Angst Box Set 2

by David Pedersen

  “How much time do you even have left?” Wilfred asked, pointing at the princess’s room. “The puddle of blood from Victoria’s wound grows, and you were able to escape. Time has to be passing in that room. How long does she have?”

  Aerella inspected the barrier between the hallway and Princess Victoria’s chamber. Her hand moved from side to side as if she were washing a window, and the air between the rooms looked like fumes over a campfire that trailed her hand. She squeezed her eyes shut, her tiny nose scrunching, and touched the barrier. Red light flashed with a noisy crack, and she was thrown back into Angst’s arms.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” she said, but she was breathing fast, and her heart raced like it was ready to explode.

  He helped her stand and inspected her thoroughly—for damage, of course. It was the first time he’d really taken her in. She had the same luxurious mane of brown hair and sharp green eyes. Her skin had a light olive tone, and she wore the same flowing blue robes. She looked like the Aerella he had first met, except...shorter? Angst had held Aerella while she cried on his shoulder one night at Gressmore Towers. Hadn’t she been the same height as him? And the worry lines in her face were gone, as if youth had returned to round out her cheeks. She suddenly looked so young that he couldn’t contain his frown.

  “What is it, Angst?” she asked.

  “Are you feeling okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she said with a smile. “Thanks for catching me.”

  Wilfred cleared his throat, as if to remind them he was still in the room. “Can you free her, Aerella? Can you free the queen right now?”

  “No,” she said with a disappointed sigh. “But he can.”

  “No, I can’t,” Angst said. “She’ll die.”

  “She’s practically dead now, Angst,” Aerella blurted. “You’re leaving her in pain.”

  “She’s tough,” he said. “She’ll manage.”

  Though flushed from her outburst, she composed herself. She shook her head and looked at Wilfred. “We have about three weeks. Maybe four.”

  “So you need to find Dallow so you can locate Alloria and Jormbrinder and get back here to save Victoria in three weeks?” Wilfred asked loudly. His arms flailed wildly, as if he were directing an orchestra.

  “Yeah,” Angst said hopefully.

  “And how...” Aerella began.

  “You know, I think you’re smarter than me,” Angst said sharply. “How about more answers and less questions?”

  Aerella’s lip quivered, and he immediately regretted not reacting more thoughtfully. She seemed so...young, her mood swaying like tree branches in a windstorm. Before he had the chance to apologize, she gathered herself and asked, “How did you locate Rose when she had Chryslaenor?”

  “Yes!” he said, and she immediately perked up. “Dallow found fragments of your father’s memndus scattered about the ruins. He gave them to us as gifts. Rose had one, so we were able to track her.”

  “Of course,” Aerella said excitedly. “Hand me the stones. I think together we could cast that spell...”

  “Dallow has all of them,” Angst said. “He was blinded and discovered he can use one to see. He keeps the extras for backup.”

  “Fascinating,” she said. “We may be able to find additional stones at Gressmore.”

  “We?” Angst asked. “I’m not putting your life at risk again. I just got you back.”

  “We’ll discuss that later,” she said firmly. “No matter how powerful you are, you can’t do this alone.”

  “You can’t do this at all!” Wilfred demanded. “Unsel could be attacked at any moment.”

  Angst thought for a moment. Wilfred was right; Unsel couldn’t be left undefended. Someone had to protect Unsel, and Victoria. His efforts would be useless if the capital was overtaken before he returned. He’d gone away on two separate mission as an Al’eyrn wielding a foci, and both times Unsel had survived attack. He snapped his fingers at the realization.

  “You don’t need me,” Angst said with a broad grin. “You’ve got a militia of wielders at Rookshire.”

  “But...but,” Wilfred looked panicked, “they hate us.”

  “Then fix it,” Angst said. “Aren’t you in charge?”

  “I guess,” Wilfred said, rubbing his hands together. He shook his head as if tearing away from his thoughts. “But three weeks? How can that possibly be enough time?”

  “Hey, all I have to do is find my friends, find Alloria and Jormbrinder, and bring them all back here to save the princess before Unsel is destroyed forever.” Angst placed his hands on both hips. “I’ve got this!”

