LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE ASSASSINS - SECTION 13

Asger (Stark), after a restless night’s sleep (repose), just before dawn quietly rose from his bed and after dressing exited the room. The last hot pot of Alec’s tea had been spiked, Asger knew that Alec would be dead to the world till noon, which gave them plenty of time to prepare.

Advancing, he quietly tapped at Svein’s door, then going over sat at his usual place by the fire.

Svein, anticipating his uncle’s desire, emerged outside shortly after, properly dressed and most eager to hear what Stark (Asger) had to say.

Stroking his beard with a thoughtful air, Asger signaled Svein to the chair before him.

"Svein, circumstances dictate that I now be frank with you. I am therefore well prepared to disclose all secrets, mysteries and unveil all truths that had until now, been kept from you.”  So saying, Asger rising, pseudo straitened (the creases of) his garments then abruptly falling on his knees, prostrated himself and addressing Svein in most dignified voice, proclaimed, "I, Lord Asger Thuxur Marrog Zhon, Son of Lord Wutenzar Thuxur Marrog Zhon hereby pay my respects to Your Royal Highness, sole surviving true Heir to the Throne of Wenjenkun, Prince Nevetsecnuac Alric Therran Valamir , may you live long and prosper!"

Nevetsecnuac, quickly overcoming his surprise, hastily stooped to raise his maternal uncle to his feet, “Please rise uncle, I should be bowing to you!”

When eventually, on Nevetsecnuac's insistence, the two finally regained their respective seats, the prince, in sincere and respectful tone, urged Lord Asger not to endow him with such honors.  "After twenty years of being nurtured and mentored (guided), living under your unstinting care as your nephew, I would be imbued in shame to my very core if I were to now receive your obsequies.  Please, Uncle, treat me as you always have.  Allow me the privilege of serving you, as your’ most grateful and devoted nephew. And please address me only by my name without the onerous title- a most undesirable and unwarranted feat (endeavor) at this remote milieu.”

Nevetsecnuac looked down as emotions choked the rest of his words; after brief, thoughtful reflection, he simply shook his head and said: “I can only guess at the enormity of sacrifices and long suffering you have endured on my behalf.  My only regret is that I have but one lifetime in which to repay your kindness."

Deeply touched by Nevetsecnuac's show of love and humility, Asger looked away, constraining   any expression of the intense and therefore inappropriate emotions from bursting forth; then perfectly composed, he leaned forward and affectionately placed his hand on Nevetsecnuac's shoulder. 

Nevetsecnuac in turn, looked up at him with eyes brimming with tears of gratitude mingling with affection and said: "Uncle, I am anxious to hear all, particularly the circumstances, of how and why I alone, have survived my immediate family's tragic fate?”

“Yes, the time has come for you to be apprised of it all.” Asger, nodding thoughtfully, acquiesced.  “Hmm, but I shall do my utmost, through tact, to spare you the worse of it, my dear boy, while imparting succinctly, all the pertinent details.”

 He then smoked his pipe for a spell as he deliberated on how best to begin. Every word had to be chosen with care to minimize (and not burgeon) the angst that was already tearing at Nevetsecnuac's heart and soul.

The following narrated data (recounted facts) oscillated naturally between past and present and in this gentle, yet somber tone Nevetsecnuac was informed of his true heritage:

That he was the only offspring of the 7th Prince Shon Alric Therran Valamir and Ingrit, the adapted daughter of Lord Wutenzar Zhon.  When Asger was ten years old, she’d become Asger’s loving little sister, a girl child of about six years old, who’d suffered abduction and amnesia at the age of five. The frail female child had been rescued from the clutches of death, just barely, one stormy afternoon, by Lord Wutenzar Zhon, while he was on his way to visit a close friend (a blood-brother), keen to oversee (manage) an urgent matter, in Korion.  She’d later been named Ingrit and lawfully adapted by Asger’s Lord father, when despite year’s intense investigation, her true lineage had remained a mystery. Asger thus, was not Nevetsecnuac’s (Svein’s) biological maternal uncle.

When Ingrit grew up and was 17 years old, by then an exquisite beauty, during an annual Royal hunting expedition, as the two children had accompanied Lord Zhon, she’d caught the eye of Prince Shon and the two had fallen deeply in love. A few years later, overcoming many obstacles, the loving pair had been happily married off and a year and a half later, they had Nevetsecnuac (Svein).

Asger then proceeded to relay succinctly, the subsequent, true version of state affairs at the time (politics), which had adversely shaped Nevetsecnuac’s benevolent grandfather's reign and instigated (caused) the altruistic (humane) Monarch's downfall.

"First there were the prolonged wars, lasting over a decade, with powerful neighbors like Julge to the north, Tunesar in the north-east, and Senje in the east. 

Then the cataclysmic natural disasters came to pass: the powerful earthquakes that leveled whole towns to rubble and floods that ravaged the river plains.  The already tottering economy was devastated, and the strength of the central government was greatly taxed.”

“This precarious time had, meanwhile, further empowered the rising influence of Grand Field Marshal Zakhertan  Yozdek , who’d lead an army of several million on successful campaigns against Julge and Tunesar and by doing so, restored our lost territories and pushed them back to more natural borders.  Zakhertan next had marched his army straight to Senje and annexed that kingdom.  The tribute and booty from these campaigns strengthened the treasury for a time and in due course augmented Field Marshal’s own popularity with both the people and the court.” Asger took a puff from his pipe, before resuming.

"In Imperial Capital Channing, the Inner Chancery, which was charged with the responsibility of presenting policy options to His Highness Zuronghan Alric Therran Valamir, was gradually taken over by the Yozdek aristocracy with the full support of Prime Minister Morvald and Grand Secretary Lu Therkan.   His Higness Zuronghan Alric Therran Valamir was gradually by then relegated to the status of a mere figurehead; lending an ear to rumors (false or fabricated accounts) he was opportunely alienated even from the Crown Prince Langley.  Prince Langley was well loved by the people and his peers; he was an upright, brilliant tactician and a fine warrior. Because of his sagacity (shrewdness) and farsightedness, he posed a real danger to the ambitious Yozdek clan. Time being ripe, Yozdek faction decided to first illuminate this threat; before they instigated their bold action and worked to underhandedly gain effective control of Wenjenkun .”

