Angst Box Set 2

by David Pedersen

  He shook his head and blinked hard several times. This couldn’t be right. He felt well-rested and healthy. The kids, or whatever Aerella was, were playing and happy. Maarja and Faeoris weren’t killing each other; they were acting like friends. Nobody was being mauled, burned alive, or attacked by something unrecognizable. Completely out of his control, his worried frown curled into a smile. Maarja nudged Faeoris and nodded her head in his direction. Both women wore the scantest of tops and bottoms, making Angst grateful for raging fires that showed everything in the night. The tall, lovely Berfemmian approached him, her long legs walking an uneven path and her hips swaying deliciously. She fwumped onto his cloak, handed him a roasted leg of something that made his mouth water, and took a long swig from the jug. The drink smelled tart, and strong. Faeoris set it down, wiped her chin, and looked at him with a sleepy smile.

  “Meldusians make some fine booze,” Faeoris slurred. “Itsa bit spicy, like me!” She laughed.

  Angst couldn’t help but chuckle and reached for the jug, but she pulled it away teasingly, and then again, before holding it over his mouth. He opened wide, and she poured more than he could handle. It was thick and tasted like pepper and oranges, burning all the way down. She stopped when the booze covered his face, pouring over his tears that streamed from the liquor’s spices. He sniffed loudly and blinked as she sloppily wiped off his mouth.

  “Spicy,” she declared.

  “Like you,” he agreed, already feeling the warmth in his belly relaxing everything. “What is it?”

  “Narankur,” she said softly.

  “You better save me more of that,” he said.

  She drank deeply, and he took that moment to devour the leg of beast in his hand. It may have been the best, fastest, most fulfilling meal of his life. The meat was also spicy, making his eyes and nose run freely. He tossed the meaty remnants to his dog, which brought an approving nod from Faeoris.

  Scar seemed torn between gamlin-chasing fun and a bone that shouldn’t be shared. The decision was made quickly as the lab pounced on the bone and brought it to a safe spot for a quick gnawing, far away from thieving gamlin. After a quick pee and ground-scratching that would certainly keep evil at bay, he returned to the frolicking chase.

  Angst laughed before leaning his head back so Faeoris could fill his mouth with the spicy liquor. She smiled as it splashed onto his bare chest. Making a poor attempt at wiping his face and chest, her hand landing on the ruby ring that hung from a chain around his neck. She leaned in to inspect it, rocking only a little as she squinted.

  “Wasss this?” she asked, her tongue thick from drink.

  “A gift from someone I thought was a friend,” he said, not wanting to say who for fear of a long round of questioning.

  “Is she pretty?” she asked then smiled. “Never mind. All your friends are pretty.”

  “They are,” he agreed.

  She beamed as she returned to a somewhat upright position. Firelight danced across the tanned skin of her taut stomach, ample cleavage, and pretty face. Her full lips and large eyes smiled at the gamlin’s game of hide and seek for a long moment before she looked back at him again. Her expression went from ecstatic to concerned, in the way only someone drunk can manage. Faeoris took a breath to say something when she was interrupted by a panting child.

  “You drink a lot,” Kala said, suddenly in his face. Her thin brow frowned with curiosity as her eyes darted between Angst and Faeoris.

  “Oh?” Angst asked, surprised at her sudden appearance. Faeoris did not look amused at the interruption.

  “Heather says you drink a lot, too,” she said with a parental frown.

  “Huh,” he said, not remembering much more than a wife-look after one of his outings.

  “Why do you drink so much?” she asked.

  “Well, I only drink when I don’t want to be sober,” he said.

  “When is that?” she asked, very sincerely.

  “Right now,” he said, and he meant it.

  “Oh,” Kala replied. She smelled of fresh air and youthful sweat, and her long black hair was damp around her face. “Thank you for letting me come with.”

