Author's Notes: BlueTrillium, thanks yet again for proofreading this chapter and helping me deal with a few occasional doubts concerning the canon. :)

Oh, man. It's going to be a long read, but hopefully not too boring. ;)

Chapter Three

Albel's carefree, self-confident attitude remained quite intact even after his unnerving conversation with Nel. The young captain felt no need to ponder on imaginary threats and shadowy foes. If a plot to eliminate the bride truly did exist, like the Aquarian spy had insisted, the traitors would turn up to face him sooner or later… or sneak up behind him, perhaps, not that it made any significant difference. Albel would get rid of them when the time came. It was as simple as that, really.

It took him less than half an hour to return to the palace and change into something less noble-esque, yet far more wearable. He hoped nobody expected him to dress like a stuck-up fool outside the royal complex, because he sure as hell wasn't going to make a fashion show of himself in the streets of Aquios. A clean, linen tunic would have to suffice.

He felt a little bit better already, now that the long day was finally coming to an end. Dusk was still a few hours away and the air remained warm, but the stretched shadows on the ground appeared quite promising. The evening, hopefully washed down with plenty of wine, would pass quickly, bringing him one step closer to the much sought-after departure.

The knight unhurriedly fastened his belt, making sure that the Crimson Scourge hung neatly against his hip, and finally went back to the gardens. He marched towards the nearest gate (called the Swan Gate or something equally fancy, yet another sign of his hosts' pompous stupidity), which connected the western wing of the palace with a hard road that led straight towards the market square. Albel remembered riding that very road barely a week ago. What an annoying ordeal that had been, he thought, his lips twisting into a sour grimace. Worse still, he doubted if his glorious departure at the bride's side would look any different. The Aquarians would surely insist on putting on another show of goodwill and national unity.

Today the area was quiet, filled with a narrow range of most trivial sounds: the birds' singing, murmuring water, rattling wheels, the unobtrusive hubbub of the town that spread below the castle grounds. Unfortunately, Albel's good mood was short-lived. As luck, or rather the lack thereof would have it, the moment he set foot outside the royal gardens, he stumbled upon one of his least favorite people in the whole kingdom: no other than Adray Lasbard.

The eccentric warrior stood to the side of the road, engaged in a lively exchange with a pair of young women. They both looked the part of lower-rank runologists, from the simple cotton robes they wore to some colorful tattoos winding around their necks and down their spines. The shorter one had a few extra lines creeping up her cheek, as well, which created a rather interesting visual effect, perhaps even worth a second glance. Adray's eyes seemed to be glued to a different strategic spot, though, half an ell below the girl's face.

One glance at these people's postures and their not-so-subtle gestures, and Albel could easily guess what the whole conversation was about. While there was nothing surprising in seeing an almost sixty-year-old man trying to court girls that seemed to be his own daughter's age at best, the Glyphian captain found himself slightly amazed with the way these women reacted to the runologist's light-hearted advances. Instead of ignoring the graying fool, or finding themselves a convenient excuse to flee, the girls chatted with him amiably, and none of them looked ill at ease. With some effort, Albel could at least fathom why someone would still consider Adray physically attractive. The man had no inhibitions about showing off his tanned body, and his finely chiseled chest could put many youngsters to shame. What Albel didn't understand was how the hell these girls—or any other people, for that matter—were able to withstand Adray's booming laughter, his nosy remarks, his whole infuriating personality.

Of course, he admitted, it was really none of his concern. Lasbard could seduce or bore to death the whole female population of Aquios, for all he cared. The only thing that interested Albel at the moment was how to sneak past the man completely unnoticed. He thought that the three runologists were so immersed in their conversation that they wouldn't pay any attention to a random passer-by, but it soon turned out that he had yet again underestimated Adray's uncanny ability to butt into his life at every possible occasion.

The elderly warrior noticed him without fail, pausing in the middle of whatever he had been saying only a moment ago, turning around to utter his loud greetings. Albel cringed, yet stopped obediently to grumble something semi-respectful in reply. Whether he liked it or not, Adray had used to be one of his father's friends. It obliged him to show at least some courteousness when it was necessary, and would have made walking past the old man with a mere shrug seem awfully rude, even for him.

"What a pleasant surprise! I'm glad I was finally able to catch you," Adray went on smoothly, just before the unfortunate captain could excuse himself and continue down the street. "I had a feeling you've been avoiding me for the whole week." Quite an accurate feeling, as far as Albel was concerned. "Say, are you headed into the town?"

"Perhaps." The laconic answer was meant to discourage the runologist, but it obviously failed its purpose. Adray's delight didn't waver.

