THE ASSASSINS - SECTION 7

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE ASSASSINS - SECTION 7

 Unarmed Brandt intrepidly faced Stark and then pointing to Duan's corpse, tersely exclaimed, "Incriminating as this may seem, it affected the desired purpose. Heretofore I had to go along, to earn his trust, knowing he would lead me to you both.  And I had to make it look good during the fight so as to disarm him and gain such an opportunity to assist your Lordship, Asger Thuxur Marrog Zhon?”

On saying this Brandt   gave another respectful, though a bit more flamboyant bow to Stark.

Svein, taken by surprise, turned his questioning, hurtful eyes on his uncle:  Asger?  Asger Thuxur Marrog Zhon?  Is that who you really are? If so, why have you seen fit to keep this from me in all this time and after all we’ve been through? 

Mindful of Svein's stare, Asger's cold, stanch gaze remained affixed on Brandt.

"If my words prove to be false or misleading, my Lord, you may then consign me to the sword, and I will not cry out of any injustice."  Brandt   paused to cough lightly, clearing his throat, and then continued, "My Lord, I would like to first declare my undying loyalty and allegiance to our late sovereign, Zuronghan Alric Therran Valamir and his supporters.  I solemnly swear on my honor and on my ancestor’s grave, to the validity of my claim.”

 In his heart of hearts Brandt   hoped his father and his ancestors would forgive him of this very necessary falsehood! As it were, it had taken all his willpower not to have (choked) gagged on his asserted (avowed), sham oath.  His eyes did not blink staring straight at Lord Asger’s, nor did his earnest tone waver, when he next explained, "I had not chosen to accompany this notorious assassin by (accident) chance, my Lord.”

He paused and then smiled disarmingly, desiring to elicit suspense.  “I was entrusted with this task and pursued this difficult course at the urging of Lord Shonne Gulbrand, when His Lordship had received word from the capital that proper authorities clandestinely had enlisted this assassin Duan to track and murder, your esteemed self. Up until then, the precursors of Duan had presented no real danger and had required no such course of action (drastic recourse)."

Brandt’s reference to Lord Shonne Gulbrand would have easily been dismissed by Svein, had it not been for the slight change in Stark’s (Asger’s) coloration that instigated (incurred) his curiosity.

Perhaps this was unperceived or simply overlooked by Brandt who’d unceasingly continued with his accounts, “I’d pursued Duan covertly for day and a half, until one evening I fell into his adroit ambush.  At sword point I was forced to concoct a convincing tale, chiefly that I too, was dispatched by the authorities, to observe and if need be, fight alongside him for this mission’s success. Lord Shonne Gulbrand with his foresight and seeing to every detail had fortunately furnished me with official looking forgeries. Duan was outraged and threatened to kill me at first, but on a moment's reflection, he stayed his sword poised to strike at my throat and asked to see my credentials plus these so-called instructions.  After brief scrutiny he was ascertained of their authenticity and begrudgingly consented to my company. For reasons known only to him however, he kept the documents on him, in the inner pocket of his upper garment. If you fetch them, these false documents at least will verify part of my story.”

Brandt   had altered the truth only slightly, in fact both Duan and he had been from the very start secretly dispatched from the capital by Lady Lingrace.  She had seen to every possible contingency and provided Brandt   with the documents.  Neither Emperor nor Lord Shonne Gulbrand had anything to do with it.  Her ladyship had insisted Brandt   accompany Duan on this task, and Duan after demanding more payment to compensate for this weak link, had reluctantly agreed to it.

A nod from Stark (Asger) sent Svein over to Duan’s corpse; his upper garment had been discarded during the intense fight, some time prior to his eventual death.  After a brief search, Svein returned with the waxed leather case and handed it over to his uncle. Svein (Asger) kept a close eye on Brandt, as he, after removing the airtight outer casing, briefly examined (perused) the contents of it. Somewhat satisfied, Stark (Asger) simply tucked them away in his side-pocket.

 “You may continue.”  He next commanded Brandt, with still cold indifference.

Brandt   had only guessed where Duan had kept the papers.  Fortunately, they had survived destruction from the slashes of the intense fighting earlier on.

"For over two years, my Lord,” Brandt   pleased with the outcome, continued in earnest.  “I remained undaunted by countless obstacles and hardships that villain had put me through. He left a bloody trail behind of unimaginable horrors. All the while, he took such perverse pleasure at my sufferings.” He closed his eyes fleetingly then shook his head as if to purge dreaded images from his mind.