"At the time Crown Prince Langley, who excelled in archery and was very fond of hunting, whenever his responsibilities allowed him, he with a group of loyal childhood friends, I would say, two or three times a year, held an affable competition of hunt at the Royal Game Preserve (forested, high-altitude ambit, sphere, sanctuary) on the outskirts of the city. “

02- CROWN PRINCE LANGLEY

 On that fateful day, during the hunting trip, after having spotted a rare white stag, Prince Langley took off after it (in lightning speed) in full gallop, leaving the rest of the riders far behind, who had no hope of matching the speed of his fine stallion. “

“Now come to think of it, I believe Fourth Prince Ruen was among the party that day.  Nevertheless, when the stag dove into the depths of dense woodland, Prince Langley recklessly led his horse after him in hot pursuit.  By the time the rest of the hunting party reached the prince, they were horrified to discover him gasping his last breath, mumbling something about a huge snake raining   down on him, his head lying in a pool of blood and a trampled adder nearby testifying as to the events.  It was presumed that his frightened mount had bolted detecting the snake slithering on one of the branches overhead and had thrown the prince onto the sharp-edged rocks which littered the area.”

“Suspecting foul play some ardent friends (and courtiers) stayed behind to meticulously search the area, in the hope of collecting incriminating evidence or finding the culprit; but their concerted efforts provided them with only a torn piece of homespun cotton that inevitably led to nowhere.”

"The untimely death of the heir apparent consigned the aging Monarch to his bed, stricken with a malady of the heart.  Rumors circulated at the time claimed that His Highness' affliction was, in fact, induced by his own physicians, under the coercion of the Prime Minister."

"The Prime Minister Morvald that had been colluding with the Yozdek faction....  It is clear who’d been behind that scheme.” Nevetsecnuac grumbled.

Asger nodded thoughtfully. “You would think so, but certain findings later, rumors really, cast the suspicion on Third Prince Vidar instead.  Some claimed he was also involved in the conspiracy against the Crown Prince.  He apparently was under the assumption that he would be next in line to ascend to the throne."

 After clearing his throat Asger once more commenced with his narrative.  "Zakhertan  Yozdek, a national hero, returning from his victories with the borders secured and more lands added to the kingdom Wenjenkun, took advantage of the Monarch's indisposition and, relying on his immense popularity, laid siege to the Capital.  Moments after His Highness, Zuronghan Alric Therran Valamir passed away, while the Royal Family was still in shock and mourning by his bedside, Zakhertan  Yozdek marched unopposed into the palace and seized the throne.” 

03- ZAKHERTAN YOZDEK

“This self-proclaimed Emperor deeming his act, the Mandate of Heaven, in a move designed to consolidate his power, subsequently passed his first evil edict which placed the entire Imperial Clan of the true Monarch under the executioner's blade.  The newly appointed heir apparent Second Prince Tzen, as well as Third Prince Vidar, were murdered shortly afterwards along with subordinate Princes and members of the Royal House of Valamir."

Through misted eyes, Asger related how many had chosen to commit suicide to deny Zakhertan the pleasure of directing their demise.

"So, all, without exception, perished?” Nevetsecnuac murmured solemnly.

"Not all.” Asger rejoined (responded) desisting tears.

 "Fourth Prince Ruen had been inexplicably absent, Fifth Prince Guylar had sent his son, Wuke, in his place due to a lingering illness which made travel impossible, and your father, Seventh Prince Shon had fortuitously as well, been elsewhere at the time.”

"Fifth Prince Guylar had unavoidably suffered much at the hands of the Yozdek Clan.  Earlier still, Prime Minister Morvald and Third Prince Vidar had launched a vile scheme to repudiate Prince Guylar.  They renounced Guylar and his absence from court to the Old Monarch, claiming that he was not ailing, that his infirmity was shammed, (sickness faked) as cover for his planning a rebellion.  They accused him of having grown too overbearing and dangerously strong away from the keen eyes of the court and they lost no time in presenting fabricated proof of this claim.  They offered exaggerated numbers of the occasions Prince Guylar had failed to respond to a summons from the court, supposedly drawn from the palace records, and added to it reports of the prince’s arms buildup, necessary to repel the border tribes, altered in such a way to also make this appear most suspicious.”

“These potent innuendoes of Prince Guylar's alleged conspiracy to foment rebellion had evidently caused His Royal Highness to fly into a rage.  Guylar's son Wuke, upon his arrival at the capital, was immediately incarcerated and an officer of the court was dispatched with credentials and the Imperial Tally to affect the prince’s arrest.  Before the officer's arrival, however, Guylar was informed of his dangerous predicament and, gravely ill already, in his indignation hastened his end (chose to end his own life) by forsaking all medication.  Sadly, his wife, sons and daughters were all taken away to the Capital under arrest, where they arrived just in time to be executed by the new emperor Zakhertan  Yozdek."

"What about Fourth Prince Ruen?” Nevetsecnuac asked, hoping that at least one uncle had survived.

"I don't rightly know.” Asger confessed.  “Again, there were rumors, but I cannot attest to their validity (legitimacy).”

“I still would like to know.” Nevetsecnuac interposed.

"Keep in mind, what I am about to disclose is only a supposition.”  Asger warned.

 "Once, during an informal (gathering) feast, Zakhertan  Yozdek had allegedly boasted of killing the said Prince in a most gruesome manner, but, when prompted, he’d refused to divulge the details.  Since Prince Ruen has never been seen or heard from hence, many had concluded that the rumors had to have been based on the truth.  Great many however disputed this claim (claimed otherwise), stating that Prince Ruen a distinguished warrior, an eccentric sort and an ardent lover of adventure, who frequently under disguise traveled to the furthest frontier regions of the kingdom in search of new thrills, was on yet another such escapade. I cannot support or deny this.” Asger shook his head.