"Surely, you wouldn't mind stopping by a nice tavern?"

Albel stiffened, hoping against hope that the babbling fool wouldn't try to join him, let alone insist on taking these two women with them. Such an entourage was the last thing he needed right now. "What does it matter to you, old man?"

"It's not healthy to drink alone." The Aquarian flashed him a toothy grin, so sympathetic it made Albel's skin crawl. "If you asked me, I'd say you could use some company. You're too uptight for a boy your age."

"Nobody asked you, though," Albel replied flatly, his patience already running out, along with the small amount of politeness he might have initially possessed.

"It's still true," Adray beamed, dismissing the offence with startling ease. "What's wrong with spending a pleasant evening in a friend's presence?" Albel didn't even try to correct the man's ridiculous choice of words. He knew it was useless. "So? Where do you want to go?"

"'The Mighty Griffon'," he named the first tavern that came to his mind, making a mental note to avoid that place later at all costs.

"That overpriced hash house in the main street? They serve nothing but lum piss in there," Adray announced cheerfully, completely unbothered by the ladies' presence. "C'mon, lad, I'll show you to the best tavern in the whole city."

"Why don't you tell me its name and I'll find the directions myself?"

"Tch, don't be like that." Just this once, the runologist managed to look at least mildly exasperated. "I'd like to talk to you a little, that's all. I wouldn't bother you if it wasn't important. Shall we go?"

Adray's perception of 'important' was a bit different from what other people usually understood by that term, but who knew, maybe this time he really meant serious business? Or did he perhaps want to nag Albel about the priestess' safety, the way Nel did only a short while ago? The young knight clenched his teeth and weighed his options. Talking Adray out of his ridiculous idea was possible, of course, but the whole endeavor promised only a small chance of success and would surely turn out quite time-consuming. His good humor would be wasted, anyway. So much for having the evening pass quickly…

"As you wish," he said at last, surrendering to the inevitable.

"That's the answer I wanted to hear," Adray replied merrily, acting as if he couldn't even see the Glyphian's sour grimace. He turned to the two younger women to say his goodbyes. The girls pretended to be inconsolable over the loss of their companion.

Albel folded his arms across his chest, careful not to rip his clothes with the steel fingers of his gauntlet, and waited for the foolery to end. Just when he was certain that Adray was done and that they could finally proceed to get themselves something to drink, the girl to the left, the shorter of the two, stepped forward to address him, earning herself a surprised glance from her female friend.

"Sir Nox? I don't think we've been properly acquainted yet," she spoke boldly, tilting her head to the side. She looked about eighteen, maybe nineteen years old, the lowest age to become a full-fledged runologist, as far as he was concerned. The tattoo decorating her face was her most interesting feature; otherwise she seemed quite plain with her boyish hips, dark hair and irises that only pretended to be red in this light, yet must have been brown, instead, because red was a pretty rare eye color even among the Aquarians. "I'm Fella Eid."

Truth be told, Albel wasn't used to such straightforwardness, and the girl's behavior almost surprised him. In Airyglyph, everyone would think twice before speaking to him in a similar manner. Most Aquarian worms feared him just as much, he knew, hardly ever addressing him of their own free will, even though, unlike his compatriots, they could base their fear only on a bunch of rumors, rather than on actual, first-hand experience.

Albel made an effort to unfold his arms and give the runologist the closest thing to a bow he could manage, which was no more than a slight nod of his head. He decided not to waste his breath on any ridiculous niceties; he simply waited for the Aquarian to say her piece and leave him alone.

"Sir Nox, for how many more days will you be staying in Aquios?" the woman asked after a brief pause, as soon as she realized that the swordsman wouldn't reply unless she prompted him further.

The question seemed perfectly innocent—banal, in fact—and yet Albel hesitated, unsure how to interpret the tone, which had sounded more calculating than polite. Was he supposed to admire the girl's guts? Did she mean to tell him that he was an unwelcome visitor in her holy capital, that she wanted him outside the gates as soon as possible?

"It depends on how long Lady Rozaria's servants will dawdle over their tasks." It almost pained him to refer to the priestess in such a respectful fashion. "I hope they won't need more than a day or two—why?"

"Oh, I was just curious." The small runologist didn't drop her gaze. "If you are leaving soon, then there's all the more reason to enjoy the final days of your stay in our city, don't you think?" Albel's eyebrows rose slightly, he was still unsure about the direction in which this ridiculous chatter was going. The woman continued without a pause, "Did you just come from the royal gardens? They're lovely at this time of the year, aren't they?"

"Yes. Whatever." The man's reply carried his usual—far from impressive—level of charisma.

