Angst Box Set 1

by David Pedersen

  A soldier threw a bladder to him. Hector poured it into his hand and splashed at Dallow’s face then wiped away the brittle burnt flesh. Dallow was hyperventilating, whimpering with every breath, but the liquid fire appeared to be gone. He covered his eyes with his hands. Hector poured the remaining water on Angst’s numb and throbbing fingers. Tarness, Hector, and Victoria stood in a circle around Dallow and Angst, staring down at them helplessly.

  “It hurts, Angst,” Dallow cried out.

  Dallow pulled his hands away from his face and arched his head back. An ugly scar of blackened flesh masked his face from temple to temple. Dallow’s eyes were completely gone and his eyelids burned away, fully exposing the darkened, empty sockets. Angst swallowed back his stomach and shook with despair, tears filling his eyes. Hesitantly, he leaned in to inspect the damage, making certain the glowing fire was gone.

  “Are you with me, Dallow?” Angst whispered, gripping his friend tight. “Please be with me!”

  “It hurts so much,” Dallow said quietly before passing out.

  36

  Dallow lay on a makeshift stretcher carried by Tarness and a burly Rehman soldier who seemed disgusted at having to cart a wielder. But every time the man complained, Tarness would question whether he was getting tired or offer to carry Dallow by himself...if it was too much for the soldier to handle, and they would go on. Angst and Victoria rode close by, watching helplessly as Dallow struggled.

  He tossed and turned on the gurney, his clothes damp with sweat as he fought off the pain of burns that had sunk deep into his face. In his brief moments of consciousness, Dallow would mutter words in Acratic before placing glowing hands over his eyes. His friend would moan, or scream, before becoming unconscious. Hours passed, and Angst watched in amazement as sheets of scabbed skin fell away from the wounds, leaving fresh new skin in its place. Dallow was healing himself, but it was an ordeal.

  The next time he woke, Angst reached from his swifen to grip Dallow’s shoulder. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Leave me alone!” Dallow snapped loudly. His breathing was hoarse, but after a moment he reached back to squeeze Angst’s hand. “Sorry. Healing through as best I can. Maybe...maybe you can find Rose a foci and grow them back. Heh. I can heal, a little...my face, but I can’t replace my eyes.”

  “I’ll do...” Angst choked up. “I promise I’ll do whatever I can.”

  Dallow grunted in pain, squeezing Angst’s hand so hard his fingers turned red then passed out again. Angst felt responsible for everything. He would have died before putting Dallow through this pain and torture. Was all of this because of his self-indulgence? He felt punished for seeking another foci, though he, too, was dying.

  In spite of her anger, Tori continued riding with Angst. Even when things were tough between them, she was there for him. He loved her more for that right now than anything.

  “Is he going to live?” Angst whispered in her ear. “Will he see again?”

  “I’ve been trying to see since the attack,” she said with obvious insecurity. “It just doesn’t work right.”

  “That’s not an answer! Tell me what you know,” Angst snapped. “Please.”

  Victoria sighed, leaning over to touch Dallow’s face. She closed her eyes and dropped her head to focus. Her breathing became heavy for several moments.

  “He’ll live, Angst,” she promised. “I know that he will live.”

  Angst nodded at this and squeezed her free hand. He reached back to Dallow’s hand and held it once again.

  “He will see again, I think,” she said hesitantly. “But I don’t know. I don’t understand, but I don’t see that his eyes will ever be the same.”

  “Thank you, Tori,” Angst replied sincerely.

  Dallow woke suddenly, breathing fast. He pulled his hand from Angst’s and began muttering in Acratic once again. Crloc was waiting. The large, bearded man rushed over to Dallow and slapped at the glowing hand.

  “What are you doing?” Angst cried out. “Leave him be!”

  “Crloc, stop this!” Victoria screamed.

  “There will be no magics in Melkier!” Crloc reached for Dallow’s hands. “This close to the castle, magic is blasphemy!”

  Despite his exhaustion and emptiness, Angst reached for his sword. Victoria shook her head, her eyes wide with distress. Tarness set two handles of Dallow’s gurney on the ground and rushed forward to grab the front before the large Rehman soldier dropped his friend. Without warning, Hector leaped from his panther swifen, grabbed Crloc by his steel chestpiece and pulled him off his horse.

