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Chapter Eight
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When Fayt awoke, Albel was already gone. The bed was turned up on the other side, with the pillows placed on top of the furs, as if Fayt hadn�t been there at all. He groaned and blinked against the deceptively bright sunlight cascading in through the windows. Wondering what time it was, and whether they would be entailing another journey through the snowy mountains, Fayt pulled himself up with no small amount of regret. Any hope that somehow the snow outside had miraculously melted was chased away with the last comforts of a warm bed as soon as he peered out through the window at the white peaks glaring in the light.
After strapping his tall armored boots to his feet, Fayt left the room to search for the elusive swordsman. Something told him that Albel was out sparring somewhere, as the man usually did when he was the first one up. Fayt wandered toward the end of the hall that led to the training courtyard and noticed that there weren�t many people about the castle. Then again, since there were really no crops or gardens to be cared for in such a cold, arid clime, he doubted there was much reason for most Glyphians to wake up early.
The air outside was as frigid as he expected, though that didn�t make it any easier to adjust to. Masculine grunts and snarls met his ears with the bitter gust when he opened the door to the courtyard, and Fayt saw Albel in a fierce sword-lock with another Airyglyph soldier. He stood with arms crossed over his chest to watch for a while instead of calling out to the Glyphian. He had never seen Albel spar with anyone other than himself and was curious to see if the man fought differently with others. From what he could see, as the soldier was bending away from the force, Albel was either going easy on his opponent or the other man was just weaker. It was probably the latter. He couldn�t imagine Albel going easy on anyone. But maybe that was just because Fayt was so used to getting a full onslaught of force whenever the two fought.
The other soldier�s sword was suddenly parried and the blade spun out of his hand. He stumbled and then, realizing his imminent defeat, lowered himself to one knee before Albel�s insistent blade, which was aimed at his neck. With a flourish, Albel withdrew from his potentially lethal position and resheathed his sword.
�You need more practice if you want to become a knight, as you claim.�
The man bowed his head in understanding. �Yes, captain.�
Albel turned to depart, but when he saw the blue-haired Earthling watching near the door, he faltered.
Fayt raised an eyebrow at this reaction but didn�t say anything.
�Is there something you wanted, or are you just going to stand there gawking all day?�
Fayt shook his head. �Actually I was just curious to see what you were up to. Morning practice as usual I see?�
�Hmph. What do you care?�
�Is there somewhere to eat around here? I�m starving.� Fayt placed his hands on his stomach as if it would emphasize his point.
Albel sneered. �You couldn�t have just asked one of the chambermaids?�
�I never saw one, and I didn�t want to go snooping around the castle and accidentally barge into someone�s room.�
�How conscientious of you.� Albel tromped past Fayt and through the castle door.
Fayt followed but the pair didn�t get far beyond the threshold before being stopped by one of the young castle pages. From the look of it, the boy had been scampering all over the castle trying to find them; his dark eyes went wide in surprise at the near-collision before his face fell slack in relief. The boy bent and rested his hands on his knees to catch his breath.
�Lord�Albel�Master�Fayt��
The two men looked at the bewildered child in comparable astonishment. His clothes looked as though they hadn�t been washed in weeks, or even months, and his face was blotched with smudges of dirt. The cape at his back was torn ragged at the hem.
�The king summons you�right away.�
�What for?� Albel barked.
Breath sufficiently caught, the boy straightened. �His Majesty has business to attend to, so he has requested that Master Fayt�s initiation into the Knights of Airyglyph take place today, as he does not wish to keep you for too long, you just returning and all.� The page glanced at Fayt before his eyes flickered over to Albel in what seemed like a meaningful look.
Fayt could practically hear the blood start to boil in Albel�s veins in response to the boy�s slip into informality. He spoke quickly to prevent any stinging insult from escaping the other man�s throat. �When does he have in mind?�
�Right now, sir, if that is possible.� Again he glanced at the two of them before casting his eyes shyly to the floor.
