Sleep. He needed sleep. The first night on the road had been filled with trepidation, so maybe the second was too. Maybe if he willed it hard enough, his brain would turn off and he could sleep, this time without crazy dreams. Thinking about sleep always helped, right? It wasn’t just that they were in a hurry, or the unknowns of these new companions, there was definitely something else. It was as if the front door had been left unlocked or the windows were still open. The storm of concern wasn’t restful, and his worry took constant precedence. Sleep was hours away, and then hours still.
Drops of rain gently pelted the tent’s canvas. Dry dirt hungry for spring showers made the air smell earthy. He was just starting to drift when his ears were struck with noise. Chryslaenor rang in his mind like bad performance art. A song that blurted with horns and rattled with drums. His heart sped, racing faster as he dragged himself from a cloudy haze. It made his anger flare once again. Then, another buzzing tickled his mind, which was just what he needed. The gamlin were nearby, their noises warning him. Fulk’han. According to the gamlin, Fulk’han were everywhere. They were surrounded. A child cried out, and Scar barked in fury. A child? Was he still dreaming?
Anger raged anew. Lying in the tent, cuddling with Faeoris, listening to the rain—this moment should’ve been perfect, and it was being taken from him. He reached out with his mind and felt their approach. Bones shifting, moving slowly forward, footsteps in the fresh mud. They were surrounded; the Fulk’han were near and approaching fast. The heat of fury overwhelmed his reason. Those creatures had attacked Unsel and were now trying to stop him from saving his friends.
He took deep breaths as sought the gamlin with his mind. Earth’s creatures waited for his command to attack, and let Angst know where each of the twenty Fulk’han stood. Like thieves in the night, the Fulk’han circled their camp and crept closer. Angst urged the gamlin to hold. The Fulk’han were his.
He jerked himself from Faeoris’s embrace and grabbed Chryslaenor as he left the tent, blurring past Jintorich on his watch. Faeoris cried something in surprise as he ran toward the first target. The gray man ignored Angst and his giant sword covered in blue lightning, instead staring in awe at the enormous monster dog. Scar had grown, the lab puppy now towering ten feet tall. His fur had become metallic protrusions that looked like daggers, and his six eyes glowed a bright red. The wagon behind Scar was destroyed. His growl shook the earth, and his steely fur hackled.
Angst’s bare feet slapped against the mud, rain pelting his face as he struck out with his great foci towering five feet above him. He paused over the first Fulk’han target after splitting it in two across the waist with Chryslaenor. The Fulk’han’s eyes were wide with surprise as it collapsed into a pile of itself. The gray man hadn’t cried out, but the attack had been loud enough to alert the others and wake the camp. He could feel the steamy breath of Scar on his shoulders, and hear the tiny whimpers coming from an unknown voice behind his dog. He wouldn’t let them be hurt. Frustration and anger became a maddening rage as he blurred to the second Fulk’han, slicing the enemy’s head off before sprinting to the third without pause.
His head rang with sounds. Fulk’han cried out warnings to each other. Chryslaenor sang loudly, demanding he attack, urging Angst to hold the monsters still with magic. His traveling companions, his new friends, shouted at each other to wake up. Scar barked loud enough to rattle his eardrums. The gamlin chittered in his mind, offering help he didn’t need or welcome. And somewhere in the middle of it all was a child’s cry. It was maddening. And Dulgirgraut. Far away, the distant song of his other foci urged him to defend. He did.
Angst could feel his targets, now stuck in the mud as he willed their bones to anchor them, just as Chryslaenor had advised. He ran to each target in a blur, a red fury rushing through him as he destroyed them all. His was a berserker rage that took over every movement, but he didn’t care. He wouldn’t let these new friends die. He wouldn’t let them hurt Faeoris. He had to protect everyone. Bodies dropped in smoldering heaps, splayed by his sword and burnt to a crisp by the lightning. Angst ignored their cries, ignored warnings from the camp, ignored warnings from his foci and gamlin. There was one left, and he raced toward it. He sliced down at the dark shadow, and his blade struck something solid.
The sound was like striking a bell, and Angst was thrown back in a flash of white light. Landing on his rear, he skidded several feet in the mud. He blinked away blinding spots in his eyes and shook out each hand. Both were numb, as if he’d struck a tree trunk with a board. Angst blinked until his vision cleared enough to see Jintorich standing before a crouched Fulk’han woman, his tiny staff held in front of her protectively. Angst took a deep breath and stood, lifting Chryslaenor to attack again.
“Stop!” Aerella cried. She moved to stand before the pink, cowering woman. “Angst, please stop. You don’t murder. You don’t kill, not like this.”
“Get out of my way,” he growled.