“I had to adapt my Lord, had to be more like him, till eventually, I gained his confidence and thereafter I gleaned through observance or from whatever few civil words he cast my way, some insight into his strengths and weaknesses.  Do not judge me too harshly my Lord; for had I not timely interceded, albeit in perceived treasonous manner, I'm afraid that competent as you both are, hmm.” Brandt   hesitated for a moment, before putting it more delicately.

 “Let us say, Your Lordship had not yet seen his utmost capacity. He was only toying, biding his time till he unleashed his worst on you both.  Had he chosen to flee…?” Brandt   shook his head dourly.  “Oh, I’ve seen him (in a flash) instantaneously disappear into thin air.  Had he done that and then descended upon your Lordship and company later, the inexorable dire consequences would have indeed weighed heavily on my conscience.  My Lord, he could move like the devil's wind on treetops or through earth, sand and snow leaving no tracks to follow him by.” He looked up squarely at Asger.

"Surely now, your lordship can understand the necessity for all my prior deceit and alleged, dishonorable conduct."

Stark (Asger) was not at all swayed by this remarkable performance; moreover, he suspected Brandt of being far shrewder and wilier an adversary than he led on.

“Hmm, the gravity of our situation (precarious existence) is further burgeoned by the fact that these two has done the impossible; they have succeeded in where that Usurper with all his resources and manpower has failed to do in twenty years.  And why Lord Shonne Gulbrand, why pick him?”   With a stone face, Stark (Asger) inwardly pondered.

As it were, Lord Shonne Gulbrand, because of the scrutiny from Capital lasting till present, for both their sakes, had remained quite out of touch with Asger or any other existing insurgent groups.

“Yet now he would risk all, undertaking such a perilous feat?” Stark further mused.

His eyes piercing Brandt’s, hmm, he may or may not have accomplices. Stark studied Brandt, while on the outset seemingly taken in, assiduously listened to the rest of latter’s yarn.

This close call had nevertheless, warranted caution and in order to obtain further pertinent data, Stark (Asger) needed time to at length interrogate (grill, probe) this albeit cunning and definitely sly adversary.  Well before this undertaking, however, he needed first to clarify a few more specifics.

"I am inclined to believe you sir. “Stark (Asger), breaking his silence, injected thoughtfully.  "Still, what further proof can you present to win my confidence?"

"That has already been arranged, my Lord.” Brandt   complied respectfully and bluffed.  "After Lord Shonne Gulbrand had assisted your esteemed self's escape, he had, with due discretion, dispensed the necessary funds and manpower to procure the other of your twin swords before it fell into the enemy hands.” Inwardly elated Brandt   congratulated himself, for his quick thinking and postulation (conjecture).  

Lack of any reaction, adverse or otherwise, on Asger’s part had reaffirmed Brandt’s longstanding hypothesis. So, Lord Shonne Gulbrand had a definite hand in Asger’s escape after all!   

Outwardly, meanwhile, Brandt maintained an even tone and continued without cessation.  “His Lordship had done this, with the utmost confidence that one day when the time was ripe; he would present it to your Lordship, perhaps upon your next meeting.” He halted his narrative with a barely discernible hint of a query in his tone.

No? No reaction, none? So, there has been no contact with Lord Shonee Gulbrand since then. Good!

With confidence now, Brandt added. “When it became necessary to send me on this errand however, he entrusted it to me as a means of winning your Lordship's confidence.”

That’s highly unlikely! Stark mused, while pretending to acquiesce.

 “Please examine the sword that now lies on the ground.  I dare not make a move to procure it, lest you’re Lordship and your respected nephew here suspects me of a ruse."  Having said this, he looked directly at Svein with a certain glint in his eyes, a slight semblance of a dare, as he artlessly donned an infuriating, bemused smile.

"There is no need to examine it”, came Stark’s (Asger's) icy response.

 "Svein, please be good enough to retrieve it for me."

"Don't trust him, Uncle.” Svein murmured a warning as he, (recovering it,) handed over the sword.

 Stark (Asger) merely grunted his concurrence then, oblivious to the raging snowstorm, continued to interrogate Brandt further with more penetrating questions. After a time, Asger, seemingly satisfied with Brandt’s responses, appeared by degrees more accepting of Brandt.

