Author's Notes: Hello and welcome to the second installment of my story, which happens to be a flashback, of all things… though it's not as completely random as it might seem at first glance. :) BlueTrillium helped me to rid this chapter of typos and other mistakes, and I hope you'll enjoy reading it!
Chapter Two
––––––––––Six days earlier––––––––––
Albel soon discovered how difficult it was to keep his expression neutral, or at least not openly hostile, as the small column of Glyphians under his command moved at a snail's pace through the cobbled streets of Aquios. Hot, northern sun was shining down on the unfortunate knights, unaccustomed to the local climate and locked in thick cages of black metal. Their young captain, who had shamelessly ditched his ceremonial armor for a set of civilian robes, had almost found himself pitying his own squad. Almost. Even though the heat didn't bother him as much as it did everyone else, the city was still filled with plenty of things capable of irking his nerves beyond measure.
The crowds on both sides of the road rippled and buzzed like a giant nest of hornets. Hundreds of people had gathered outside to watch the Glyphians pass through the streets of their hometown, and there was no small amount of heads poking through the buildings' upper windows. The spectators filled the air with a cacophony of voices. They kept pointing their fingers at the foreign riders, discussing every single detail they were able to spot, exchanging remarks colored with various shades of fear, contempt, awe and plain curiosity.
Albel could deal with the staring just fine, but he found the noise to be unbearable. Lots of Aquarians had apparently decided to leave the old animosities behind, and they cheered at the top of their lungs, blessing the future royal couple. Some tried to raise hostile shouts, but they were quickly pacified by the local guards, who knew how to use their spears. Little children, blissfully oblivious of the atrocities associated with the recent war, squealed in delight at the sight of colorful pennants and the knights' impressive armor. Many bawled their eyes out when they lost their parents among the rabble.
Some Aquarian, mercifully hidden from view by the crowd—mercifully, because Albel swore he would later hunt the man down and rip his tongue out if only he could see his damn face—was singing and blowing a trumpet by turns, unbothered by the complete lack of musical skills on his part. He quickly fell silent, though, perhaps strangled by his own compatriots.
Albel was just about to give his thanks to the nonexistent gods for having mercy on him and gagging the trumpeter, when a small girl in the front row screeched: "Mama, lummy!" in a voice so loud and piercing that the captain's mount shied and tried to leap away. With a considerable effort, the rider managed to pull the reins in time. He grated his teeth and leant forward to pat the animal's neck in a calming gesture, trying to calm himself down, as well. Fortunately for the child and her mother, he didn't see fit to turn around in the saddle and grace them both with a scathing glare.
"Everything alright, captain?"
Albel would have almost missed this quiet inquiry, hardly audible over the ruckus made by the merry bunch of surrounding maggots. He turned his head to the left to glower at the speaker, the only Glyphian beside him who didn't wear a full plate on this ridiculously hot day. It was Zarte Hourles, the king's so-called special emissary.
"I'm fine," he spat in return, unsure if the man had been sympathizing or mocking him; he would have none of either. "Mind your own business."
"I meant no disrespect." Zarte acknowledged the previous, snappy remark with a mere shrug that looked neither offended nor apologetic—and as usual, Albel found himself unable to read the man.
Zarte's outer appearance could serve as the model illustration of a village idiot. He was a huge, bulky man with heavy-lidded eyes, short hair and dull, unintelligent features. He seemed capable of lifting a loaded wagon with one hand, yet unable to count to ten, even with the help of his fingers.
In reality, the king's emissary was a lot smarter than he let on. The convincing façade of a dim-witted brute seemed no more than just a decoy, it hid an intelligent man with a keen sense of observation. Albel had already learned that much during their journey from Airyglyph to Aquios, even though the two men had managed to exchange barely a few words with each other, many of them following the impersonal lines of 'we leave early tomorrow', or 'pass me that bottle'. Albel appreciated the fact that Zarte kept his distance most of the time, seemingly uninterested in striking up a close friendship with him, and he tried to return the favor by acting less ill-mannered than usual, at least whenever he remembered to. Still, he found the emissary's mere presence fairly irritating. He wasn't sure how to interpret this extra company, because he wasn't so blind as to miss a spy when he saw one. So far, he had followed Arzei's suggestion and ignored the man, who, on his part, had done his best not to undermine Albel's authority and follow his command without protest, even if his status among the other riders remained questionable. The young captain wasn't sure whether Zarte accompanied him to keep an eye on the Aquarians, or to monitor the Black Brigade's actions.
The final suspicion hurt a bit, though of course he was far from registering the feeling, even in the privacy of his own mind. He hoped he had already regained the king's trust, at least to the extent where he would no longer require a damn guardian spirit constantly breathing down his neck—or a bulky, good-for-nothing helper, for that matter.
