Angst Box Set 1

by David Pedersen

  Ivan nodded curtly and with resentful gratitude.

  “We should continue east and then maybe north again until we can make our way around this thing.” Angst tried his best to sound hopeful. “Maybe we’ll come across a town and can pick up some horses.”

  “If I remember the maps correctly, we should be approaching the northern trade route,” Dallow said thoughtfully. “There’s a good-sized town on that highway.”

  “Ravenhill...I’ve been there,” Hector said with a fond smile.

  “Do they have beds?” asked Tarness.

  “Large down beds for you, my friend.” Hector smacked the man’s shoulder. “And attractive barmaids for Angst. Something for everyone.”

  “Well, let’s hurry then,” Angst said with a grin.

  They all reluctantly agreed, moaning and grunting with exhaustion as they continued. Scar’s whimpers and Ivan’s stomach quickly directed them north. Another half hour passed before they found a clearing in an otherwise thickly-wooded area. Several fallen trees were well placed, providing a spot to sit while eating. They’d just begun to unload their gear when Hector put his hand on Angst’s shoulder and Scar started barking.

  “What is it?” Angst asked, immediately on alert and drawing his sword.

  “We have visitors,” Hector replied, a longsword in his hand.

  The group quickly positioned themselves in a circle to face the trees in all directions. Everyone had their weapon drawn, as prepared as they could be for the unknown. Guttural coughing sounds came from all directions.

  “What is that?” asked Rose.

  “Laughter,” Hector said, sounding surprised.

  A loud roar erupted as an enormous black bear burst from the woods. Angst rushed forward to face it, holding Chryslaenor up high so he could split the creature’s skull.

  “Hold!” growled a deep baritone voice from behind the bear.

  It looked up over its shoulder as a twelve-foot man stepped out from behind the tree. He gripped the bear by the scruff of its neck, easily holding it in place. Scar ran up to the bear and continued barking, which brought on another round of the odd laughter. The large trees about them seemed to be casually pushed aside, making room for more of the giant men and women. Angst and his friends were surrounded.

  25

  “Are they giants?” asked Rose.

  “No, I’d say they’re Nordruaut,” Dallow replied in amazement. “I’ve only read stories, but, well, wow.”

  “What are they doing?” asked Tarness.

  “They’re waiting to see if we’re going to challenge them or welcome them,” replied Hector. “I’ve met up with some in the past. They’re good companions but be careful. They see things differently than we do and take offense when you wouldn’t expect it.”

  Angst lowered his sword, setting Chryslaenor to hover on its tip. The five ‘giants’ murmured in curiosity. He spread his hands open in a welcoming gesture.

  There were three men and two women, the shortest of whom was easily twice Angst’s height. The Nordruaut were a striking sight. Feathers and beads had been woven into their long, platinum blond hair. Ceremonial paint covered the tan complexion of each face, and not one of them appeared overweight or disproportioned, simply much larger than other humans. The smallest woman looked as though she could pick up a calf with little effort. They were all draped in various animal furs and skins. Both women held longbows, and the men carried even longer spears.

  “Hail!” yelled Hector, holding his hand up. “What brings a Tribe of the North to our warm lands?”

  Rose leaned over to Angst. “What is he talking about, warm? It’s freezing out here.” She was shivering.

  “I think where they come from, this is balmy,” Angst replied, trying not to shiver himself.

  “We’re here for the hunt, little neighbor,” the largest Nordruaut replied. “There are creatures along the Vex’kvette that none before have seen. Some have even been a challenge.” He touched a new scar across his cheek, and smiled proudly. “What brings you through these lonely woods?”

  “We come to make camp here. Would you join us and trade tales?” Hector offered.

  The apparent leader looked to his companions before nodding. “Thank you for your kind offer, little neighbor. We would enjoy your company and your stories.”

  A young Nordruaut man eyed Chryslaenor hungrily. He whispered something to the leader, who pushed him away roughly before speaking once again. “I am Jarle, and these are my companions, Niihlu and Paukka,” he said, gesturing to the two men. Then he directed them to the women. “Our tracker is Feemi, and our scout is Maarja.”