 In this entire time, obliging as Brandt was with his answers, not being as hardy (resilient) as Stark and Svein, he had gradually succumbed to the effects of fatigue and cold.

At first, Brandt’s complexion progressively paled; the next instant, in mid-sentence his face gone completely ashen, he’d faltered, swayed on his feet and simply collapsed face down onto the ground already cushioned with thick layer of fresh snow.

 Svein darted over to Brandt’s side. Crouching over the body, he turned Brandt   over and brushed off the snow before examining   Brandt’s vital signs.  Brandt   was clearly unconscious, however still suspecting a ruse; he guardedly examined Brandt’s apparent injuries.  He did have a few serious bruises, lacerations, slight frostbite in fingers and a big bulge, sort of swelling (lump) on top of the head, underneath that mop of hair.

“I suppose the combat, contusion, the strain of inquiry and the elements were all in all too much for him!”  Svein with an air of disdain concluded his findings. 

Stark’s (Asger’s) cursory examination of Brandt’s discarded stiletto (dagger) meanwhile had revealed that the blade had predictably been laced with a rare but very potent poison. Asger’s mind had at once recalled another such incident where this poison had been used with equally dire consequences. 

Concealing his unease however, Stark (Asger) simply nodded; then on his directive, Svein hauled Brandt   over his back and followed his uncle to the stables.

There, they found a comfortable spot for Brandt   to lie, well away from the horse, where they had kept some of the (non-essential) winter supplies. They lit a brazier and stacked it with wood to make sure it would last out the night, then fetching the medicine and such, Asger with due diligence tended to Brandt’s wounds, while Svein at the outside secured both Brandt and Duan’s horses and after a cursory scrub housed them also in the stables alongside Fiery Comet. 

Stark (Asger) had scant reaction to Svein’s subsequent news, that judging by the obvious tracks, Duan’s corpse had already been swiftly carted away by pack of wolves, (if not some hungry predatory beasts); therefore, negating any necessity of a proper burial or pursuit of the remains. 

                                                                                                

                                                                       ~

 

(END OF SECTION 7)

 

THE ASSASSINS - SECTION 6

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE ASSASSINS - SECTION 6

Outside the cabin the ongoing combat by degrees had further intensified. Now they had as well the sudden snowstorm to contend with. The blinding swirls in part aided Svein and Stark who were adept at fighting in all kinds of weather.

Unfortunately for Brandt, already impeded by the erupting gusts of wind and snow, he failed to intercept a lightning   strike from the side and so was catapulted off his feet.

With Brandt’s sword flying from his hand, his body next in a headlong thrust was projected through the air straight at the thick trunk of an ancient tree. The severity of the hit immediately rendered him unconscious.   After a spell when he came to, the fighting had fortuitously steered well away from his position. 

Everyone being too preoccupied with the deadly struggle, none had noted his regaining   consciousness. Seizing this opportunity, as his head throbbed anyhow and stars still danced before his eyes, besides which his body having taken quite a beating ached all over- Brandt   closed his eyes and remained perfectly still where he lay. His intent was to purloin (pilfer) some time to consider his options while he regained his full faculties and strength. 

Brandt’s subsequent stealthy observance revealed that Duan ‘s discarded sword with a broken blade lay to the side as Duan presently was using Brandt’s own sword.

Blue streaks of icy light flashed from the fierce clashes of the twin swords, engaged by opposite forces.  On each turn one blocked the other's assaults effortlessly.

Brandt   seethed in contemptuous rage as he noted how despite Stark’s apparent impediment- fresh blood from the previous wounds being ripped apart, in conjunction with the newly incurred ones increasingly soaking the bandages- latter still fought with incessant (relentless, constant), enduring strength, skill and agility.  Meanwhile the young one’s prowess was something akin to legendary warriors. Periodically the three would be locked in such a fierce, deadly combat of such dizzying speed, that the assaults and defensives became barely visible to the naked eye in that whirling wall of wind, blades, snow and debris.

Oh, such a feat, a truly spectacular (outstanding) sight! Witnessing these near fatal clashes and murderous charges, Brandt   despite himself, for a spell, had remained in awe of their brilliant magnificence.

His abhorrence of the nemesis was such, however, that all too quickly his face darkened, when he rebounded from this temporary sense of wonderment. 