It still didn't deter the Aquarian. Leaning forward, she said, "There's one particular spot in the gardens that I like the most: a bower located close to the western wall. Hidden among the trees, yet you can't really miss it. It's just across the stream that runs along the wall, so you need to pass a small bridge first. I often come to that place at midnight when I want to listen to a nightingale's song," she finished.

The older woman threw her companion a shocked look. Adray Lasbard chuckled openly, and Albel blinked.

Poetic euphemisms had never been his strong suit, but damn, he wasn't so dense as to miss a clear invitation to a tryst when he heard one. He was surprised with both the runologist's confidence and the suggestion itself, although he did pause to consider it—hell, he supposed only a dead man wouldn't. The possibility of spending the night with a woman was tempting, for obvious reasons, but he was not that desperate, ready to humor some Aquarian wench who didn't even happen to be his type; too skinny and too flat-chested, among other things. Why had she made such an offer in the first place, he wondered—out of curiosity, to see what it meant to make love to a man who went by the label of a wicked monster? Perhaps to be able to brag about it to her friends later? Albel felt a wave of strong dislike at the idea.

The younger woman kept watching him expectantly, waiting for an answer. He shrugged and smirked down at her, "Brats your age shouldn't stick out their noses out of their rooms past curfew."

Nothing else had to be said at this point; the refusal was blatantly obvious. Albel didn't wait for the woman's indignant retort, should she even find the voice to give him one, nor did he bother with bidding his goodbyes. He merely turned on his heel and started to walk down the street, making no effort to check whether Adray remembered to follow him or not. In fact, he found himself hoping that the older man would stay behind—to apologize on his behalf, for example—but unfortunately, it seemed that luck wasn't on his side today. Soon enough, he heard the familiar, irritating sound of Adray's wooden-soled sandals clattering over the cobblestones.

The runologist caught up with him only a few moments later. "Now, now," he began in a mildly patronizing tone, as the two of them continued to stroll, arm in arm, towards the marketplace. "I believe there was no need to act so unkindly towards the young lady."

"She should be called a harlot, at least according to Glyphian standards," Albel observed dryly.

"Dear lad," the other man laughed, "I'll have you know that I was fortunate to meet quite a few Glyphian girls in my youth, and I don't remember even one of them having any reservations whatsoever concerning–"

Albel raised a hand to forestall a detailed, entirely unwanted reminiscence from his companion. "I don't care about your experiences of that sort, old man." …Or any other, for that matter. He shrugged. "The point is, they'd hardly ever make such clear-cut offers in public."

"And why is that, I wonder?" the runologist pressed readily, gesturing at the knight to follow him into a narrow, suspicious-looking alley that branched off from the main road. "Can't you see a little hypocrisy in the way men and women play with each other in your country, while it's obvious that they all want the same thing? I don't condone unfaithfulness in marriage, for example, but is there anything indecent in a high-spirited, single girl craving a nice rendezvous under the moon?"

The captain shook his head. As if it was really about holding hands and the nightingales…

"I said, whatever," he snorted, unwilling to waste his time on analyzing the numerous cultural differences between Airyglyph and Aquaria. "Wasn't she some holy maiden of Apris, by the way?"

Adray's smile only grew larger. "Contrary to a popular belief circulating among your nation, runologists aren't sworn to chastity." He paused, and then started to laugh. "Heavens forbid! I would've never chosen this profession otherwise!"

Albel grated his teeth. "Spare me the details."

"The truth is," Adray went on, in a slightly less light-hearted manner, "many priestesses who serve in the temple officially decide to live in celibacy, but no one forces them to take these vows. It has to be a conscious, voluntary decision, because you cannot change your mind later, once you've already made such a promise. Apris doesn't tolerate perjurers of any kind—or that's what the religious folk here say, anyway." If one was to judge from the tone, Adray had never been a religious man himself, even before he had discovered the truth behind the gods' existence.

"What about the High Priestess' daughter?" Albel asked, and instantly wished he had bitten his tongue, instead. It wasn't his place to show interest in such things. Rozaria was Arzei's bride, after all. Like it or not, he'd soon be taking orders from her. The girl's—the future queen's—personal affairs were none of his business.

Thankfully, Adray didn't insist on criticizing the inappropriateness of Albel's remark. "Lady Rozaria received a special dispensation from Her Majesty," he said after a brief pause, managing to sound perfectly serious, for a change. "I guess that's everything you… or anyone else, for that matter, should know."