"Pardon me for pointing it out, Lord Nox, but the frown you're wearing doesn't exactly suit the occasion," Zarte observed after a moment, his lackluster eyes seemingly fixed on the growing palace walls in front of them.
Albel stirred, realizing he must have been staring at the emissary for more than just a few seconds. He swore under his breath, tore his gaze away and straightened himself in the saddle, once again turning his attention to the road ahead. "What would you have me do, wave at the crowd?" he shot back sarcastically. "With my claw, perhaps?" Bah, that final thought didn't actually sound too bad. Perhaps he could cause panic among the spectators, which might provide him with some amusement, after all.
Zarte shook his head. "I suggest no such thing, but an occasional smile would be nice."
"Do the smiling yourself if you're so hell-bent on pleasing these worms. I'll be smiling aplenty on my way out of this town, and not a day sooner."
"It's a much warmer welcome than we could've hoped for, captain."
"Yeah, and the only thing that's missing here today is perhaps a procession of scantily-clad maidens, strewing our path with rose petals." Albel resisted the urge to spit at the ground. "Who needs such a blatant farce? Half of these people are just too dumb to escape the mass-hysteria, and the other half would have gladly spat in our faces or worse, if only any of them dared to."
"Crudely put, yet perhaps true," the other man agreed. "Still, there's no need to feel ill at ease. We're the honorable guests of Her Royal Majesty, and the laws of hospitality are sacred in this land. No one will do so much as look wrong at us."
Albel shrugged. "Do you honestly think I care? I'm not feeling ill at ease, either. I'd just have this circus act done and over with."
"Your wish shall be granted soon, we're nearly at the front gates," Zarte noted, then fell silent for a longer moment, as if contemplating the back of his lum's neck. As they were passing the first keep belonging to the palace, he spoke again, "Half a year ago, I reckon, not even the oracles could've predicted such a surprising turn of events. You must've surely imagined riding these streets as a conqueror, at least once."
"When we were still in the midst of war, you mean?" Albel's lips curled up, twisting his expression into a derisive smile. "No. People must have told you, I'm a man of very limited imagination. I was concentrating on winning battles and organizing supplies, instead of bothering myself with such rubbish."
The young knight had no illusions concerning the extent of his vanity, and yet the wry declaration sounded true even to his own years. Life had already taught him not to sell the dragon's hide before the dragon was caught—an old proverb that had a more literal meaning in his case, too. The lesson had been served nearly ten years ago, leaving a burning scar upon his heart, which was unlikely to fade in time.
Nel stood among a small group of scholars, runologists and high-ranked servants who watched the Glyphians from a side balcony that faced the main palace yard. Unlike the lower classes of Aquios, easily thrilled by any event that broke the monotony of their everyday lives, these people didn't seem too excited with the riders' arrival. Only a few younger women pushed themselves close to the railing, in order to get a better view of the scene below.
"I can't believe they were allowed to ride into the town like that, fully armed and almost ready for battle," said a newly graduated runologist who stopped right in front of Nel. "Just look at their faces! I expected to see some humiliation there, but no, they all seem so stoic and proud of themselves!"
"It doesn't matter, Remada," another, taller spectator replied, without tearing her gaze away from the knights. "Everyone knows they lost the war—they know it, too. I'm pretty sure many of them are feeling rather uncomfortable at the moment."
"Well, I would hope so…"
"I know what you mean," the tall woman spoke, "but don't forget that Her Majesty expects us to give them a warm welcome."
"I'd rather not go anywhere near them," Remada announced, pausing to lean a bit over the railing. In a quieter voice, she added, "They do look kind of attractive in this armor, though. Quite different from our pathetic boys with their hesitant glances and their complexes–"
"I insist you take that final comment back, young lady!" a new, booming voice cut in.
"Sir Adray! I wasn't talking about you, of course!"
As the woman in front of Nel continued to apologize (in a slightly teasing tone, because Adray's reproach hadn't sounded genuinely angry), the Crimson Blade felt a heavy hand fall on her shoulder, followed by a gentle squeeze. She twisted her neck to see Clair's father smile down at her; she returned the friendly grin as well as she could, even if the man's proximity was filling her with an inexplicable sense of dread. The crowded balcony was giving the older runologist a perfect excuse; nevertheless, Nel didn't like the idea of having her back pressed against the man's bare chest.
"It's a good thing they rode through the streets like that," Adray said at last, turning his attention back to the other woman, who had already resumed watching the Glyphians come to a halt just before the main gate. "At least it'll give the townsfolk the impression that we'll be leaving our priestess in good hands. Isn't that right, Nel?"
