Angst Box Set 1

by David Pedersen

  “Yes. Still. We still have everything we need,” Dallow said, resting a calming hand on Angst’s shoulder.

  Angst looked Dallow in the eyes and smiled, grateful for his patience. “Thanks.”

  Dallow simply nodded like an old friend who knew exactly what to expect. In spite of the man’s reluctance to join Angst on this adventure, he now appeared more open to going, almost calm. His wife was nowhere to be seen.

  Angst looked from where they stood on the training field toward the castle. It was still a reassuring sight, and he wondered again if he was being watched from the tower. He peered over the throng of people to find two riders approaching.

  “That should be him,” Angst announced, pointing toward the riders.

  A knight in full plate armor and closed helm accompanied the frustrated Captain Guard. Tyrell dismounted and walked forward to shake hands with Angst.

  “Thank you,” Angst said, hoping to expedite their departure. He looked back at the horses, the gear, and his friends. “For everything.”

  “Of course, Angst. I want to see you succeed.” Tyrell paused before continuing. “Please walk with me for a moment.” The Captain Guard led him beyond the crowd and curious ears. “Before you go, I have a few things for you. One you will appreciate. The other you will not.”

  The Captain Guard looked at Angst with a wary expression, handing Angst a package and a note. “First, these are from Her Highness, the royal princess.”

  Angst took the unexpected package. “Well, uh, thanks.”

  “I was told you should open it upon receipt.” Tyrell said.

  “Oh, of course.” The envelope had been marked with Victoria’s seal, a decorative letter V set in a rose, which had been undisturbed. He cracked it open and read the note inside. It smelled of berries. ‘Please bring this back safely. Love, Tori.’

  Angst opened the package, a bit embarrassed. In spite of being away from the crowd, they were all watching, including Heather. Inside was a deep red travel cloak—light yet warm to the touch. The material was nothing he recognized, and probably worth more than his home. When he lifted it, something fell to the ground. Angst leaned forward and picked up the stone rose he’d made for her when they first met. He smiled, heartened by Tori’s show of faith that he would make it back.

  Tyrell’s eyes widened at the cloak, and he shook his head. Angst looked at him curiously. “Well, Angst, I could be mistaken, but I believe that cloak to be made from the queen’s favorite comforter. She claims not to have slept well since it went missing.”

  “Ha!” Angst blurted out in surprise. “Please tell the princess that I will gladly do as she commands.” He nodded at the note in his hand. “And thank her for the very thoughtful gift.” He dramatically threw the cloak over his shoulders, clasped it at his neck, and set the rose inside a pocket.

  The Captain Guard nodded once.

  “I can’t imagine the bad news outweighs the good news.”

  “Uh, yes. About that...” Tyrell cleared his throat and handed Angst another envelope, this time with the queen’s signet imprint on the wax, the letter I set over the royal crown. “I was opposed to this, Angst, for the record. The queen is sending one more to accompany you on your trip.”

  Angst looked quizzically at Tyrell then down at the parchment. His jaw dropped as he read the queen’s command. “What?” he exclaimed. “This is ridiculous!” His gaze jerked up to meet Tyrell’s then he looked over at the knight, who’d remained on his mount.

  The knight lifted his visor to reveal Sir Ivan, the man who had assaulted Rose at the banquet. Ivan rode over, his arrogance pouring from the open helmet. Flared nostrils and an obnoxious sneer hid Ivan’s otherwise handsome features. Dark bangs hung over his dark eyes, which were untrusting and watchful. “I suppose the queen wanted someone with an actual title to keep an eye on you, freak.”

  Angst quickly lifted a glowing hand and aimed it at Ivan. The knight yelped as he flew off his horse. The crowd laughed, and Angst casually turned his back on Ivan, who was struggling to get up. He faced Tyrell. “This has to be a mistake. This man shouldn’t even be a knight. Not to mention, he can’t even defend himself against the gamlin. He’s going to make this trip even harder.”

  “I’m sorry, Angst. I understand your concern, but these are the queen’s orders,” Tyrell replied apologetically.