04- PRINCE RUEN

"I did not know the prince personally.” Asger hid his true dislike of this selfish, reckless Prince with this disclaimer.  What will it serve to dredge up the unpleasantness of the past, and strain Nevetsecnuac's already tenuous connection to his dead family?  Some things are better left unsaid. 

Left unspoken also was the violent clashes of Asger’s and Prince’s personalities, how they both had countless disagreements and oftentimes quarreled, in the end settling to a mutual avoidance of each other.

“Some claimed he was a brilliant scholar.” Asger grimly looked away for a spell. “And that Prince Ruen insisted on uncovering the true knowledge that lay, not with the institutions of learning, but in the remote mountains with the hermits.”

 Hah, that was a laugh!

 “Often seeking this lifestyle, he would be absent from the court and palace."

In truth, it was but an effective cover for his vile deeds.  Asger inwardly scoffed, but at the outset with an even tone he’d resumed with his narrative.

"So, when the sovereign fell ill during one of these sojourns, Prince Ruen could not be contacted and summoned to his deathbed.  To date no one has heard from the prince, so assumedly, he too perished, perhaps from the elements.” 

Nor do I care what happened to that faithless brute!  Asger dismissively waved his hand; then quickly changed the subject.

"Your father, Seventh Prince Shon, was a brilliant scholar with a retentive memory.  His kindly, circumspect and unassuming manner cloaked his political and military genius, and he avoided any contention for power.  Prince Shon was seen by the court as unmotivated, weak and rather obtuse and was largely ignored by all, both high and low.  Yet, when it came time to awaken the Old Monarch to the existing danger posed by the Yozdek Clan, it was he who spoke up first.  Others, even Crown Prince Langley who despised the Yozdeks and harbored long secret desires to sweep them out of power once he was enthroned, shrunk from saying anything.  Your father, even at the young age of sixteen, had the prescience, discernment and foresight to rightly predict the future outcome of things.

05- PRINCE SHON  (AT 16 YEARS OLD)

 With bold determination he forsook his disguise and, in a private audience, risked his father's anger to try to persuade him to guard against the Yozdek Clan and curb their core power or, failing that, abdicate his throne in favor of the Crown Prince.  The Monarch had quietly and patiently listened to all that Prince Shon had to say yet remained unconvinced.  After a brusque promise to consider the matter, he abruptly dismissed your father.”

"'I will be banished.’ was Prince Shon's solemn prediction to his Stuard Kenny (childhood friend and confidant) once he had reached his private quarters. ‘My father could not be swayed, and my words were no doubt well documented by the Yozdek spies for the Prime Minister Morvald's repudiation.  I grieve, not for my sake, but for the sake of the many others who will suffer at the hands of the Yozdeks.'" 

Nodding thoughtfully, Asger drew a long puff from his pipe before continuing the narrative.  "Yes, just as your father had foretold, Prime Minister Morvald and others of the Yozdek Clan thereafter conspired to slander the Seventh Prince Shon to the Monarch and the Crown Prince.  They alleged that Prince Shon, despite his young age, was harboring ulterior motives and high ambitions for himself in his desire for the Monarch to abdicate in favor of his heir at just the precise time when the country was beginning   to enjoy the peace and prosperity of Zuronghan Alric Therran Valamir's benevolent rule.”

“Public orators with false accusations further incited the populace and the Monarch against The Seventh Prince Shon; once his father's favorite, the prince fell fast from His Highness’ grace.  Even Crown Prince Langley was duped and remonstrated angrily with his younger brother (from the same mother) Prince Shon, suspecting him of conspiracy and masking his selfish, wicked thoughts.  Under these circumstances it took very little for the prince to offend His Royal Highness again and, in angry reproach; two days after his nineteenth birthday, Prince Shon was stripped major part of his inherited land holdings (bequeathed to him from his then deceased mother, Princes Beatrice) and banished indefinitely to the far province of Chio.”

"Once he had traversed the jurisdiction of the Capital province there were several expected attempts on Prince Shon’s life.  After three years of failed attempts, however, the culprit Prime Minister Morvald, finally aborted his evil schemes and resolved to hold back until a more favorable time in future. In the interim, prince Shon encountering your mother Ingrit in a quiet ceremony had married his beloved.  Upon the sudden and unexpected demise of the Crown Prince Langley, His Majesty's heart softened once more, Prime Minister Morvald, speaking eloquently on the hidden virtues of the Seventh Prince Shon, persuaded His Highness Zuronghan Alric Therran Valamir to grant amnesty to your father and recall him to the Capital for his brother's funeral. “

06- PRIME MINSTER MORVALD

“The Yozdek family intended to gather all the Royal Family you see, for a swift and definite annihilation. You were only two months old when your father, always a filial son and brother, embarked with your mother and a large entourage on the return journey (to the Capital).  Since my mother was his elder sister, Prince Shon took this opportunity to have a brief visit with her; after which, my parents would have travelled alongside them to the Capital. “

“So, you are my true maternal cousin!” Nevetsecnuac took in a breath, suppressing his elation in the face of Asger’s humble demeanor and his as a matter-of-fact way of relating it.  Lord Asger was rather too preoccupied in his mind with the forthcoming subsequent facts. He halted briefly for another puff from his pipe.

“Had the way been unobstructed and their advance been conducted with normal speed they would have all reached the Palace at the time of the usurpation and succumbed to subsequent tragedy.  Mercifully however, Heaven had played its hand to foul the Yozdek family's plans, for unseasonable, torrential rains plagued the earth just after the Prince Shon and His Royal entourage crossed over the border into our province of Toren.  Given that the bridges ahead were all washed out and the roads turned into fast flowing rivers, Prince Shon was constrained to stay as our honored guest bit longer than anticipated, at least until the tempests had abated.”

"When the roads finally became passable (traversable), the day before we were all to depart, at the final gathering after repast that night, fortunately after the ladies had retired to their quarters, the news of Zakhertan  Yozdek's treachery reached us.  The eerie silence that permeated the large hall, before it erupted into loud ruckus (commotion, uproar), was quite unbelievable.”