Blast him! Brandt   presently bit his lip and cursed under his breath, as his covert focus once again was affixed on Stark.  Wounded and old, yet the fiend still fights with the strength of a hundred men.  No doubt he is aided by demons! Hmmm…This remarkable youth and he, together they represented an invincible (unbeatable) force; but perhaps individually, he inwardly concurred: yes, individually they could be bested.

It was at this point, recalling an old axiom about the two fighting tigers, that the very solution hit (struck) Brandt: his would be subsequent course of action, the only plausible option. Brandt’s heart more at peace now, he closed his eyes in respite. He would wait out the fighting tigers till they wore each other out.

Furiously however, it had continued seemingly endlessly, with the same vigor (dynamism, energy) and intensity. Though the contenders had by then divested themselves of most of their garments which now lay scattered about on the ground, and the biting winds had picked up to form rime (hoarfrost) on their hair, rivulets of sweat still ran down their foreheads, cheeks and over their bare chests.

Brandt   while remaining   perfectly still and, waiting for this stalemate to end, with hypnotic force of his mind had effectively blocked out the ravages of the cold from affecting his body.  But another sort of danger was creeping in, for the scent of warm blood fresh from the combatants’ wounds intermingling with sweat had attracted countless glowing eyes in the thick bushes around the clearing.  Saliva dripping from their mouths the hungry pack of wolves waited patiently for a chance to strike (and devour the resulting, wounded prey).

Brandt felt as though he would burst stealthily observing how Duan breathed hot, venomous vapors from his nostrils as he wielded his sword with colossal (enormous) lethal force; yet each strike was deflected with such maddening   equanimity.  With no visible signs of strain or slowing down, both Svein and Stark kept up with their consistent fighting and superb assault and offensives. 

Blast! Brandt   seethed (fumed) considering this chink (unexpected turn) in his otherwise plausible plan.  Duan should have bested them by then or at least weakened them, but the fiend had finally met his match.

                                                                   ~

 Stark had detected (been aware) the precise moment Brandt had regained consciousness (lucid state) then later still, noted latter’s subsequent deception (the façade). Mulling over the possible reasons Stark had kept a furtive eye on Brandt while he fought on then, deferring this concern for the more impending ploy, at a specific point in time drawing near to Svein, Stark shouted out a foreign sounding word to him.

 Following Svein’s barely discernible nod (his acquiescence) the swift coordinated assaults executed with such brilliant exactitude, once more forced Duan to shift to the defensive. Whilst he was being kept at bay, at an opportune moment at lightning speed Svein and Stark exchanged their weapons.

Presently, with his innate agility and speed, wielding the ancestor sword, Svein became even more indomitable (invincible).  Temporarily cast in dire straits, Duan summoned his most intrinsic powers and incredible zeal, however, to just barely stand his ground.

                                                                                      ~

 All this time while remaining perfectly motionless, Brandt, his intense loathing of Stark fueling his resolve racked his brains till, he finally (hatched) arrived at the only plausible way to bring about a swift resolution to this maddening impasse. Mindful of the two poisoned stilettos concealed in the seams of his leather boots, he then biding his time, waited for an apt opportunity.

When the fighting eventually drew closer in proximity to Brandt, taking advantage of the fact that Duan’s total attention was focused on fending Svein and Stark’s synchronized, choreographed attacks, Brandt   nimbly sprung to his feet and rushed forth to with a lightening   thrust bury his stiletto (blade) deep into and up Duan's back.

"Damn your treachery!” Duan’s rancorous side glance pinpointing Brandt, he gasped.  “You’ll pay for this!” he licked the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth; but his malicious intent was interrupted when Brandt   nimbly veered, and instead, Svein’s deadly strike finding its mark, cut a line clear across (sliced right through) Duan’s chest and stomach.  Duan staggered on his feet for a second, then fell to the ground lifeless, his eyes bulging open and his mouth gaping with curses still frozen on his lips.  Covered in blood, his innards dangling, he looked (represented) a most gruesome sight. 

Brandt   with his bloody stiletto still poised to strike, in a surprise move just then, had adroitly jumped back way clear of the circle of combat and stood there defensively facing Svein.

"What's the meaning of this?” Stark raged at Brandt, effectively blocking Svein’s scathing rebuke.

"Let me finish him off, Uncle; his ruse is too obvious."” Svein glared at Brandt.  I’ve met him before, on my last trip to town, and trust me on this; he is no friend but a foe.”