  “Ugh,” Wilfred said as if in pain. “I don’t know...”

  “I’m not asking,” Angst said firmly.

  “I thought I was in charge,” he replied, his cheeks crimson.

  “With both swords I can do anything now, so I’m the exception,” Angst said confidently, unable to hold back a wide grin.

  “Of course you are,” Wilfred replied with an exhausted expression. “But the Fulk’han are everywhere, and we’ve heard rumors of Vex’steppe tribesman spying on us, and Melkier... How will you get through all of that in time?”

  “I’ll cut them down,” he said roughly. “I’ll make a path if I have to.”

  “No, Angst,” Aerella said, her voice gentle. “That’s a lot of killing. Do you really want that on your shoulders? The elements started this. Those other nations don’t even realize that they’re merely pawns.”

  “Maybe,” he allowed, but something in him itched for battle. It was irrational, and he’d never felt that way before, but he suddenly wanted to cut loose and spill blood until he was king of the mountain. He took a deep breath. “I could try being sneaky.”

  “With that?” Wilfred jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the giant sword glowing in the corner.

  “Look, hold them off for three weeks. That’s all I need,” Angst said.

  “And always make sure a wielder is protecting Victoria,” Aerella said firmly. “It’s important.”

  “Once I figure out how to make nice with them,” Wilfred said, a bead of sweat trickling from his thinning brown hair.

  Angst made his way down the corridor.

  “Where are you going?” Aerella asked.

  “I need a minute alone,” Angst said, grabbing Chryslaenor and resting it on his back. “I’ve got to plan this out before I leave.”

  “Maybe I’ll do some planning as well,” Wilfred called after him.

  6

  How on Ehrde could he possibly accomplish every goal he’d set for himself in only three weeks? His entire life he’d been overly ambitious. Angst couldn’t remember the last weekend he’d finished every project he’d planned. Exercising, and yardwork, and housework, and shopping, and lovemaking, and time with friends, and time for himself...it never came together like he expected. Finding his friends, finding Alloria and the foci Jormbrinder, and then saving Tori seemed like a lifetime’s work. All of that in only three weeks? He already felt like he was wasting time. What was he even doing, wandering the halls of Unsel? He should be kissing Heather and the kids goodbye and rushing off as fast as his swifen would take him.

  But, deep down, he knew where he was headed and wasn’t surprised to find himself at the ruins of the maiden’s courtyard. A wide, pink ribbon blocked passage through the overlarge, collapsed doorway, but the ribbon didn’t block the view. He took it all in with a gasp. Memories smacked him upside the head as he looked over the destruction created by the battle between Water, her gargoyles, merpeople, and the oldest living creature on Ehrde.

  Angst removed the ribbon and walked through the doorway. The maiden’s courtyard had been cut in half with all the villainy and vitriol that only an element at war could bring to pass. It was as if Water had purposely destroyed the maiden’s courtyard out of spite, picking up half the room and throwing it away. The marble floor ended abruptly at a jagged edge. Water dribbled from the remainders of the fountain ce
nterpiece, droplets falling far to the ground below. Even the bench where he used to sit with Victoria was now in pieces.

  This was their place! It filled him with fury that Water had destroyed the spot where he’d first met Victoria, where they’d gathered on so many occasions. It felt like an open wound. It made him angry. It made him want to weep. He wanted to destroy Water again, and again. But she was gone. And she’d taken a piece of him. Pieces. With each labored step toward the ledge, his rage slowly surrendered to a melancholy more exhausting than any illness.

  The spring air was cool, and the sky seemed unsure what to do. Dark, threatening clouds were framed by beautiful blue skies, a discordant sight. Would it rain? Would the sun prevail? Angst set Chryslaenor flat on the ground, ignoring its ignoble complaints in his head, and plopped down. He inched forward until his legs hung over the ledge then leaned back on his arms, and wallowed in his despair. A large wet drop landed noisily on his leg, soon followed by several more until rain steadily pelted the dusty marble floor.

  “Figures,” he muttered.

