Angst Box Set 2

by David Pedersen

  “We’ve been over this,” Mirot said. “In Her Majesty’s absence, the leader of Unsel must take the throne. The people need to see you as a leader, and you need to act like one.”

  Wilfred rolled his eyes and sat at the edge of the large throne, worried that if he leaned too far back he might not be able to escape. “Better?”

  “Almost,” Mirot said, his gaze still disapproving.

  “Next you’re going to tell me how to eat,” Wilfred said.

  “You seem to excel at that,” Mirot said, his cheek lifting in the barest of smiles before returning to stoic.

  “Are you actually here to banter?” Wilfred asked, impatience tickling his hackles.

  “A Fulk’han army has gathered,” he replied. “They are preparing to march.”

  “To Unsel?” Wilfred asked, his mouth suddenly very dry.

  “Possibly,” Mirot said. “It’s too early to tell. We will know in a day. The Fulk’han have become dangerous, and our spies are being cautious.”

  “If they are marching toward Unsel, how long before they arrive?” Wilfred asked, calculating scenarios.

  “Two weeks, at best,” Mirot said. “Speculation is that they move much faster than they used to.”

  “Angst said he can be back in three, which seems unrealistic,” Wilfred said, rubbing his chin. “What if we send most of our troops to the east? Can we hold them off for a week or two?”

  “Maybe,” Mirot said, his tone unsure. “But the Fulk’han aren’t our only problem.”

  The general handed over a rolled parchment adorned with the wax seal of Melkier. There had been no official communication from Melkier since Angst’s visit, or notice from any spy who worked for Unsel. The only information Wilfred had was uncomfortably sketchy. Word of mouth reported that a dragon had laid waste to half the capital. Another rumor claimed that a giant, made of fire, had destroyed the city. Wilfred had also heard that all the damage had been wrought by Angst. Not only had he stolen a giant sword, but destroyed all their soldier’s armor, and then their city. He shuddered. Was Angst really a hero, or a calamity?

  “Maybe...” Wilfred began. “Maybe they are accepting our offer of aid.”

  Mirot shook his head again, and Wilfred’s mouth grew dryer yet, transitioning from cotton ball to desert. He opened the document and skimmed its contents, inching forward, as if ready to leap from the throne he wanted no part of.

  “Is it as bad as I fear?” Mirot asked.

  “Maybe worse,” Wilfred said, skimming it again. “They want Angst within a month or they will formally declare war. Actually, let me be more specific. They want his head.”

  “You should have made him stay,” Mirot said sternly.

  “Right,” Wilfred said. “I’ll be sure to task you with that job next time we see him.”

  “I would have taken his family hostage,” Mirot said.

  “And he would have taken you apart, along with the castle.” Wilfred shook his head in disbelief. “We aren’t barbarians, try to remember that. Well, at least I’m not. And he’s no longer just some lone wielder. He can destroy this castle, this city, with a sneeze. Remember that, too.” He tapped his temple with a finger. “So...Fulk’han could be at our doorstep to the east in about two weeks, at about the same time Melkier starts attacking our southern borders.”

  “That’s not all,” Mirot said.

  “Of course not,” Wilfred said, rolling his eyes and slumping deeper into his seat.

  “There is another claim to the throne,” Mirot continued. “And this one is legitimate.”

  Wilfred felt the weight of his years, or maybe it was just his weight, as he struggled up the stairs to the royal hallway once more. He needed to exercise, but who had time when everything was an emergency? How was it possible for people to rule and be thin at the same time? It must be a magic undiscovered, and one he was sure would be lost to him.

  A distracted staff had sent him from hither to yon looking for this newest throne-seeker, and it was a big castle. A sheen of sweat slicked his forehead, and the humidity hovering under his arms would mean another change of clothes before the next big match...er, meeting. Was this why Isabelle had changed clothes so often?