  Hector introduced their party in much the same fashion. Jarle recommended that they set camp, and even offered to provide the night’s meal. Niihlu, Paukka, and Feemi, the taller of the two women, all grinned with pleasure and ran off into the woods with surprising speed and grace, despite their size.

  Jarle shrugged at Hector with a slight head tilt, as though this was what all young giants did at the prospect of a new hunt. Not only was he taller than the rest, but he seemed older than his companions as well. His handsome features showed more wear than those of the other Nordruaut. Harsh weather conditions and a life spent outdoors had stretched his skin to a leathery toughness. Jarle also sported the most war paint, with lines of red and white streaked across his forehead and vertically under his eyes. The dark furs and skins he wore bore evidence of much travel.

  Maarja, who’d remained, seemed younger and more pristine than the others. She was covered in white fur and skins, and had a single line of white paint under each eye. Maarja was strikingly pretty, and when she proclaimed she would find wood for the fire, Tarness hastily offered to go with. The giant woman briefly eyed Tarness, looking him up and down slowly, then nodded once and lumbered off into the woods with Tarness scrambling to catch up.

  “Your friend will find no warmth with that one. From what we can tell, she hates men,” Jarle said with surprising candor.

  Rose gave a sharp bark of laughter, while everyone else coughed and shuffled their feet. Jarle seemed to appreciate Rose’s reaction and looked her over as if considering a purchase.

  “How is it you only travel with one?” Jarle pointed at Rose. “How do you keep warm at night?”

  “We take turns,” said Angst.

  Rose elbowed him in the stomach, where the armor gave the most. Jarle's eyes went wide, his mouth open to speak but nothing came out.

  “I’m joking, Jarle,” Angst coughed, rubbing his belly. “We actually spend our nights quite cold.”

  Jarle laughed out loud, which made everyone jump. He obviously found Angst’s comment quite funny. Rose cocked her arm to elbow him again, but appeared to think better of it. Angst was relieved, not only because of the cultural hurdles that seemingly required translation, but because Rose's bony elbow hurt!

  “This I understand all too well. We lost one to the hunt.” Jarle’s stoic features became somber.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” offered Dallow.

  “Why are you sorry? The hunt was good, the death brave and magnificent.” He nodded once as though this explained all. “Where are your horses? We stopped hunting your pets long ago so you would no longer run out.”

  Hector held his hand out behind him, to keep his friends from asking what the Nordruaut meant. “We are grateful for your sacrifice. Ours were lost in the hunt.”

  This made Jarle smile. “You will have to tell your stories tonight.”

  “Of course,” said Hector, nodding with respect.

  The hunting party returned first, before Tarness and Maarja, with what could’ve been parts of a deer that had already been skinned and prepared for cooking. A leg was tossed to the bear, and a rib thrown to Scar. Both animals dug into their dinners, though Scar hesitated for a moment, eying the bear’s larger meal. After a warning growl from the bear, Scar picked up his rib and scurried behind Rose to eat in safety.

  “How brave,” Ivan remarked dryly.


  “I’ve heard tales, but I can’t believe how quickly they came back with food,” Hector whispered.

  “It’s scrawny, but will do,” Jarle said to the three hunters. “I doubt the humans eat much.”

  Tarness and Maarja returned shortly after the others. Tarness looked flustered and out of breath as he rushed to keep up, his arms filled with enough wood for three fires. Maarja appeared to be carrying half a dead tree.

  Jarle and the others nodded. “Kindling and firewood. It will be a good night for stories,” Jarle said.

  Thinking nothing of the large quantity of meat presented her, Rose stepped in and began cooking, with Dallow assisting per her directions. The Nordruaut didn’t seem to mind, and appeared interested in the steps she took to prepare the meal. Rose pulled out the few remaining spices from their packs, trying to make a good impression.

  The food was the best they’d eaten all week. Angst was certain he actually drooled several times during the meal, but didn’t care. The Nordruaut politely enjoyed the venison, but drank a lot of water, indicating that maybe the spice was a bit strong, though none would admit it.