�Well? Is that all?� Albel bit.
�Sir,� the boy answered and saluted the captain before dashing away.
�I swear they dredge those little urchins straight from the sewers,� Albel said with apparent disgust as he watched after the retreating boy. �Unruly little maggot.�
�Oh, like you were more respectful when you were a kid, Albel,� Fayt said and smirked.
�I knew my place. And I knew how to address my superiors.�
�Yeah right.�
Albel glared hard into green eyes. �Do you not have somewhere you need to be right now? You ought to get your ass moving.�
Fayt dropped his playful air. �What? Aren�t you coming with me?�
Abel started to walk back in the direction of his room. �Bah. What for? I�ve seen enough of those ceremonies as it is. They bore me.�
�But�!�
Stopping, Albel looked back and rested his clawed gauntlet on his hip.
�But, it�s my ceremony.� Fayt�s voice was quieter, clearly stung.
�Yes, so it is.� Albel turned and continued on his way, raising an arm in farewell. �Enjoy it.�
What a great way to start my day, Fayt thought, and his stomach growled in agreement. He wanted to throw a curse at the retreating back, but instead bit his tongue and stalked off alone toward the royal hall.
When he arrived, a mousy servant greeted him. �Master Fayt? Please follow me.�
The boy did as he was instructed and found himself in a small room lined with various garments. The servant picked an outfit from the bunch immediately�a purple tunic with starched ruffles at the neck and cuffs and pants trimmed in gold braiding�and handed it to Fayt.
�This should fit you,� the wiry man said after a pausing a moment to scrutinize the boy�s dimensions, �but even if it doesn�t there is no need to worry. You only need to wear it for an hour or two anyway.�
Fayt held the garments up against his frame and looked down at them skeptically, suddenly feeling the urge to blanch. The ensemble was decidedly�purple.
�Um, I hate to be a pain but, isn�t there anything else I can wear?�
The servant shook his head emphatically. �Oh no, absolutely not. You are to become the second-in-command to the Black Brigade after all. It�s tradition.�
Fayt�s eyes went round. �What? The Black Brigade? Are you serious?�
Seeing the stunned expression on the foreigner�s face, the servant couldn�t help but smile. �You mean nobody informed you? Well, I suppose it is short notice. Are you having second thoughts? I can understand, since you will have to be dealing directly with the infamous Captain N�oh,� he said with an expression bordering on horror and suddenly covered his mouth. �Please forgive me.�
Fayt laughed. �Don�t worry. I promise I won�t say anything to him.�
The man sighed in relief and rested a hand over his heart. �Anyway, you had better put those on. I will inform His Majesty that you are preparing.�
�Wait!� Fayt reached out and grabbed the servant by the arm before he could skitter from the room. �What exactly am I supposed to do out there?�
�Oh, well, there�s really nothing to get excited over. I will attend you before the ceremony begins. Then you simply walk up to the throne and kneel down. You just have to put on a nice show of solemn respect before the king and listen for his cues.�
�Okay. As long as I don�t have to make a speech or anything.�
The man smiled one more time before dashing out of the room. Once alone amid the sea of strange clothing, Fayt wriggled out of his own clothes and wondered how many people would even be at the knighting. It sounded like an easy affair to get through, but he was still nervous. He didn�t particularly want to go through it alone.
Once the final clasps were in place, he looked down at himself and felt completely ridiculous. He half expected to hear Albel�s mocking insults crack from somewhere behind him. Fayt was suddenly thankful that the Glyphian decided to forgo the day�s events. At least he would be spared from suffering whatever humiliation the warrior might unleash upon him. But then again, Albel�s normal ensemble wasn�t much better in his opinion.
Fayt stealthily toed to the door, held onto the heavy wooden thing and peeked around the corner just to be sure that Albel wasn�t waiting to jump out and surprise him with a proclamation that this was all just a big practical joke. At that moment the mousy servant came shuffling into view.
�Ready?� the man said and pulled the door open further.