  Hector landed hard on the ground and tossed Crloc high into the air with his feet. Crloc landed on his face and shoulder with a crash then rolled over onto his back like a lopsided somersault, finishing his acrobatics in an unnatural sprawl. Hector pounced onto the man’s chest and placed a dagger firmly against Crloc’s neck, cutting off chunks of dark beard in the process.

  “No magics!” Crloc croaked.

  “You don’t want magic?” Hector snarled. His wolf-gray eyes gleamed with hungry anticipation, hackles rising from the base of his neck to the back of his head. “I promise, no magic, and I will still kill six of your men before a single bit of magic is used.”

  Crloc held out his hands defiantly but now Hector’s thumb was deep into the man’s vocal cords and he was drawing blood with the dagger. Victoria’s long thin blades were out, and she looked ready to leap off Angst’s swifen. Tarness stood over Dallow protectively, seeming ready to kill whatever soldiers Hector left over. Dallow’s hands covered his eyes as he continued healing them with whatever spell he knew. Angst held his sword aloft shakily, waiting to wield magic until it became absolutely necessary.

  “This is your one warning, Crloc,” Hector growled. “Leave Dallow be or we will enter Melkier castle without an escort!”

  “I’ll—” Crloc started to threaten before choking on Hector’s thumb. His face turned blue before he nodded his head once in reluctant agreement.

  Hector stood, hungrily licking Crloc’s blood from his dagger and spitting on the ground beside the man’s head. He stormed to the front of the gurney and shoved the big soldier aside to pick it up. Crloc rose shakily, holding his hand against his bleeding neck.

  “What are you looking at?” Crloc croaked to no one. “I didn’t say stop! On your way to the castle!”

  “When this is done, if you don’t slap that man stupid,” Hector growled to Angst, “crush him in his own armor!”

  The moment they entered the castle, Angst could hear it: a quiet, distant buzzing that seemed to come from the back of his head. He looked at his friends to see concerned expressions at this new unknown they faced together, but could tell they heard nothing. Victoria turned her head to face him, the angry expressions she’d had for him these last few days replaced with worry. He nodded at her and smirked with the tiniest bit of hope. He could feel it, somewhere in the castle. Dulgirgraut.

  There was little time to appreciate the beauty of Melkier Castle. The somewhat casual escort of Rehmans’ Charge was now accompanied by a more formal troop of twenty soldiers, which flanked Angst and his friends on either side and herded them through the hallways. They sported the same dark black-blue armor, but a pale yellow and light blue cape also hung from every shoulder. The capes matched banners and flags that fluttered high in the monstrously tall hallways. Inadvertently, Tarness tripped into a guard as he gawked at the lofty arched ceilings.

  All soldiers stopped with weapons pointed and, if it weren’t for his dark skin, Angst would have sworn his friend was blushing. Crloc pushed his way through the guards, shoving weapons aside like low-hanging tree branches. He eyed the large man cautiously before looking over Angst, Dallow, and Tarness.

  “Watch yourselves here,” Crloc warned. With a nod to Princess Victoria, he added, “She is the sole reason you are being allowed into the throne room.”

  Crloc stomped back to the head of the line, and the entourage inched forward again. The shee
r number of soldiers with them made it more than apparent that magic was not welcome, and that this stricture would be enforced vehemently.

  While the distant buzzing of Dulgirgraut brought Angst hope, it also drained him as he reached out to find it. In spite of the foci’s proximity, he was weaker than ever. The emptiness consumed him, and his lip quivered with exhaustion. Tarness immediately gripped Angst’s right arm before he fainted. On cue, Hector stepped to Angst’s other side and held onto his arm. Victoria looked at them both gratefully, ignoring Angst’s embarrassed stare at the floor.

  “Why is it every time we visit a capitol city we’re escorted by guards?” Hector asked Tarness, as though propping Angst upright was as normal as eating.

  “It’s because Angst is so dangerous,” Tarness said in his deep voice. “Can’t you tell?”

  Angst could only nod and cough out a chuckle. He felt like he could lose a battle with a feather, and hoped this wave of emptiness would pass before he met with King Gaarder.