  He stopped before the hallway entrance, gasping for breath, just in case someone was waiting for him. He looked up from resting on his knees to see two guards standing at attention along the wide hallway. The soldiers watched over two men, one in his fifties and the other in his twenties. Both faced the entrance to Princess Victoria’s chamber. The visitors stared slack jawed at the scene before them. Wilfred understood; the image was shocking. Princess Victoria unmoving in her white gown, a large triangular, golden dagger emerging through her chest and dripping blood that hung in the air. It was so disturbing, they couldn’t help but gawk. He couldn’t.

  Wilfred recognized the older man immediately. Lord Ranson was well dressed in rich crimson and ivory. His jacket and pantaloons were of the finest velvet, and his dark patent leather boots came up to his knees. A flouncy ivory shirt thrust out from his thin chest. At a glance, the man’s willowy frame appeared that of a youth, but his slight hunch suggested that his thinness was caused by poor health. Ranson’s face was stern, with a jutting forehead, weak jaw, and a nose long enough to hover ominously over his narrow lips. His pale eyes bespoke of intelligence and cunning. Wilfred had met the lord on many occasions, and despite the man’s weak demeanor, he had a sturdy inner resolve. Isabelle had adored her cousin, and he’d supported the queen without question. Many respected the lord. He was not a fool, nor one to be trifled with.

  Ranson coughed before Wilfred could speak, grabbing his chest and leaning against the stone wall. The young man beside him placed a hand on Ranson’s chest. He looked like kin, with a similar longish nose and thick chin. Unlike Ranson’s peppered flowing hair, his was brown and unkempt all the way to his shoulders. Mud caked the hem of his dark, burgundy leggings. They both appeared travelworn. Ranson nodded in response to his concern and mechanically turned to face the veil between the hallway and Victoria’s timelost room. The young man placed a careful hand on the barrier and moved it around like Aerella had.

  “Wait,” Wilfred said between breaths. “Be careful, it’s dangerous.”

  He jerked his hand back and both turned to Wilfred in surprise. Ranson flashed him a political thin-lipped smile and stood up straight as if the wracking cough had never happened. He left his companion and walked to Wilfred with an open hand.

  “You must be the man in charge,” Ranson said.

  “So I’m told,” Wilfred replied, taking the lord’s hand in a firm grip and trying his best to make his smile genuine.

  The handshake was professional and surprisingly firm. Wilfred met Ranson’s eyes and frowned until the lord looked away. On closer inspection, those hungry blue eyes were filled with concern. Was this a practiced worry or the real thing?

  “I apologize for the late welcome,” Wilfred said. “To what do I do the honor, my lord?”

  “Please, Wilfred,” Ranson said. “This isn’t the time for honoraries. I’m here to see to my cousin.”

  “Oh?” Wilfred asked.

  “Is she still...” he replied, hesitantly. “Is the princess still alive?”

  “According to Angst, she is,” Wilfred said after a long pause.

  “And do you believe him?” Ranson asked, frowning critically.

  “Yes,” Wilfred said sincerely. “Always.”

  Lord Ranson studied Wilfred’s features, staring for several moments before nodding. “That’s a relief,” Ranson finally said, his shoulders loosening slightly. He looked at the young man, who bowed. “This is my son, Mika.”

  “Master Mika,” Wilfred said before turning to Ranson. “Is it? Is it a relief? It’s my understanding you are here to claim the throne.”

  “If Her Majesty doesn’t survive, I am next in line,” Ranson replied. “Unsel needs a king or queen if Victoria passes.”

  “So, you’re not here to demand t
he crown?” Wilfred asked. “Then why are you here?”

  “We’re here to help Unsel,” Ranson said, spreading his hands in a way that seemed welcoming, but practiced. “Of course.”

  15

  Fire stood at one end of the long stone table, his blazing fists pressed into it as he leaned over to glare across. Black smoke rose from the pits of his eyes. The element looked tense as a bowstring, and the stone beneath his fists boiled and crackled as small pools of lava formed beneath them.

  “You know, I just made this table,” the tall, bald man said from the other end. He rested leisurely in his highbacked chair, rubbing his chin with a forefinger.

  “I blame you,” Fire’s voice rumbled as he slammed a fist into the table. Hot stone popped up and landed on the ground with a sizzle.

