Angst Box Set 2

by David Pedersen

  The monster had too many arms and they all hit way too hard. Lurp struck the ground with four arms, making the ground shake and the remaining snow billow. Despite Lurp’s great speed, Angst was faster. He blurred toward the closest arm and roared as he swung at the creature’s wrist as hard as he could. Lurp wasn’t quick enough to pull back. With a sloppy crunch, Angst sliced off his hand. Lurp stood on his two back arms and stared at the stump as gore poured out. He whimpered pathetically.

  Fortunately, Niihlu was stupid and announced his approach with an ear-piercing battle cry. The warning gave Angst enough time to gather his strength and bat him away again. Niihlu flew several hundred yards, bowling over a bevy of Nordruaut warriors. For a second, Angst wondered if he was actually doing this. Was he going to beat down two Al’eyrn? He spun about to see Lurp pick up his hand with a confused expression. Under other circumstances, it would’ve been funny. Lurp held it to the stump, his eyes thinned with focus. Skin and sinew from the arm and hand sought each other like oil connecting in water. Angst sighed—of course it couldn’t be this easy. Lurp wriggled his fingers, looked at Angst, and roared in fury.

  It was the attack of a maddened gorilla, random strikes from four muscular arms pounding down like a landslide. Angst struck one with his sword, deflected the second with an air shield, parried the third with Chryslaenor, and was crushed by the fourth.

  He was knocked to the snow, his sword thrown inches from his hand. Niihlu arrived in time to lodge his axe into the beast. Lurp lifted his freezing arm along with Niihlu, while placing a confining hand on Angst’s legs. The giant slammed the Nordruaut into the ground beside him, and Ghorfjend landed across Angst’s chest.

  Songs. Music from Chryslaenor and Dulgirgraut rang through his head with spells that were blurry nonsense through the cold that seeped into him from the foci. He was conscious but could only lift his head and try blowing futilely at the creeping frost that reached for his neck.

  Lurp reared back as if stung and roared in pain, freeing his hold on Angst and Niihlu.

  Angst’s vision was spotty, blurring in and out of focus. Niilhu pulled the freezing axe from his chest as he stood. Angst rolled over with a wheeze and grasped Chryslaenor. Something unexpected had happened, and that something was a miracle because Angst should’ve been dead. He pushed himself up to watch a man in dark leathers crash into Niihlu’s face with two feet. His hero, his savior...his mentor? Hector bounced off the Nordruaut and landed lithely beside Angst.

  “What are you doing here?” Angst said in between strained gasps. “I came to save you!”

  “Funny,” Hector said, his eyes wild and hungry for battle. “I came to save you!”

  “Sounds like we’ll save each other,” Angst said, hope swelling in his chest once again.

  “Just keep mind of those six arms, he’s got a lot of power, and...”

  “Hector, I’ve got this,” Angst said with a smirk.

  Hector rolled his eyes.

  “What’s that?” Hector asked, nodding at the ball of fire that was now the size of Angst’s home.

  “Leftovers. I’ll fix it later,” Angst said. They were now back to back as Lurp and Niihlu circled. “The others?”

  “All safe,” Hector said. “We made it.”

  “Let’s finish this and go save the princess,” Angst said.

  “The queen,” Hector corrected. “You get the big guy. I’ll take the little one.”

  Angst almost burst out laughing since the “little one” was almost three times their size. Hector was the break he’d needed, the breath he’d needed to catch, and Angst blurred forward. With a grunt, Angst lopped off Lurp’s hand again and rushed forward to remove another. The creature rose on its haunches, crying out in pain. Angst batted hands aside and sliced along his opponent’s stomach, blurring away from the guts that poured out.

  It gave him just enough time to check on Hector, who was holding his own. Niihlu may have been made an Al’eyrn, and was definitely a worthy opponent, but he wasn't a seasoned warrior. His friend took full advantage of this, leaping up to slice across the Nordruaut’s forehead. Instead of blood pouring over Niihlu’s eyes, a sheet of ice formed like a frozen waterfall that hardened to a thick blue mask. Even while Niihlu clawed at the ice, Hector slashed quickly across his midriff, shoulder, and hand.

