor for a considerable fee.  You must also produce at least three other notable residents as witnesses.  Even under the best of circumstances, such a process could not be completed within a month."

Fradel drew out the documents from their protective covering of waxed parchment and pointed an explicit finger to the top left corner of one of them where, sealed under gum Arabic, a provincial court artist had drawn the poet's likeness.  Nevetsecnuac's eyes followed, with increasing misgivings and a heavier heart, the list of Fradel's identifying particulars, his physical description, parent's name, age and birthplace and finally, at the bottom, the long trail of official seals.

"Due to the urgency of summons necessitating my prompt departure, the obliging Lord and the new governor, Mojen, spared me the time and difficulty of procuring necessary documentation.  Taking me at my word, they acted as my guarantors and expediently processed the ID Permit with all due haste." Fradel, pensively(thoughtfully), meanwhile, had continued. "Of course, even if I did have the ID Documents of my deceased servants still in my possession,” Fradel interjected, "their particulars are so vastly different from yours that, I'm afraid, they still would have been of no use to you."

Having recently buried the men, Nevetsecnuac concurred with a nod of his head; meanwhile, it had become clear to Nevetsecnuac that without proper verification, he could never obtain, not at any length of time, this kind of vital documentation. 

"What is to be done, then?” he gave voice to his fret (hassle).  "How can I beat this unexpected hindrance (hurdle)?  I must seek another ingenious means to override this serious obstacle." Nevetsecnuac distractedly followed Fradel's bold strides to and for, as the scholar presently paced the room in contemplation.

"But, of course!” Nevetsecnuac jumped up in elation.  "Why didn’t I think of this before?"

Startled, Fradel grabbed Nevetsecnuac's arm.  "What is it, brother?"

"The answer to our dilemma is right before us. The problem has already been resolved by none other than you, brother." Nevetsecnuac responded with a bemused smile.

"Me? How?"

"Elder Brother, it just struck me how similar in appearance we are.  For instance, are we both relatively of the same height and bearing and share similar facial features?  Fortunately, due to haste, the hair and eye coloring were not precise. With a beard, could I not pass for twenty-five?"

"What an idea!" Fradel chortled.

 "I knew there was something about you I liked."  His eyes dwelt on Nevetsecnuac with a new intensity as he surveyed the prince’s features.  "Yes, it is possible." he had to concur.  "I must be getting muddle headed, strange how this simple solution eluded me."

"That's because, elder brother, despite all my previous reasoning you still harbor the desire to press on by yourself.  How stubborn you are."  Nevetsecnuac teased, shaking a finger at him.

Donning a long face, Fradel turned an aimless gaze to the crackling flames of the fire.  An inexplicable sadness just then, gripping his heart.

 

(END OF SECTION 11)

 

THE WEDDING - SECTION 6

LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE WEDDING - SECTION 6

DUAN

Proviso (if) Brandt had entertained any suspicions about Svein during his brief exchange at the Inn, it had all but dissipated by the time they had parted company.  After leaving the premises Brandt had made his way through a dark, deserted alleyway towards his lodgings, feeling discontented and a tad angry.  When he came upon a dog urinating in a dark corner, to vent his pent-up frustration he fiercely kicked the poor, unfortunate creature in the side of stomach, the force of which slammed the body hard against the brick wall.  Picking himself up from the ground, with a painful lame leg, and letting out cries of “yelp, yelp, yelp’ the poor thing scurried away to the best of his ability.  This amused Brandt and, temporarily, lightened his mood.  Snickering at the dog’s misery, he continued on his way.

Brandt, just then turning a corner, came face to face with Duan, who was also out for a stroll.  The latter’s sudden appearance almost startled Brandt.

Duan, well over seven feet in height, heavy in build with large bones and with a protruding large forehead which made him even more menacing in appearance, clearly was not a man to be trifled with.  He had long, thick, wavy hair that cascaded down his shoulders in an unkempt fashion, and his face was adorned with bushy eyebrows, auburn beard and mustache. In contrast Brandt, although formidable, looked meek and timid in his stance.  His hair was neatly kept in formal style and his clothes, although disguised to look ordinary, were still superior in tailoring and material.  Flushed, Brandt hastened to greet Duan, inquired after the latter’s aim, but, meeting no reply then asked to accompany him on his walk.

“Suit yourself;” came the uncaring, icy response.

As they both advanced through the poorly lit, deserted streets with their path illuminated only by the occasional scant light escaping from the slits of the window shutters, Brandt, finding the silence unbearable, for Duan was a man of few words, broke in and briefly told of his encounter with Audun Colden.  At the finish Duan abruptly halted (stayed) his steps and, turning, cast his dark, piercing eyes on Brandt.  Though he appeared to have something specific in mind, he made no attempt to communicate it to Brandt.  Instead, after this brief pause, whereupon he cast his gaze over the rooftops, he with a venomous wry grin shook his head and resumed his brisk walk.