  Throughout the meal, Niihlu eyed Chryslaenor, which remained hovering on its tip near the fire. Several times he walked over to inspect it, ‘accidentally’ bumping the sword on several occasions only to find it wouldn’t budge. Jarle stared at Niihlu with disapproval, but said nothing.

  After they were done eating, the Nordruaut began breaking off bits of Maarja’s tree to feed the fire. The flames quickly grew in height, their heat driving Angst’s group to the edge of the campsite. Now warmed, the Nordruaut chose this time to remove most of their furs and leathers, leaving on just enough to be almost considered clothed.

  Tarness openly gawked at Maarja, who didn’t seem to care she was falling out of her remaining animal hides. She beckoned him to sit by her, which he did gladly. Dallow and Hector exchanged a mischievous glance and some polite chuckling. In Unsel, Tarness had always been monstrously taller than any woman he was interested in.

  Angst leaned over to Rose. “You’re being very disrespectful to their customs,” he whispered in mock disapproval.

  “What? How?” she asked with concern.

  “Shouldn’t you be getting undressed too?” Angst said, nodding his head toward Maarja and Feemi, not bothering to contain a huge grin. Both women were clad in the scantiest of form-fitting leather undergarments.

  Rose sighed loudly in annoyance, attempting to ignore his comment. “Where’s Ivan?”

  “He said he wasn’t feeling well.” Angst shrugged. “Maybe with him away, we can enjoy the evening.”

  Rose chuckled. “Now what’s going on? Story time?” she asked, her tone thick with sarcasm.

  Jarle crouched then made his way around the enormous fire slowly, as though stalking prey. He wore nothing but a loincloth, and his muscles moved sinuously with every step he took.

  “Maybe story time is a good thing,” Rose whispered in awe, and it was Angst’s turn to roll his eyes and sigh loudly.

  Jarle stopped and stared at the flames, bowing his head reverently before speaking. “The Great Hunter,” Jarle began in his low voice, “captured dangerous Fire first, which he mounted in the sky to become the sun and the stars.” He lifted his arms to the sky in a dramatic gesture. “The next day, he hunted Water, which spilled over the land like blood to become lakes and oceans and rain.” Jarle brought his hands down, wiggling his fingers to simulate rain as he sat on his haunches.

  “Powerful, lumbering Earth and quick, elusive Air were later trapped by the Great Hunter. Earth was crumbled into the very ground itself, and Air was shared with all to breathe and live,” Jarle whispered as he spread his arms and hands expansively. He suddenly leaped to Rose, who yelped as he knelt before her on one knee. “Yet the hunt was not over, for Magic was the hardest prey to tame. It was everywhere and nowhere, hiding under Water and behind Earth. Magic could become one with air and then lash out with Fire.” Jarle stood once again.

  Rose took a deep breath, her eyes dreamy, either mesmerized by the story, or perhaps by Jarle.

  “But the Great Hunter was patient and cunning and captured Magic, only to find it would quickly escape. He tried different prisons—objects and animals and people—but Magic was too clever to be trapped for long. Only the Vivek of Power could balance Earth and Fire and Air and Water, and only the Vivek could contain Magic. The Great Hunter guards the Vivek, and we will continue The Hunt!”

  In unison, the five Nordruaut and Hector proclaimed, “and so it is said, and so it shall be told.”

  Angst wanted to stand and applaud, and ask questions. He flashed a look at Dallow, who appeared ready to do the same, but Hector covertly shook his head and both held their tongues. The Nordruaut waited, and after several moments, Paukka walked around the fire and shared the tale of a mighty horned beast they’d met near the Vex’kvette. The story wasn’t as dramatic or practiced as Jarle’s tale, which made the telling of their own stories less intimidating.

  “The Vex’kvette must be what they call the orange stuff,” Dallow whispered to Angst, who nodded in agreement.

  When it was their turn, Dallow told the tale of the one-eyed monster that had captured Rose. Hector described how they’d battled Scar with his usual storytelling flair, only embellishing his participation a modest amount. It was entertaining, and relaxing, and the first time Angst had seen his friends genuinely smile in a week. He grinned and was trying his best to listen, but remained haunted by Jarle’s story. Angst wanted to leave everyone and consider the story’s meaning, or talk it through with Dallow, or even question Jarle. Something about it seemed to click in his mind, and once again, Angst felt a certain convenience in the timing of this encounter with the Nordruaut.

