X (In Love and War: Chapter 7) X
Again, I took a mercilessly long time updating, and I'm sorry. Here's chapter seven, first of the final three chapters of my story. X3
X
Dead leaves crunched beneath the wheels of the caravan and tumbled along the dirt path in the breeze. Bare, skinny trees stood on either side of the road, growing so close together that even in the middle of the day, the road was dark. Occasionally a bird would call, or crickets would chirp, but aside from the grind of leaves and dirt under wheels and hooves, the world seemed dead, silent and cold. Winter's pall was only beginning to break; it would be another month before spring, and even then it would take longer than that for the weather to get warmer. It alarmed Fayt how different things looked outside the gates of Aquios. The only other time he had left the city was the night of the Black Brigade's attack several months ago, and at that time he had been too busy with other things to give the scenery a second thought. Now as he watched the trees roll by, he felt disconcerted by the atmosphere, half expecting a ghost to go drifting past.
Nel drove the caravan, her back to the other three. Every so often she would crack the reins and the horses would give a start before speeding up, only to slow down again later, and the circle would begin again. To Fayt's right was Evia. The older boy had fallen asleep ("This is so boring! How much longer? Are we there yet? There's nothing to look at!") with his head on Fayt's upper arm, clasping their hands together, fingers entwined. He snored softly and grumbled every time the cart hit a bump, making banana-chewing noises with his mouth, then would shift in his seat and drift off again. Across from Fayt was Dion, his nose stuck in a book. Fayt had tried to time him, and see how long it took for him to turn a page, but each time he tried, he found that it took so long that he got bored quickly and would fall asleep. So the youth took to watching the trees and thinking deeply.
How would they possibly manage to pull this off? It wasn't safe for Aquarians to enter Airyglyph territory, even if the war had lately seemed to have gone stale. It was one thing to pass through quickly, but they were intent on meeting the Captain of the Black Brigade – it sounded like a suicide mission to Fayt. Even though they had gone over the plan over and over, the boy kept finding holes in his memory, forgetting what he was supposed to do when they got there. As he ran the procedure through his head, he would come to the part where he confronted Albel, then drew a blank. The memory of Albel, his image, the familiar growl of his voice, wiped all other thoughts away. And if this was happening only while he was thinking, he was petrified to wonder what it would be like when he actually came face-to-face with the Wicked Swordsman.
It was Nel who had done most of the strategizing; after all, that was one of her many appointed jobs, and she did a much better job of it than the three men – especially Evia, who couldn't seem to understand what was wrong with just walking right into the castle and asking to see Albel. Thanks to her spies' previous infiltrations of Castle Airyglyph, they knew the entire layout and the general idea of who would be where for how long. It was decided that, once they had come to the bridge leading into the snowy city, that Evia would take the helm. He would drive the caravan inside and past the guards with Fayt, Dion, and Nel hidden under tarps and piles of goods in the back. While they pretended to be delivering goods to the general store, Fayt and Nel would sneak out and approach the castle, where they would maneuver their way to Albel's quarters. Once there, they would wait, hidden, until the Wicked Swordsman came in, where they would confront him, and then make a hasty retreat.
"Of course it's a risky and last-minute plan," Nel had admitted, sounding ashamed of herself, "But we don't have time to sit and come up with anything better. It's the best we've got."
The men had agreed on that last phrase altogether, but now Fayt was beginning to question his judgment. Surely the guards would strip-search the caravan and find them hiding? And just how did Nel plan on getting them into the castle, past tons of guards, without being mangled by swords or dragons? Furthermore, what if Albel didn't go quietly? All they were planning on doing was talking, but the youth knew that Albel wasn't much of a talker. What if he took an 'attack first, ask questions later' approach?
Well, Fayt thought with a sigh, at least if he kills me, I'll have gotten to see him one last time.
After a long while, the scenery began to turn barer; the trees and leaves vanished, as did the dirt. Grass and plants became scarce, and soon, the soil beneath them turned harder-packed and covered with snow. The white substance began sprinkling from the sky, heavier and heavier the further they went. Fayt stared out with mild interest, feeling a mixture of pain and anger at the sight of the wintery scene. Last time snow had fallen that way, he had come home and found his whole family dead. The sound of crunching snow took his mind back; back past his depression, past Albel, past the thick of the war…
X
"Sure was a lot of corn out there today," Fayt mused aloud, looking down into the two baskets he had on either arm. They were both full of small, yellow kernels, frosted and hard though they were. It was the most he had been able to harvest since the winter – and war – had started. "Mom could probably make bread with this. Mrs. Esteed has wanted to learn the recipe for a long time, and probably Sophia, too." It wasn't uncommon for him to talk to himself; there wasn't anyone else to talk to, after all.