  Ivan lunged at Angst’s back with a broadsword. Several onlookers screamed, while others yelled warnings. In one blurred motion, Angst grabbed his sword, turned to face Ivan, and knocked him back with the flat of Chryslaenor. Ivan flew ten feet into the air and landed directly behind his horse, who stomped the ground in alarm, kicking up dirt. Before Ivan could even consider sitting up, Angst was standing over the fallen knight. A hush came over the crowd.

  Angst returned Chryslaenor to his back, leaned forward, and held out a hand. “You have one chance, Ivan. One. Either you’re with me, or you won’t make it back alive.”

  Ivan slapped Angst’s hand away and rolled to one side, pushing himself back to his feet. “I represent the queen, and don’t need your placations. Now get out of my way before I split your face open.” Ivan’s twitching sneer strained to hide the fear and humiliation behind his eyes.

  Angst looked him up and down, let out a deep sigh, then turned once again to face Tyrell. “Any other good news?”

  The captain spread empty hands and smiled as though nothing had happened. “Good luck, Angst.”

  Angst walked to his friends, shaking his head. Not only was he surprised by the fact that Ivan was now joining them, but why hadn’t Tyrell defended the knight when Angst attacked? Heather took his hand and looked lovingly into his eyes, instantly dissolving his frustration. She gestured over her shoulder toward the crowd. He hadn’t had any plans to say something, but maybe he owed it to the people who’d come to see them off.

  “Opportunity is a sword. On one end is a blade and on the other a handle.” Angst mounted his horse. “There’s no guarantee that if you pick up and swing that sword, you won’t cut yourself, but if you never lift that sword, if you never swing it,” he lifted his own sword high overhead, “you’ll never know if that sword, that opportunity, was the one you needed to succeed.”

  The crowd remained silent, merely nodding in agreement, and Angst wondered what they’d been looking for. He sought Heather’s eyes one last time, gave her a cocky wink, then looked over his companions. “Let’s go.”

  They didn’t gallop off heroically, the crowd didn’t cheer or sing, their horses simply strode down the path somberly. Angst shivered and pulled his new traveling cloak tight.

  15

  Angst reveled in the glory of their first day on the road. A combination of friends and nostalgia, spiced with a little excitement, all wrapped up in a cool fall day. After the very quiet and slightly awkward first hour of riding, Hector had begun telling stories. Several of the stories Angst had never heard, and a few of those he’d even been a part of. The resentment everyone felt toward Angst quickly melted away with laughter, and the distance from their lives left behind.

  The day passed quickly and less painfully than anyone had expected. Angst missed Heather, but was enjoying himself. More than that, he’d known this time with his friends would be like this. Three hours away from home, Angst wanted to yell at everyone, “I told you so! Is this so bad?” They weren’t being eaten by giant hairy one-eyed monsters, they hadn’t been attacked by crazy brigands or roaming thieves, and there was no sign of gamlin. And Ivan was riding far enough behind that Angst could only barely feel the hate from Ivan’s glare boring into the back of his skull.

  The group had agreed to stop early after finding an ideal camping spot. They filled their bellies with food before settling around the campfire. Angst wrapped himself in the cloak Tori had given him, which made his friends roll their eyes. Hector had brought a bottle of port that everyone took several swigs from. As the evening progressed and starry dark filled the sky, Angst’s friends relaxed. It was male camara
derie at its finest, and in spite of his best efforts, Ivan almost cracked a smile before crawling into his tent.

  For the first time in weeks, Angst was able to fall asleep immediately. The combination of fresh air, full stomach, progress, and exhaustion had opened the door to quick slumber. At home, before Chryslaenor, he always fell asleep late and woke early. It was an ugly cycle that left him tired, forcing him to work harder than he should have at being happy. When he finally did sleep, it was a deep and dark thing filled with odd dreams. Throughout his life, the few dreams he could fleetingly recall were all too real. Days or weeks later something would happen that Angst vaguely remembered dreaming about—bits of nothing like lifting a pen or hugging Heather. The whole thing was confusing, and he tended to avoid dwelling on it.