"It is," she agreed matter-of-factly.
Some fifty yards away, Albel was just giving his subordinates a brief speech, his voice too low to reach the spectators' ears. Nel observed the scene with mild interest; she knew it was nothing but a standard set of orders passed among the men. Something else caught her notice, instead. Perhaps it was only the sun playing tricks on her eyes, yet the color of the captain's hair seemed a bit lighter than she had remembered.
Apparently, Adray must have seen it, too. "May I be damned," Nel heard him murmur in a hushed tone, "that lad's starting to look more and more like his father." She almost wished the man to elaborate, but her train of thought was once again interrupted by the runologists in the front row.
"So, which one of them is the infamous Wicked One?" Remada asked.
"That huge man with short hair and fists the size of your head, perhaps? He sure gives me the creeps… I'm surprised his lum won't snap in two under his weight."
Remada hesitated at her friend's guess. "Well, I don't know… He's not wearing any sort of insignia and he doesn't look like a knight to me… Maybe it's that tall brute in a suit of armor who's been riding at the head of the column? See, the one who's speaking right now? He seems wicked enough, with that ugly scar right above his eye…"
No matter how hard she gazed at the scarred Glyphian, Nel couldn't find anything wrong, let alone 'wicked' about his stature and facial expression, just as she couldn't suppress a smile at the runologists' inaccurate speculations. She was already opening her mouth to correct the two women, when Adray beat her to it.
"No, no, my dear ladies, you've got it all wrong," the graying warrior managed between barks of loud, throaty laughter. "Albel Nox is that lad to the left, who was speaking only a short while ago."
"No way! That handsome fellow is actually Albel the Wicked?"
"The very same."
"I would've never guessed it myself, either." Remada's friend sounded less surprised, yet some disbelieving tones had also crept into her words. "When I first saw him, I assumed he was just another one of the Glyphian courtiers. Why isn't he wearing any armor?"
"Oh please, I'm going to be sick," Nel muttered under her breath, too quiet to be heard by anyone in the crowd. These two, she thought, so captivated by Albel's looks, had obviously never seen him splattered with blood, laughing manically, or spitting obscenities at innocent people.
She shook her head at the women's naivety, and then turned her gaze back to the yard, where the knights were currently dismounting from their lums. For those who didn't know better, Albel could really appear somewhat harmless, especially compared with the armored, broad-shouldered men who surrounded him. He wore a black and purple tunic, embroidered with silver lilies in a few places, most probably the crest of his family. His long hair was pulled into a single ponytail that lay neatly against his back. The Crimson Scourge, hidden in its ornate sheath, looked like a pretty, ceremonial weapon, rather than the deadly relic Nel knew it to be… but even if it hadn't been for the sword, Albel was perfectly capable of disemboweling half of the onlookers with his left hand, currently hidden from view by the tunic's broad sleeve.
So much for appearances, Nel thought, feeling her lips curl up into a dry smile. The only hint that could give a bunch of ignorant viewers some clues concerning the knight's identity was the angry scowl on his face. Albel looked quite unhappy to be here, not that it surprised the younger woman in any way. She wasn't going to pity him, though.
Another pat on the back from Adray pulled her from her musings; she nearly stumbled forward under the force of that hearty blow. "Come, Nel, why don't we go downstairs to greet our friend properly?"
"He's not my friend, Adray, and I don't think he considers himself your friend, either," she pointed out flatly, turning around to face the other warrior. "If you even try to pat him like this in front of all these people, he'll kill you on the spot. Our peace treaty will go to hell and it will be partially your fault."
"I'll keep that in mind," Adray replied with a toothy grin. "Now, aren't you coming? If we hurry, we may still be able to slip into the throne chamber."
Nel narrowed her eyes and shot without hesitation, "Are you sure you're properly dressed for the occasion?"
The cheeky comment earned her a new round of laughter and a gentle flick to her nose. "Don't be so smart with me, little girl."
"I mean it, Adray. Magistrate Lasselle will have an apoplexy attack if he sees you half-naked among the nobles."
"Nonsense!" the runologist beamed cheerfully. "Let's go!"
Nel wasn't too certain whether she really needed to squeeze into an even bigger crowd just to watch Albel exchange a few strained pleasantries with Her Majesty, but once Adray's mind was set on something, the man became unstoppable. Stifling an exasperated sigh, she allowed the warrior to grab her hand and pull her out of the balcony.
Predictably enough, the throne chamber was swarming with people. This was a formal and rather unique event, after all. Nearly everyone who had at least some influence at the court had gathered inside, while warriors of lower rank, commoners and servants crowded next to the entrance.