“All our spirits, you see, had sunk into a gloom too deep to dispel, and tears welled up in our eyes; but Prince Shon with calm composure, quietly rose from his seat, walked down the steps and went outside.  Alone and away from prying eyes, gazing up at the sky, only then, he shed some silent tears. “

“This I can attest to since both my father and I had hastily followed the prince to outside.  Once there, however, reluctant to disturb His Highness, we had tactfully maintained our distance. Prince Shon, nevertheless once aware of our presence, quickly dried his eyes and coming over to my father the Prince said with dignity and humility, 'In a few days’ time, Lord Zhon, Zakhertan  Yozdek will be sending troops to apprehend us.  We rest entirely at your mercy.  You must choose whether to resist, or to hand us over to them, for even if I had been still empowered to do so, I could not, with clear conscience, ask you to risk all on our behalf.’”

"My father, advancing on his knees before the Prince Shon, cried, 'You have shamed me, Your Highness, with your doubting of my loyalty’, and then he indignantly reviled Zakhertan  Yozdek and swore to live and die at the Prince's side.  Kneeling beside my father I, also, intoned; 'Your Highness' fate shall be our own.'”

"His eyes filled with sadness, the Prince Shon bowed his head to thank father and me.  When we were all seated once more the prince said, 'This is proof that Heaven has not forsaken our Royal Family.  With your help, Lord Zhon, we may yet stand a chance.  I have well observed how your court's administration and the relationship between you and your vassals are all properly regulated. “

“There is no breach of convention or discipline here, hence your province is prospering, and its subjects are all loyal and contented.  You can depend on them to give full support to your decision to resist; however, one province cannot hold its own against an entire country.  Therefore, it is my contention that we urgently seek alliances with other Lords.' “

“Father concurred and immediately sent several envoys laden with rich gifts to our neighboring provinces urging them to join with us against a common enemy, but they were all too cowed to respond when their turn came.  Each shamefully bowed their head and quietly submitted to the new regime.”

“Lord Shonne Gulbrand happened to be gravely ill at this time; he was in fact at death’s door. He suspected later, and told me as much, that his own immediate family taking matters into their hands had deliberately incapacitated him, to prevent him from aligning   with us and to ensure their own survival.”

"Left on our own to defend our principles, with all exits from Toren now blockaded, father summoned his advisors for a War Council.  According to their recommendations, fortifications around Chenko city were reinforced, strong archers were placed on the cliffs on either side of the River Yulan to defend its narrow pass, and Nanku Pass was blocked.  Strongly entrenched, we stockpiled supplies in Chenko, preparing for the long siege.  By the time the Yozdek forces reached Toren, father's generals had rallied several thousand good fighting men to defend our province along with the peasant auxiliary.”

"Yozdek's forces attacked in strength, but our army put up a stiff resistance and drove them back.  Then a greater force was mobilized in the Capital under the command of Grand Marshal Gustav Erling and was ordered to destroy us entirely if we resisted. “

 

(END OF SECTION 13)

 

                                                                    ……

 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? 

SVEIN

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.

STARK (ASGER)

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.

BRANDT

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 beast); therefore, negating any necessity of a proper burial or pursuit of the remains. 

                                                                                                            

                                                                      ~

 

(END OF SECTION 7)

 

LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE WEDDING - SECTION 7

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC

THE WEDDING - SECTION 7

In the small hours of the night when all were fast asleep and not a soul stirred, Duan quietly rose from his bed and stole into Souko Yeru’s room.  With contempt in his eyes, he severed the head with one merciless stroke, without waking Souko’s companion that shared his bed.  Instantly the pillow and the bedding were dyed crimson red.  With the coolness of the assassin, Duan wiped his sword’s blade clean on the quilt and then withdrew from the room, not disturbing the cat sleeping just outside their door.

Slipping back to his room, Duan began packing the supplies and some of his belongings; Brandt, fortunately a light sleeper, jumped from his bed with a start and very much afraid to be left behind, hastily followed suit.  Nothing untoward in Duan’s manner warned Brandt of the murder.  Since Duan never had breakfast, another hardship which Brandt was forced to bear; the two quickly and quietly descended the stairs and made their way to the stables in back.

Riding two fine chargers, one black and one red-brown, Brandt and Duan passed quickly through the deserted streets well before cock’s crow, as the day’s first light began breaking.  When they cleared the town’s gates, which were almost never closed or locked, they encountered a level stretch of wild fields stretching out into the distance where they changed into wavelets of low-lying hills, some decked with trees, some stripped bare to supply the town with fuel and building material.

“Look,” Brandt pointed (his riding crop) off into the hills, “another early riser; I wonder who he could be?”  After fixing his gaze on the back of the rider, he nodded his head and answered his own question.  “But of course, it’s that remarkable youth I conversed with at the tavern yesterday.  The one called Audun Colden, the false lead I told you about.” Frowning, he looked at his companion. But Duan, appearing somewhat distracted paid scant attention to the rest of Brandt’s words.  His eyes narrowed to slits, as he suspiciously followed the stranger’s advance in the far distance.  Inwardly he questioned a premonition, tinged with misgivings that had suddenly gripped his heart.  He vacillated on whether to pursue this Audun person or not, when just then Svein’s horse suddenly reared then galloped forward at lightning speed.  Within minutes both rider and horse had been reduced to a mere speck, leaving only a long trail of dust behind them. 

When the dust completely settled and their vision was no longer obscured, the lone horseman had totally disappeared.  Duan knew that there was a fork in the road up ahead, with each branch rounding the hills in different directions.  With the gale force winds fast sweeping away (obliterating) any existing tracks, they would doubtless squander unwarranted time before construing with measure of certainty the stranger’s path.  Better to follow this other, more tangible lead; than tracking this youth on the sole basis of a hunch.