  He’d heard of true seers, of course. There were stories of individuals gifted with the ability to envision the future. Angst couldn’t see the future, only muddied waters, brief recollections of things to come. Now he longed for those dreams, his dreams, which were gone and replaced by visions. It was as if the sword was now serving his mind someone else’s memories without any explanation as to why.

  Every day, Angst heard Chryslaenor’s music. It seemed nothing more than a push, a nudge, a gentle invitation to something he didn’t understand. Since collapsing on the practice field, every night the song became a promise in his mind’s eye. His dreams were filled with what he assumed to be the past. He would see Chryslaenor being held by others. He experienced their triumphs, their losses, and their incredible power. A power he could wield, if only...something. Each night brought more images, and they pushed, insisted, until finally he would wake with a start.

  By morning, his memory was but a fleeting shadow. His waking haze quickly clouded the night’s visions. Angst could only remember glimpses of those who’d wielded Chryslaenor before him, and what they could do with it. He found it increasingly frustrating. Angst wanted to know what the visions were about, and he wanted to understand the song’s invitation. He simply couldn’t accept the invitation without knowing more, and Chryslaenor tried to teach him.

  In spite of his desperation to sleep, his first night on the road, Angst found himself in one of Chryslaenor’s dreams. Dissociated from his body, he hovered, and watched three men standing beside a wall of ominous misty darkness. Two were dressed in traditional plate, not yet dirty from war and battle. The third wore only chausses and aketon. He was a tall man with a strong jaw and wore his bright blond hair pulled back from his forehead.

  “General Drake, what lies beyond this wall of dark?” questioned the man without armor.

  “Death, my Lord,” replied the general, a short stocky man with a bald head and several scars behind his right ear.

  “We have ordered everyone into the black, but not one has yet returned,” stated the third man. He had the same strong jaw as the unarmored man, but his hair was a dark brown.

  “The odd thing is, Lord Farkus, it’s...quiet,” said the general in a worried tone.

  Lord Farkus pondered the dark wall, brushing his fingers through his blond hair. He dropped his head and knelt for a moment in silence, concentrating on something while the others waited patiently. Minutes later, he stood up straight and pronounced, “It’s time.”

  As Farkus began untying one of many large satchels from his mount, General Drake walked over and put his hand on the tie string. “Lord, I don’t know if this is the time yet. If you’re wrong, it’s like falling on your sword and making everyone join you.” Drake looked at the darker haired man. “Semiya...” he trailed off pleadingly.

  “You will know when it’s right, brother,” Semiya said to Farkus, his voice lacking both fear and encouragement. “Isn’t that what that strange old man told us?”

  “Told me, Semiya, and then provided me with this.” Farkus opened the satchel and pulled out a gleaming, pearl-white chest piece. He set it on the ground, and began removing other pieces of armor. The legs, helm, gauntlets, and boots all shared the same unnatural pearly sheen. It was obvious that the armor hadn’t been crafted by human hands. “As I said, it is time. Now help me get this on, so I can use this great power to end the darkness that threatens.”

  “Are you so sure, brother, that you know the source of this darkness? Are we fighting for balance, or should we be fighting against magic?” Semiya asked.

  “There is no longer time for that discussion, or one of our petty fights. Men are dying in that darkness, and soon we will all face a similar fate. There is no time.”

  Farkus reached down for the leggings then abruptly dropped to the ground as the flat of Semiya’s blade struck the back of his head. Farkus lay face down in the grass, a small trickle of red dripping from the wound.

  Semiya’s sword was pointed at the shocked face of General Drake. “Now, Drake, you will help me prepare for battle.”

  “You killed him?”

  “He won’t die. I saved him, as I will save us all. He was going to do it wrong. You and I both know what has to happen today. Help me suit up.”

  The general looked from Semiya to Farkus then quietly nodded. “How do you know the armor won’t kill you?”

  “We are of the same mother. We have the same blood.”

  Drake cut him off. “It was meant for Lord Farkus. That’s what he was told!”

  “Or so he said. I agree with one thing, there is no more time. Look,” Semiya said, pointing at the dark wall which slowly crept toward them. “It’s getting larger.”