 

"Sir, I beseech you.  Hear what I have to say, before condemning me." Brandt   interposed in a respectful, yet forceful tone, facing Stark while monitoring Svein from the corner of his eye. His conciliatory gesture of throwing his weapon aside at odds with his wry grin, he now grumbled. "Please allow me this opportunity to explain."

"Speak up, then!” Stark shouted sternly (austerely).

With a great show, Brandt bowed then crossed his clenched fists across his chest in show of humility, knowing that Stark, an honorable man by reputation, would not harm or allow another (Svein) to bring harm to an unarmed man.

 

(END OF SECTION 6)

 

THE ASSASSINS - SECTION 5

 

LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE ASSASSINS - SECTION 5

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How best to survive (outlast) this sure forfeiture?

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

                                                                                        ~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

                                                                               ~

 

(END OF SECTION 5)

 

THE DRAGON’S PEARL

THE DRAGON'S PEARL (REVISED)

Once upon a time in Shu province a widowed woman and her only son lived in a thatched hut by the banks of the Min River. Now they were very poor and since the mother was old and ailing the young boy from an early age was burdened with the responsibility of providing for them both. As he loved his mother very much, he worked very hard from dawn to dusk trying his best to obtain a reasonable livelihood by cutting and selling grass. Many a night he stayed awake worrying that this may not be enough to sustain them; should an unforeseen calamity strike, it would surely mean certain ruin.

Then came a time when his worse fears were realized. That summer a severe drought depleted their already scant reserves, and he was forced to venture farther inland each morning in search of better grass. Even this expanded effort had proved fruitless as what he harvested was not even worth taking to market. Unrelenting, he ventured ever higher into the mountain, following paths never before trod by human feet. Once more he’d scavenged most of the morning and afternoon and being disappointed, with stooped shoulders he resolved to head home when suddenly, over a small rise, he spotted a meadow of verdant grass. In disbelief he rubbed his eyes and looked on anew. It still was there. With bated breath he ran towards it. True enough, the thick luxuriant grass, flourishing on a fertile earth was ripe for the picking. Halting for a spell he breathed in the fragrance of this lush green treasure. Oh, how gently they swayed, combed by the gentle breeze.

“What am I waiting for?” He quickly put an end to his daydream and a moment later began cutting and bundling the grass. He worked well into the afternoon, and it was only when the rays of the sun began to dim that he reluctantly shouldered his heavy burden and made his journey home. Not before making a mental note of the topography of the exact location however, so as to claim the remainder on the morrow.

In the drought stricken land the proceeds from the sale of the lush grass were far more than the weekly pay and that evening mother and son were able to indulge for the first time ever in a more bountiful feast that included fish, poultry and varied vegetables alongside a superior brand of rice.

The subsequent day the boy retraced his steps joyfully expecting to find the remainder of the patch. However, to his great amazement, the meadow was once more fully overgrown with verdant grass. He did not stop to wonder why but set to work at once with boundless energy and enthusiasm and this time harvested the entire field. As he loaded up the last of his bundle and headed home, he consoled himself by resolving to scour the area more carefully on next occasion. There had to be a comparable field waiting to be found somewhere adjacent to this one.

 

You can imagine his delight the next day in finding the same patch re-grown so fully and perfectly he could swear it had never been touched at all. “The field is enchanted; there is no need to look elsewhere!”

Once more he set to work, this time fearlessly harvesting all the grass once more and returning home with his heavy burden. This he repeated day after day as their circumstances became more comfortable, then luxuriant and secure. They now lived happily. However, there was only one hitch; the long, arduous, sometimes hazardous, trek had begun to wear the boy down. Consulting with his mother on this matter the alternative suddenly presented itself. If the patch was enchanted it could perhaps deliver the same abundance if it was planted elsewhere, preferably at closer proximity.

With this in mind, he made the journey the following morning, and instead of harvesting it he dug up each segment of the turf, roots, soil and all and tied them into rolls. Midway through this toil he spotted a most magnificent, luminescent pearl resting in a tangle of root and soil as he rolled up the clod of turf. “Hah, what a pretty find. Mom will like this. ” He stopped long enough to put it in his pocket then continued on with his work, not giving it another thought.