The streets were empty of people this morning, mainly because it was so early that nobody wanted to be awake. Fayt had known that leaving at dawn was the best time to gather food. It was the time before anyone else had gotten their pickings, which meant he would get the first and the best. Not that he enjoyed rising with the sun; but they needed the food, and he wasn't about to make anyone else get it when he was perfectly capable of doing it himself.
"I wonder if Sophia is a good baker." The youth turned a corner, and then proceeded down the main road of Aquios. It had snowed a good four or five inches overnight and no one had shoveled yet, so he had to juggle between trudging a canal in the snow and stepping over it. Either way, there was a perpetual crunching sound beneath his boots that seemed to echo the beat of his heart. "She definitely isn't a good cook… oh, but I better not tell her I think so."
Fayt could spot his house in the distance; one of the larger ones on the right side of the street. Smoke was puffing out of the chimney, which the boy decided meant his family had gotten up already. The Esteeds' house, one about the same size beside his own, was dark and smoke-less. "Guess they're not up yet."
As he got closer to the house, Fayt began thinking excitedly of breakfast. It was a Thursday morning, meaning Sophia and her family would be over to join them. Even if the kitchen got awfully crowded when the Esteeds came for meals, Fayt always enjoyed it a lot more than when they didn't. There was always lots of energy in the room, everyone talking and eating and reaching over each other for the butter. Fayt and Sophia would poke each other with their forks until one of the mothers told them to stop. Then they'd race to see who could eat breakfast faster, and one of them would always choke and almost pass out. His mother and Sophia's would collaborate to make the best food in Aquaria; there were never any leftovers because everyone wolfed it all right down.
With images of corn bread and porridge and fresh juice wafting through his mind, the youth crossed the street and all but ran to his house. He glanced over his shoulder at Sophia's house as he passed it, trying to catch a peek in the window and see if anyone was moving around. But the house was totally dark, and he shook his head with an affectionate eye roll. Then he took the few steps to his own house – and stopped short.
The front door stood wide open, and Fayt could see thick, black smoke covering the kitchen. His eyes followed a trail off odd markings in the snow – some footprints, and other long, skinny trails like a rake had been run through the white substance – down his front steps. There he gaze landed on five sprawled, bloody forms on the ground. All the snow around each form was red, and had slowly bled out into the surrounding area, stretching almost as far as the neighboring yards. Legs shaking, Fayt slowly crept closer to one of the blood-covered things.
He stopped when the smell of blood and smoke became too overpowering, standing just beside the smallest of the five things on the ground. From his angle it looked like a wadded up pile of coats and clothing. That is, until he noticed long, brown hair fanned out along the curve of the form. It became clear to him now – he could see a bowed head, shoulders brought up close to the neck, arms bent, hands clenched at the chest. The body was curved, curled up, legs tucked, pressed together, almost in a fetal position. "Wh-What is this?!" Fayt cried, staring aghast at the thing he assumed was a corpse. Gently, terrified, he turned the body over with his boot.
A pair of clouded, forest-green eyes stared back up at him. They were wide and horrified, yet blank, sightless. Fayt screamed, and leapt away at the sight of them, at the sight of the familiar face, of his cousin, Sophia, and her dead eyes. Immediately he began to sob, still screaming, his baskets of corn now on the ground and spilling their contents into the snow. He skirted around Sophia's body and fell, then crawled over to the other corpses and turned them over, one by one, becoming more hysterical each time he did. Another face he knew with wide, empty eyes would gaze up at him and it was all he could do to keep from throwing up. Sophia, his father, Mr. Esteed, Mrs. Esteed, his mother… all stiff, frozen, dead, and deposited right outside his house for him to find like some sick, macabre Christmas present.
The scene swam before Fayt's eyes. Try as he might to stand up, he couldn't seem to get his bearings, and he gave a brief sway to one side before collapsing. His strength waning, he dragged himself to the steps and rested his head on the second-last of them, convulsing as if having a seizure. Then a whirlpool of darkness began to surround him, obscuring his vision from the outside in, until he lost all awareness completely and was plunged into what felt like a long, deep sleep.