  “You didn’t give me much of a choice,” Angst replied, feeling a bit too buzzed to be sincere. He tried to speak soberly. “I wish we could’ve gotten you home safe. This adventure is going to be a tough way to learn about heroing.”

  “I’m learning so much!” she said excitedly. “Today I learned about healing, and fixing armor. I think...I think I could even...”

  “What?” he encouraged.

  “I bet I could pick up Chryslaenor!” she said firmly.

  “I bet you could!” he said with the enthusiasm he would’ve given any child.

  Kala’s eyes were disappointed, as if the answer hadn’t been sincere enough. Before he could say more, she was distracted by Aerella’s beckoning. “Gotta go!”

  The twelve-year-old ran off in a fit of giggles. Angst smiled, but wondered through his quickly growing haze of drink what she’d learned. Was she talking about his interactions with Faeoris? Was Aerella teaching her powerful spells? Could she actually pick up a foci?

  “I’m sorry I hurt you,” Faeoris said.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Are you angry?” she said, leaning over wonderfully.

  “You brought me booze and food,” he said with a wink. “You brought your beautiful self over here to check on me. How could I be angry?”

  “Flirt!” she said, preparing to pour more booze into him.

  It was too late to say no, and the alcohol burned all the way down.

  “Jintorich said it would help us rest, or something,” she said.

  “Oh, it will,” he said, feeling dizzy. “What happened when I was out? I feel so much better.”

  “He fixed you, and your armor,” she said around a yawn. “Said something about being a blacksmith once.”

  “Really?” Angst asked. The fire was feeling warmer still, and prickles of sweat formed on his brow.

  “I almost forgot,” she said, resting her hand on his bare chest. Once again, he didn’t notice, really. “Your gamlin found some memb-dust stone things.”

  “Aren’t they great?” he said with a surge of pride.

  “They’re so cute!” she squealed.

  “I feel like I’m dreaming,” he said.

  “Is this what your dreams are like?” she said lustily, winking at him with those long eyelashes.

  “The ones I can’t remember,” he said, rolling to his side. “They have to be.”

  “You promise you’re not mad, Angst?” she said, the smell of alcohol thick on her breath. She settled in, her bare back resting against his stomach. Not that he noticed any of this, because that would be inappropriate, right?

  “You had every right to be angry,” he said. “I’ll be a better friend.”

  “You better,” Faeoris said, her eyes suddenly dangerous. She laughed and drank deeply before leaning to her side.

  “Why is that?” he asked with a smile.

  “You love me,” she blurted.

  “Oh, I do, do I?” he teased.

  “You love your princess,” she said. “Who really isn’t that pretty, you know.”

  He choked down a laugh, assuming it was the booze talking, encouraging unashamed candor.

  “I do love Victoria. She’s my friend,” he said.

  “You are fighting through time for her,” she continued.

  “I guess I am,” he said. It was very drunken logic, which meant it made sense.

  “You said you’d fight through time for me,” she said, lying beside him, making the jug of Meldusian booze her little spoon. “That means you love me too. It’s the nicest thing anyone has said.”

  “Indeed, I do,” Angst said softly, petting her fine, brown hair. She was already snoring. Faeoris may not have heard, but it didn’t matter. She knew.

  “It’s time for bed,” Maarja said, in a surprisingly motherly tone.

  “
Awwww,” the girls replied in unison.

  Scar scrambled off and came back with his bone. The lab promptly walked around so everyone could see his winnings before returning to the shadows, ensuring once again that no one would steal his kill. Dogs.

  “You promised a story,” Kala whined.

  “You did,” young Aerella said, nodding in agreement.

  “I am not as good as others at telling stories,” Maarja said, holding up a hand to quell disappointed moans. “So I will tell you the first I learned, about The Great Hunter.”

  The girls sat together on the ground, cross-legged with hands in their laps. Both stared at Maarja intently. The Nordruaut’s tanned complexion glistened as she paced before the fire. Her platinum blond hair flowed over her taut leather top. Angst would’ve thought her size made her frightening, but the girls just looked on with trust and anticipation.