  26

  The next morning, Angst found Niihlu practically salivating all over Chryslaenor, which he’d left hovering on point by the fire.

  “I would very much like to have this,” Niihlu stated, unable to tear his eyes from the blade.

  “There are times I wouldn’t mind being rid of it,” Angst replied agreeably, watching Niihlu’s confused reaction. “It’s the greatest gift I ever received, and the heaviest burden I’ve ever carried.”

  “I don’t think you understand. I would like to have this now,” Niihlu growled threateningly.

  “You’re right, I don’t understand. I also don’t think you understand. It’s not mine to give, nor yours to take,” Angst responded.

  Niihlu attempted to lift it for the hundredth time, but the sword still didn’t budge. “Then I challenge you for it.”

  Jarle had been observing their conversation, and quickly joined them on hearing this. “Niihlu, what are you saying?”

  “I challenged Angst for his sword,” Niihlu answered firmly, as if Angst weren’t standing right next to him.

  “Niihlu, this was discussed. That blade is not for hunting, and we are not to covet,” Jarle said disapprovingly.

  “The challenge is made,” Niihlu reiterated then stalked away from both men.

  Jarle just shook his head and called after his younger companion. “This will not work in your favor.” He then faced Angst. “Either you or someone of your choosing must fight in hand to hand combat for your right to keep the blade. No weapons can be used.”

  “This doesn’t make any sense," Angst said irritably. "Even if he were to win, which he wouldn’t, he couldn’t even pick the sword up.”

  “Gather your people, Angst. I don’t think this will take long.” Jarle sounded discouraged as he walked to his companions, his shoulders slumped like a giant willow tree.

  Angst sighed, and went to find Hector. Five minutes later, his friends all met around the campfire. Even Ivan left his sick bed to join them.

  “Can you fight without the sword?” asked Rose.

  “Oh, that’s the encouragement I need,” retorted Angst.

  “She’s right, Angst. Niihlu hits you once, and you’re done for,” Hector agreed.


  Tarness had been staring at Maarja, and said distractedly, “I’ll do it.”

  “Pardon?” replied Angst.

  “I’ll be your champion,” Tarness said, still looking at the attractive Nordruaut.

  “I don’t need anyone to fight my fights,” Angst said defensively.

  Tarness tore his gaze away. “Angst, this has nothing to do with you. I think you could take him, but I have something to prove here.”

  Angst didn’t quite understand until he looked over to see Maarja eyeing Tarness while winding feathers into her long blond braids. Obvious struck Angst in the head, and he reluctantly agreed. “Only if you’re sure, Tarness.”

  Niihlu stepped in front of his group, and although he was one of the shorter Nordruaut men, he was still four feet taller than Tarness. He shed most of his furs and skins, allowing everyone to see that his wiry muscles were ripe with youth and power. Tarness mimicked his actions, standing before Angst and removing his armor. He had muscles on top of muscles on top of several well-fed years on top of more muscles. Tarness was strong, though not nearly as fit or large as the Nordruaut. Glancing at Maarja, he quickly sucked in his gut.

  Jarle stepped between them. “This is simple. The first man knocked unconscious or killed loses. There will be a break every two minutes if anyone remains standing.” Jarle stepped back, raised his hand then lowered it. “Go!” he yelled.

  With a roar, Niihlu took a running start at Tarness. Surprised by the offensive attack, Tarness was thrown off his feet, forcing Angst and Dallow to dive out of the way. The remaining one minute and fifty-nine seconds went much the same, a ruthless beat down of Tarness, at the end of which he still stood. Unfortunately.

  Tarness limped over to his friends, his lip and right eye painfully swollen and bleeding. He coughed up a bit of blood, which he spat onto the forest floor. He was breathing heavily and caked in sweaty dirt. Several of the fingers on his left hand were bent in the wrong direction, and Tarness fought back a scream when Hector straightened them out.