  Angst was sulking, and knew it, but he deserved to sulk. He’d earned the right to sulk, in the rain, in the remainders of the maiden’s courtyard. Far below, soldiers guarded the newly formed inlet—a giant sinkhole created by Water that had destroyed the west side of the castle. The guts of the castle were bare for anyone to see; collapsed walls had left open rooms and hallways that jutted out painfully. It was like a tree broken in half, with splinters of marble and foundation sticking out. The sinkhole was connected to another, and another, all the way out to the sea. A new waterway from the ocean, to the capital, all so the element Water could attack Unsel. He’d stopped her, destroyed her, but at what cost?

  Moyra.

  He’d befriended the mermaid on their trip across the ocean. They’d connected in a way he couldn’t rationalize. She’d become his muse by needing him more than anyone had. She’d accepted him, not caring that he was old, short, and pudgy. She didn’t seem to care. Moyra wanted him to be Angst, wanted him to be her hero, and nothing more. He’d needed that. Needed someone who wanted just...him. And then she was gone. Killed by Water. His vision blurred, and his throat caught. He couldn’t fight the tears, even knowing they wouldn’t bring her back.

  It wasn’t just crying; it was grieving. An uncontrollable feeling of loss for someone loved. It throbbed and ached, and he hated it. Angst would’ve done anything to change it, anything to bring her back, but that wasn’t possible. Not even for him. All this power made the guilt that much worse, and he couldn’t talk to anyone about it. He stared off at the horizon and saw nothing as his mind reeled and roiled. He’d beaten Earth, and Air, and, somehow, Water, but the price was too high. He hadn’t been there for the birth of his own children. His friends were gone, or dead. His best friend, Victoria, was a spell’s breath from dying. His oldest friend, Dallow, had lost his eyes. And Moyra. Despair couldn’t begin to describe his loss and guilt.

  Wind brushed his graying hair, throwing it forward as Faeoris landed behind him. Angst didn’t turn when he heard her gravelly footsteps approach, and from the corner of his eyes saw her shiny boots and long legs hang over the ledge, inches from his own as she sat. Angst quickly wiped his eyes, sat up straight, and sucked in his gut. She inched forward until she could swing her legs back and forth. On any normal day, his heart would be aflutter, and his flirt full on. This wasn’t a normal day.

  “Hey,” he said, hoping his voice didn’t sound too shaky.

  “Hey,” Faeoris replied.

  Angst could feel her eyes on him, but refused to look back. His final ounce of pride kept him from completely losing composure in front of the beautiful young Berfemmian, even though he knew she would understand.

  “Sulking?” she asked.

  “Yup,” he said.

  “Is it helping?”

  “Nope,” he replied.

  She sat up and leaned over, looking down the long drop to the sinkhole below. Angst’s heart skipped a beat as he grabbed her shoulder and tried pulling her back.

  “What is it?” Faeoris asked.

  “It’s a thing,” he said, trying to play it off. From the look in her eyes, she wasn’t buying it, so he continued. “I have an irrational fear...when my friends are near heights...”

  “But not when you’re near heights?” she asked. “The danger is the same for you, and them.”

  “Eh.” He shrugged, only relaxing when she leaned back.

  “That seems to be very Angst,” she said.

  “What do you mean?” he said, trying not to sound defensive.

  “You seem to think it’s okay that you are in danger, but not anyone else.”

  “Why would I want someone else to be in danger?”

  “Of course you don’t,” she said. “That’s not my point. It’s simply that you aren’t the only one who cares. You aren’t the only hero. You’re not alone.”

  “Oh.”

  “Your other friends may not be here,” she said. “But I still am.” She rested a hand on his and slid her fingers between his own.

  Angst felt closer to Faeoris than he would’ve expected in such a short time. Not only had she saved him and been there when he needed her, she’d waited. She waited for three long months for him to escape the spell he’d created. He felt a connection with her, one he knew could grow stronger over time, but he worried that it was fleeting. He’d lost so many, and didn’t want to lose her too.

  “You don’t look so good,” Faeoris said.

  “Do I ever?” he replied.

  “Well...” She let that linger then nudged him with an elbow. “You have your moments.”

  “Every time I think I succeed, I fail,” he tried explaining. “I protect Unsel by destroying the element Water, and not only do I lose my friends, my best friend is almost killed, and then Moyra...”