Albel couldn't bring himself to swallow his pride and apologize for his foolish question, he just nodded and kept his silence. He didn't protest when the other warrior, in a rare display of tactful behavior, changed the topic of their discussion to something more trivial and began describing the virtues of each of the local breweries. The lecture continued nearly all the way to the tavern, which turned out to be a dilapidated building rising from the middle of a small square, hidden among a cluster of old tenements. The Glyphian grimaced at the unappealing sight, yet he wordlessly followed his companion through the narrow door.

'The Green Kobold' might have looked like a seedy shack from the outside, but the young captain forgot his initial reservations the moment he took the first sip of his drink. The caramel-colored lager tasted exactly like good lager should: delicate and not too bitter. Truth be told, Albel had never been very keen on cold beer—the harsh winters at home had taught him to appreciate mulled wine, tea with vodka and other warm beverages—but he was far from being picky, either. He stretched his legs under the table, took another gulp from his mug and grudgingly admitted (not out loud, of course) that the old fool sitting in front of him had a decent taste when it came to these things.

If only he knew how to shut up…

Adray's talkativeness was exasperating, to put it mildly, and it didn't help much that the runologist didn't even seem to mind the obvious lack of attention from his unwilling audience. As soon as the maid who had waited on them was out of the way, he launched into a detailed, grossly exaggerated tale of the time he had been sent to the Northern Islands (more like exiled, because his queen had been fed up with him, the Glyphian thought irritably), and then swam across the sea to join Fayt in Surferio. Albel lost the thread somewhere around the episode with a giant shark, followed by a dramatic account of a storm, and yet the other man didn't appear to have noticed. He continued his story between generous bites of pork knuckle and large gulps of beer, paying no heed to his listener's facial expression.

Stifling a lazy yawn, the young captain leant back in his seat. With his sword propped quite visibly against the chair, and his pouch dangling from his hip in a rather tempting fashion, he slowly looked around the darkish, torchlit room, crimson eyes trailing over the other patrons and their weapons. Many people gathered in the tavern were just simple burghers or noisy adolescents—Albel didn't spare any of them a second glance. His gaze stopped only on armed men, men with a certain air of violence around them. Sadly enough, for all the blades and clubs strapped to their belts, none of the Aquarian scum even resembled a passable challenge. Nearly everyone lowered their eyes or averted their heads the moment they noticed Albel's taxing, provocative stare. These few who didn't do so at once still looked pathetically weak for his taste, not even worth standing up from his chair.

The captain sighed and took another sip of his drink, the third one, so far. He took no pleasure in taunting weak maggots and it seemed that nobody could provide him with any amusement tonight. Even the local thugs and so-called adventurers seemed reluctant to attack him—surely not because they were familiar with his face, realized that he was, at least for the time being, an emissary protected by the law? Bah, as if he would ever use his diplomatic privilege and call upon the watchmen in case of a scuffle!

Utterly disappointed with the bunch of cowards surrounding him, Albel turned his attention back to the former Crimson Blade. He was certain that the old man's ramblings couldn't get any worse than before, but he was sadly mistaken. After a few quarts of alcohol had settled in Adray's stomach, the runologist began to reminiscence about his past friends, which of course included Glou. Albel, forced to listen about what a great person his father had been, found himself torn between taking out his frustration on the speaker and merely exiting the tavern. Before he had managed to make up his mind, however, Lasbard miraculously fell silent and pushed his empty bowl away.

"Now that we've already eaten, let's get down to business," he announced.

Albel narrowed his eyes in suspicion. He had nearly forgotten that there was supposed to be some sort of a point to this meeting.

"You sure took your time. I was just about to leave," he snorted, although he made no effort to stand up yet. Outside, he noticed, the sun was already setting, transforming the neighborhood into a shadowy labyrinth of empty backstreets and tightly-shut gates.

"Looking back at our earlier conversation today, I can see why that sweet girl was met with such disdain from you," the runologist said seriously, making Albel's suspicion turn into surprise. Why was the senile fool bringing that up again, all of a sudden?

He frowned. "What of it, old man? Is this really so important?"

Adray silenced him with a gesture, and then went on, "You're simply looking for something different, aren't you? A secure relationship, perchance?" Albel blinked—twice. "Why, that's perfectly reasonable! Given your age and your background… You're almost twenty-five now, eh? It's high time, then, to think seriously about stabilizing your life."

It took him a while, but the Black Brigade captain finally remembered how to speak. "What the hell are you talking about?" he growled, a clear warning ringing in his tone. "What I do with my life is none of your business!"

"Be patient and let me finish!" Adray brushed the interruption aside. "You know that I have a daughter, right?"

"Yes, and…?" Albel stared at the runologist, the general idea slowly dawning on him—though the suggestion seemed so absurd that he tried to dismiss it straight away.