X
"Fayt? We're here."
Groaning, Fayt shook the sleep from his eyes and looked around. Both Evia and Dion had left the cart and stood outside beside Nel, who was reaching in and shaking his arm. The caravan had stopped at a place covered thickly with snow; so much that the wheels had sunk into it and he wondered if it would be difficult for the vehicle to move. "We're here," Nel said again, more softly now that the boy was awake. He looked troubled. The memory of his flashback still had a hold on him, and he felt as if he were going to cry again. But now was not the time to get emotional. They were about to execute a very delicate plan and his head had to be clear otherwise he would end up just like…
Fayt climbed from the back of the caravan with a huff and began stretching his legs. They'd traveled from Aquios to Airyglyph without stopping, which meant two or three days in the back of that blasted cold cart with very little stretching involved. His limbs – no, his whole body – were stiff and a bit sore. Nel understood this and gave the boy time to adjust, just as she had for Evia and Dion, who were already ready to go. "Are you alright?" she asked when the look on Fayt's face hadn't gone away.
"Of course I'm alright," Fayt responded, arms raised over his head. "Why?"
The red-haired woman shook her head slowly. "No reason. When you're ready, help us unload these things." With that, she, Dion, and Evia began pulling all the fake supplies from the back of the caravan and putting them in a pile in the snow. They were far enough away from Airyglyph that no one would see them doing all this, and yet not so far that Evia would have time to make an idiotic mistake behind the reins. It was a very straightforward path into the city. The area surrounding contained very few trees, but plenty of large rocks, and mountains surrounding. Several ugly, thorny looking bits of brush shot up from cracks in the soil like overgrown weeds, their branches weighted down with snow. Fayt stared blankly at one of them, a particularly tall one, as if there were something wrong with it, but for the life of him could not figure out why his attention was drawn to it. It was just an ugly plant; nothing more.
"We could really use your help, Fayt," Dion said over his shoulder, slightly aggravated. He was rather on the weak side, and seemed to be having difficulty lifting a bag of horse feed off the floor of the caravan. Even when Evia took the other end and tried to help, they couldn't seem to budge it.
Fayt shook his head quickly. "Oh, right. Sorry. Here…" Taking one last look at the shrub, he frowned, then climbed into the cart and began pulling things out.
With the four of them working together, the job took a very short time. Evia took his place behind the reins and watched through the space between the cover over the caravan and the back of the caravan itself as the other three set to work once more. Dion was first into the cart. He lay down and curled up, and then Nel and Fayt covered him with a tarp and some supplies, careful not to smother him beneath the weight. Nel was second, and Fayt repeated the process by himself – covering her with a tarp, then layering over that with bags of supplies.
"Alright, Fayt!" Evia cooed, clutching the reins tightly in his hands. "Hop on in, cover up, and let's get this show on the road!"
"I've got a better idea," said a new voice, low and sarcastic from behind Fayt. "How about not?"
Fayt whirled around, heart leaping into his throat. He could hear Evia gasp, Nel and Dion squirming in their hiding places to try and see what was going on. The youth's green eyes went straight to the tall, ugly plant from earlier, which was now obscured by a tall figure wrapped in a dark, fur-lined cloak. He followed the figure from his boots up to his face, wide-eyed: he recognized that messy, black, blonde-ended hair and those red eyes immediately. Mouth opening and closing, he struggled to say something, backing away into the caravan and nearly falling into it. Before he had a chance to, however, the figure rushed forward and had him by the front of the shirt, a sword pointed to his throat.
"What level of insanity could you possibly have reached, fool, to show your face here?!" Albel sneered, shoving the tip of his Crimson Scourge more forcefully against Fayt's neck. "Under what dementia did you drag your sorry ass here, where you're not safe anymore? Did you think you and your little friends were clever enough to just come waltzing right into Airyglyph?" He paused, waiting for Fayt to answer; the boy only stammered and hiccupped. "Well?!"
Mind racing, the youth couldn't possibly think of any way to answer the older man. It was enough just to have him standing there, talking to him, looking at him, even touching him (even if it was threatening). He swallowed, and then looked up into the dark red eyes, finding no softness in them at all. "Albel…"
The sound of his own name seemed to anger Albel further. He pulled Fayt forcefully away from the caravan and threw him into the snow, watching with satisfaction as the boy yelped and thudded, skidding, along the hard-packed snow. "You really are a stupid maggot," he taunted, shaking his head. Then he turned to the caravan, scowling down at the peering eyes of Nel and Dion, and back at Evia's aghast stare. "I ought to kill you for coming into my territory."
