Chapter Two

The Draft

--

A loud knocking at the door diverted Albel Nox's sleep-deprived stare away from a specific knot on a rafter on the ceiling. He glared bloodshot holes into the door until another series of knocking motivated him to sit up, kick his legs over the side of his bed facing away from the entrance, and stumble over to the single window taking up most of the southernmost wall and spread open the dusty white drapes, blinding him with the morning suns vicious rays.

Grumbling not only his restlessness but also the fact that today was the first day of the Dragon Brigade's draft (as well as hundreds of dull-as-dirt interviews), he moved back towards the door as a third series of knocks shook out a cloud of dust from the surrounding timber.

The young man standing on the other side of the door was visibly shaking, clearly recalling each and every horror story ever told to him about Albel the Wicked—how he reveled in bloodshed and suffering, how he ate children and wore the flesh of his victims; this was the man he was waking up in the morning! If it weren't on direct request of the king he would never have even set foot on the steps leading too that wretched place.

"This is suicide," he thought miserably. "This is the absolute worst time of day for anyone! He'll massacre me, hang me from the highest point in the city and throw stones at my rotting corpse!"

Taking a deep breath and slowly releasing it as a relaxing whistle, he prepared for one last attempt. He raised his fist up and swung, getting within an inch of the door before it creaked open and revealed a unkempt, noticeably cranky, and snarling Albel who had prepared to insult his belligerent guest until he ran home crying. Instead, he caught a flailing young man in his arms and became more surprised than angry.

The young soldier blinked in confusion as he looked up, saw two scarlet eyes slowly narrowing with rage and planted his palms on Albel's bare chest and pushed off, stiffening like a board when he became vertical and then falling hard on his rear end—the cold cobblestone floor of Castle Airyglyph was unforgiving as the boy winced in pain but suppressed any verbal sound. It would be best too try to preserve what little dignity he had left.

Though Albel had no intention of making it easy on him. "Can I help you, worm?"

The soldier's response was a limp mouth and a quiet squeak.

Albel crooked his eyebrow in curiosity. "You obviously had something important to say if it was so imperative as to wake me. So? Speak up before I cut out your tongue and ring the spit out down your throat."

Again, the boy could only stutter and murmur incoherently. So, with a careless shrug, Albel made an about-face and walked back into his room. He reached under the dusty mattress of his bed and pulled out the ornate blood-red sheath that housed the sacred relic the Crimson Scourge, a sword with legendary power. With the blade in hand, he returned to the door and loomed over the cowering boy. In a swift motion he transferred the sheath to his tarnished bronze claw and drew out the sword with the other. "As you wish."

The boy yelped and jumped too his knees, cupping his hands together as if in prayer and proceeded to plead for his life, a move that made Albel scoff in irritation and roll his eyes, impatiently awaiting for the boy to finish his ranting.

"King Airyglyph requests your presence in his gathering hall! You were supposed to have been there at sunrise for the drafting, Lord Albel! I'm garbage, I'm dirt, I'm less than dirt! Please spare my li-i-i-fe!"

His face stoic and unreadable, Albel lowered the Crimson Scourge to his side letting the point of the blade scrape against the ground. "What is your name, worm?"

"Z-Z-Z--"

"Spit it out!"

"ZEKE, Lord Albel!"

Impatient from his lack of sleep and this indignant child, Albel heaved his chest heavily and decided then and there to attempt remaining calm for the rest of the day lest he drive himself into an early grave and a most dishonorable death. "Are you applying for the draft?"

Zeke, sweating like a suckling pig, nodded slowly and cautiously; weary for any attempt on his life. Not that he'd be able to stop it but maybe his scream would bring help.

Albel smiled, showing his trademark grin of dread. "I'll be watching you especially close, dear Zeke. Now, slither away and be sure to tell the king I'll be in his hall momentarily." Albel turned on his heel and stepped into his chambers. He mule kicked the door shut and left Zeke there in shock and solitude so he could compose himself and finish the task he was given.

Albel plunged the sword back into its scabbard and dropped it carelessly onto his mattress. He approached the eastern half of his room where the latrine and vanity were located and caught sight of himself in the small mirror nailed above a fresh pot of water. He was still smiling and that made him smile even wider.

Somehow he didn't think Albel the Wicked would ever completely go away.

…………

…………

One of the first lessons taught to a member of the Secret Legion was to use your environment to your advantage. Be quick and silent, but occasionally natural noises - such as birds singing, the wind rustling leaves, and so on - offered a bit of leeway when it came to a stealth-required task like the one Nel Zelpher had been charged with. She placed a leather satchel filled to the brim with chunks of coal next to another larger bag and her neatly folded clothing and scabbards, which contained a pair of deadly family heirlooms, the Blades of Ryusen.