                                                                                    ~

 With the incessant wind moaning in his ears and flailing away at his face, Svein had held tightly to the reins, anxious only about the security of the bundles.  After several hours of riding at this speed, however, his stomach threatened to discharge the breakfast the innkeeper had pressed on him.  When Fiery Comet finally slowed down, well after clearing the hills and the forest beyond them, Svein found himself once more in the wilderness, far removed from any civilization, not even a lonely woodcutter’s hut.

“Whoa… What brought this on?” Svein pulled on the reins and, presently, managed to halt the steed.  Then leaning over, he affectionately patted Fiery Comet’s neck and asked,

 “What was wrong, dear friend?  What made you hasten so, without my command?” 

But, lacking human speech, Fiery Comet neighed and whinnied, his hooves churning the ground twice to make him-self understood. He was already covered in pearls of perspiration and did not need this added exertion. 

As it were, Svein, with his keen senses, had already picked up the presence of the two riders in pursuit. Furthermore, he’d discerned the reason for the horse’s initiative; still, he could not resist teasing Fiery Comet.

 “Up to your old tricks, I see.” he smiled as he dismounted.

 “All right then, let us rest for a bit before having another go at it.”  Still chuckling, he led the horse to the fast-flowing river. 

Securing his footing, he squatted, cupped his hands, and started to drink the water and wash his face.  The wind puffed up his sleeves and flailed his loosened hair furiously against his wet face, obscuring his vision. 

He heard Fiery Comet’s approach but ignored it.

 The horse, annoyed at Svein’s earlier taunting, stopped quite close to Svein’s side but, instead of quenching his thirst, in one quick move he simply shoved Svein headlong into the river.

 

“What’s the matter with you?  Can’t you take a joke?”  Svein cuffed (smacked, thwacked) the water in pretend fury. Fortunately, Svein was an accomplished (proficient) swimmer and therefore well able to manage the deep, fast-flowing currents of the river.

 Showing his teeth, Fiery Comet just whinnied in reply. 

“Oh well, you did me a favor.  I needed cooling off.”  Good naturedly forgiving the horse for his insolence, Svein then dove in and around and had an exhilarating few more laps of swim.

Fiery Comet quenched his thirst despite the interruptions when Svein drew near, expecting certain retaliation from him, then contentedly set to feeding on the lush green grass flanking the riverbank.  He had worked up quite an appetite from all that exertion.

At last, having cleared the sky of clouds, the wind died down and now with the midday sun blazing in all its glory, once more began to scorch the earth’s surface, sending all frolicking wild inhabitants of nature into the shade.  Emerging from the water by then chilled to the bone, Svein (shed) divested his wet clothes and hung them on the lower branches to dry, then spread out on the soft, already drooping grass for some warmth.  Soon the heat proved uncomfortable for him however, and he joined Fiery Comet for a well-earned respite under an ancient tree that had spread its generous shade to accommodate them both.

                                                                                        ~

                                                          

Svein’s sooner than anticipated safe return, delighted both Stark and Teuquob.  This short parting had endeared prospective couple still more to each other.  The bashful exchange between Svein and Teuquob barely contained the bursting affection and joy each carried in their heart for the other.  The great warmth and love that flooded the room gladdened Stark’s heart, but the air of contentment was overshadowed by Stark’s discernment that something unusual had transpired with Svein on this journey.  Nevertheless, Stark’s reserve constrained him, and forestalled his inquiry until the following morning when they could converse in private out of earshot of Teuquob.

At the conclusion of their routine martial practice, before Svein could find the words to broach his concern, Stark sat himself down quietly on a fallen tree trunk, and then motioned Svein to do the same, after which he acknowledged his perception and encouraged Svein to speak his mind without reserve.

“Uncle, does the name Brandt Dustin mean anything to you?” Svein burst forth with his question.  He did not expect Stark to know Brandt, but perhaps the family name Dustin could recall to Stark’s mind an old enemy.  Svein knew his uncle had an impeccable memory.

“No, I know no one by that name.” Stark obligingly replied then, affixing his questioning eyes on Svein, patiently waited for an explanation.

“Then, as I supposed, he must have given me a false name.” Svein muttered to himself then, mindful of his rude behavior, he quickly apologized and related the entire encounter with Brandt that night at the tavern.  As he did this, he kept his uncle under scrutiny, searching for the answers to his silent questions, but much to his disappointment, Stark’s expression underwent no change.

Just then, for a fleeting moment, Svein thought that he had detected and inkling of a grave look that had registered in his uncle’s eyes.  Encouraged by this, he pushed further to get results.  Falling on his knees before his uncle he, in an emotional outburst, implored Stark for enlightenment.  What measure of importance was Lord Asger Thuxur Marrog Zhon to him?  Was his uncle bound to this Lord by loyalty and respect, out of friendship or fealty?  Since, admittedly, the other of the twin swords was in Stark’s possession, how had Stark come by it?  Svein’s entreaties had erupted in a ceaseless flow of emotion, leaving Stark no word in edgewise.

Stark’s face flushed with anger as he sprung to his feet, freezing Svein’s next set of questions in his mouth.

“Such insolence, how dare you act so weak?” he stormed at Svein.  “Get up at once!”

In obedience Svein complied but an uninvited resentment flooded his heart.  Surely Uncle owes me some explanation.  Why must I abstain from raising these questions? Why is Uncle being so obstinate and closed-minded?  I’m old enough to be wed in two days’ time hence, can I not then be trusted to assimilate and then confront any situation, however grave, however shocking?

 Instead (of airing these however,) he apologized to his uncle for speaking out of turn.

Stark had anon (almost immediately after) regretted his outburst and now softened his disposition; he nodded his head and stroked his beard thoughtfully.  Then, after a momentary silence, which seemed more like an hour to Svein, he ejected in a more conciliatory voice, “Svein, it is with good reason that I must insist on you showing more restraint.”

 He again paused at length for emphasis.  “Please expend more effort to curtail your curiosity.  The knowledge you seek will be imparted to you at the proper time, when I shall be better disposed.”

“I will refrain from making such transgressions, Uncle.” Svein acquiesced in earnest.