At least I got his interest. Brandt mused.  Just then, he was momentarily distracted by a slight noise on the roof of one of the houses that flanked the street.  Seeing that it was nothing more than a stray cat, he turned to find Duan way ahead of him.  Rushing forward to catch up he then added, with a degree of arrogance, “But I’m certain that my suspicions were totally unfounded, or I would not have allowed him to get away so easily.  It was all but another false lead.” 

But he was airing these words into thin air, for Duan had long since stopped listening to what he considered, Brandt’s incessant blabbering, unworthy of any riposte.

Though these two had been together for a long time, there existed no regard, sentiment or trust between them.  Duan suspected the other of having an ulterior motive for wanting to tag along and, under the pretense of being worn down by the other’s persistence, had allowed Brandt to accompany him.  Seeing Brandt as nothing more than prey, a mouse that had wandered into the trap under his cat’s paw, Duan, with due patience, waited for him to slip up and reveal his real intent (true colors).  At present he was merely toying with his meek enemy.

Duan was not a native born to this country and no one really knew where he had come from.  He had no home or family to speak of.  Traveling from place to place, accomplishing difficult tasks where others had failed (found it futile); he had spread his fame far and wide.  He excelled in arms and every form of combat.  His talents were immeasurable, and he had never met an adversary, however formidable, whom he had not subdued.  A boon to any general’s army, a credit to the staff of any noble or sovereign, he had been offered riches beyond anyone’s wildest imagination by the most grateful of patrons seeking his alliance, fidelity or plain old amity.  But, undaunted by the trappings of wealth, title or human emotions, he had sustained his solitary way of existence.

Keeping in stride, still agitated, Brandt vented, “Brother, I don’t mean to rile (vex) you, but we have stayed in this contemptible place far too long.  Forsaking my prior hunch (premonition), I say we should move on.  The Empire is vast, and we still have a lot of ground to cover.  Why should we waste any more of our time here?”

“Enough,” Duan glaring at Brandt ranted, “I’ll decide when it’s time to go. No one is holding you back; why don’t you just leave then, scram, if you are so impatient!”

Brandt’s small hairs rising in the back of his neck, he was silenced for good.  Though fuming inwardly he dared not say another word.  All right, it must be for some reason that he wanted to stay in this disdainful place longer, in the end he tried placating himself. Still, what clue is there that has escaped me and not him?  He could not dispute Duan’s superb ability at tracking the wanted men who had eluded the best bounty hunters in the country.  Only with his help could Brandt stand the slightest chance of getting his man.  Swallowing his resentment, he once more made his apologies, trying to smooth things between them.  Inwardly, however, he seethed with scorn and sheer unadulterated hatred for Duan.  Cursing and ranting, he wondered how much longer he would have to suffer such indignity, such humiliation at the hand of this uncouth boor.  How far away was that day, when he could finally at long last, hand (dispense) this arrogant fiend his just desserts?

                                                                                         ~

Svein, at the end of his night’s reconnaissance, meanwhile, in the small hours had returned to the inn, quietly climbed the stairs and threw himself on the bed.  He closed his eyes just to rest them, knowing his taut nerves would not permit him to sleep; as he lay there, his heart laden with inexplicable dread, the names Asger Thuxur Marrog Zhon, Kochi, Brandt, as well, the glimpse of that formidable companion of Brandt’s, a noteworthy assassin- endlessly paraded before his mind’s eye.

The subsequent day Svein did run into Brandt on the main street; the latter was in the company of another but, fortunately for Svein, it was not Duan.  As both were predisposed to their brief, formal greetings were exchanged in passing, without either of them stopping to converse further.

I must conclude my business at the earliest possible time, before they are wizened to my guise. Svein mused as he entered a modest sized wine shop that specialized in quality wines.  Another customer, one called Souko Yeru who had the airs of an official, was being waited on by the disgruntled proprietor Nerazi.

This well-dressed client Souko, with his repeated references to the quantities of wine that he was proposing to buy, was arguing fervently against the already discounted price, insisting on receiving still more special consideration from the other.

The proprietor Nerazi, equally adamant in his stand, kept arguing the point that he had already made more than enough concessions, and that any lower he would be losing money instead of breaking even.

Unconvinced, Souko Yeru hotly jeered (heckled), “Why don’t you just skim a little more off your fat profit?  You can afford it by any means.  And don’t give me that smile and that polite talk; I’d rather take the wine instead.”