Wrestling this heavier burden down the mountain he replanted it at closer proximity to his home. And it wasn’t until all the patches were laid down next to their cabin that he realized his fatigue and hunger. He quickly got washed up and entered the home to sit at the table already laden with food and satiate his hunger. Stomach quickly filled he leaned back for a reprieve before they cleared the dishes. Then his hand, roaming in his pocket, happened to touch the pearl. Elatedly he presented it at once to his mother. Even with her failing sight she could tell its brilliance and value, especially when it lit up the dim room with a warm glow. Fearing losing it, his mother decided to store it in the unused old rice jar that she kept as a memento from the lean years. It still contained those few grains of rice they had left before their stroke of luck, just enough of them to cover the pearl.

Following day at the crack of dawn the boy jumped out of bed and wolfed down some bread and cheese then, careful not to wake his sleeping mom, dashed outside to begin his harvest. What greeted him however, wrenched his heart. There was no lush grass, just a dried withered bald patch with a few dried brown stalks poking up from the dust. “I’ve ruined everything.” His eyes brimming with tears he turned towards the house to relay this terrible news to his mom. Just then a scream from the house hastened his steps.

“What is it mama?” He shouted the moment he entered the premise.

“Look,” She pointed at the old rice container, “See it for yourself.”

Indeed, the moment he lifted the lid, a miracle that greeted his eyes: the old rice container was full of fresh white, fragrant rice and, on top, the large pearl glowed warmly.

Mother and son exchanged a knowing look. Later when the son told his mom of his failure with the patch, it became crystal clear that the pearl was the true source of magic. In order to be absolutely sure however, they now placed the pearl in the money box that contained only few coins, then carefully hid it under the bed.

The following morning, even before breakfasting the son was asked to retrieve it, as it was too heavy and cumbersome for her to fetch. True enough, it did feel heavier. It came as no surprise to both when, after the lid was lifted, the bounty of cash was discovered, the pearl perched on top.

This being proof positive they knew how to proceed from then on. They used the magic pearl sparingly and wisely, reciprocating the kindness of neighbours that had once aided them in their time of need. Knowing what it is like to be poor their unstinting kindness extended to those others, even strangers that happened to be caught in dire straits. Despite all the goodwill, the mother and son’s apparent improved fortunes, in time drew unwarranted attention, curiosity and some envy from their neighbours in their small village.

The secret could no longer be contained. Through coercion and trickery, the source of their wealth was eventually discovered. The word spread like wildfire and soon after a mob of villagers, some friendly, a few not so friendly, gathered by the house demanding in a loud uproar to see this phantom pearl for themselves. Goaded to prove that the reasons for their recent prosperity did not involve thievery, the boy foolishly fetched the pearl then held it up for all to see. The glow at first mesmerized all the onlookers but, far from being assuaged, the crowd grew restless and resentful.

Why should they be the sole possessors of such a gift from the Heavens? Everyone wanted a turn at possessing it. Each coveted it; and some demanded immediate ownership of the pearl for more righteous, personal reasons. Tempers flared and faces became distorted with loathing, greed and revulsion. The tumult grew increasingly uglier and the situation more volatile.

Fearing the impending assault on himself, on his mother, or the theft of the pearl, the boy impetuously popped the pearl into his mouth to keep it safe. In that pandemonium, however, the boy was shoved to and for and, giving in to reflex, the pearl dropped through his oesophagus. All at once he was overwhelmed with the sensation of being scorched from inside the stomach; an unbearable, searing fire consumed his innards.

“Water! Water!” Screaming, he dashed to the well at the side of the house and, as fast as he could haul the buckets out, consuming the water until the well ran dry. Still burning up, he ran in a frenzy to throw his body down to the bank to the river and began to lap it up. He drank and drank, but nothing could assuage the all-consuming sensation of burning. The stunned villagers watched in horrified amazement as the once mighty river Min was diminished to a trickle, then that too disappeared. As the last drop flowed down the boy’s throat, a huge crack of thunder tore up the sky. The Earth trembled as countless forks of lightning flashed across the sky heralding the eruption of a violent storm and a deluge of rain that threatened to drown them all.

“Now you’ve done it! Heaven is angered. Flee, flee for your lives!” The shouts scattered most of the crowds. Others, with wobbling legs, fell on their knees and covered their heads and faces in terror. Amidst curses and lamentations, they bewailed their ill fate in wavering voices.