“Good.  Let us now forget all about it and return without delay, there are a lot of details to be seen to before a proper marriage ceremony could transpire.”  So, saying, Stark started towards the bath cabin. 

As it happens, ever since Teuquob’d come to live with them, for the sake of modesty, certain routines had to be altered or entirely changed- one such was the fact that they no longer indulged in bathing in the nearby stream during the hot summer months.

As they washed beyond the partition Svein recalled Brandt’s reference to the Yukorskyi fighting style and briefly requested Stark to instruct him in it the next time they practiced, believing his uncle to be the master of all existing fighting styles.  In past, from bits of information received from his uncle during their casual conversations, he had concocted his own theories about his uncle’s past vocation, deeming him to be anything from a scholar with military prowess, to a military advisor, instructor, minister of war, field marshal or simply a general in the imperial army.  His uncle’s qualifications certainly attested to the validity of any of these titles.  The absence of response from Stark constrained Svein to remain silent and his thoughts once more reverted to Teuquob.

In truth, as Stark had emptied the buckets of cold water over his head letting the ripples course down his body, in uncharacteristic dissociation from the present, he’d begun seeing in his mind’s eye (envision) the unfolding pictures and scenes from the pages of his past. Subsequently, as he rubbed his body clean, he absentmindedly caressed the stump of his severed arm; at that juncture he was transported to the time of a singular incident that had changed his life forever.

He was on a tall, precipitous cliff, its summit crowned in frigid, feathered mists. At this high elevation, the thin atmosphere made one lightheaded. Still clad in his court gown, the child held in his arm and sword in hand, he was scattering his assailants to either side of him like petals in the wind.  Though he had always fought with two swords, being indisposed, the other rested in its sheath.

 He fought on foot for his horse had long been lost to him, brutally maimed then forced off the cliff into the abyss.  He was one against many, and their numbers could not be extinguished.

 With such odds stacked against him, despite his excellent prowess he was nevertheless forced into a defensive position, with his formidable foe, the one man who equaled, if not surpassed his own skill in swordsmanship, Grand Marshall Gustav Erling, close at his heels.

Brilliant tactician Stark had retreated up a narrow goat’s path that allowed only one man at a time to ascend; the Marshall’s army unable to flank Stark, fidgeted helplessly behind the Marshal like the long body of a serpent several miles in length, swords drawn, ready and anxious for a chance to fight. 

Grand Marshal Gustav Erling clashed swords so fiercely with Stark that cold, blue streaks of lightning cracked at every meeting of their blades.  Stark was again forced to retreat to still higher and higher ground to escape the Marshall’s deadly strikes, many of which were directed at the innocent child in Stark’s embrace.

“Why pursue this hopeless course. Unless you sprout wings and fly away, there is no place you can run to for safety.  Surrender now and I will show you mercy.”

“And the child, will you extend that mercy to the child?”

“I’m sure something can be arranged.”

“Not good enough!”

The life and death struggle thus had raged on ceaselessly for more than half a day on that ascending goat’s path. At times the trail was so tapered that Stark’s footing barely stable, dislodged rocks at the edge of the precipice and pieces of earthen debris, giving way, tumbled to the depths to be swallowed up in the fast-flowing river.

Once more, Grand Marshall Gustav Erling made a lightning thrust and again Stark parried it with equal agility. Despite the expanded effort and the unwavering intensity neither of them seemed to be abating in strength or stamina. Neither of them would succumb to defeat or capitulate.

 In order to break the stalemate, the most renowned marksman, who had been led close to the front of the serpent, now took careful aim and loosed his arrow.  But Stark nimbly deflected it with his sword letting the shaft glance off the cliff, and then with incredible dexterity he intercepted every one of Gustav Erling’s subsequent strikes and lunges.

With agile sideways turn, Stark escaped the next lethal arrow, just in time to parry Marshall’s sword.  At that point a newly loosened shaft, taking flight, missed its mark and by providence, pierced Marshall’s arm instead, rendering his left side momentarily useless.

 As he cursed them, with his eyes riveted on Stark, at lightning speed he yanked the arrow out and continued with his attack; he would be damned if he let a little thing like this get in the way of capturing his nemesis. 

03- GRAND MARHALL GUSTAV ERLING

Interlocked in fierce combat with Grand Marshall Gustav Erling, Stark smiled wryly. Now at least they were equally matched. Moreover, this blunder would discourage the elite marksmen from discharging any more arrows, let along using poisoned arrows.

More time elapsed with the exchange of blows ensuing with all its ferocity. Then, as if fate had to (intercede) play its hand, the child squirmed and let out a sharp cry at the very instant more earth partially dislodged (gave way) under Stark’s feet.  Jumping to safety and steadying himself, with his attention temporarily distracted (sidetracked) by the child, he’d unavoidably presented a singular opportunity to his ardent foe.

In that fleeting moment, having failed to intercept Gustav Erling’s deadly strike, the Marshal’s blade sliced clean through bone and flesh severing Stark’s arm just below the elbow.

That scene– with the hand still gripping the hilt of the sword, arching over the cliff and spiraling downward into the depths- had played out in slow motion a hundred times since, in Stark’s mind.

At present, blood spurted from the stump dying his light blue garment a crimson red.  Pressing the child closer to his chest, he turned and fled towards the summit, as retreat now became his only viable option.

With roaring laughter, Marshall Gustav Erling pursued Stark, shouting his demands for Stark to cease his running and to surrender, with intermittent words of assurance that the child would not come to any serious harm.  But Stark was not swayed, for he knew only too well the cruelty of Marshall Gustav Erling, and how he could not be relied upon for mercy, despite any dispensed promises of amnesty.  His own salvation was of little consequence to Stark, but the child’s safety was paramount, and in keeping with that faith so many had sacrificed so much already, to afford this precious being a chance at life… How can he let all that be in vain?

  Reaching the end of the path, he halted, for sheer rocks rising ahead made any advance impossible.  Left defenseless, with nowhere else to retreat, Stark had to make a quick decision.