But again, the proprietor refused to budge, insisting that he was just breaking even.  “If you are dissatisfied, sir, you may take your business elsewhere.”, finally he, in his exasperation, dared the other. But no one was going anywhere.

Their haggling appeared most comical to Svein, for as the intensity of their argument grew, each shouted at the other, gesticulating as they did, with their feet furiously stamping the ground, their arms wildly waving about, their necks outstretched, almost pecking at each other with their words. Not minding the delay, Svein quietly stood to the side, prepared to watch with certain amusement, this comedy of life being played out before him.  He intended to buy only two jars of the recommended wine for the upcoming festivities, a mere trifle, a drop in the bucket compared to what the official was ordering. 

The proprietor, meanwhile, over his haggling had spotted Svein out of the corner of his eye and so contrived to free himself from the clutches of this pest, Souko Yeru.  By calling out to Luke, to leave what he was doing and come upstairs at once, he hoped to defer Souko’s order to his underling and serve a more agreeable looking customer.

But, when Luke  was a little late in his response the proprietor snapped, pointing a finger at Svein, “Now look here, Sir, I have other customers to serve, you know.  Please be reasonable, I really cannot reduce it any further without losing money.”

Souko Yeru, whose back was to Svein all this time, half turned, in readiness to scoff at this supposed customer.

 What greeted his eyes however, the striking exquisiteness of this very attractive youth and his formidable bearing under that seemingly innocuous garment, simply took his breath away and temporarily dumfounded, he simply gawked at Svein.

 There was something in the manner of latter’s piercing gaze, that made the back of hairs on Svein’s neck stand on end.  Fortunately, at that point in time the proprietor of the store had timely interceded reverting back the official’s attention to the matter at hand.

 The miserly official was most adept at haggling and besides he was used to always getting his way; understanding this, the unhappy merchant in the end begrudgingly grumbled out his assent.  The assistant Luke, being the beneficiary of the disgruntled proprietor’s seething vent, now directed his two underlings to load the wares onto Souko Yeru’s sizeable cart hitched by a solitary horse. The stout servant of the official’s managed the rains of the horse and kept the animal at bay till swiftly the full load was transferred on board.  Only when the money had changed hands did the proprietor, careful to conceal it from the Official, heaved a deep sigh of relief. 

Souko Yeru, who inspected each jar carefully before it was loaded, had insisted on the owner’s presence and undivided attention.  When the laden cart finally pulled away with the Official sitting beside his groom furiously flailing the poor horse, the disgruntled proprietor then shaking his head and mumbling curse words under his breath, made his way back into the shop, with the help trailing close behind.

In that mayhem, everyone, save for the astute clerk Luke had forgotten Svein’s presence. White the loading of the cart was going on outside, Luke respectfully asking Svein’s indulgence, he’d politely offered Svein a seat and a complimentary wine then gone back to tending his books.

Upon his entry to the shop and noting Svein, the proprietor Nerazi abruptly checked his tongue.  Quickly wiping away the excess perspiration from his forehead and palms, a congenial smile on his lips, he at once rushed to cordially extend his greetings to Svein and his apologies for the unavoidable delay.  When Svein reciprocated his greetings in turn and they were both after being served fresh choice wine, were comfortably seated across from each other, Narazi then, in an unhurried manner, asked Audun ’s (Svein’s) pleasure.  Since there were several varieties of wine recommended by Stark, Svein stated his requirement and politely deferred the choice to the owner.

Highly pleased and eager to boast of his extended knowledge, the proprietor Nerazi embarked on a lengthy list of his reserves, the distinct varieties and the particulars of taste, aroma and body for each wine, extrapolating the details to the point of boredom with an inexhaustible zeal.

 It took diplomacy on Svein’s part to hasten the proprietor’s speech to its conclusion without giving offense.  Concealing his annoyance, Svein thanked Nerazi for his trouble and gave his approval of the suggested choice.

“Very good…you’ve made a decidedly good choice indeed!  You’ll be pleased, just wait and see.” his face beaming, the proprietor Nerazi assured Svein, at the same time congratulating himself on his expertise.  Upon being quoted the price, Svein promptly produced the sum from his wallet and presented it to the owner.  Nerazi, used to his customers continually haggling over the price, for it was the accepted norm in this practice, was now shamed by Svein’s dignified and polite way of doing business and voluntarily reduced the amount. 

At the conclusion of the transaction, as Svein made his way out of the door, Nerazi shook his head and heaved a deep sigh then aired his wish to clerk Luke, “How I wish that all my customers were like that young man Audun.  How much easier and more pleasurable my transactions would be.  Oh, then I could truly enjoy this profession.”