"You must have met her on several occasions," the Aquarian continued, unperturbed. "Clair is exactly your age, in fact, a beautiful, lovely, young woman. I'm proud to say she inherited my charm and her mother's good looks. Wealthy and intelligent, too; what else could a man need? I'm sure that despite her, ah, somewhat bossy nature, she'll turn out to be a wonderful life companion." There was a brief pause, and the man finished cheerfully, "…We can negotiate the dowry if you wish."

Albel was as silent as the grave, although at the same time his mind was teeming with lots of possible answers, all filled with a wide range of invectives. He could have expected many odd things from Adray, but this was ridiculous–!

"You're either very drunk or completely out of your mind. Or both," he managed to spit out at last.

"No, no, I'm being serious," the graying runologist insisted. "Aren't you at least going to give my offer some consideration? It's not like I expect you to give me a final reply right now. Take your time, think it over–"

"There's no need to think it over, you fool! I'm not interested in marrying her—at all!"

"But why not? She's a perfect match, you know…" Adray paused and narrowed his eyes. "Or are you suggesting that she is not?"

Albel felt physically weak all of a sudden, the way he hadn't felt in ages, ready to slide under the table any second now. It was no doubt the overwhelming effect the old fool was having on him, not what little alcohol he had drunk by this point. He clenched his teeth and forced himself to remain upright.

"Look," he spoke at last, when he was fairly certain that he could once again control the tone and volume of his voice, or at least keep himself from snapping at the other man completely. "I don't have anything in particular against your daughter, except perhaps for the fact that I spent the past few months thwarting her battle strategies and slaughtering her troops. Has it even occurred to you that she probably hates my guts, and that marrying me is undoubtedly the very last of her desires… not that I care either way? She'd hate you, too, if she learned of your ridiculous offer!" Albel paused and exhaled, in a half-successful attempt to calm himself down. "That's about all I have to say, and I swear that if you ever try to bring this conversation up again–" He swallowed the threat with a great deal of effort, aware that they weren't alone in the tavern, and that offending a fellow nobleman in public just wouldn't do, regardless of the nature of their audience, and the fact that Adray wasn't the type to notice offence even if it was spelt with capital letters and thrown directly into his face.

Gods! He found himself one step short of feeling sympathetic towards that woman, even as he was currently entertaining the idea of strangling her father. Hadn't he heard vague rumors that she wasn't interested in men, anyway? Supposing it was indeed true, didn't Adray know? Or did he purposely choose to disregard it in hopes of prolonging his family line?

"Now, now…" The graying warrior raised his hands in a placatory gesture. "I'm sure Clair doesn't really hate you, besides, the war between our countries is over and should be forgotten as quickly as possible, so there's no need to mention these old resentments…"

"I'm not interested in your daughter, get that through your thick head!"

"Ah, but don't you find her even the slightest bit attractive?" Adray insisted.

"That's totally beside the point."

"Is it?"

"Of course it is!"

Albel stifled a groan as the most recent image of Clair flashed before his eyes: the woman's face schooled into a rigid mask as she greeted him in Arias, on the day he had passed through the town with his soldiers, barely three weeks ago. The customary bows they had exchanged back then looked more like a forced twitch on his, and a mere nod on her part. She was plenty attractive, alright—in the way an icicle may seem pretty on a bright winter day, smooth and glittering in the sunlight—but it didn't make her any more desirable! Let alone a candidate for marriage!

There was a long pause. Adray stared into his beer in thoughtful silence, whereas Albel still struggled to control his temper, overcome with a new sense of dread. He seriously hoped that Woltar had never held similar conversations behind his back, made any such offers in his name. Probably not—Woltar realized that Albel would absolutely kill him if he dared to interfere with his life, right?—but knowing the old coot, everything was possible. The mere thought of it sent chilly shivers down the young man's spine. He decided to seek the count out as soon as he was back home, and openly confront him about the issue.

To hell with these damn old men and their ways, he thought angrily, watching Adray down the remains of his beverage in one gulp. So what if arranged marriages had been the only alternative in the times of Lasbard's youth? The world was gradually changing, wasn't it? Parents no longer had the right to organize their children's lives down to the slightest details…

The runologist put his empty mug on the table, and then let out a disarming sigh. He looked a bit crestfallen, but certainly not too shocked with Albel's refusal. The captain figured that it wasn't the first time the old fool tried to have this conversation with someone, and the results must have always been the same. Bah, no wonder, really. Clair might have been a 'great match' from a potential suitor's perspective, yet all her virtues sort of paled in comparison with her father's pushy attitude.

"I see," the Aquarian spoke at last, and Albel was surprised to hear some genuine melancholy in the usually jovial voice. "It's a pity."