  “I’m sorry for Moyra,” she said softly. “I don’t completely understand. I think that love and sex are different for Berfemmian, but you are hurting, and I wish it to stop for you.”

  He merely nodded, trying again not to cry in front of her. He took several measured breaths to calm himself, holding hands with his friend, looking over Unsel’s new ocean view.

  “Was she your essent?” Faeoris asked.

  “I don’t know what she was,” Angst said with a deep sniff. “I’ll be fine.”

  “You need to let her go,” Faeoris said, her voice firm. “And you need to speak with your wife.”

  “She sent you?” he asked, taking back his hand and wiping his nose.

  Faeoris nodded, looking at him with worried eyes. Rain splattered the ground more aggressively, but right now he didn’t care. It was cool, but not cold, and refreshing, in a way. Faeoris crossed her arms and hunched over, obviously uncomfortable with being rained on.

  “She’s not happy with you,” she warned. “And neither am I.”

  “She just thinks I’m planning to leave her and the babies to go play hero again,” he said with a sigh.

  “Aren’t we?” she asked.

  “Oh, probably.” His lip curled in a half smile. “I keep reminding myself that I wanted this. I wanted to be a hero. But now that I’ve got it, how do I step away from it, even for a break?”

  “Death,” she stated as if it were as obvious as the rain.

  “Oh?” He laughed. “Is that how?”

  “In the songs and stories, heroes die saving the ones they love,” she said. “At least the stories I’ve heard. Heroes always die.”

  “I think I need to write a better story,” he said under his breath. “Of course, I’ve tried dying, several times. It doesn’t seem to work out for me.”

  “Then you don’t have a choice,” she said. “Rather than feeling sorry for yourself, you should figure out how to do it better.”

  “Dying?” Angst asked with a grin.

  “No,” she said sternly. “Being a hero isn’t just something to make you feel good about yourself. Lives are at risk. Yours, and e
veryone who stands with you.”

  “So I should do this alone?” he asked, feeling stubborn.

  “Don’t be stupid,” she snapped, leaning forward. “Just like I can’t rule the Berfemmian alone, you can’t hero alone. You need to stop taking on all of the burden yourself.”

  “But I’ve got two of these things now,” Angst said, jerking his thumb toward his foci. “I should be able to do anything. Nobody else should have to die.”

  “They will die, I will die,” she said. “Everyone knows the cost or they wouldn’t stand with you.”

  “My swords should make this easier,” he said, not completely agreeing with her.

  “Nothing worthwhile is easy,” she said, her words crisp.

  Her insight was thoughtful, even if it stung like a slap, but this conversation was becoming something else. Her tone was colder, snappier. Faeoris had shown sympathy for him when she arrived, but something was bothering her. He could feel it.

  “You’re upset at me?” Angst asked. “How bad is it?”

  “You’re still alive,” she said shortly.

  “There is that.” He inched back from the edge and stood, clapping dirt off his hands before offering her one. “Are you going to tell me why?”

  She took his hand and stood, almost pulling him forward. Faeoris was a head taller and was far too thin for how incredibly strong he knew her to be. She looked down as she brushed off the rubble.

  “If there is anything left when Heather is done,” she said.

  Light erupted from her back, forming into wings of gold, orange, and yellow feathers. The wings were as breathtaking as she was. He barely had time to grab Chryslaenor before she gripped him under his armpits and took off, lifting him into the air.

  “I have so much to look forward to,” he said dryly, but his sarcasm was almost certainly lost to the wind and rain.

  7

  Nordruaut

  King Rasaol of Nordruaut stood at a crossroads. South was home, the capital city Owenqua. A tall cliff to the north loomed over the wide, snowy valley before him like a watchful parent. Behind him, thousands of Nordruaut men and women waited with the impatience of warriors hungry for battle. He’d been right that they were ready for the march to war, and their bloodthirst grew with every battle. The remains of the last littered the valley below the cliff, peeking through snow that had been falling steadily for days. Hundreds of large Nordruaut bodies that had stained the snow with blood were now almost lost, like footsteps washed away by the tide.