�Um, yeah. As ready as I�m ever going to be.�
�Alright, follow me.�
Albel knew that Fayt was hurt by his rejection to attend the ceremony, but he forced his mind to dwell upon other things of no importance rather than feeling even the slightest guilt about it. He didn�t quite know why he felt the need to withhold his presence from the events so stubbornly, but once the urge to do so came, he just went with it, knowing full well that Arzei would be furious but caring none the more. It wasn�t that he objected to Fayt�s induction, actually he was aware that the kid could have used his support, knowing the jealous tendencies of many of the Airyglyph soldiers, it was just that he didn�t want to go. Plain and simple. He had better things to do at the moment.
He had risen with the first splinter of sunshine breaking over the mountains, and sparring all morning had made him tired. That and his sleep had been broken several times throughout the night by invisible terrors, but once awake he had no recollection of any nightmares to provoke his start. He scanned the room in search of some foreign entity which might have been a threat, seeing nothing in the dull light of the faded embers within the hearth and hearing nothing but Fayt�s soft breathing at his side. Once his heart had sufficiently settled he had turned to study the form that shared his bed. From what he could tell, Fayt was not in a much better place within the realm of dreams; his face was slightly crunched in agitation, but otherwise his body was still. Albel had the equally frightening urge to sink down and pull the sleeper into his own body, to abolish both of their pains in a haze of warmth, but instead he turned away and lied closer to the edge of the bed. When he awoke for the fourth or fifth time, he decided he couldn�t take it anymore and just got out of bed.
Now all he wanted to do was to take a nap. His room had already grown cold from the death of the fire long ago, but he didn�t feel like rousing another one. Having slept almost fully dressed the night before due to his whining companion�s intrusion into his sanctity, Albel was interested only in shedding all his clothes and sleeping the way he preferred to do in his own room.
Once he was unarmed and his clothes lay scattered haphazardly around the bed, Albel sunk beneath the furs and immediately closed his eyes. Before he could fall asleep, he imagined Fayt dressed in that ridiculous getup that tradition insisted its knighthood inductees to don and suddenly grinned. It was a shame he wouldn�t get to see it himself. Although he remembered having to wear it himself once upon a time, that didn�t mean he wouldn�t have mercilessly laid into the younger man with scathing humiliation. He could just see the look on Fayt�s face�those wide green eyes sparkling with horror above a pair of burning cheeks and slightly parted lips, trying to form words that would salvage his dignity but failing. Albel chuckled and savored that image until his consciousness faded.
The ceremony wasn�t immense, and for that Fayt was glad. Only the members of the Black Brigade, the king, and an attendant were present. Considering that he was to be ranked second-in-command of the brigade, he was a bit surprised that Albel wasn�t present. Apparently Arzei was as well, judging by the slightly peeved expression that lingered over his features.
Fayt walked the runner between the two rows of the brigade�s ranks with as much dignity as he could muster, despite the constrictive cut of the tunic�s tailored waistline and his overall discomfort. A few of the soldiers hardly bothered to mask their disdain as the suddenly superior outsider walked before them; their silent glares were not lost to Fayt, but he refused to look directly at them. What bothered him more were the shockingly open leers coming from another handful of soldiers on either side. It was true that he did feel rather effeminate in his current attire, but still. Had he not been at such a respectable event, he was sure the catcalls would fly. He could feel his cheeks flush in embarrassment.
Arzei stood once Fayt had approached the throne and took a decorous long sword from his attendant�s hands. Fayt kneeled down and rose again once commanded, repeated a few pledges, didn�t flinch when the blade was brought down, and then the ceremony was over, sans any embarrassment he had initially feared. The soldiers made an arch overhead as he passed back through and withdrew their salutes once Fayt was clear. As he walked, he was almost certain that this recent status boost was going to be more trouble than he was willing to suffer in the future.