"Whatever, old man."

"You probably wonder why I was being so insistent about the whole thing." Adray shook his head. "Dear lad, if only you knew how hard it is to be a father sometimes!"

Albel shuddered; this exchange was once again going in a very wrong direction. "Spare me a speech on that, will you?"

The older man didn't seem to have heard the sarcasm. He went on, "Imagine having a precious, unique treasure, like a clear diamond the size of your fist, or better yet, a single, beautiful rose planted in your garden. Wouldn't you do everything in your power to make it grow and to keep it from harm? Wouldn't you like to have everyone else admire it?"

Albel thought he would have never tried pushing something he considered a precious treasure into a stranger's arms, but he kept the remark to himself and reached for his beer, instead. He started to sip at the alcohol, intending to leave the tavern the moment his mug was empty, regardless of whether his interlocutor would also be finished at that point or not.

"I just want what's best for her, really!" Adray was saying in a passionate manner. "I can't see why she doesn't appreciate my efforts, or keeps scolding me for my meddling. She's not getting any younger each year, is she?"

Albel leaned back in his chair and began to consider repeating the entire conversation, word by word, to the Aquarian commander, as soon as he saw her again in Arias. The furious look on her face could turn out to be a just reward for his current torture.

"So if you change your mind by the time I manage to find a decent husband for her, which I fear may still take me a while, don't hesitate to let me know."

"For the last time, old man," he growled, shaken out of his pleasant daydream that involved a flustered Crimson Blade, Adray and lots of violence, "I'm not going to change my mind!"

The runologist fell silent at that, perhaps noticing the true extent of Albel's exasperation. He beckoned to the nearest maid and ordered them both more beer, even though the younger man still wasn't finished with his present round.

"Enough about my daughter, I suppose," he said after a moment—much to the Glyphian's relief—and then paused to take a sip from the mug that had just been placed in front of him. "I must say, I would've never guessed that you were such a romantic individual."

"What the hell do you mean?" Albel all but sputtered, his crimson eyes narrowing into slits.

"You didn't even pause to consider my offer," the runologist replied lightly. "You want to marry strictly for love, don't you?"

"I don't want to marry at all, you fool!" He somehow resisted the urge to slap his palm against his forehead and slide it down his face. "I've already told you that!"

Adray smacked his lips. "Tsk. That's what you're saying today, but you'll soon find yourself changing your mind, trust me. Everyone needs some sort of stabilization in their lives, even you. Oh, come on," he raised a hand to silence the younger man, who was already opening his mouth to curse. "Give me some credit, dear lad. I know what you're thinking right now, about your own independence and so on. My child feels exactly the same way, after all. You consider yourself a leader, a loner, above all social bonds. But this," he pressed seriously, "is not a healthy situation, and like most illnesses, it can be cured… if only the right medicine is found," he finished with a wink. "So, tell me, my friend… what kind of girls are your type?"

Albel didn't know what irritated him more: when Adray acted insane (like a few minutes ago, making an effort to hook him up with his daughter), or when he was trying to be insightful (and failing badly). He realized he himself had to be very drunk, indeed, if he was still willing to put up with this bizarre conversation.

"That's enough, old man." He pushed himself up, reaching for the Crimson Scourge. "I'm out of here."

"Now, now." Adray frowned at him. "There's no need to lose your temper all of a sudden…"

"I haven't lost my temper, you fool," he let out a pained sigh. "I was just going to take a leak."

Albel didn't feel like crossing the whole backyard to reach the tavern's smelly outhouse. His laziness aside, he decided not to test his slightly imperfect balance on the uneven and poorly illuminated cobblestones. Using the darkness and the other patrons' example as an excuse, the young man melted into the shadow of a nearby wall. The cool, night air sobered him up a bit, though he still had to lift his free hand and lean against the bricks for support, as he proceeded to fertilize the local weeds.

By the time he was finished and trying to wash his hands under a rusty pump, Albel felt much better, definitely much steadier on his own legs. With his stomach full and his mind pleasantly dulled, yet no longer spinning, he was almost tempted to find Aquios bearable. Adray, he thought, was perhaps the biggest idiot that walked the streets of this town, but at least he knew where to find a decent tavern.

Albel was just debating with himself whether or not he would be willing to endure yet another hour of the old man's prattling for a few more mugs of Aquarian first-class beer, when he heard the quiet, unmistakable sound of a sword being drawn, followed by hesitant footsteps. He pricked up his ears, the corners of his lips reflexively curling into a nasty smile. Somebody was making a poor attempt at sneaking up at him, it seemed. Just one person, still about thirty, twenty-five feet away, trying to take advantage of the dark, currently deserted yard.

