Monday, February 14, 2011

437 - The Privacy of One's Stable

Imperial candidate constrained in a delicate position!!
Kin Immen Kazien’s Horrid Vice Revealed!!

by Tiraias Sentas fessas, Pages Staff Writer

[Tir--I’m editing this as if I believe it.  If this is some kind of insane fikken prank you are so fired your ass will be leading your teeth. -Inth]

[Second Fire come if I lie, boss.  I was there.  Though with you it’s got to be Four-thousand and Second Fire come -Tir]

On Anae 12th, a servant of Kazien’s household, to wit, his personal valet of thirty years’ service, Lindan Foldaran, gave a crowd of writers, from the Pages and elsewhere, access to his erstwhile master, while he was in mid gallop, shall we say, of his predilection.

We were guided into the basement of the Flying Horse Manor and to a cross-passageway.  “That way,” Foldaran said, indicating the passage one way, “Leads to the stables.”  He opened a door large enough to let an animal into and in the room beyond was Kazien.  At least I assumed it was Kazien for I could not immediately see the face of the man strapped to an extremely sturdy, padded bench in the middle of an elaborate cage.

He wore a head-piece shaped like a horse’s head, complete with bridle and reins lashed hard to his ankles and a luxuriant horse’s tail strapped to his hips. (See the accompanying illustration.)  “Foldaran!” he cried, and we recognized the voice immediately as Ser Kazien’s.  “How long does it take to fetch a [adjective deleted] hors...”  We had, every one of us, been stricken silent as we took in the scene before us, but we must have made some noise.

He froze for a moment in shock, then yelled out, “Help!  Help!  Arrest that man!  He hit me!  He tied me up here... he’s doing this to ruin my campaign!” among other things.  But while he tried to convince us that he was not there by his own will, Foldaran calmly called, “’Ware stallion!”

He had gone down to the stable, while we gaped, and released one of the priceless studs.  Rather than bolt for the paddock or simply stay in the stable as one might expect, this matchless beauty of an equine creature, bred for centuries by the Kazien family, trotted calmly, eagerly and rather... routinely to the room with the cage and the man. He was not being led by Foldaran.

There, to our stunned silence, the animal immediately sniffed, nuzzled, and then performed... as stallions perform, biting into the shoulders of the headpiece, that was obviously padded just for that purpose, to protect delicate human skin from large jagged teeth.  The Imperial candidate screamed as if he were in agony, but a glance between his legs from the front belied that.

After the horse had dismounted, Kazien avowed that it was normally his valet in this position, not him, and he normally just preferred to watch... but Foldaran offered immediately to be truth-drugged.  “I have lashed my erstwhile master down upon this bench every second day for nearly thirty years,” said he, “and released him after he’d had his fill.”

What Ser Kazien said at that point I must request my readers to imagine, since persons of now delicate sensibilities read, and I would never pour such filth into their eyes. Suffice it to say that Ser Kazien did not agree to be similarly truth-drugged.  In the meantime, Foldaran led the stallion, docile with happy satiation, back to its stall, and released another that was fervently aroused. He did exactly the same as the first, completely unmoved by either noise or audience.

As the second stallion was led away, a writer from the Brahnviki News asked, “Would Ser Kazien care to comment on his current chances to win the Crystal Throne?”  Again, Ser Kazien’s response cannot be printed in a respectable publication.

Shortly afterward, a small detachment of the Marble Palace guard, led by Guard Captain Kreras Saranieras, lassoed the event, corralled the remaining stallions (I remind the gentle reader that Ser Kazien has eight uncut male horses kept separated in his stable, as was revealed during his disastrous fete) and herded us all off the estate.

I ventured to ask the stern-faced Captain, should his presence be interpreted to mean that the Imperator was aware of what was happening here?

"He is," Kreras gritted, his face taut and grim.  "It is by his order I was sent to call a halt to this, and liberate Ser Kazien."

What, I asked, was the Imperator's reaction to this revelation?

"You will have to ask him that.  I do not pass on what he says in private."

The Imperator, He Whose Hand Holds the Reins of the World, confirmed that he had sent the unit on the double and commented only, "I won’t judge a candidate on personal matters. Arkans may judge for themselves when they vote."

Kazien's rival for the throne-by-election and son of the late Imperator, Minis Aan, quipped with an entirely straight face, "Should Arko decide that my honourable opponent is worthy to be Imperator, I am reasonably sure they won’t have to worry about the verbal influence of his lovers.  His worst worries now must be the straw-ballots."

Mil Torii Itzan interrupted party preparations to comment, "I... I am shocked... I am speechless... I... I am in abject pity for my poor friend Kin."

Adamas Kallen and Kallijas Itrean are out of the city on speaking tours and are unavailable for comment.
I asked Saeririas Norben, whom Ser Kazien employs to manage his campaign, how he felt this revelation would affect his employer's prospects of victory.

He had not heard about it, and when it was explained to him, simply refused to believe it, and thus no comment was immediately forthcoming.  However, his resignation was tendered the next day.