Albel was down in the dungeons again. It was dark, cold, and he was alone. He was sitting sprawled on the stone floor with his back pressed up uncomfortably against the corner walls and felt immensely groggy, like he had been sleeping in that awful position for hours. He could tell where he was immediately, if not for the familiarity of the place grating on his basic senses, then for the uncanny, prickling fear that stole across his mind.
He struggled against his own body to move into a less open position and realized both his legs had fallen asleep. Icy needles shot through his veins with the movement and he plummeted back down as soon as he tried to stand. Already irritated, he scanned the area until his legs could recover. Up ahead, against the far wall, a torch was lit. It hardly illuminated space more than a few paces around it. A dim orange halo surrounded the ducking flame, betraying the filthy density of the air. The sound of rusty metal hinges occasionally broke the silence not far from him, and though it was impossible to see what was making the noise, he was sure that one of the cell gates was open. Though what was making it swing like that in a nearly airless passage was another question. He wasn�t eager to find out the answer.
Feeling that he could finally make it to his feet without having his knees give out, he stood and suddenly realized that his sword was not with him. He ducked down and searched the floor where he was sitting with his hands. The torch at the end of the hall crackled loudly and quickly grew to blazing, lighting the passage well enough for him to see that he was clearly without weapons. Even his gauntlet was mysteriously removed, but the bandages that normally wound his arm were gone as well. He lifted his left hand and examined it, almost panicked to see that it was free from the burn scars. When he flexed his fingers they obeyed, and the normal nerve sensations he had long forgotten were suddenly there, as if the tragedy at his Ascension had never taken place.
The torchlight sputtered and snapped, forcing his attention away. A long shadow slipped along the floor away from the light as whatever, or whoever, it was moved down the other corridor. Curious, he began to move toward the light. The gate that swung lazily ahead suddenly slammed shut as he passed, making him jump and instinctively reach for the ghost of his sheath. Scowling at the bars, he continued along, but the gate to the next cell flew open, nearly striking him. A low moan filled with pain and despair issued from within the prison before the bars slammed back closed again. He ground his teeth and started to walk, but at his first step away, every one of the cells� doors snapped open and closed again, filling the underground corridor with deafening metallic applause.
He was tempted to cover his ears against the assault, but instead he bolted down the remainder of the passage to escape the blasting noise. When he reached the end and turned to the next passage, the torch fire behind him dulled to deep red, casting the corridor before him in bloody light. The cells behind were still, and the newfound silence made his ears ring painfully in the absence of the banging. He paused, noticing that something was at the end of that hallway, something strange. It was massive and immobile, and not human. Cautiously, he made his way down the hall, refusing to flinch as the dead torches that spotted the wall to his left suddenly winked and spit up vermilion flames as he approached them. The hallway looked positively stained in blood by the time he reached the thing that blocked the passage. The last torch near the abomination hadn�t lit, but he could see from the light of the others that it was a poorly made wooden construction. A cross. Long crooked nails spiked out in random places from the boards, places where nails weren�t needed to hold the thing together at all. A deep shadow fell into the center of the structure, obscuring a full view of the thing.
He had been studying it in the weird light for a while before the sound of something dripping sharpened his ears. He looked closer and saw that the source was within that shadow; a pool of something dark, nearly black in the crimson light, was growing directly beneath it. To his disgust, he could see the slanted base of the cross sopping the substance up into its grain.
It was then that the discomfort and wariness that sat in his stomach welled up into genuine terror. With a hesitant hand, he reached slowly into the shadow and came into contact with something soft. He drew his arm sharply back, recognizing the sensation as flesh. He tried again, this time at a higher angle, where he expected a face to be, and the temperature of the room seemed to drop.
A cold hand suddenly latched on to his wrist. He grunted in shock and attempted to yank his arm away, but the hand within the shadow would not loosen its grip. Instead his arm was being pulled in deeper until something warm, soft, and wet enclosed his fingers to the knuckles. He heard a groan similar to that which had drifted from the cell earlier, if not from the same throat, but this one was clearly compelled by lust. Within that velvet enclosure something slowly began to swirl, and it was then that he realized his fingers were buried in somebody�s mouth.