  “The Great Hunter captured Fire first and put it in the sky, making Fire the sun and the stars. The next day, he hunted Water, catching it, and making her into lakes and oceans and rain.” She raised her hands up high and wiggled her fingers as they fell. “Earth was very strong and powerful, and when she was defeated, The Great Hunter made her into the very ground we stand on.”

  The girls looked down, shifting uncomfortably.

  “Air was quick and elusive, but was captured by the Great Hunter and shared with all to breathe and live,” she whispered, spreading her arms and hands expansively. “But the hunt was far from over. Magic is always the hardest to capture, and always the last to be caught. It is everywhere and nowhere, hiding under Water and behind Earth. Becoming one with Air and then lashing out with Fire.”

  Maarja reached out with clawed hands, leaning over the girls, who both gasped. She winked at Angst as she pulled away. “But the Great Hunter was patient and cunning and captured Magic, only to find it could quickly escape. He tried different prisons—objects and animals and people—but Magic was too clever to be trapped for long. Only the Vivek could balance Earth and Fire and Air and Water, and only the Vivek could capture Magic.”

  Maarja stood tall, as if the story were done. Both girls looked at each other with the same wonder Angst felt.

  “And then?” Angst asked, as Faeoris snuggled deeper around the bottle.

  “It’s another story,” Maarja said, almost apologetically. “But Vivek trapped Magic, until someone released it.”

  “Who would do such a thing?” Kala asked.

  Aerella looked back at Angst as if not knowing how to answer.

  “An idiot,” he said. “A total and complete idiot.”

  33

  Unsel

  “Lord Ranson,” the page announced, bowing with a flourish.

  Wilfred winced as he glanced up from his parchment, an engrossing stipulation on the control of bovine mating in the western province of Unsel. It was requests for laws like these that made him question what sort of nonsense went through people’s minds. But, everyone had the right to be heard, even if they were wrong. There was the off chance Wilfred could be convinced he was wrong. It may have happened once. Maybe.

  The actual throne room was still under repair after the damage Angst had done saving the queen and everyone. This temporary throne room was the great hall, a place typically reserved for the largest of gatherings. Soldiers stood beside tall, round pillars spread twenty feet apart along a marble walkway that led straight to the makeshift throne. Empty chairs were set in neat lines on the outside of the pillars for lengthier meetings.

  Ranson walked stiffly toward him, his long crimson coat flaring at his sides as he made his way past the tall pillars. Wilfred returned his gaze to the boring document, wishing it were interesting, or at least distracting. He needed a distraction to control his temper. Right now, he loathed this man, and glared at the document as if it were the cause of all his troubles. Anger and frustration seethed out of his eyes, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if he suddenly wielded magics that burned a hole in the parchment. Unfortunately, the results weren’t that dramatic. Nothing caught on fire, spewed lightning, or turned into a swarm of bees. Just a little shaking. Lord Ranson coughed politely, and Wilfred stared down, gazing at the document as if it required his full attention. Long moments passed then he handed it to the young woman standing attentively nearby.

  “Bring this to the council for review,” he said. “It’s far too important to be ignored.”

  “Isn’t it about cows?” Jenna asked, her face screwed up in confusion, immediately deflating the importance he’d feigned.

  “We have many cows in Unsel,” Wilfred said, every single curse word floating through his mind.

  “Yes, sire,” she said with a quick bow before setting it on a nearby table.

  “What can I do for you, Lord Ranson?” Wilfred asked formally.

  “I came to discuss what happened at the, uh, at the refugee camp,” Ranson said, the old veins and tendons on his neck strained tight as if he were picking up something heavy. He looked down his prodigious nose haughtily.

  “You mean Rookshire?” Wilfred asked, keeping his voice cool.