“Imagine; he wants to skin people and do it with ease, too!” Luke indignantly grumbled under his breath.

 As quirk of fate would have it, Souko Yeru was lodged in the same posh inn as that of Brandt and Duan.  Fortunately for Souko, however, the two had been kept far too busy up till now to dine at the same hour as him and so they had never met.  However paradoxically, while Svein was having an uneventful dinner at his modest lodgings on this night’s eve, these three were converged to have repasts at the same locale. 

Both Brandt and Duan seated at the far corner were in a foul mood, having failed to turn up any leads, and they ate and drank in morose silence.  Dour Duan contemplated leaving this town perhaps as early as the following morning.

Souko Yeru, at another table and having consumed more than his share of wine, began being rowdy as usual and was causing quite a disturbance.  Seething in hatred over one named Zianko, he talked incessantly in his grating, sometimes high-pitched voice about the so-called extortion feats he had been forced to bear.  As Souko Yeru became more intoxicated his mood turned sourer and he began pouring out his grievance so vehemently it soured the wine in Brandt’s throat. It was not clear how Duan felt, his expression had not changed.

Souko was in the company of a great many friends and associates. Law enforcement officials all in his pay had affronted him familiar sense of security and ultimately resultant brazen conduct. Subsequently as he dawned still more wine, Souko’s mood had mellowed, but then whenever one of his companions drawing close cracked an uncouth joke or some other vulgar piece of tidbit news, he uproariously laughed as he pounded his fist on the table with reckless abandon.  Further affront to common decency, his companions would turn a blind eye to his occasional shameless groupings under the table of the fair youth seated by his side. 

“What a beauty he was, too!” Souko Yeru ‘s tongue loosened, he began narrating loutishly the boorish details of his latest lewd escapade with an unlikely detainee, in the course of his supposed official business. Licking his chops, he grinned at his captive audience.  “Young and tender he was!!!!”  Goaded on by those sharing his table, he then began describing the gory details that had in the end resulted in the other’s suicide.

 “Pity, pity it was too…” He pretended remorse, “I ask you why he would go on and do such a stupid thing?” 

His vulgar speech and crass descriptions had annoyed Brandt immensely.  Still asking for trouble, intoxicated Souko next left his own table and moseyed across the room to the table next to Brandt and Duan’s, making it more difficult still for them to ignore his obnoxious presence. 

From where he was seated Souko Yeru raised his cup to them in greeting but met with only a cold regard.  Not accustomed to such rude rebuff, unwisely Souko began nursing a hatred for the two strangers.  Instead of minding his own business, he dared, as the saying goes: “to pull the tiger’s whiskers”.  Paying scant attention to the advice of his fellow diners, he kept snipping away at the two behind a cowardly facade of aimless swearing and dared to vent his anger and save face.

When the well-meaning associates cautioned him to lower his voice and choose his words circumspectly, he peevishly retorted, “Is this not a public place?  Those who don’t like the sound of my voice can scram!”

This last insolence had sealed Souko’s fate.  Duan’s face darkened a shade and those less inebriated or more perceptive felt a sudden malevolent chill in the air sweeping over them as same time morbid, dire misgivings stirred within their innards.  Dark, foreboding sentiment loomed over the room and even those formidable law enforcement officers quivered to the marrow of their bones as if a blood curdling venomous reptile had slithered up against their skin.

But it was Duan’s hand slowly steering towards his sword that alerted Brandt to the gravest imminent danger.  Wishing to avoid yet another carnage, he quickly placed his own hand over Duan’s and in a (placating,) conciliatory voice, whispered, “Later, brother, later.” 

Duan threw a murderous look at Brandt then jumped irately up from his seat, his face red with fury.

This action caused quite a stir.  Many froze in their seats, held their breath and waited for the blow to fall.  Others, ordinary folk finding their feet, jostled towards the door.  Waiters began clearing tables of plates and cups and other breakables despite the protests of several robust, competent law enforcement officers excelling in arms, who erroneously assumed, striking jointly they would be up to the challenge.

Poised for assault, they began rising from their seat; nevertheless, a cursory glance from Duan was enough to purge all courage and send their terrified souls to flight.  Duan’s subsequent menacing gaze now affixed on Souko Yeru, the latter seeing the end of his life flash before him, his jaw dropped, his hair and bones went stiff involuntarily, and he tumbled off his seat onto the ground.

An insidious sliver of a smile briefly grazed Duan’s features and he gave a dry, mirthless laugh.  Then, in just a few steps he exited the room, scattering those in his path to either side.  This had caused another sort of debacle, as jugs, chairs and even tables were overturned by those attempting to clear the way by throwing themselves over furniture and others indiscriminately.