"Albel! No, please! Please… don't hurt them!" Fayt shouted, crawling onto his hands and knees. As he rose to stand up, the toe of a heavy boot hit him square in the gut, and he collapsed, getting a mouthful of snow, gagging.
"Shut your mouth, worm." Slowly, like a large predatory cat stalking its prey, Albel circled the caravan, sword at the ready in his hand. "How ridiculous you all are. I knew you were coming days ago; hell, I knew you would be coming the moment I left. I'm afraid all your hard work is for naught, fools." The Wicked Swordsman approached the caravan's horses, then seized their bridles and began pulling them to the right, turning the cart to face back the way it had come. "You'll be going home now."
Fayt shakily began to get up again, watching Albel and the caravan. It was now facing in his direction, and if the horses ran, he would undoubtedly be trampled. Albel's words spurred him forward, and he slowly moved toward the cart to climb up beside Evia. Before he had the chance, however, Albel lashed out, striking one of the horses on the left flank with his clawed gauntlet. The sudden pain terrified the animal, which in turn terrified the other, and, rearing, the two horses sprinted forward, trying to escape whatever was behind them that had harmed them. Fayt screamed and dove to the side, nearly tossing himself over the cliff, had Albel not seized him by the hair and tossed him on his back into the snow. He had just enough time to see the out-of-control caravan thundering away, Nel, Dion, and Evia yelling back at him and in fear of crashing, before the Wicked Swordsman hefted him up and began to drag him the opposite way, into the city of Airyglyph.
The older man's hold on the back of his shirt was so tight that he could scarcely breathe. He pulled at his collar, trying to loosen it, and gagged, flailing his arms and legs. "Albel! I can't breathe! What are you—what are you doing?! Where are you taking me?!"
"To a place where you will be treated properly, maggot. Shut up," Albel said, and then proceeded to laugh a sarcastic, domineering sort of laugh. Despite the words of reassurance, Fayt did not seem to feel like he was going to be any safer wherever Albel was taking him than he was now.
The youth continued to struggle and complain, digging his heels and even his fingers into the snow to try and stop Albel from dragging him. He was powerless against the other man; despite Albel's thin frame, he was unnervingly strong, and that seemingly indestructible gauntlet of his didn't help matters. "Please, Albel!" cried Fayt. "I-I just wanted to ask you why you left! I didn't want to cause a scene, I swear! Albel…!"
A swift jerk on the back of Fayt's shirt shut the boy right up. He gagged and fell silent, breathing quickly and shallowly to make up for the strangulation. His throat was so constricted that he could no longer make any sound, which satisfied Albel quite well. Instead, the youth had no choice but to allow himself to be dragged like a dead animal into Castle Airyglyph.
Once they passed through the doors, Albel took a large fistful of Fayt's hair and hefted him to his feet, then held him by the back of his neck with his gauntlet and forced him to walk forward. They turned a corner and went up a flight of stairs, followed a short hallway, then entered a large room with several important-looking chairs, one of which Fayt was sure was the throne, for a young man with a crown sat upon it.
Fayt trembled in fear at the sight of the King of Airyglyph, though he guessed the man was barely much older than himself or Albel. He had a weathered and serious look to him, with intense, dark eyes and a creased face that always seemed to be rather angry. It was a bit intimidating, and Fayt found himself no stranger to its effect. The king raised his eyebrows curiously when Albel came in and presented Fayt to him, shoving the blue-haired boy down onto his knees before the king.
"The stupid maggots showed up, just like I said they would," Albel stated plainly, staring down at Fayt in contempt.
"Oh? Well then, where are the others?" replied Airyglyph.
Albel gave Fayt a kick to send him sprawling face-down onto the floor. The youth gave a cry of pain and protest but it seemed to go unnoticed. "This is the worm that planned everything out," Albel snarled, then put his boot down on the small of Fayt's back. "He is the only one worth beating the crap out of."
Airyglyph took on a strange expression at Albel's words; amused, and yet disconcerted. "Take him to the dungeon, then," he said, waving one hand needlessly in no particular direction. "Let the Inquisitor have his way with him. Perhaps we can find out why this boy intended on infiltrating a castle."