  They stopped in a passageway before the throne room to enjoy some waiting while Crloc entered the room with the now-unsealed parchment Victoria had given him.

  “Her Royal Majesty, Princess Victoria of Unsel,” a voice boomed after fifteen minutes of standing.

  The throne room was made for giants. Tall archways crisscrossed overhead. Light poured in through stained glass windows depicting epic battles. Pale yellow and light blue banners hung along every wall. In the middle of the room, built on a large, circular staircase, rested a single throne. Guards shadowed their every step, with twitchy hands on hilts and eyes that barely blinked.

  “No wonder they’re nervous,” Hector whispered, analyzing the room. “How in Ehrde could you protect the king when the throne is such an open target?”

  They waited at the bottom of the stairs, facing the king of Melkier on his throne. The thin white hair framing Gaarder’s wrinkled droopy face was the only thing Angst recognized. In the mere months since his first encounter with the king, Gaarder seemed to have wasted away. He wore a high-necked, light blue robe, which hung loosely from his thin frame. The dark blue doublet with pale yellow embellishments under the robe appeared overlarge and uncomfortable. His eyes were wary and there was no longer welcome in them.

  Victoria curtsied low. Hector, Dallow, and Tarness bowed deeply while Angst struggled to nod. King Gaarder stood shakily and walked down the stairway. Crloc stepped forward quickly to offer a hand, which the king took gratefully. He stopped in front of Victoria, bowed politely and then embraced her. Crloc stood behind the old king, at ease and smiling smugly at the young princess.

  “You grow more beautiful every time I see you, dear,” Gaarder said with a fatherly smile.

  “You do me great honor, Your Majesty,” Victoria said with a warm blush as she embraced the king. Her cheek brushed against his briefly.

  Gaarder stepped aside to stand before Angst, his wrinkled eyes pinching with concern as he looked at the frail figure of the middle-aged man. Crloc tore his eyes from the princess to attend his king closely. He glared at Angst. Gaarder reached forward and shook Angst’s hand, looking at the weak grip then looking Angst in the eye.

  “You seem to be missing something,” Gaarder stated, peering over Angst’s shoulder. “I had heard, but that looks to be eating you alive. The dangers of magic, son.”

  Angst couldn’t help but feel a sense of defeat at this statement. Gaarder had seemed accepting of, even interested in, magic when they’d last met. Now he apparently believed it to be evil. Dulgirgraut seemed even farther away than when they’d left Unsel. A wave of nausea and weakness overcame Angst, and Hector’s arm was under his shoulder before he could fall. Gaarder ignored this, looking over the others and nodding at them politely before facing Victoria once more.

  Gaarder waited. Angst and his friends looked at Victoria, who merely smiled, also waiting. Her eyes and smile were innocent, almost vapid, as though suddenly imbued with patience Angst had never seen. What was this all about? Would her position truly be weaker for asking first? If there were some deeper politics taking place, it was beyond his caring. The king smiled, the princess smiled, and Angst’s patience became a lone thread of spider silk strung between them. It dragged on for-ev-er. He had to say something, anything, to break the silence. At this thought he saw Victoria tense, and he didn’t care.

  “I like your castle...” Angst said. He was immediately surrounded by sighs, and Victoria’s eyes closed in disbelief. “...Your Majesty.”

  Gaarder barked out a laugh, patting Angst on the shoulder gratefully. “Thank you, Mister Angst,” Gaarder said, his voice scratchy with age.

  Had he been thanked for the compliment, or humored for blundering through politics he didn’t understand?

  “We read the offer from Queen Isabelle,” Gaarder said to Victoria, placing his hands behind his back. “The Goyburn Peninsula has been in dispute for hundreds of years.”

  Angst looked over at Hector, completely bewildered. Hector shrugged, as did Tarness. Dallow’s face was pale and he appeared in shock—the sole one of the group, other than Victoria, who understood the ramifications of the offer, apparently.

  “The lands are fertile, the port is empty,” Victoria said calmly, though she tugged on a curly lock of hair. “This agreement has the potential of placing Melkier at a trade advantage over Unsel.”

  King Gaarder licked his lips hungrily and rubbed a thumb across the tips of his fingers in anticipation. It was obvious the old man enjoyed bartering. “In exchange, all you want is that old sword?”