Complaints from all corners rose in Duan’s absence; “Hey, watch out!”, “Watch where you’re going!”, “Get off my foot!”, “Look what you’ve done, clumsy fool!”, “You owe me a drink!”, “You stained my robe!”, “Why did you push me?”, “It was an accident!”  Yet others protested; “I didn’t mean to push you.”, “Sure you didn’t!”, “I’m not paying for that!”, “Where is that blasted waiter?”, “Where did our jug go, it was still full?”

 In this mayhem and hubbub all but a few had overlooked Brandt, still seated in the corner and blending into the shadows.

He was debating for a moment just what to say to Duan once he’d caught up with him.  When he rose, it was enough to, once more, cast the room into silence.  All froze where they stood, but the path was instantly made clear for him, again with much scurrying and trampling over others, as they got out of his way to the door.

After the storm gradually abated, and the sounds once more returned to normal in the dining hall, the intrepid innkeeper emerged from hiding and once more began directing his underlings to set the place in order.

 Souko Yeru, finding new courage in the pair’s absence, pursed his lips, angrily stamped his feet, and, cursing, made the attempt to go after them.  Hastily many rushed to block his way.

“Have you lost your mind?  Already you’ve had one brush with death.  Are you so sick of living that you would tempt fate twice?”

But Souko Yeru was too complacent to see anything wrong with his earlier diatribe.  “He had no right to threaten me!” he shouted indignantly.

“But you did provoke them.” Another disagreed and more of them nodded their heads and sounded their agreement in unison. 

“Did you see how formidable they were… the likes of which not seen in these parts? You were lucky, we were all lucky, they forwent any engagement; and particularly, did not strike you down.” another commented.

At this point Souko Yeru lashed out at him and others furiously, cursing them all in most vile language. “I’m not afraid of the likes of them!” He, having expanded his energies, eventually huffed. “All of you are just a bunch of yellow-bellied dandies, and you call yourselves law enforcement officers…Bahh! Why, you should all be sacked! A good reprimand is what you all will be receiving, if I had my way, instead of payroll.  You should be ashamed of yourselves.  Are you men or mice?”

“Sure,” one stout official that held higher rank than Souko, wrinkled his nose and snorted,

“Is that why you so bravely fell off your seat?”  “Perhaps the chair’s leg gave way.” 

A roar of laughter resounded through the room and set Souko Yeru’s blood to boiling.

“You ungrateful wretches!” Shaking a finger at those beneficiaries of his bribes, he bellowed.  His voice was getting hoarser, and he absentmindedly rubbed his throat.

“And after all those times I’ve treated you to drinks!”  He turned his face to still others.

 

The innkeeper and his hefty helpers at this point rushed out to bring things under control and to placate Souko Yeru.

“Now, now, calm yourself, sir, before you make yourself ill. They spoke as they did because they care about you.  We are all friends here, and friends should not quarrel.  Now, have a drink on me and patch things up.  Waiter, bring a jug here!  It’s on the house.  Now, drink up, gentlemen.”

Outside, meanwhile, Brandt had caught up to Duan.

“Why did you stop me?’ angrily Duan bellowed at him.  “Why do you care if that miserable wretch or his accomplices lived or died?”

“Brother, forgive me, but you can’t go on leaving corpses behind you just because someone offends your sensibilities. Those wretches were all beside themselves with drink, this being the end to the celebratory week. And on top of that, it would not have been a fair contest now, would it? Why it would be like slaughtering sheep, what thrill is in that?”

 “No thrill; but less annoyance and little more peace in the region!”  Duan scoffed. 

 “Do you expect sense from these people, especially at this far outpost?” Brandt added, encouraged by Duan’s uncharacteristic, soft banter. “Brother, last time you killed a man because he dared to put his hand on your shoulder; another one before that because he accidentally bumped into you; and another because he refused to give way.  And that’s not counting the number of one-armed corpses you’ve piled up behind us.  Now I’ve no love for any of these wretches, but I’m getting worried at the number of corpses we are leaving in our trail.  The local officials are no problem, but suppose this was brought to the attention of the ministry, how could we then account for these acts and escape punishment?”

 “As I said earlier, if you don’t like it and are afraid, you are free to leave.  How dare you assume such airs and presume to teach me sense?  Who endowed you with such courage?” 

Duan delivered these words with such an icy finality that Brandt left pursuit of the matter to some future date and hung his head low in silence as he followed Duan to the gambling hall.

                                                                                     ~

 (END OF SECTION 6)