  Drake shook his head in frustration and Angst could tell the general felt this was wrong. He picked up each piece with a sigh, or a worried glance, but still handed them all over to Semiya. Angst had struggled plenty with armor, but never like this. Every new piece seemed more challenging than the last to put on. Semiya became more and more uncomfortable, shifting and adjusting as he was encased in the milky armor.

  When the helm was all that remained, the armor sealed itself around Semiya. Joints and hinges and holes melded together to form a solid white suit. He visibly relaxed as though an ordeal had passed and breathed a sigh of relief. The unnatural suit rose and fell with his powerful chest like a cotton shirt.

  “I wish I had more time,” Semiya said as he admired the stolen armor. “You have never...experienced...” His voice drifted off for a moment then he abruptly commanded, “The helm.”

  Drake knelt to pick up the final piece of armor, warily watching the younger man. He paused for a moment, looking at it and then at Semiya.

  “I’m not going to kill you, General,” Semiya said, answering the general’s wary look. “We are on the same side, you and I. Wait and see. This is not a mistake.”

  The general walked behind Semiya and held the helm high over the man’s head. The headpiece seemed reluctant to set down. The general pulled, and tugged, and slowly, so slowly, the helm lowered to cover Semiya’s head.

  Angst, watching the scene in horror, tried to yell to warn Drake, but the dream wouldn’t listen. The general couldn’t see Semiya’s face. Semiya’s eyes were wide with panic, his mouth open, and what should’ve been a scream ended up being a trickle of foaming drool that fell from his lips as though the armor prevented him from making any sound. To Angst, the despairing look on Semiya’s face made it seem as though he realized his brother had been right all along. The helm sealed with a click.

  “There you are, my Lord,” Drake said, wiping a bit of sweat from his bald brow. “I agree with you. Now rid us of magics, once and for all.” He took a step back.

  This was good, because Semiya began to shudder. Slowly, at first, then violently until it seemed even the air and ground around him also shook with fury. Drake started to move forward, reaching for Semiya, but reluctantly took a step back, and another. Semiya rose into the air, and the shaking white armor made him appear more apparition than man. The vibrating stopped, and there was a horrendous pop, as though a seal had broken. Semiya dropped to the ground and lay there for a moment, face down and unmoving.

&nbs
p; “My Lord?” asked the general, in a very quiet voice.

  Semiya stood as though nothing had happened then turned to face the general. Drake stuttered as color left his cheeks, and he reeled, stepping back to balance his footing. This obviously fierce and battle-worn general was clearly afraid.

  The helm had sealed itself to the breastplate. Near his left shoulder, where the heart should’ve been, a new, ugly crack crossed Semiya’s sternum and crawled downward around the right side of the chest piece. Dangerous black and orange smoke spewed lazily from the crack. The armor had broken, completely rejecting its host.

  Small slits in the helm had widened to show Semiya’s face from eyebrow to cheekbone. A black haze hovered around the edges of the openings, and an orange glow surrounded his eyes, which were now pale and unblinking. It wasn’t Semiya, or if it was, he had gone insane.

  The white suit of armor walked to Semiya’s sword, black wispy smoke trailing in his wake. Without a word, it made an unnaturally agile leap onto Semiya’s horse and rode directly into the black void.

  The general shivered before attempting to follow Semiya, but the darkness blocked him. When Farkus mumbled, Drake spun about and walked over to the fallen body of his lord so he could tend to his injuries. Farkus lay there, oblivious to what had transpired. Minutes passed as the general doctored the wound at the base of Lord Farkus’s head, wrapping it in bandage while he explained what Semiya had done.

  Angst saw the frightening realization slap Farkus across the face. But before Farkus had any opportunity to speak his thoughts, existence blinked. Everything that was, simply left, and then returned. Lord and general both heaved out the contents of their stomachs. Together, they slowly looked up and saw that it was gone. The dark misty wall, the black sky...all that remained was an empty battlefield and ominous silence.

  Farkus attempted to stand. Without a word, General Drake helped him. Angst followed their progress to the edge of the battlefield, which was now a large, round, blackened nothing. Lord Farkus stepped onto the black ground, crossing over the line that separated life from this space of death. He looked at General Drake, who nodded, urging him forward.