Albel considered splashing his face with water, but quickly decided against it. There was no need to get himself wet without a good reason. He didn't feel very drunk anymore, certainly conscious enough to handle a single thug. He continued to wrestle with the pump as if nothing was amiss, and waited for the enemy to come closer. A moment later, however, the footsteps went silent, and a question rang out:

"You're Albel the Wicked, a-aren't you?"

The Black Brigade captain, who had been readying himself for an unskilled blow aimed at his back, felt a mild stab of disappointment the moment he heard that voice, young and unsteady, most probably belonging to a child. He sighed and straightened himself up, finally turning to face the attacker: a boy no older than fourteen, the youth's expression torn between fear and hatred, his fingers clenched tightly around a sword's handle. The weapon itself, Albel noticed, looked older and more serious than its wielder.

"Yeah, I often go by this name. So?" he inquired casually, wiping his hands against the legs of his pants.

"This means you're the man I've been waiting for!" The boy seemed satisfied, almost relieved with the captain's confirmation, though he couldn't quite control the quiver in his tone, as he demanded, "Draw your sword!"

Albel didn't take well to provocations of any sort. He remembered cutting off people's heads for offences less serious than this ridiculous threat, but those heads had always belonged to adults who had at least known how to hold a weapon properly. His current challenger was unfortunately just a pathetic Aquarian whelp, and despite what people said about the Wicked One's ruthlessness, he was not a child slayer. Of course, he had killed similar brats in the past—when he had been barely a brat himself, too—but that had been different times, the times of war.

He felt no desire to ruin quite a fine evening by getting some blood smeared on his freshly washed clothes. Still, didn't this idiot in front of him realize that once a naked blade was pointed at someone else's throat, a duel was—technically—inevitable? Rules of honor demanded that the insulted noble defended himself. Albel had every right to kill the attacker, child or not. It wouldn't even land him in trouble with the locals—even if nobody believed him that he had finished the worm in self-defense, he was still protected by his emissary status, so the worst thing the city guards could do under these circumstances would be to collect the corpse and wish the Glyphian a peaceful night. They would surely think to inform their queen about the whole incident, however, and Albel would have to deal with the woman's questions, possibly also with Arzei's displeasure, not to mention Nel's anger… Oh, hell. This wasn't really worth it, was it?

Albel's silent musings couldn't have lasted longer than a few seconds. "What's this all about, maggot?" he spoke, narrowing his eyes at the boy. "A suicide wish on your part? Go and hang yourself on your own belt, instead of bothering me." He hoped that the mocking reply would be sufficient to scare the idiot away, but he was mistaken.

"I won't leave this spot until you're dead!" the youth declared passionately, his ashen cheeks a clear contrast to the implied bravery. "Three months ago, you killed my sister at the fields of Aire! I will avenge her, no matter what! Draw your sword, now!"

Three months ago, the fields of Aire—the decisive battle between Airyglyph and Aquaria? It took Albel a moment to calculate the facts and process the message. So the snotty whelp wanted revenge—for a fallen soldier, some runologist, perhaps? Did he miss his sister so much that he was willing to join her prematurely in her grave? This wasn't just a chance encounter, after all. By the look of things, the fool must have followed him to this place, and then sat outside for a few hours, gathering his wits to finally issue his challenge. It made him either exceptionally brave, or very, very stupid.

Albel spat on the ground. "Put that stick back into its sheath before I take your threat seriously, kid."

"You should take it seriously–!"

"For the last time, maggot, don't test my patience," he growled, struggling to control his rising irritation. "Move aside, you're standing in my way." Even as he spoke, he began to walk towards the tavern, intending to simply brush past the boy, who remained glued to a spot between the approaching man and the entrance. "If you dare to follow me through that door, or if you'll still here when I leave, I swear I'll rip your guts out."

The youth's hands continued to tremble, but his features were twisted into a mask of pure resolve. Albel had seen that expression before, on and off the battlefield. He couldn't be too certain if the whelp would really give in, let him pass without any additional trouble, and yet he kept his steps light and uncaring. He had already been uncharacteristically lenient towards the fool, offered him a fair opportunity to retreat, and now it was only up to the boy whether he would listen to his inner voice of reason, or not.

The boy was desperate, though; not about to be ignored, or let his long-awaited chance at revenge slip him by. He spun around the moment Albel was walking past him, and then, abandoning all traces of honor, he took a wild swing at the man. Even if he did have some skill with the blade, it was completely absent right now, replaced with a blinding rush of adrenaline.

That was the final straw, of course.