  The Dark Vivek appeared mostly bemused, and unconcerned. “And how is that going to help us?”

  Fire flared brightly, his heat almost too much to bear, the light from his flame reflecting off distant cliffs. Embers drifted lazily to the stars, hissing away their short life in the cool spring air.

  “What is it?” Vivek said with a mocking pout. “Why is Fire so angry?”

  “You think you can just keep breaking the rules?” Fire asked, his voice crackling.

  “We have rules?” Vivek asked.

  “We are supposed to use avatars to keep from destroying this planet. It’s always been that way.”

  “If you really need to blame someone, point the finger at Earth,” Vivek suggested. “She took direct action against Air’s avatar, opening the door for new rules.”

  “After that Al’eyrn destroyed your avatar, Ivan,” Fire said, pointing at the man. “You did this because you didn’t want to lose to a human. That’s never happened before.”

  “Semantics,” Vivek said, waving a hand. “Go ahead and blame Angst if you’d like.”

  “You said I could kill him!” he shouted. “You said it would be easy!”

  “It should have been,” Vivek said.

  “He killed my dragon, the mother of all!” Fire flung out his arms. “I’ve had to create them the old way, and that uses up my power!”

  “And did I argue once over Rohjek?” Vivek asked. “I even provided help to tend your new flock.”

  “What about this?” Fire said. “Look at me! Angst almost destroyed me!”

  In spite of the element’s rage and power, Fire looked like he had been on a diet. His frame seemed more like that of a runner than a weightlifter, his arms almost wiry beneath the flames. Like the Dark Vivek, it was as if something, or someone, had taken its toll on him.

  “It’s not that bad,” Vivek said, looking the element up and down. He tsked, shaking his head. “Angst really did do a number on you, though, didn’t he?”

  A blast of flame shot out from Fire’s extended hands, crashing against an invisible barrier in front of Vivek. The flames roared, cooking the stone table into a twisted mass of boiling lava rock. Long moments passed before the attack ended.

  “Done?” Vivek asked. “Or did you want to end the war here and now?”

  “I hate you,” Fire said.

  “Me?” Vivek asked, placing fingers on his chest, feigning innocence. “I didn’t attack you, did I? I only told you where you could find the Al’eyrn. You were the one who took on Angst and Earth.”

  “You always have to twist things...”

  “It’s not twisting,” Vivek said calmly, pressing his long fingers together and resting them on his chin. “It’s called a plan.”

  “Do you have a plan for him?” Fire said, sounding worried.

  “I did,” Vivek snapped. “He should have been killed by Ivan, or you.”

  “Or you,” Fire snapped back. “He was a risk before, when he had one foci. Now that he’s got two, he thinks he’s one of us.”

  “The element human,” Vivek spat and looked away. “Either way, you are right, the rules have changed, again.”

  “He destroyed Water! What if he kills us next?” Fire asked. “It’s unfathomable.”

  “He does, indeed, need to die.” Vivek looked over the element. “But you are in no condition to face him alone, and I don’t care to either. He is at the height of his power, but his confidence is in question.”

  “How do you know this?” Fire asked, burning brighter.

  “I know,” Dark Vivek said with a wry smile. “I watch, I listen, I plan. You could too if you weren’t burning with anger all the time.”

  “You mock me even now?” Fire snorted, slamming a fist on the table. “I hate being mocked!”

  “Just my point,” Vivek said, smiling wryly.

  Fire stood, pacing along the length of the table until the dark clouds of smoke around his eyes and mouth subsided. “Doesn’t it frighten you, just a little?” Fire asked. “He has so much power. Angst has broken time! Twice!”

  “Of course it scares me,” Vivek replied. “That’s why he needs to be stopped, before he destroys everything by accident.”

  “If we are both...reluctant to attack him directly, what is your next great plan?”

  “I’ve already taken away his friends, and hurt someone he loves. That should slow him down a bit,” Dark Vivek said. “So we continue to throw the impossible at him until he’s exhausted. He will be crossing into what’s left of Rohjek soon enough.”