  “Respectfully, sire,” Ranson said. “It’s not a city recognized by the crown. It’s merely a band of refugees gathered together. Some could contest how legal it actually is...”

  Wilfred sat on the edge of his seat and snapped his fingers several times, pointing at a table of documents. Jenna sorted through the nearest pile and drew one toward the bottom. She handed it to Ranson. The lord’s eyes danced across the page quickly, his face becoming rigid as he finished.

  “I see I am mistaken. You have declared the camp a town.” Ranson sounded disappointed. “You will give them whatever they want, won’t you?”

  “You left me with little choice,” Wilfred said. “But this is a small price to pay.”

  “The price is already too high!” Ranson snapped.

  “Do you hate wielders that much, Ranson?” he said, hoping the lack of formality would reflect his level of irritation.

  “No, I don’t hate wielders,” Ranson said, looking away.

  “You almost turned them all against us,” Wilfred said, fury rising in his chest. “When we need them the most.”

  “I’ve seen things you haven’t,” Ranson said. “I’m trying to protect them.”

  “We need them to protect us,” Wilfred snapped. “Drafting them would’ve been like making them indentured servants. They need to be rewarded for their work, recognized for their efforts. How could that possibly help them?”

  “You’re putting them in more danger than you realize,” Ranson said sincerely.

  “What on Ehrde are you talking about?”

  Ranson coughed into his hand, so much that Wilfred left the throne to hold the man’s shoulders. Wilfred wanted to knock the fool out so he would stop, but instead stood vigilant. After long moments, Ranson waved him off.

  “I was very concerned for my son when he was younger,” Ranson began. “He was slow to learn, always distracted, unable to focus. His studies were late or ignored, his swordsmanship was poor. I thought he was lazy.”

  “It happens to the best of us,” Wilfred said, completely understanding.

  “That would’ve been okay, but as he grew older, my son often seemed withdrawn, almost without emotions,” Ranson continued. “He was quick to temper for any reason, and I would often find him arguing with himself. It was odd.”

  “That doesn’t sound very...healthy,” Wilfred said, looking for a polite way to say mentally disturbed.

  “It was my fault, not his,” Ranson said, a bit of sweat trickling down his brow. “I misunderstood until it happened. One day, Mika was wandering the village when he came on a teen boy bullying a younger boy. Mika stepped in, and...it didn’t end well.”

  That would explain it. Mika must have been clunked in the head, several times, and that made him...odd.

  “I’m glad that Mika recovered,” Wilfred said politely.

  “Mika was never hurt,” Ranson said, soun
ding confused. “The bully barely lived through the ordeal. Mika almost killed him...and nobody saw it happen.”

  “I don’t understand,” Wilfred said.

  “Neither did we,” Ranson said, staring at the ground as if it would give him confidence. “After some convincing, Mika explained that he could manipulate time. He could slow it, even freeze it for short periods.”

  “That sounds like a useful gift,” Wilfred said, feeling uncomfortable.

  “It could be,” Ranson explained. “But people began to question how he defeated the larger bully, and why nobody saw him attack. They concluded it was magic and were furious. It didn’t matter that this bully was a terrible, terrible person. They truly feared my son, and I didn’t realize how much. One afternoon, a group in the nearby village rallied, knocked him senseless, and burned him at the stake.”

  “Okay, now you’re making things up,” Wilfred said. “Because I’m pretty sure I saw him with you, unburned, at Rookshire.”

  “Somehow he lived, but he has provided no explanation,” Ranson said. “I was just grateful to have him back.”

  “I rarely understand how magic works, but I’m glad to hear your son lived through the ordeal.” Wilfred shook his head. “But to your point, you feel responsible for his safety.”

  “I should never have let him go freely about after learning of his infliction,” Ranson said. “Had I controlled him, and limited access to him, he never would’ve been put into danger.”

  “And that’s why I’m in charge.” Wilfred stabbed the man’s chest with a finger.