Nel suspected that the assembly had been much bigger during the engagement ceremony three months ago. Of course, she would never know it for sure. She had been absent at that time; as far away from her hometown as possible, still fighting against the vile creatures that had been sent to annihilate their entire universe. However, no matter how drastic the situation had seemed back then, at least from her perspective, the life on Elicoor had been running its normal course all along. The war had ended the moment the Vendeeni ships had been defeated, leaving behind two exhausted countries that had badly needed some sort of stabilization. The peace treaty had had to be signed immediately. Neither ruler could have waited for a couple of misplaced subjects, even as important as the Crimson Blade herself.
Nel lost Adray about fifteen seconds after entering the chamber, not that it bothered her much. She wasted no time making good use of her rank and occasionally her elbows, in order to push her way into the front row. When she finally arrived there, unceremoniously squeezing herself between a pair of hissing, protesting nobles, the audience was already in progress.
She had expected to see a similar scene, and yet she still found it more than just slightly awkward: Albel crouching on one knee in front of the queen, the perfect picture of court etiquette. Had she ever seen him bow to his own king, let alone so low? The captain didn't keep his head down—he didn't have to, anyway—but his pose was no doubt respectful. He went through a long list of official greetings in an even tone, with a stoic expression on his face.
Nel knew him well enough to realize that he was probably seething inside, clenching his teeth to maintain the desired spectacle. She didn't even want to imagine what sort of creative threats King Airyglyph or Count Woltar had used to force the knight to behave, but she suspected that they must have dragged out some heavy arguments, indeed. At least their effort wasn't going to waste: to the most people in the chamber, Albel appeared to be nothing more than a pretty-looking, well-mannered, albeit a tiny bit impatient nobleman. He surely wasn't living up to the terrible reputation surrounding his name—not from the crowd's perspective.
Once again, Nel suppressed a sigh. If only they could have seen him on the battlefield, as she had, grinning like a madman as he cut his enemies to pieces, they wouldn't be flocking around the double doors right now.
The meeting proceeded smoothly, without any incidents, until the queen decided to end the official part and invite the captain to a private audience, where they finally would be able to have an actual conversation, instead of exchanging a set of prefabricated pleasantries. While there was surely nothing strange or unexpected about this request, Nel immediately saw the tricky part of it. Albel would not be allowed to enter the royal chambers armed. It wasn't as if the queen didn't trust him, it was just a matter of diplomatic rules… but asking Albel to part with his sword, especially that sword, was a close equivalent of teasing a scorpion, and indeed, the young captain tensed like a reptile ready to strike. Fortunately, he still had enough self-control to hold his tongue in check, as one of the palace guards moved forward to take the weapon.
Nel hesitated only for a brief moment, and then, without thinking too much, she stepped out the crowd to stride towards the Glyphian. She knew she was violating protocol with her actions—and not too soon after she had berated Adray about it—but earning herself a hundred of confused stares was better than waiting for the hostility to erupt, or having the poor guard lose his mind as a result of touching the sword's handle.
She passed the bewildered watchman and walked right up to Albel, who also seemed a bit surprised with the sudden turn of events, even though his face remained impressively blank… for him, anyway.
"Nel?" he hissed quietly when she was already very close. "What the hell are you doing?"
In a much louder tone, audible not only to the man in front of her, but also to the gathered audience, Nel replied, "Sir Albel, I will take care of your sword while you speak with Her Majesty."
Albel blinked at her, wordlessly processing the offer, then snickered under his breath. "I was going to warn that maggot, you know," he muttered. Aloud, he said, "Very well. Of course, you know what'll happen if you try to pull it out of its sheath, don't you?"
"I couldn't be too sure," she replied briskly. And in a clear voice, with a serious nod: "I do. Don't worry, the Crimson Scourge will be in good hands."
"I hope so," the knight's eyes narrowed slightly as he spoke. There was a short moment of silence, and finally, he handed her the sword, smirking. "Enjoy it, fool, because it's going to be the only time when I'm surrendering you my weapon."
"Want to bet on that one?" Another pause. "I shall meet you right after the audience," she said, curling her fingers around the golden scabbard.
"I assure you I'm looking forward to it."
Nel didn't think twice before returning the nasty smile. "…I know you are. It's nice to see you too, Albel."
End of Chapter Two
Author's Notes: Heh, aren't these two just lovely together, even when they're sort of leaping at each other's throats? ;) They still have a long way to go before they can become true friends, let alone lovers… but they'll get there eventually, I swear. :)
Mhm, I want to reassure you that I'll be continuing this story no matter what, though of course I'm counting on some feedback as means to motivate me to work faster. The third chapter is almost finished by now, anyway, so it should be posted quite soon. Stay tuned for a real continuation of Albel and Nel's adventure—and in the meantime, please review! :)