Meanwhile the boy had begun to tremble uncontrollably as he grew and grew. His desperate mother, forgetting her own terror, hung on to his legs with all her strength, but he was beyond help. Horns sprouted on his forehead and his eyes grew wider and larger their red glow emitting tendrils of fire. His skin was also altered gradually but surely into scales. Now at mammoth size, his dismayed mother watched in sad resignation, as her beloved son transformed into a Dragon. Too late she remembered the legend of every water dragon possessing a treasured magic pearl, and only then grasped that the pearl had originally belonged to the dragon guarding this river.

The deluge meanwhile had filled the river once more and her darling boy, now a dragon, started to glide towards it. With courage only a mother has she clung onto his scaly foot but, with a gentle pull, he freed himself. He slithered towards the torrent as his very motion threw up mud-banks along the sides of the river. Love is a powerful bond and so, each time that she cried out to him, the dragon did turn his mammoth body to briefly gaze her. After an angst-ridden roar however, he slid beneath the torrent of the river Min. 

To this day the mud banks on the river Min are referred to as the “Looking Back at Mother” banks, in memory of the boy who’d swallowed the pearl and transformed into a mighty River Dragon. True to the boy’s generous nature, the Dragon of the River fed and nourished the crops of the villages along his banks from that day on, and there has never again been such a taxing drought in that province.

The End

 

BoSt Notable Inklings: Portrait of a Stingy Squire

BoSt Notable Inklings: Portrait of a Stingy Squire: Portrait of a Stingy Squire There was once a wealthy landowner named Daner, who acquired his wealth through illicit means, such as...

THE ASSASSINS - SECTION 6

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC

THE ASSASSINS- SECTION 6

Outside the cabin the ongoing combat by degrees had further intensified. Now they had as well the sudden snowstorm to contend with. The blinding swirls in part aided Svein and Stark who were adept at fighting in all kinds of weather.

Unfortunately for Brandt, already impeded by the erupting gusts of wind and snow, he failed to intercept a lightning   strike from the side and so was catapulted off his feet.

With Brandt’s sword flying from his hand, his body next in a headlong thrust was projected through the air straight at the thick trunk of an ancient tree. The severity of the hit immediately rendered him unconscious.   After a spell when he came to, the fighting had fortuitously steered well away from his position. 

Everyone being too preoccupied with the deadly struggle, none had noted his regaining   consciousness. Seizing this opportunity, as his head throbbed anyhow and stars still danced before his eyes, besides which his body having taken quite a beating ached all over- Brandt   closed his eyes and remained perfectly still where he lay. His intent was to purloin (pilfer) some time to consider his options while he regained his full faculties and strength. 

Brandt’s subsequent stealthy observance revealed that Duan ‘s discarded sword with a broken blade lay to the side as Duan presently was using Brandt’s own sword.

Blue streaks of icy light flashed from the fierce clashes of the twin swords, engaged by opposite forces.  On each turn one blocked the other's assaults effortlessly.

Brandt   seethed in contemptuous rage as he noted how despite Stark’s apparent impediment- fresh blood from the previous wounds being ripped apart, in conjunction with the newly incurred ones increasingly soaking the bandages- latter still fought with incessant (relentless, constant), enduring strength, skill and agility.  Meanwhile the young one’s prowess was something akin to legendary warriors. Periodically the three would be locked in such a fierce, deadly combat of such dizzying speed, that the assaults and defensives became barely visible to the naked eye in that whirling wall of wind, blades, snow and debris.

Oh, such a feat, a truly spectacular (outstanding) sight! Witnessing these near fatal clashes and murderous charges, Brandt   despite himself, for a spell, had remained in awe of their brilliant magnificence.

His abhorrence of the nemesis was such, however, that all too quickly his face darkened, when he rebounded from this temporary sense of wonderment. 

Blast him! Brandt   presently bit his lip and cursed under his breath, as his covert focus once again was affixed on Stark.  Wounded and old, yet the fiend still fights with the strength of a hundred men.  No doubt he is aided by demons! Hmmm…This remarkable youth and he, together they represented an invincible (unbeatable) force; but perhaps individually, he inwardly concurred: yes, individually they could be bested.

It was at this point, recalling an old axiom about the two fighting tigers, that the very solution hit (struck) Brandt: his would be subsequent course of action, the only plausible option. Brandt’s heart more at peace now, he closed his eyes in respite. He would wait out the fighting tigers till they wore each other out.