Disgusted, he pulled his hand away with all his force and nearly fell over backward once freed. In the dim light he could see that the dark substance, which was still trickling out onto the floor, was drenching his fingertips and lining his wrists in the outline of the grip that had held him. He shook his arm hard to fling the sticky muck away before moving straight for the nearest lit torch and ripping it away from its sconce. The light filled in the black hollow within the cross and he was finally able to see who was there.
He recognized the shock of blue hair first, though it was now limp, damp, and matted against its owner�s face. It was Fayt on that cross, nude, arms and legs bound to the structure by what appeared to be razor wire. Which meant that the hand that had seized his wrist before could not have been from the person before him now, but he was too startled to give that passing concern much consideration. His attention was fixed on the blood. It seeped from the skin beneath the wire, from the silent mouth, and from between unmoving thighs. Something unspeakable had been done to him, apart from crucifixion itself. He had to get Fayt down from there. He only hoped the kid was still alive. Either way, he vowed that the one responsible for this would die very, very slowly.
The wire was strong and thin, and sliced through his fingertips without hesitation as soon as he attacked the mess of it that bound Fayt�s ankles. Wincing at the precise pain, he wished more than anything that he had his claws. It was clear that he was not going to be able to undo those bonds, so he reached up and tried to shake Fayt into consciousness. He called out the kid�s name, but Fayt didn�t react at all. Dread laden with a chill to rival the bite of the corridor filled his stomach.
When he heard the laughter echoing in that hollow stone hall he didn�t need to seek a face. He already knew to whom it belonged. The sound of it had been seared into his memory once before.
A banquet was held in the great hall, where Fayt wasn�t surprised to find more of a crowd. After answering several greetings, congratulations, and general curiosities, Fayt was already tired. He could tell from the stuffy atmosphere that many of the Glyphians didn�t trust him yet, nor did they approve of such a rapid advancement of an outsider who hadn�t even served in the Airyglyph military. But most of them made a decent show of civility, at least the ones who spoke to him. Stealing a bit of food and retiring to an empty table, he realized after surveying the room that Albel was not there either.
Curious, Fayt hurried to eat and excused himself from the large room without much notice from the others. His first stop would be the dressing room, where his own, exceedingly more comfortable clothes awaited him. But as he walked, he couldn�t help but feel that something was wrong.
He hardly had time to lay eyes on his clothes when he heard his communicator blipping; he had almost completely forgotten that he had stowed it away in his pants pocket before the trip from Kirlsa.
After fishing a hand through his folded pants to find it, Fayt flipped the device on and Sophia�s irritated face greeted him.
�Fayt! Do you know I�ve been trying to contact you for like an hour?�
He scratched sheepishly at the back of his head, a response he had probably picked up from Cliff. �Sorry, Sophia. I was just busy.�
Her face instantly softened. �Oh, no, I�m sorry. I didn�t mean to get mad at you. I was just worried when you didn�t answer.�
�It�s okay. So what�s going on?�
�I�ll be going home soon. I think we�ll arrive sometime tomorrow, at least that�s what Maria said.�
Fayt just looked at her for a long moment, trying to reel the past back in. She was still on the Diplo. Though it felt like it had been ages, it wasn�t too many days ago that he was still on that same ship with her. There was even something vaguely surreal about talking with her then and there, though he couldn�t pinpoint why.
�That�s great. I�ll bet you�re crazy to get off that ship, huh?� he said amiably.