For a moment, no one moved at all. Fayt's face was pressed into the floor, and he didn't want to open his eyes, anyway. The king and Albel stared back at one another, blank, and then Albel said, "I'm going to be the one to deal with the maggot."
"Oh?" replied the king simply, as if speaking to a child.
"He came here after me, you know. This is the maggot that was keeping me prisoner! I would like nothing more than to make him suffer for his crimes personally." Albel smirked, grinding the heel of his boot into Fayt's back. He seemed pleased with the boy's groan of pain.
"The purpose is not to make him suffer," stated Airyglyph, gazing down at the whimpering, writhing youth at the foot of his throne. "We want to extort information from him. You realize that, do you not, Albel?"
Albel waved his hand, snorting as if the king had asked a silly question. "Whatever. I'll make sure he talks, make no mistake." The swordsman's ruby gaze traveled back down to Fayt, and he dug his further into the boy's back. After the inevitable cry of pain, he added, "I'll be persuasive."
Although Airyglyph did not seem persuaded by Albel's assurance, he nodded once, causing locks of his dark, unkempt-looking hair to fall in his face. He hastily brushed them aside, and in the same gesture, swept the gloved hand in the direction of the dungeon. "Then I will expect a report on the matter as soon as possible. Dismissed."
Making a gruff sound, Albel stooped down and wrenched Fayt up by his hair and forced him to stand once again, then seized him by the front of his shirt and dragged him away. Fayt was quick to follow rather than resist this time in order to keep from being choked by his clothing, though seemed to have a difficult time putting one foot in front of the other. He was already sore from all the abuse he'd taken and his knees were trembling, his legs felt weak. Terror clenched his muscles and made his body rigid, difficult to work with. As much as he wanted to try and talk Albel out of whatever he was going to do, he couldn't seem to find the words. His throat had gone dry. All he could do was be led, and hope to god that, at the very least, his suffering would be minimal.
They descended a flight of stairs and took a long, empty hallway that winded through what felt like the entire castle, adorned only with a threadbare rug lining the center of the floor and lit sconces on the stone walls. At length, they came to a heavy wooden door at the bottom of an unnervingly long set of stairs. To Fayt, it seemed as if they had just walked several miles underground. It was cold down here, in spite of the many torches on the walls, and was even more sparsely decorated than the rest of the castle, giving it a grim sort of appearance. There was a door to the right, and a door straight ahead, and Albel approached the door ahead of them and pushed it open with his hip and elbow, then yanked Fayt forward and thrust him into the room, swinging him around by the front of the shirt so that the youth went practically flying forward into a table near the center of the room.
"Ouch! Al…Albel!" Fayt cried in protest, catching himself against the table and hefting himself up. He remained leaned against it, since he felt that using something for support was absolutely necessary by this time. The two of them shot glares at one another, and though Fayt was naturally petrified by the other man's look of hatred, he refused to back down. I will not be intimidated. I will not be intimidated. I will not be intimidated, he thought over and over. Anything to keep him from losing his cool. "Albel, let me go."
"Shut your mouth, maggot," Albel snapped, stepping forward into the room and slamming the door shut behind him. Any warmth from the previous room that had been flooding in before was cut off when the door was shut, and Fayt became painfully aware of how cold, dim, and hopeless the place he was in now seemed; the perfect environment for a dungeon. But he was not bothered by it. His heart was a far colder, more hopeless place, and he had endured worse than this.
"No, you shut your mouth. I'm not going to take this! You can't do this to me." The youth pushed himself up with the table's help to stand up straight and squared his shoulders, trying to look tough and intimidating. "All I wanted to do was ask you why you left. There's no need for all this!"
Albel said nothing. He simply stood with his hands on his hips, looking at Fayt as if he were only there to amuse him. The cocky look on his face, the indifferent air about him, even just the way he was standing… it all infuriated Fayt. Here he was challenging his authority, mouthing off to him, and all Albel did was stand there and smirk at him.
"You think this is funny?!" Fayt yelled, face red with anger. Anger was all that kept him from breaking down, and the fact was very obvious to the both of them. The moment Fayt's rage cooled down, he would cry, or he would give in. It always happened that way… "Am I just a game to you, Albel?! Why are you always toying with me like this?"
Still, Albel did not reply. His silence only riled Fayt up more. "Tell me why you left! Why you reeled me in and made me think that you cared about me, and then just disappeared! I don't understand it… I can't take it…"
"Why are you getting angry at me?" Albel asked, though his expression did not change. "You're the one that fell like a fool. All I had to do was cast the bait."