Though providence (destiny) presented this paltry chance, if any, of survival, it was still a preferable alternative to surrendering to that treacherous Gustav Erling, to in the end die ignominiously and by so doing, give satisfaction to that bloodthirsty usurper.

Determinedly thus, with the child clutched to his torso, and before Marshall Gustav Erling could reach him, he’d hurled himself and the child over the sheer cliff’s edge into space.

Gustav Erling had stamped his feet and cursed furiously in Stark’s imagination. 

And so it came to pass that both Stark and the child were airborne and with winds as their wings they floated in descent, providentially averting the jagged rock protrusions.

 The Gods were indeed merciful to them on that day and after some while (of flight) they plunged unscathed into the fast-flowing depths of the frigid river.

Quickly recovering from the shock of the cold, Stark still clinging to the child, using all his might had swum upwards to clear the surface of the water. But despite his resolute effort to swim towards the bank, both he and the child had been wildly tossed about and swept far, far away by the maddening, churning currents of the river. 

In danger of drowning himself, Stark (all during this ordeal) had held the child tightly against his upper torso, pressing the child’s cheek against his, as he tried with concentrated effort to keep both their heads above rushing water.

 Inwardly his heart had been laden with concern and unwanted dread, for the infant’s vital signs appeared so weak, his conscious state tentative and hardly a sound, not even a gurgle, had emerged in a long while from the poor thing. Just then however, the most welcome piercing cry both assured and comforted Stark.  In the interim, the tears of gratitude that flowed down his cheeks quickly got wiped away by the foamy waters flailing against it.

Despite the loss of blood, he strove hard not to lose consciousness and steer his body towards the weaker currents, the eddies where they would stand a better chance of escaping the enormous falls, whose sound now roared in his ears. 

Succeeding in this task, Stark let himself be swept away by the secondary currents, their heads from time to time bobbing in an out of the foamy turbulence.  Had Stark not been a champion swimmer, he and the infant would have surely perished in the torrent.

Subsequently, they were carried over the lesser falls, escaping the main cataract, and dumped into a basin from which the river meandered onto more level ground.  Further expended energy enabled Stark to pull himself and the child to safety on the muddy bank of the river.

At once Stark set to binding his severed arm with strips cut from his undergarments and stopped the incessant bleeding.  No sooner had he completed this task than, already pale and seeing stars before his eyes, he’d collapsed against his will into a state of deep unconsciousness.

When he revived (regained his senses), it was already twilight.  Cast onto this deserted embankment, the child’s bawling was the only sound that interrupted the enveloping silence of the surrounding air. The eerie atmosphere, in fact, was quite unnerving, foreshadowing the ominous future.  Quickly pressing the famished, bawling infant to his chest for warmth, he’d allowed him to suck on his finger as he rose to survey the surroundings.

Casting his eyes on the sky above him, he saw at once that a severe storm was brewing.  There was no time to waste; he had to secure some form of shelter. 

He could barely make out some thatched roofs among tall trees beyond the surrounding soaring bulrushes and reeds that flanked the river on both sides.  Without a moment’s hesitation he delved into the thick vegetation, the child now secured at his back, pushing his way towards the thatch cottage where he hoped to acquire some information as to his whereabouts and obtain proper sustenance for the baby.  Racing to the spot, mindful of the impending storm, he paid scant attention to the stabbing pain of his legs, compounded further by the thrashing, slashing of the sharp edged, thorny undergrowth.  But he had underestimated the distance, for halfway there came a loud ‘Crack’ as the ominous sky tore open with crashing thunder. Just then another bolt of lightning found its mark, this time only a few yards away, bringing down an ancient tree which barely missed them in its fall.

All the while mounting demented winds tossed and thrashed the willow branches and Stark alike, making Stark quite unsteady on his feet.  ‘Crack, Crack’, again and again the air was repeatedly split by the peals of thunder and lightning bolts.

 Once more they were drenched, this time by torrential rains which instantly turned the ground under Stark’s feet into streams of mud.  Slipping and sliding, Stark relentlessly pushed on.  Eventually the rain tapered off, but the night which cast the earth into pitch darkness, with the moon hidden behind some persistent clouds, presented yet another hindrance to Stark’s advance.  Blindly, in part groping about, he led himself in the general direction of the thatched hut.  When he stopped for a moment to catch his breath, something furry brushed against his leg and nibbled at his feet.  Fortunately, a swift kick was all that was needed to scare it away.                                                                 

 “Would you be much longer uncle?” Svein’s sudden query snapped Stark from his trance.

“What?  Oh...no.  I’ve nearly finished,” Stark hastily responded.  “You go on ahead, Svein, I’ll be there presently.” 

As another bucket of water emptied over his head, Stark’s thoughts once more reverted to the past.

Overjoyed to learn that the region that the river had cast him out upon was near the border of one which rested under the authority of Lord Shonne Gulbrand, he had, from then on, pushed with renewed exuberance (zeal) towards the Lord’s country estate; this, after he had exchanged his rich garments with the local peasant’s in order to thwart any or undue suspicion along the way.

LORD SHONNE GULBRAND

Now, as he slowly dressed, Stark’s thoughts succinctly trailed over the countless hardships and obstacles he had endured and overcame before finally reaching his destination.  Recalling his old friend’s warm greeting and the kindness and support he had received, at the risk to Lord Shonne Gulbrand’s own family’s wellbeing and security, Stark’s eyes became moist once more with tears of gratitude and longing. Wiping them away, he slipped on his footwear and hastened towards the main cabin where a hot breakfast now awaited him.

                                                                                           ~

 

When the auspicious day finally arrived, in a proper wedding ceremony with Stark officiating as the master of ceremonies, Svein and Teuquob were duly married (enjoined).  After the newlyweds drank together from the paired goblet of matrimony, the three then sat down at the decorated table to partake of a kingly feast and rejoice together as one family.  That evening the cabin resounded with the cheerful sounds of laughter and merriment.

