"It might, for example, be possible that in his childhood he was a little wild and disobedient and disorderly, and that those who had brought him up had declared a war of extinction against the beast in him; and precisely this had given him the idea and the belief that he was in fact actually a beast with only a thin covering of the human."
--Steppenwolf
"Every woman adores a Fascist,
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you."
--Sylvia Plath, "Daddy"
"Your father is dead, boy."
Woltar had shown him the charred corpse to prove it; a man reduced to smoking coal. The dragons found it a more than suitable punishment for his sinful pride. They left the young Albel alone as he collapsed from the pain in his arm. He awoke to find it gone, though he could still feel it burning with the dragons' flame. The pain never stopped.
"You were his only son," Count Woltar said. "He was a gruff man, that's certain, but he couldn't let you die. He loved you."
Albel felt hatred of a different kind then, and bitter contempt; though at whom he dared not acknowledge. He could blame his father for the monster that had grown within him, but a piece of him knew that the seed had been planted years ago with the birth of his pride.
The Crimson Scourge rattled against his side as he walked through the gates of Peterny. It knew. It was his hate that gave it its power and sting.
The guard eyed him warily as he passed. Albel ignored him. All these Aquarians sticking their noses in his business...
He slipped into the open door of a pub, having caught a meddling look in the guard's eye. Musky tobacco smoke filled the air, mingled with the stench of fermented hops. It calmed him in spite of himself; he tended to judge places by their scent, and the pub carried its own atmosphere as pubs do. He could easily be anywhere in Gaitt with the pine walls, flickering lamplight, and foggy windows.
Albel sat down at a lone table in the corner, meditating on fetching himself some wine. The sign just outside the door read "An Fear Mire"--"The Mad Man". He glowered at it like a bad omen.
A man was seated at the table in front of him with a tankard in his scrawny hand, facing a group of chattering merchants across the pub. Albel could hear their conversation from his corner.
"You bastards and your pipe dreams!" one of the merchants declared. He seemed to be the most sober of the lot, black hair brushing his sun-burnt nose. "It never works, does it-- you get these ideas that things are gonna get better, that you're not just wasting your life. But nothing ever happens. Nothing ever gets better. But we need to believe that they will, and that's the rub lads. All of us misbegotten children of Irisa, but at least we have our pipe dreams..."
"'Shoulda been a philosopher," another merchant drawled, "Then maybe you'd be bending the ears of the scholars at Aquios instead of us."
"That's right, make a joke of it," the philosopher-merchant said, "I don't give a damn anymore. I resign myself to apathy. It's no use anyway."
Albel listened as the other merchants laughed.
"Buncha sorry fuckers aren't they?" said a voice in his ear. Albel turned his head to see that the man in front of him had taken a seat beside him.
"Who invited you, scum?" Albel snarled.
"Rich as hell, though..." the man continued. His unkempt red beard was dark about the mouth with drink.
"Did you not hear me, or do I have to remove your head from your skinny neck?"
The man looked closely at Albel, the green of his eyes visible even in the poor light.
"I suppose I should apologize, but I couldn't resist," he said. "You looked like you needed company."
"What the hell are you doing, Zelpher? And stop using that damned voice. You sound like the Marquis."
Nel's false beard bristled in annoyance.
"We'll discuss that later." she said, still with a harsh masculine tone. "Be glad they're too drunk for you to ruin this for me."
"I didn't have to do anything, fool. You look like a whelp in those clothes."
"I said we'll discuss that later. Here." She passed him the tankard. "It's good."
When she didn't speak to him again, he took a sip. It was good.
"How have you been?" she said finally.
"Bah. Why are you concerned with my life? That maggot friend of yours talked to me in Arias. Do you think you're my mother?"
"What are you doing here, Albel? Does the king have no more duties for you to fulfill?"
"Shut up, wench."
Albel felt a sharp pain in his side. The blade of Nel's dagger grazed his skin.
"The grace of Apris defend you..." Nel muttered, fixing her eyes on the merchants.
Rage churned inside Albel. He reached for the scourge, but Nel shifted and pinned his arm against him.
He lifted his claw. "I'll kill you..."
"No you won't."
He growled, but did as she said. The merchants' banter had become indiscernible to him.
"The fool with the black hair has some sense," he said to Nel. "Is he the one you want?"
"I don't think so," she replied reluctantly. "I'm looking for ringleaders."
"The war's over, so now you're battling against your own people." Albel smirked. "Well met, fool."
"They're leaving." Nel whispered, "Stay put."
The two watched as the group of merchants stumbled out of the pub. Nel relaxed and released Albel's arm.