Fayt's eyes widened, and then narrowed. "Cast the bait?!" he repeated in disbelief. "What bait?! Do you just get a kick out of messing with people's heads or something?! I don't understand you, Albel!"
"You really are a stupid maggot," said Albel, very plainly.
"You're a stupid maggot!" Fayt shot back. He was beginning to lose it, he could tell. His anger was seeping away, and in its place was that helpless, emotional sinking feeling in his heart. Albel laughed at his response, but made no attempt to respond, and the youth leapt at the chance to say something more, to try and keep his anger burning. "You're a manipulative bastard, and you don't make any sense! It's… I… It's not fair!"
The look on Albel's face finally changed then; the hardness in his eyes seemed to disappear, and the smug smirk faded into something… different. As if his emotions had all surfaced and were being sent out in the form of an expression for Fayt to read. He had looked at Fayt that way many times before, and smiled a little when the blue-haired boy recognized the look. "All's fair in love and war," stated Albel, his tone calmer, sounding strange but so familiar to Fayt.
Despite Albel's change, fury and pain continued to rage through the youth's mind and body. After all that he'd just said, how dare he look at him like that! It was a mockery to mockery! An outrage, an insult, a slap in the face, a spit in his eye. "Then what is it, Albel?" he demanded, his voice low and quavering, threatening to give way to sobs and tears. "Is it love or is it war? What is this you're doing to me?" That was it. He could barely manage to finish speaking before the hiccups started, before the tears spilled forth and began cascading down his face. Oh, how he hated that feeling, the feeling of crying and being unable to withstand his pain! The more he tried to push his feelings back down, to bottle them up inside, the more they seemed to surge forward, like a fount of emotion.
"I can't stand it anymore!" Fayt pressed on, teeth gritted, spluttering the words between sobs of anguish. "If you brought me here to torture me, do it! If you were going to kill me, then just kill me! What are you waiting for?!" He threw his arms out to either side. "I can't take feeling like this anymore! I took your stupid bait, and now what?! What's next?! More of this—of this pain, of me crying all the time?! No! No more!"
Albel was very quiet during Fayt's outburst, expression still soft; seeming strangely patient as though waiting for the boy to get whatever was bothering him out of his system so that he could be rational. "Fayt."
"No!!" Fayt screamed, reaching up with both hands to tangle his fingers in his own locks of blue hair and pull on them, though not hard enough to yank any out. "Don't say it, don't say anything… I don't want to hear your stupid voice anymore. I don't want to hear my name! I… I don't want any of it anymore! I hate it! I hate it all. I hate you, Albel!" The youth's green eyes were wild, wide and seemingly separated from reason. He surged forward in spite of the weakness in his muscles and attempted to push past Albel. "I want out! I want to go home!"
Immediately, Albel caught Fayt by the arm and pulled him back. He was surprised to find that the boy hardly put up even token resistance; he fell back into Albel's arms like a limp body, submitted to whatever Albel subjected him to. Albel raised his eyebrows in a, well, this makes my life easier kind of way, and calmly led the bawling boy to the table he had fallen against earlier. Neither carefully nor roughly did he push the boy down onto the wooden surface, and then walked away momentarily.
Fayt lay still on the table, sniveling and hiccupping quietly to himself, and when Albel returned, he was easily able to see that the other man was concealing something in his left hand. "Wh…what is that?" the youth murmured, his voice strained.
"Sh," said Albel as he leaned forward over Fayt some. With his free hand, he began to stroke Fayt's hair in a comforting kind of way, ghosts of a smile visible on his face. "Relax. It'll be over soon."
"What'll be over soon?" Fayt questioned in a half-whisper, searching Albel's face for signs of an answer. In spite of his confusion, however, he indeed began to relax, eyes slowly falling shut, head tilted up into the touches to his hair and scalp like an eager cat being petted. "…'bel…"
Just as the youth began to lapse into a kind of sleep, Albel lifted the object in his left hand and brought it down, forcefully, striking Fayt in the head. The youth gave a sharp cry, then immediately afterward, fell unconscious. Once the swordsman was sure the boy was out cold, he sighed and dropped the object – a blackjack – onto the floor, and paused to gather his thoughts before scooping the unconscious Fayt off the table into his arms and departing from the dungeon with him.