  “Hurry, Angst,” Hector shouted. “I can only hold him off! Take out the giant then kill this one.”

  “Right,” Angst said, turning to face Lurp.

  A giant hand grasped Angst, slamming him to the ground again and again as if trying to crack open a coconut on stone. Lurp let go as Hector drove a sword into that forearm. He helped Angst up.

  “Concentrate,” Hector admonished.

  “Behind you!” Angst shouted.

  Unsel

  Andec led the zyn’ight through the castle gates at a gallop, waving away shouting guards like dismissing flies. He didn’t have time, and really didn’t have the energy to stop and explain their urgency. The wielders rode their menagerie of swifen through the castle entrance and along the main hallway.

  He should’ve fallen off his mount during the long ride to the castle, but Commander Mirim kept him anchored and guilt kept him awake. It was as much his fault as Wilfred’s that they’d left the princess unattended, especially after Angst had asked. They’d been drawn away like a bunch of amateurs. He was no tactician, but looking back at how easily they’d been led from the castle made him push harder than he should’ve.

  When they reached the entrance to the royal hallway, Andec cursed his age and frailty as he shook with exhaustion. Mirim helped him dismount while Nikkola grabbed his arm to provide stability on the ground. The younger woman appeared haggard, her black hair a tousled mass and her teeth gleaming white through caked dirt on her face. Andec stopped to take several deep breaths and look around. The other zyn’ight didn’t seem any better off than he felt. They looked like they’d been dragged behind their swifen instead of riding the beasts. He patted Nikkola’s hand thankfully, and dismissively.

  “Nothing like ... a brisk ride ... to keep you sharp.” Andec gasped between words. He couldn’t catch his breath, and the sharp pains in his chest made him wonder if he ever would.

  They laughed or chuckled, and something about this gave him strength. Finally, someone got his sense of humor. It was enough to make him fight through creaky bones and strained muscles and stand up straight. He wiped away thin wisps of sweaty hair and desperately hoped his heart would hold out just a little longer.

  “What’s up there, boss?” Jackson asked, her eyes fixed in a grimace from the long ride.

  “We just faced down an army,” he said with a wink. “Can’t be much worse.”

  More chuckles.

  “Please stop!” a man’s tired voice carried from the royal hallway. “Don’t do this, son. It’s not too late to stop.”

  “Stay sharp,” Andec said waving them to follow. “Let’s go.”

  Stairs shouldn’t exist some days, and there should never be more than two or three when you’re exhausted. Not to mention, whose idea was it to put wielders in armor? After an eternity of climbing two flights of the cursed things, wearing too many layers of protection, Andec and the zyn’ight arrived. He shoved through a mass of soldiers to see Wilfred the Wise standing before the main hall entrance. A nudge away lay the withered remains of two soldiers, looking more like they’d been dug from an old grave than young men on duty.

  “Stand back,” a soldier snapped, grasping his arm. “It’s a trap!”

  “I can see that,” Andec said sharply. “If you don’t let go now, I will magic you in there before you breathe another word.”

  “Hold,” Wilfred said, staring down the soldier, who immediately let go. “They’re here to help.”

  “What happened?” Nikkola asked. “Why aren’t you in there with the princess?”

  “My son, Mika,” an older man said. “We thought he was on guard, and this whole time...”

  “R
anson’s son can manipulate time,” Wilfred said. “Anyone who enters dies of old age.”

  Mika was on his knees in the hallway, facing Victoria’s bedroom. He slapped at an invisible barrier, crying out in pain with every strike. Blood splattered every time his hand hit the barrier, covering his clothes and pooling on the ground.

  “He looks exhausted,” Andec said. “Maybe he let the trap go. Are you sure you can’t enter?”

  Ranson held up a hand that was too old to be his, covered in spots with grotesquely long nails.

  “Let’s see if we can wear him down some more,” Andec said, moving away from the entrance. “Everyone back.”

  Wilfred nodded, waving the mass of soldiers down the stairs.

  “Zyn’ight,” he said pointing forward. “Attack that barrier!”

  Bolts of light and darkness blasted the invisible wall and passed right through. It was like tossing a handful of flour into water, their attacks fizzling out a foot or two past Mika’s spell. Minutes passed, and Andec raised a hand. Their attack subsided, and he waited for Mika to stop, or even slow down. The young man continued to slap the barrier, ignoring them.