She smiled and shrugged. But when her shoulders came back down, they seemed to droop. Her smile melted into seriousness. �How are you, Fayt? Is everything okay there?�
�Yeah,� he said, refusing to acknowledge the living nightmare staining his memory, �everything�s fine. What�s with that look? Is something wrong?�
�I had that dream again. Last night. You know that nightmare I told you about? I thought, once we were done with�him�that it was over. I tried to get a hold of you as soon as I woke up, and when you didn�t answer�I don�t know.�
Fayt tried to express his most sympathetic expression. �Hey, remember what I told you? It�s just a dream.�
�I know that, but�I just feel really scared for you.�
Fayt overlapped the difference in their time spaces, according to Sophia�s recount, and wondered if she had been sleeping while he and Albel were underground. He was suddenly more eager to know the details about her dream.
�Maybe if you tell me about it you�ll feel better. I might even be able to figure it out for you.�
She looked skeptical, but followed his advice. �It was the same really. It starts out so dark, but I can tell you�re there, and it�s like you�re trying to get away from something but you can�t see where you�re going. And then I can see everything, but it�s all red. You�re fighting with someone. There�s something familiar about this person, but I can�t see his face. You start to fall, and then�� She lowered her face as if trying to hide the fact that she was struggling to maintain her composure.
�Go on, Sophia. It�s okay.� Fayt knew he wouldn�t like whatever she would tell him.
Sophia lifted her face and her eyes were glittering wet. �It goes dark, and I can�t see anything again. But I can hear you screaming. It�s so horrible.� The tears finally slipped from her eyes, but she made no move to dry them. �I shut my eyes even though I can�t see, but then I can suddenly see everything. And he kills you, Fayt. I�ve watched you die every time�� She sniffed wetly. When she spoke, she was bordering on hysteria. �Luther�s dead, isn�t he Fayt?�
�Yeah, he�s dead.� For a brief moment her panic was infectious, and he too began to doubt. But his rationale came back to him before she could pick up on it and he soothed her for several more minutes with reassurances. By the time he had her smiling again and prepared to leave him, he said his goodbyes and flipped off the communicator.
He had the notion that their genetic link had somehow lent her a portion of his own nightmare down in the dungeons and contributed to her dream. But then if that were true, wouldn�t Maria have had some sort of vision as well? He strongly doubted that she was the type to be frightened of a dream, no matter how gruesome it was. And he really didn�t feel like calling her up and asking about it. What would that prove anyway? Sophia had probably just tapped into their common link at a very bad time. She would forget all about the horrible images soon no doubt. And then once he was back in Kirlsa, he could do the same.
Albel braced himself with murderous intentions as his weapons. He would have no qualms with tearing out flesh and breaking bones with tooth and nail.
A disembodied voice filtered through the hall as softly as a ray of light. �Forgive me, I did try to wait, but you see, I just couldn�t help myself. He looked so�delicious. And he was, too. Every last inch of him. But you already understand what I mean.�
�What the hell have you done?� Albel said with the same deceitful calm as the eye of a storm. The laughter that sent needles of that awful marriage of horror, rage, and ecstasy down his spine came again.
�Please. You are in my domain, and being so, you are also a slave to my regulations. You could at least thank me for giving you your hand back. Oh, and I also took the liberty of heightening those dulled senses of yours when I mended the nerves in your fingers. You have quite a tolerance to sensation, especially to pain; it took a fair deal of work. I understand that you are a warrior, but honestly, how can you enjoy life when you cannot feel it to its fullest?�
�Stop prattling and answer me, worm.�
�Antisocial, are we?� The voice seemed to concentrate into one place directly near the cross. A shadow appeared in one spot beside Fayt�s arm, despite the torchlight, and then the darkness formed into Romero�s form, just as Albel had seen it last. The demon hovered above the ground, close to Fayt�s body, and smiled as he wrapped an arm around the unconscious figure�s shoulder. The other arm ran an appreciative finger down the boy�s pale abs.
�And here I thought we could share sentiments over the flesh of this boy. That sweet blood in your mouth. That soft hair between your fingers. Those lips� breath echoing in your ears.� Romero paused and cast a dark look directly into Albel�s eyes. �That hot tightness around you when you fuck him.�
Albel seethed with rage. But when Romero�s eyes blazed with molten fire and the demon took a step in midair toward him, he was unable to attack. His body went rigid, and he heard his skull thud with sickening resonance when it hit the floor.