"There's been unrest among the wealthy merchants here," she explained as Albel drank from the tankard. "I sent one of my subordinates as requested, but they couldn't find anything. I took it as a sign for me to investigate it myself. Unfortunately, I haven't found anything either."
Albel grinned and sat back. "Maybe a fool like you should learn how to do her job. If the great spy of the Crimson Blades can't even crack down on a few lousy merchants, it makes me wonder who would have won our little war."
"You never change, Albel." They met each others' glare.
"So what are you up to?" Nel continued. "You might as well answer me; if I have any reason to believe that you're here to harm my people..."
"I'm bored. How's that, wench?" Albel snapped. "There's nothing to kill. Even the Scourge is rattling louder than usual. And the men back home are all weaklings. Not that this pathetic scrap of a country is much better."
He sounded harsher than he meant. The burning sensation where his left arm used to be was paining him more than usual.
"Blood is all you ever want." Nel shook her head. "It's sad and disgusting watching you."
"You can't talk. What would you be without all of these rebels and little wars, eh? You'd be like me, wandering where no one wants you."
"Is it a good fight you're looking for? Because you're close to getting one."
"Struck a nerve, scum?"
Nel sighed.
"I'm heading back to Aquios to report my findings tomorrow. If you'd like, and if you can behave yourself, you may accompany me. If you're looking for...entertainment..." She looked him in the eye. "Then we have something that might interest you."
"Invite me to Aquios? Heh, good one woman. Your city reeks of incense and lifeless gods. I wouldn't last a day."
"I'm suggesting it because we have a lycanthrope living in the barracks."
Albel leaned forward. "You caught one? How foolish are you Aquarians?"
"He came to us. He says he wants to be cured and thinks that only the grace of Apris can save him. Obviously, he wasn't raised among his own kind, and thinks his abilities are a curse."
"Fool." Albel muttered as he swallowed more of his drink.
"There does seem to be more to him, though. He has fits...Two of our soldiers are in critical condition because of it."
"I get it, wench. You want me to slice his hairy head off for you because you're already obligated to him."
"I never said that, Albel. I just thought it might interest you as most kinds of violence do."
"And what would I do with him? Take him for walks?"
"You don't have to see him, Nox, it was only a suggestion. If anything, you could spar with our soldiers."
"Why do you want me to go so badly, Zelpher?"
Nel looked at him closely for a moment.
"Frankly, I don't like the idea of you roaming our lands like a vagrant. I want you where I can see you so I don't find myself called in to investigate several deaths by your hand. One or two of our ranks may be no match for you, but hundreds are more than enough if you get too cocky."
Albel shot her a toothy sneer.
"Is that what you think of me? I'm touched. The scum said you trusted me."
"To an extent. I haven't kicked you out of the country yet, have I?"
"Hmph. Alright, I'll go. But only if you damned Aquarians get off my back. I'll even see your new pet, too."
"Good. I'll meet you at the north gate tomorrow."
Nel stood up, scratching irritably at her beard. She tipped the brim of her shabby brown cap at him before gliding out the door.
Albel remained in his seat and sucked the last of the drink through his teeth. The urge to spring the Scourge from its scabbard and take out the whole pub grew to ferocious proportions. Goddamn those Aquarians. Goddamn them like the nosy, treacherous fools they are. Only they could keep a beast among them with the pretense of goodwill and salvation.
His missing arm burned inside the metal. His claw was alive with flame.
He tossed the empty tankard aside and stood up, meeting the bartender's wary look with a growl as he padded away. Outside, orange light from the falling sun glanced off the chalk white bricks and cobblestones. Albel glanced at an inn nearby, but thought better of it. Nobody would take him in. He wondered vaguely where Nel was staying the night.
He wandered for sometime through the streets. Children knocked a ball around with sticks in the square and ignored him. An unclaimed basket of flowers sat on the steps. The end of his scabbard caught the handle as he walked by and the blossoms tumbled onto the stones like small, pale bodies. He passed a balcony where the silhouette of a man played a guitar gently. Albel paused at the music, staring into the darkening alley as he lingered there. The player was an amateur; his notes were flawed and he would hesitate between chords as if adjusting his hands to the strings, but Albel felt no spark of annoyance as he listened.
Albel glanced about for guards, or anyone else who might harass him, and then slumped down against the wall beneath the balcony. An animal warmth in his chest numbed the cold sting of the street. By the time the music ended, he had long since fallen asleep.
As usual, he dreamed of fire.
Closing Note: Bah, my chapters are still too damn short. It's a sodding curse, I tell you. Just thought I'd make Albel's life worse by giving him phantom limb syndrome. It took a bit of close reading, but the dictionary and official sources do say he lost his left arm completely. Considering the burn damage those dragons probably did to it, it'd be potentially fatal (because of infection) and bloody useless to keep anyway.