Albel caught the blade with his metal claw, and then effortlessly pulled it out of the startled youth's grasp, throwing it aside. Before the whole situation could even register in the boy's mind, the older man smashed his flesh fist into his jaw, so hard that the victim staggered backwards, instantly losing his balance. Albel didn't think to draw his sword, but he couldn't keep himself from kicking the falling whelp in the ribs, with enough force to break at least one or two. Perhaps that would teach the maggot some common sense, he mused dryly, watching the smaller body hit the ground.

The yard was still empty. The whole incident couldn't have lasted more than a few minutes, and luckily enough no one had left the tavern in the meantime. The boy hadn't screamed to alarm any of the patrons—a belated testimony to his foolish courage—even though he was currently writhing in agony at the captain's feet, coughing up blood, moaning. Albel gazed at him impassively, aware that the worm's injuries were nowhere near as dangerous as they appeared. He would live and recover, at least, which wasn't something many people who had crossed the Wicked One's path in the past could claim about themselves—mostly because they were no longer able to claim anything.

Albel overstepped the shaking body and touched one of the pallid cheeks with the tip of his boot, forcing the whelp to look up, to pay attention. Following the nonverbal command, a pair of tearful, unfocused eyes rose to meet the swordsman's face.

"You truly are an idiot, in more ways than just one," the young captain announced, leaning over the dazzled boy. His voice rang with cold mirth, as he went on, "First of all, you have no skill whatsoever to match your ridiculous threat, it should be painfully obvious to you by now. Also, tell me this, maggot: do you realize that I'm visiting the town as an emissary? I could call the guards here, at this very moment, and they'd have you arrested, maybe even executed, all in the name of your queen, simply for daring to attack me." He paused and shook his head. "Vengeance often takes more than just a bit of stupid bravery—which is, however, entirely beside the point in your current situation."

The Aquarian was silent, perhaps overwhelmed by Albel's speech or scared out of his wits, yet most likely too busy gasping for breath to reply. The Black Brigade captain clenched his teeth. The fields of Aire, he thought, the final battle… The battle he had spent in the dungeons, chained to a wall like a dog, cold, exhausted and starving, with nothing better to do than to stare at the pool of his own blood and urine on the ground—while Vox, seated atop his dragon, continued to cut through the enemy, until he finally stumbled across those damn, meddling off-worlders, who took Albel's revenge away from him…

The young man drew a sharp breath, trying to calm himself down, yet to no avail.

"Let me tell you something, worm," he said after a brief pause, his expression twisted into a frightfully contemptuous grimace. The Aquarian youth must have noticed the change; he looked close to fainting. "I didn't even participate in the last battle of Aire, that much I remember for sure. I have no idea who killed your fucking sister, only that it wasn't me—not that I'd give a damn either way." He spat at the cobblestones. "Now, if you still have the strength to do so, maggot, I suggest you just crawl back into your hole and die."

Albel straightened himself up then, without sparing the boy another glance, having resisted the urge to kick the whelp again for good measure. He stared at the tavern door for a moment, and finally decided he had had enough for today. The talking he had done in the past few minutes had made him sober again, and he was certain that he wouldn't be able to withstand more of Adray's drunken babble in this state, neither about the runologist's nubile daughter, nor about Albel's needs when it came to women—hell, especially not about that.

He turned on his heel and started to walk back in the direction of the palace, completely unbothered by the people he was leaving in his wake: the elderly warrior without a single word of explanation, and the gasping, crying youth curled on the ground.

End of Chapter Three

Author's Notes: I admit I just love writing Adray. He's got a great personality and I find him very attractive – noble profile, graying temples, bare chest and all that – so he'll end up appearing in a larger number of chapters than previously intended. I've already used quite a few derogatory terms to describe him, made him seem more foolish than he actually is, but unfortunately, in this particular story, he will be viewed mostly from Albel and Nel's perspective – and you know what these two think about him.

As for the final part with the boy… Heh. Needless to say, I don't support any sort of violence against children, but please keep in mind that in the Elicoorian cultural setting a fourteen-year-old is practically considered to be an adult. Still very inexperienced, yes, but perfectly capable of taking responsibility for his own actions. Albel himself wasn't much older when he tried the Accession of the Flame – and of course he didn't finish off his opponent in this chapter despite having the right to do so. Isn't he just full of kindness and infinite mercy? What's a few broken ribs compared to a decapitating blow, for example? ;)

Seriously, though, I couldn't just disregard his awful reputation and turn him into a goody two shoes all of sudden, could I?

I give my thanks to every person who intends to keep reading this story. Please, feed me some reviews and I'll have the next chapter posted in next to no time!