Now, Stark had never disclosed to Svein that Teuquob was of royal descent, lest Svein would feel unworthy of her and raise an objection to this union.  Teuquob, in accordance with Stark’s decision, had also maintained her silence.  Thus, it came about that it was long after this very night that Svein came to know of the truth, that on this very night he’d been wed to a beautiful princess.

At the appointed hour, on Stark’s discreet urging, the newly married couple blushingly withdrew to their specially prepared room to revel in matrimonial bliss, abandoning themselves to love and tender ecstasy. 

Loving Couple Svein and Tuquob

Stark had also retired shortly afterwards, carrying some wine with him to his room.  Enveloped in stillness he sat upon the bed, fully clothed, drinking without reserve with the peering moonlight falling through his windowsill, as his only company.

 For the first time in twenty years, he’d allowed himself the pleasure of letting go and falling into an inebriated stupor.  Gradually, however, as he emptied cup after cup, his happy state of mind gave way to one of loneliness, followed by one of deep despair.

 Unable to stop the welling tears, he wept as though his heart would break over Ivar Marrog Zhon ’s fate and the tragic loss of all those whom he had loved.

With his heart in the grip of this bitter desolation, his mind in desperation gave way to fantasy.

One by one they drifted before his mind’s eye; the lovely form of his beloved wife dressed in her favorite celadon laced brocade garment, carrying in her bosom their only son Ivar Marrog Zhon , a precious infant. How he’d loved him, how overjoyed he’d been at his birth!  He had such aspirations for Ivar Marrog Zhon.

Stark felt his heart would break into a million pieces. An enormous pain gripped his heart, such inexplicable sorrow surfaced anew to smother his conscience and soul. But he shook his head and determinedly checked his bursting emotions.   No, he must not grieve; to do so would infer that he regretted the actions he took!

Looking up, he asked forgiveness then, for his momentary lapsed sense, for his temporary weakness, and then uttered a silent heartfelt prayer for his son’s salvation and quick deliverance.

 After a time, to preserve his sanity, he strove to turn his thoughts to the joyful occasion at hand. He toasted to the newlywed’s wellbeing, whom he also loved very dearly and to their everlasting, blissful co-existence.

 But uninvited, (unsought,) once more his melancholy returned (resurfaced) and in his heart wrenching loneliness, now giving rein to fantasy, he envisioned his parents coming forth to greet him.

STARK'S FATHER

STARK'S MOTHER

His beloved (adapted) sister Ingrit, (also known as Arnora) and her husband, 7^th Prince Shon Alric Therran Valamir, and countless other relatives all, donning smiles and mouthing joyful rhetoric streamed in next, to extend their warm felicitations and congratulations to him.

They all came over in their ghostly form to visit him, filling the small room to the brim.  As they smiled and conversed gaily with him, echoing their familiar mannerisms, they appeared so real that, more than once, forgetting the truth, he’d stretch out his hand into the emptiness, to touch them. 

INGRIT (ARNORA) AND PRINCE SHON ALRIC THERRAN VALAMIR

Then the steward, appearing at the doorway, announced the arrival of his closest friends, and the family withdrew under various pretexts, leaving him to greet his friends with unrestricted familiarity.

Just as it had been in the past with their happy gatherings, they chatted and drank merrily, as if these last twenty years had never happened, with servants shuffling in and out of the room carrying more drinks, cups and trays filled with all manner of exquisite, choice dishes to delight their palate.

Suddenly Stark was in his favorite pavilion, amidst the breathtaking scenery.  Built at the foot of a majestic mountain, the Azure pavilion looked out onto an emerald lake whose tranquil ripples were etched in brilliant moonlight.  The fragrance of the exquisite flowers carefully planted around the pavilion drifted to assail his and his friend’s noses.

  In this placid atmosphere they conversed happily as they consumed (downed, drunk) cup after cup, not stopping until Stark’s eyes drooped in tiredness.  Now no longer able to carry on a straight conversation, he stumbled over his words, causing his guests to break into waves of laughter and jest; yet they were in no better a state than he.  Together they roiled in laughter till they felt their sides were splitting.

“Enough… ha, ha, ha… that’s enough!  Stop jesting, I can’t bear it any longer!”  Kunig, the youngest of the bunch, pleaded with them to stop with their antics, while clutching his kidney as he rolled himself into a ball.

“Gentlemen,” at this point the conscientious Lord Shonne Gulbrand suddenly rose to his feet to announce, “the hour has grown rather late, and I fear we have overstayed our welcome.”

Then, pointing to Stark, “Look, our host is tired.  Let us take our leave now and allow him some respite (to gain some rest).  If providence allows it, we will meet again in the not-too-distant future.”

“I would like to invite all of you to my country estate in three days’ time.  That is, if it’s agreeable to all.” Chion suddenly suggested, also rising to his feet.

“Excellent.”, all, nodding their heads, voiced their assent.  Then, rising to their feet, one by one they came over to bid Stark their farewells.

“Please don’t go, I’m all right, really! “Stark, blushing with shame, cried out within. He strove so hard to rise up, to detain them a while longer but, as if stymied by an invisible force, try as he might, to his great consternation he could neither lift his head from his pillow, nor could he part his lips to utter a single nuance of plea for them to stay.

 It was as though he had been struck down, crushed under tons of earth; all he could manage instead was to shed tears of regret at their parting, bearing the knowledge in his heart that they would never meet in this earthly domain again.

 

When the sun’s burning rays reached his eyes from the small opening of the window it woke him with a start.  He was greatly surprised to learn the lateness of the hour.  Despite the great heat, however, his head rested on comfortable coolness.

 Odd, how did my pillow get so drenched? He mused as he rose to his feet, forgetting his previous night’s sorrow. 

He hastily washed his face and hands, combed his hair, put on a clean set of garments, and then went out to greet the newlyweds, donning a broad smile and a cheerful face. 

That late morning the joy that Svein and Teuquob’s beaming faces brought to him was boundless and renewed his hope for a promising future.

 (END OF SECTION 7 – THE CONCLUSION OF BOOK 5, THE WEDDING)