  “Now what, wielder?” a soldier asked.

  “Probably human sacrifice,” Nikkola said.

  “It’s the only way,” Andec agreed with a nod.

  “What?” the soldier asked, his face pale.

  “Not now,” Wilfred said dismissively, shaking his head. “Can you create a portal in there and pull him away?”

  “The other spells didn’t work, but I can try,” Andec said through gritted teeth. It took more strength and focus than he really had to give, but an oily dark circle appeared on the floor in the hallway. “His spell is making it almost impossible to aim.”

  The circle of darkness crept toward Mika like a drunken sailor unsure of the best path to take. The young man looked over his shoulder to see the portal approach and began striking the barrier blocking Victoria’s room even faster.

  “No!” he shouted. “You can’t stop me! I’ll save her!”

  “Stop, Mika,” Ranson called out. “Please!”

  Sweat poured from Andec’s forehead as the portal moved closer to the young man. His hands shook from the effort, and the portal made similar jerky motions. Mika roared maniacally, reared his hand back, and slammed it against the barrier. The invisible wall of time shimmered like a pond reflecting sunlight, and Mika fell forward into Victoria’s room.

  54

  Nordruaut

  The long, white blade of Niihlu’s enormous axe buried deep in Hector’s right shoulder, slicing down through his ribs and into his belly. Angst screamed as he reached forward, grabbing Ghorfjend by the handle and shoving it out. Ice formed along the edges of Hector’s deep wound, threads of blue and white reaching through his leather armor. His gray, wolf-like eyes were wide with shock as he collapsed. Angst anchored his hand to the steel of Ghorfjend and tore the foci from Niihlu’s grip. His arm numbed instantly, but he didn’t care. He reared back and swung with all his might. The axe blade struck Niihlu's icy chest with a metallic ringing sound. Instead of slicing through, the Nordruaut was once again smacked away, this time with his own double-bladed axe. Niihlu flew far into the distance like a fly tossed by a tornado.

  Angst threw the axe down in the snow. Grasping Chryslaenor with both hands, he called forth lightning until the sword glowed blue. He couldn’t control the metal in his armor enough to fly, but with a nudge of will he was able to jump over the monster’s head. Lurp pulled away, but not fast enough. Chryslaenor was too large to flee, and the blade sliced cleanly through the creature’s neck with a sickening crack. Lurp’s enormous head landed beside the orb of fire and burned, his face twisting in a silent scream, his enormous body collapsing with a thud.

  Angst looked over Hector’s twitching body and didn’t know what to do. He dropped Chryslaenor and circled his friend, clenching his hands in frustration. Weren’t they supposed to win? Weren’t they the heroes? His mentor, one of his oldest friends was dying, and there was nothing he could do. It hurt—it was the worst pain he’d ever felt. The pain melted away the numbness in his heart, and a fury grew until he couldn’t hold it back any longer.

  Angst’s emotions let loose in an explosion. His scream was overwhelmed by the sound and light that blasted from his chest. An air shield covered in red and blue lightning grew in all directions. As fast as a breath, the shield expanded to encompass the battlefield. Nordruaut, Berfemmian, Fulk’han, and human were all struck without remorse, blasted off their feet and knocked senseless by the spell. In that instant, all fighting stopped.

  Angst dropped to a knee, took his mentor’s hand, and willed. No one else should die because of him, because of what he’d started. He’d dragged his friends along, forced them to be a part of this adventure, made them all come with so he could be a hero. They weren’t supposed to die, not for him, not for this. Angst drew in more power, pulling from the place that had scared him so much. He drew in power from the swords, all of it, every single bit. That power should be enough. That power, and will, and tears would be enough to keep Hector alive and—

  “Stop,” Hector whispered, gripping his hand weakly.

  “I won’t let you die!” he growled.

  “This is how I was meant to die,” Hector said with a cocky grin. Blood dripped from his mouth. “On the battlefield, impossible odds. It’s the best story.”

  “Please don’t,” Angst said, panting at the exertion of keeping his friend alive. It was almost impossible to see through the blur of tears.