No sign of the Kazien family has been seen outside the Flying Horse, even though it is the height of the Celebratory Season. Ser Kazien has quietly announced that he has cancelled several speaking engagements.
Kazien Unbridled!

Candidate Vows to Continue the Race!
Not the Mane Event?
Apparently the singular event of Arko voting in a new Imperial line is not the mane event according to Kin Immen Kazien who did not pause in his regular assignations with his team of trained stallions.  Indeed, he did not shy at the verbal fence but seized the bit in his teeth and stoutly denied any wrong doing whatsoever.  “I have harmed no one in this.  What I do privately, as long as it does not step outside the law, is truly my business!  And no one else’s.”
It seems we are to keep government out of the privacy of one’s stable.
“One might say his political career has stalled.  Despite the favours he's curried, the race has left him at the starting gate. Not to geld the lily, but one might say his aspirations have been cut short, and those of a more daring nature can look to our rival publications for more detailed information about his stud book.”
“While many will await the more personal interpretation of the faces in his memoirs, we can only hope that the candidate in question is not the sort who kicks and tells. A political war-horse may be put to pasture... and a dark horse candidate, who perhaps wishes things had been a little darker, indeed.”
While not the first politician to have his career undone by the revelations of a sex-boy, he may take some satisfaction that, as he drives his carriage around the town, to a chorus of laughter and whistles, at least he knows that his boys are pulling their share of the load.
Lacking in horse sense, Kazien continues his steeplechase for the Crystal Throne...
One worries now if the ballot boxes will be stuffed with straw - or less appetizing contents.  Oh, the ballot-counting could get dirty, indeed...
Inensa dropped the Pages upon the floor and wiped her gloves together as if dusting them clean.  But her expression wasn’t one of disgust.  Not even the habitual blankness, but rather a slight softening, as if a smile were lurking, waiting to burst out if she ever chose to release it.
She smoothed her skirt and rose to pace decorously out to the Mahid training hall gallery and stood, looking down at the Mahid women below.  It was slow and decorous, the rigid dance-like exercise allowed.  Her own muscles and bones ached for lack of movement.  She tucked her gloves into her sleeves and walked her circuit.  I shall exercise as much as I can.  For this child in me, I wish for the right candidate to win.  If I do not swear, two of us die.
These modern children.  Faib skates.  Swimming.  An Aitzas man... she cut off that thought.  Voting.  A Mahid who acts like a fessas and his wife who professes her wishes.  Her wishes.  Reading. I am allowed to acknowledge my father. A Mahid writing poetry. I may acknowledge my son, at least for a few more days. She did not raise her hand to touch the motherstone she carried in the dress pocket.  Unsworn... uncommitted... she could not wear it.  It would not be proper.

She walked the limited route she was allowed.  She made no attempt to go elsewhere except in her mind.
That corridor leads to the gallery where Mahid women could be hidden and yet watch the faibalitz games.  Not anymore. There is no Mahid team, and possibly never will be again.  The tradition and honour died.  I remember my son, roaring through the Mahid quarter on his skates.  No carpets to trip him. I felt the tug of that speed of his.  Perhaps... one day... perhaps... no. 
I am bearing.  I am too old to learn such wild things. I recognize this breeding madness, the wish to dance in the dark, to sing to this child. To imagine.  All so unMahid.  But who is to stop me?  My father if I speak it.  I hold my silence.  Breeding madness, nothing more.

But that crude man has removed one more impediment from my son gaining the Crystal Throne.  One less barrier to him attaining his birthright and, if I may be allowed so selfish a thought, perhaps I will not need to die.  I... and this child... will not need to die.
My Great Goddess, Mother of all Arko, I pray to you as a mother, for my son, and for the new child I carry.


My thanks to Kevin for many of the articles excerpts and puns and to Karen for more puns and giving the main story that inimitable Intharas touch! And to Toast for suggesting more puns.

I would like to do a Pages article, a Man on the Street piece.  If you care to be an Arkan, let me know in the comments what your reaction is to the Horse Scandal! 


  1. I have tried to comment on the Chevenga website but I have trouble with the captcha thing and it has decided I am a bot trying to do something. It is very annoying and I am thankful that you don't use it here or I would be unable to comment to let you know how much I enjoy your writing, or how eagerly I have been following the story.

  2. Hi Kyril - if you register as a user on (which is free) you won't get hit with the Captcha. I am always eager to receive comments, so I welcome you!

  3. Kyril - further to the comment above - I realize you have to pass a Captcha to register as a user in the first place. If you have trouble doing it, let me know by commenting here and (because we know you as a long-time reader) I'll add you manually.

  4. the more Inensa slowly unbends from all the tight constraints that have been on her all her life, the more I like her as a person. Watching her unbend is a beautiful thing.

    As for the Press pages.... LOL

  5. I've always seen Inensa kind of like an overworked bonsai... tortured into shape... finally set in a bigger pot...and all the wires removed.

    We'll see...

  6. ^Love that image.

    This whole scandal thing is ludicrous.

  7. Thanks GV! Yes, it is, isn't it?