Furiously however, it had continued seemingly endlessly, with the same vigor (dynamism, energy) and intensity. Though the contenders had by then divested themselves of most of their garments which now lay scattered about on the ground, and the biting winds had picked up to form rime (hoarfrost) on their hair, rivulets of sweat still ran down their foreheads, cheeks and over their bare chests.

Brandt   while remaining   perfectly still and, waiting for this stalemate to end, with hypnotic force of his mind had effectively blocked out the ravages of the cold from affecting his body.  But another sort of danger was creeping in, for the scent of warm blood fresh from the combatants’ wounds intermingling with sweat had attracted countless glowing eyes in the thick bushes around the clearing.  Saliva dripping from their mouths the hungry pack of wolves waited patiently for a chance to strike (and devour the resulting, wounded prey).

Brandt felt as though he would burst stealthily observing how Duan breathed hot, venomous vapors from his nostrils as he wielded his sword with colossal (enormous) lethal force; yet each strike was deflected with such maddening   equanimity.  With no visible signs of strain or slowing down, both Svein and Stark kept up with their consistent fighting and superb assault and offensives. 

Blast! Brandt   seethed (fumed) considering this chink (unexpected turn) in his otherwise plausible plan.  Duan should have bested them by then or at least weakened them, but the fiend had finally met his match.

                                                                   ~

 Stark had detected (been aware) the precise moment Brandt had regained consciousness (lucid state) then later still, noted latter’s subsequent deception (the façade). Mulling over the possible reasons Stark had kept a furtive eye on Brandt while he fought on then, deferring this concern for the more impending ploy, at a specific point in time drawing near to Svein, Stark shouted out a foreign sounding word to him.

 Following Svein’s barely discernible nod (his acquiescence) the swift coordinated assaults executed with such brilliant exactitude, once more forced Duan to shift to the defensive. Whilst he was being kept at bay, at an opportune moment at lightning speed Svein and Stark exchanged their weapons.

Presently, with his innate agility and speed, wielding the ancestor sword, Svein became even more indomitable (invincible).  Temporarily cast in dire straits, Duan summoned his most intrinsic powers and incredible zeal, however, to just barely stand his ground.

                                                                                     ~

 All this time while remaining perfectly motionless, Brandt, his intense loathing of Stark fueling his resolve racked his brains till, he finally (hatched) arrived at the only plausible way to bring about a swift resolution to this maddening impasse. Mindful of the two poisoned stilettos concealed in the seams of his leather boots, he then biding his time, waited for an apt opportunity.

When the fighting eventually drew closer in proximity to Brandt, taking advantage of the fact that Duan’s total attention was focused on fending Svein and Stark’s synchronized, choreographed attacks, Brandt   nimbly sprung to his feet and rushed forth to with a lightening   thrust bury his stiletto (blade) deep into and up Duan's back.

"Damn your treachery!” Duan’s rancorous side glance pinpointing Brandt, he gasped.  “You’ll pay for this!” he licked the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth; but his malicious intent was interrupted when Brandt   nimbly veered, and instead, Svein’s deadly strike finding its mark, cut a line clear across (sliced right through) Duan’s chest and stomach.  Duan staggered on his feet for a second, then fell to the ground lifeless, his eyes bulging open and his mouth gaping with curses still frozen on his lips.  Covered in blood, his innards dangling, he looked (represented) a most gruesome sight. 

Brandt   with his bloody stiletto still poised to strike, in a surprise move just then, had adroitly jumped back way clear of the circle of combat and stood there defensively facing Svein.

"What's the meaning of this?” Stark raged at Brandt, effectively blocking Svein’s scathing rebuke.

"Let me finish him off, Uncle; his ruse is too obvious."” Svein glared at Brandt.  I’ve met him before, on my last trip to town, and trust me on this; he is no friend but a foe.”

"Sir, I beseech you.  Hear what I have to say, before condemning me." Brandt   interposed in a respectful, yet forceful tone, facing Stark while monitoring Svein from the corner of his eye. His conciliatory gesture of throwing his weapon aside at odds with his wry grin, he now grumbled. "Please allow me this opportunity to explain."

"Speak up, then!” Stark shouted sternly (austerely).

With a great show, Brandt bowed then crossed his clenched fists across his chest in show of humility, knowing that Stark, an honorable man by reputation, would not harm or allow another (Svein) to bring harm to an unarmed man.

(END OF SECTION 6)