  “I’m so proud of you Angst,” he whispered. “I agreed to train you because I knew you could become a hero, and you did.”

  “I’m not a hero,” Angst said, gasping for breath.

  “Yes,” Hector said, placing a hand on his cheek. “Yes, you are. And I’m the one who saved the hero. Best story ever.”

  “You did it, Hector, you saved me,” Angst said. He could barely speak through the lump in his throat. He’d never felt so hurt. His body ached with despair. “Thank you for being my friend. I love you.”

  The old soldier placed a hand on Angst’s cheek and nodded. “Angst,” he said softly.

  “Yes?” Angst leaned in.

  “Angst,” Hector whispered, almost too softly to hear. “You’ve got this.”

  They both let go, and Hector was gone. Angst wept like he didn’t think possible. Tears flowed freely as he sensed those on the battlefield around him slowly come to. He stood, placing Chryslaenor on his back and brushed the ice from his old friend’s body. Lifting Hector, he took slow, staggering steps to his fallen friends. His heart ached, his mind reeled, and the choices he’d made in his life weighed heavy with every movement. He kept saying he wouldn’t lose anyone else, kept threatening the world with his empty words, but the ones he loved still died. They didn’t deserve this, he didn’t deserve this, and Hector would be the last. He had to be!

  After a long, somber walk, Maarja stood before him, her face dripping with guilt and helplessness. Angst handed her Hector’s body.

  “Take care of him like he was your own child,” he said, choking out every word. “Like Jintorich.”

  “I promise, Angst,” she said, her voice trembling as she took Hector’s body.

  “Angst!” said a voice that shook the ground. “It’s time!”

  “It’s him, Angst,” Maarja said. “That ball of fire grew while you were walking back. Everyone else ran away. The Fulk'han, the other Nordruaut, are all gone. And, and, he’s...oh, he’s enormous!”

  Angst ignored the element Fire, doing a mental count of friends. Dallow and Rose, Faeoris and Kala, Aerella and Jintorich, Tarness and Maarja. They were all there, including Scar. Especially Scar. The dog had retreated into his puppy form, licking Kala furiously as she pushed herself up. She was alive, they were all alive, and none of them would die. He would see to it. But Aerella was right; he couldn’t do this alone anymore.

  “Don’t ignore me, Angst,” Fire
cried out. “I will destroy everyone you love if you don’t face me.”

  “I’ll be right there, dear,” Angst shouted maniacally, raising his middle finger high. “Just give me one minute while I make myself pretty.”

  “Don’t you dare mock me!” Fire blared. “Wait, what is this? I can’t move!”

  Whatever burning attack Fire threw forward was immediately snuffed out, and Angst did it with barely a thought. If it was possible to wield magic fueled by pain, Angst wielded all of it. His patience and tolerance were completely gone as the power of two foci flowed through him. He picked up Scar. The lab pup seemed so tiny. His tail stopped wagging and tucked neatly between his legs, and the dog’s head looked a little skinny, as if he’d stolen a cookie.

  “Look, I don’t know how much you understand,” Angst said as he held the lab up high. “You’re a part of this. All of it. You always have been.” Chryslaenor shone bright blue in the corner of his eye as if egging him on. “My friends are my family, and you’ve proven yourself time and time again to be my family, too. You’ve always been there.” He paced along a snowy path as his friends around him watched. He wondered if the pup understood any of his words. It was impossible to tell, except for the skinny head that was blurry through tears. “But I can’t do this alone, not any more. I can’t lose anyone else. I need you to keep them safe, now more than ever.” Scar whimpered, and the dog shivered in his hands.

  “Are you done, Mr. Angst?” Kala called. “He’s scared and wants me close.”

  “One more minute, Kala,” Angst said, pulling Scar in for a hug. “Please stay back.”

  The lab didn’t hesitate at accepting his love and petting, his tail wagging frantically with every long pull of fur. Angst was tormented by every loss. He thought of them all with every pet. Marissa. Captain Guard Tyrell and Queen Isabelle. His good friends Rook and Janda. Moyra...and now Hector. He choked at the thought of all that loss, his heart wrenched from so much pain. Angst knelt and set the dog on the ground. His hand held Scar’s jaw, and he looked the pup in the eye.