  “You have it? You have Dulgirgraut?” Angst asked, too desperately.

  “Pardon me, Your Majesty,” Victoria politely requested of the old king. She turned to Angst with all the patience she could muster. “Shut up.”

  Angst pursed his lips to hold back anticipation, and Victoria turned her attention back to Gaarder with a controlled smile.

  The old king chuckled, his eyes twinkling. “I see,” he stated curiously. “Your offer is generous, but to make this decision there’s something we need to understand. Is this for him, or for Unsel?”

  Victoria gasped, pausing as her eyes flicked back and forth between Angst and Gaarder. She swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “This is for me,” she said quietly.

  The king’s eyes widened briefly. He looked at Angst for a long moment then nodded knowingly. Crloc put a restraining hand on the old king’s shoulder, which drooped slightly at the Captain Guard’s touch. “I’m sorry you are hurting, son, but we need time to consider,” Gaarder said.

  Angst smiled weakly and nodded.

  Victoria grabbed the old king’s arm. “This isn’t a negotiation, Gaarder. There isn’t much time,” Victoria pleaded. “I want...I want this to be peaceful.”

  “The world has changed since Angst took the great sword as his own,” Gaarder stated, shaking his head in frustration. “I respect your request, and I’ll admit we are hungry for your offer, but this decision isn’t made lightly, or by me alone.” Gaarder looked at Crloc, who smirked, eyeing them all imperiously.

  Victoria seemed on the verge of tears and, for the first time in days, Angst felt close to her. She was angry with him for Alloria, or something else entirely, but nothing between them had really changed. Her reaction wasn’t much, but it was enough, and with a deep breath, he stood straight.

  “We promise a response in several days,” the king said, looking at Angst.

  “Of course, Your Majesty,” Victoria replied with worry in her voice.

  “Daughter, attend me,” Gaarder commanded, pointing with two fingers and beckoning her forward. “I would like to introduce the queen regent—my daughter, Nicadilia.”

  Victoria’s back stiffened at the woman’s approach, her eyes growing wide at the title. Angst felt it best to curb his curiosity about Tori’s reaction, instead watching the Queen Regent gracefully walk toward them.

  A tall, thin blonde wearing a pale blue gown of velvet, she appeared several years old
er than Angst and draped in everything expensive. Her light blue eyes were sunken in her pale, gaunt cheeks and they flitted over Angst and his friends distractedly. Nicadilia had a permanent sneer lifted high beside each nostril and, at first glance, it seemed her beauty had been lost long ago to pomp and self-importance. But as she approached, he saw that she carried a heavy aura of sadness.

  Angst noticed the thirsty look of Crloc drinking her in. The man’s eyes flitted from Nicadilia to Victoria, ignoring everyone else in the room. Crloc looked at both women as though weighing livestock to brand, and more than ever Angst wanted to crush the bully where he stood.

  Nicadilia glanced over them as she approached. She stopped before Angst and looked him up and down. Angst said nothing—she was a queen like Isabelle and his flirting would only cause more trouble. Nicadilia smiled at him curiously, pausing as if waiting for something. After a brief moment, she turned to face everyone, her nose high and her gaze low. Victoria curtsied politely. Angst and his friends followed her lead with respectful bows.

  The queen regent held out her elbow. Like a well-trained dog, Crloc walked to her and interlocked arms. She looked at him without fondness or love, merely nodding when he took his place beside her.

  “You are welcome guests at the castle,” Gaarder promised. “And I expect you at my table for dinner tonight.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” Victoria said with a curtsy. “Thank you.”

  37

  Her soon-to-be royal majesty and princess, Alloria, drew long-nailed fingers up and down the rich armrest of the queen’s throne as she settled back into the high-seated cushion. This was arrogance beyond reproach, but still she allowed herself to revel in her victories and languish in potential.

  In spite of the late hour, or early depending on your perspective, Alloria was dressed to rule. Her plunging, pale blue corset was cut directly from Queen Isabelle’s own style—showing more than enough to be distracting. The dangly sleeves of her fine silk blouse and long silk skirt were bone colored and shone in the torchlight. Her finery was enshrouded in a high-necked brocade cloak that hugged her sides while sitting and flowed dramatically when she walked.