�Let me taste you as well.�
He could feel the screams ripping his throat open in time with his clothes as the frozen fire of the demon�s fingers touched the bare skin of his sternum, but he couldn�t hear anything come out. He didn�t know if it was the length of a fingernail opening his skin or the whisper of a caress, but it landed on his nerves like a full symphony. He only knew the pain and the horrendous desire for all of it to continue.
Once changed into his own clothes, Fayt made his way downstairs toward Albel�s chambers. He knocked at the door and thought he heard muffled groaning come from the other side, but then silence. He knocked again. Still nothing. More concerned for the room�s occupant than for his own safety, if by chance Albel was there and of sound mind, ready to yell at him for intruding, Fayt opened the unlocked door and stepped inside. It was cold. No, it was freezing beyond reason. Normally the castle was a little cold all the time, especially in the rooms without fires going, but he could see his breath vaporizing before him. His eyes fell to the bed and found the source of the muted noises he had heard. The fur blankets had been kicked down, baring Albel�s naked and pale upper body. The Glyphian was curled up with his hands clenched in his short hair, and wore a grimace of agony worthy of putting a satisfied smile on the fat prison torturer�s leather-clad face.
Fayt moved closer, calling Albel�s name softly at first. When he was standing over the bed, and it was clear that Albel wasn�t going to wake from his calling, Fayt reached out and gently tried to pull one of Albel�s hands away from what looked like a painful grip on his hair. As soon as his hand closed around the man�s wrist, Albel let out a scream that sent Fayt back onto his rear in complete surprise. Albel screamed again, jerking out of his fetal position and arching his back out as if trying to push something away.
Fayt stood and watched the violent one-sided struggle with wide eyes. He had never imagined Albel as capable of having such vivid nightmares and didn�t know what to do. But the grating of the man�s teeth and the labored breathing, as if something heavy sat upon his chest, could not continue while he just looked on. Albel could scratch and tear at him, but he had to wake the man up.
At the silent count of three, Fayt was on top on Albel, pinning his strong arms down to the bed to keep them from flying up and knocking out his teeth. He laid his weight out over Albel�s chest to still the convulsions, and was nearly thrown off with a force that could only be accounted to the pure, free-flowing adrenaline from the body below him.
�Albel, wake up! Wake up!� Fayt cried, positively terrified that the swordsman never would. �It�s okay! It�s me, Fayt!�
The thrashing eventually stilled until Albel slumped down in exhaustion, breathing hard. Ruby eyes slowly opened and looked blankly into worried green ones. Fayt could practically see the second that Albel�s consciousness came back, but he was tossed hard back to the floor before it came fully to light.
Albel jerked upright and threw an alarmed look down at Fayt, who thought his heart had stopped for a second. Then, realizing where he was, his expression fell into carefully guarded stone.
�What the hell are you doing?� Albel shot.
Fayt stood. �I thought I was saving your life. You were ready to tear your own throat out from where I was standing.�
�Nonsense. I�� Albel paused and looked steadily at Fayt.
�What is it?� Fayt turned and looked behind him just to be sure some hideous monster wasn�t standing next to him.
�Come here.�
Fayt turned back and was taken aback with the strange expression on Albel�s face. There was no way he could even describe it. But he obeyed and knelt down at the edge of the bed.
�This isn�t another dream, is it?� With a tentative hand, he reached out and gently poked Fayt in the collar.
He stayed still, confused, but allowed the man to do whatever he had to do. �If it is, then apparently I�m dreaming too.�
The hand came up and for a moment Fayt feared that it was about to strike him. He flinched slightly, but it only smoothed up his jaw, over his chin and toward his lips. But Albel must have confirmed something, because his hand moved away then.
�I hope your affairs at the castle are over,� Albel said.
�Yeah. Why?�
�Get yourself ready. We�re leaving.