  “My dragons aren’t ready,” Fire said. “It’s too soon.”

  “Your dragons and my tribesmen don’t have to kill him,” Vivek said with a malicious smile. “If he dies by accident, great. But if not, just wear him out. Chisel away at his resolve. Make him question everything.”

  “That sounds too easy,” Fire said warily.

  “It won’t be. We have hours left to plan and mere weeks to execute,” Vivek explained. “The only way we will succeed is to destroy him emotionally. Remember, he is only human.”

  “And then lure them all here?” Fire asked.

  “I’ve already planted those seeds,” Vivek said smugly. “The final battle will take place here, as always. We will wipe them all out and start from scratch. We will win Prendere together. It will be our vision.”

  “What do we do with her?” Fire asked, his burning glare finally falling on her. “Or should I say it?”

  Alloria shivered, despite the great heat billowing from Fire. She looked from the Dark Vivek to Fire, hoping they wouldn’t hurt her anymore. Her failure to kill Victoria had been met with unending punishment. The elements hadn't been able to kill her, but Vivek seemed to relish in her torture. Days and days were lost to pain Alloria felt like she couldn't endure, and when she would finally collapse he would haunt her nightmares. More than anything, Alloria wanted to hide from these monsters, but was unable to move, unable to speak. She could only hover in the air and tremble.

  “Calling the young woman ‘it’ is a little cold,” Vivek teased.

  “She is half alive,” Fire said. “And that half is broken enough to hold a foci.”

  “But not bond with it. Just use it a little,” Vivek said, walking toward her. He snapped his fingers, and she could move again.

  “Was that part of your plan?” Fire asked, pointing at her.

  She glanced down at the half of Jormbrinder attached to her palm, trying once again to shake it free. The triangular golden blade of the half-foci wouldn’t budge, and her arm quickly tired from its weight. She looked into the Dark Vivek’s eyes as he lifted her chin. He inspected her as if she were an object, turning her head to one side and looking down at her body. It made her feel disgusting. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she refused to cry out loud.

  “No,” Vivek said, his voice and gaze filled with interest. “What she did was unexpected. Humans always tend to be more resilient than I expect.”

  “Your pet is a danger. We should be done with her,” Fire spat. “You said she was nothing more than a pawn. You should let her finish dying.”

  “Tut tut.” Dark Vivek raised a finger. “She was a pawn. But with a foci in han
d, even half a foci, she has become a bishop. Maybe a queen. And after what I’ve put her through, she will do anything I command.”

  Alloria couldn’t bring herself to speak. She could move but was petrified with fear. It was humiliating. Even worse, the constant buzzing in her head wouldn’t go away. When she concentrated enough, the buzzing sounded like a distant song. There was power in that song, just beyond her reach, and it was maddening.

  “Do you want to live, young Alloria?” Vivek’s mocking voice asked. “That has always been your driving force, hasn’t it? From the look in your eyes, you do.”

  Of course she wanted to live. All she had ever wanted to do was live and enjoy life. And rule Unsel. And have everything.

  “It’s simple,” Vivek crooned. “Kill his friends. You will be rewarded a nation for each one who dies by your hand. When Rose dies, you are ruler of Unsel. Kill Hector, and Melkier is yours. And so on.”

  The song rang louder in her mind. Had the Vivek found a new way to torture her, or could it be Jormbrinder? Angst had told her the foci sang to him. She didn’t understand what the blade wanted, and tried shaking the blade free from her hand. The half-foci remained attached to her palm, and the song subsided, but her fear didn’t.

  “Just to be clear, either they die, or you will meet your final death.” He waved a long, thin arm in a circle. “And it will hurt far beyond anything I’ve put you through.”

  A void appeared before them, dark mists swirling into nothing. Her heart raced like a rabbit being chased by a fox as her body floated toward the dark vortex.

  “This is going to sting, but from what I’ve seen, it’s nothing you can’t manage,” he said with a smirk. He placed a hand on the small of her back and pushed her into the darkness.

  She screamed as she fell.