She kneeled down at the edge of the riverbank which was located barely a mile from the boarder of Airyglyph and took her shoulder-length red hair in hand and flipped it over her face, dunking her head into the water and sloshing it around for a bit, making sure it was thoroughly drenched. Nel scooped up a lump of coal and began to scrub her cherry locks black; stage one in a daring (possibly suicidal) mission into the Dragon Brigade drafting which was taking place throughout the entirety of the week. Because a watchful eye might spot a black stain on her collar and grow suspicious, Nel stripped down to her sparsest of garments—a simple white wrap around her chest and a equally contemptible pair of lace undergarments—and abstained her modesty for a flawless act. At the moment her biggest fear wasn't being discovered and killed during the draft but being seen in such a compromising position.

After several long and tedious minutes of scrubbing each individual lock of hair until it was midnight black, she caught sight of another problem: the coal was staining her hands and it wouldn't immediately wash out. Thank Apris she brought a pair of gloves along which would have to be worn at all times until the stains lifted enough to be washed away, though that could take several days. Her hair would also eventually rinse back to its natural ruby vibrancy but hopefully she would not have to reapply the coal dye again for at least one additional time all week. Friday would be her rendezvous time back in Aquaria with all the intelligence she had managed to procure.

And despite what was being fed to the citizens of Airyglyph and Aquaria, all hostilities had not completely ceased. King Airyglyph XIII wanted power anew; he craved stronger weapons then his scientists and engineers could offer: He wanted the runological weapon blueprints and was willing to go to some extreme measures to obtain them. But each spy he had sent in had been discovered and consequently took their own lives in order to keep the knowledge of whom they were sent by a secret.

Queen Aquaria XXVII simply knew it had to have been him, however. There had been three unsuccessful attempts, the last occurred one week prior and suddenly everything was quiet. Queen Aquaria thought that was suspicious; the Arzei Bohnleid she knew wouldn't just give up. He must be planning something else, either another more drastic infiltration mission or he was developing a runological weapon of his own. Nel would determine the threat, if there was one at all, and once again snatch victory from Airyglyph's grasp.

After another five dull minutes, Nel picked up her palm-sized mirror and inspected her hair, which was only faintly red in a small area and it probably wouldn't be noticeable at distance.

"Good enough," she whispered and tossed the pockmarked hunk of coal into the rushing stream, then thrust her hands into the water and scrubbed them raw, getting out as much of the black as she could. When the water began to take on a red more vibrant than her hair had been, Nel decided it was time to stop.

Standing up in the same motion she picked up a small wool cloth and wiped dry her cut hands. As Nel dabbed away the water dripping down her face and neck, a crunch in the woods behind her caused a reaction which forfeited the washcloth in her hand for additional covering around her "assets".

Several moments of ragged breathing from her and silence in the forest passed but Nel was still not satisfied she wasn't being watched, but she stooped down and rummaged into her large bag. She removed a sleek black bodysuit, which she hastily slipped into. Over that went several joints of silver armor, including a breastplate and a waste guard that closely resembled a chastity belt. Nel sat down and picked up each individual piece compiling her thigh-high boots etched with blue runological symbols down both calves, snapping them together quickly and thronging tight the buckles. She tied on the scabbards holding her beloved daggers in place and completed the ensemble by wrapping a gray scarf around her neck, which masked the lower portion of her face. Combined with her long black locks hanging limply over her eyes, her face was virtually invisible.

Nel took a deep breath and popped her neck to the left. She took a final look into the forest with her large catlike purple eyes and darted off down the bank, hopping nimbly onto a slick rock in the center of the stream and then to another, then made a seemingly impossible leap over to the distant west shore and darted with incredible grace up the hill and into the Kingdom of Airyglyph.

--

Peering cautiously around his makeshift hiding spot, the bandit dropped two needle branches and stepped out from behind a tree, taking one last glance at the area. Members of the Queen's Secret Legion were notoriously devious and despite having left in a completely opposite direction than the one he stood in now, she could still be watching him. He scurried over to the bank and plunged his hand into the cool water, frightening a large fish in the process. He pulled out a worn lump of coal and rolled it around in his hand for a moment, trying to drag his mind away from the image of that lovely woman's backside to her equally magnetic face. He had seen it somewhere before...

Then it came to him and it brought a cryptic grin to his lips. "Nevelle's daughter. Ah, Panther will be most amused." The bandit chuckled under his breath as he turned away from the stream and retreated back into the shadowed forest.