“Please, Mr. Angst,” said a small voice. Kala stepped out from behind Scar’s enormous leg to stand beside the Fulk’han. She placed a hand on the woman’s head. “Please don’t hurt the pretty, pink woman.”
What was she doing? They shouldn’t stop him. Not now. Something in his mind urged him to kill them all. His hands shook with rage as he stared into Kala’s eyes. Her gaze pleaded for him to stop. A wave of exhaustion and guilt struck him, and Angst shuddered as the madness abated. He was standing in his undergarments, drenched in rain, his legs covered in mud. Aerella stood before him, pale yellow aura of magic surrounding her. Jintorich held out a tiny wooden staff. Kala looked up at him, her large dark eyes brave yet sad. He glanced over his shoulders to see Faeoris and Maarja behind him, both ready to attack. Tiny gamlin faces popped out of the muddy terrain, peering at him with curious eyes.
“Move!” Angst shouted. He was exhausted, but knew he wasn’t done. Cold blue lightning forked about his arms, crawling around the blade. The lightning popped noisily at the touch of every raindrop.
“No!” Aerella said defiantly.
Jintorich shook his head, his long brows dripping heavy in the rain. Angst held the giant sword high, but they didn’t budge. Kala squeezed her eyes shut and faced downward.
“This isn’t you,” Aerella said. “You’re not a killer. You don’t murder.”
“I won’t let them hurt you!” he replied. “Not any of you. I’ve lost too many already because I wasn’t enough. Now, move so I can finish this!”
“Please,” Kala said, shivering, perhaps from both cold and fear. She continued facing downward, her tiny fists shaking.
Angst stared down at the Fulk’han. A pink woman who looked far, far more seductive than dangerous. He wanted to be free of them, all of them. He wanted to keep everyone safe. But now that he looked at her, now that he’d peered into her eyes, how could he kill this woman? She wasn’t just some thing. The Fulk’han wasn’t an “it,” she was a person. He lowered the tip of his giant sword to the ground.
“Go,” he thundered, pointing off into the woods. “And tell your people that I protect all of Unsel.”
She stared in awe, her gaze darting from Angst and his sword of lightning, to the nearby gamlin, to the giant monster dog behind him. Panic froze her in place, and her breasts heaved with every deep breath.
“I said go!” he shouted.
His words were followed by a crack of thunder, and that was enough to shake her from her trance. The pink woman hissed at him like a cat before running off into the dark woods. Part of him wondered if that wasn’t the worst mistake he’d made yet.
13
“No,” Angst said, as firmly as he could. “Absolutely not.”
“Please,” Kala pleaded, her lower lip trembling with the sincerity of any child. “It’s okay for me to come with. I left a note with my mom!”
And how much trouble would Angst get in for that? “Dear mom, I ran away with Angst and Scar to save the world. Your only twelve-year-old daughter, Kala.” Heather already
hated him, he couldn’t keep his friends safe, and they were about to face the very definition of danger. His eyes widened in fear, and he sought Faeoris for help.
His beautiful Berfemmian friend was naked. Not the mostly-naked of her armor; she was naked-naked. Angst hadn’t really thought of it in the tent—it was just sort of cozy—but now, slick rain on her skin reflected the blue hue of his glowing hands like a beacon. He reluctantly concentrated until the light went out, the image of her amazing body burned into his mind’s eye. Aerella whispered something, and a soft yellow glow emanated from her hand. Yup, still naked. Really naked, and she didn’t care. Not a bit. Neither did anyone else, including Angst. Mostly.
“I agree,” Faeoris said then her voice became hesitant. “I guess I could try to fly her back to Heather.”
“But Scar needs me!” Kala cried.
“How long would that take?” Angst asked Faeoris, struggling to keep eye contact. His cheeks felt so warm, the rain must’ve been evaporating on contact.
“She won’t make it,” Maarja said with a smug smile.
“What do you mean she won’t make it?” Angst asked, turning to Faeoris. “You fly so fast...”
In the light of Aerella’s glow, he could see Faeoris covering her mouth. Not her breasts, or anything else, just her mouth. Was she embarrassed?
“It’s the reason she stayed in Unsel,” Maarja said, crossing her arms. “She couldn’t find Angoria.”
“I’m not great with direction,” Faeoris said, staring angrily at the Nordruaut.
“But you fly back and forth to Vex’kvette every year,” Angst said in disbelief.
“Instinct, Angst,” Aerella explained.
“After you got stuck in Victoria’s room, I tried to find my way home,” Faeoris said, not making eye contact with anyone. “I got lost and was barely able to make it back. I just wanted to check on my people. I would have come back for you, I promise!”
“It’s okay, Faeoris,” he said. “I know you would have.”
“I could return the child faster,” Maarja scoffed and rolled her eyes.
Faeoris glared, her hands balling into fists.
“Please, no,” Kala said, running behind Aerella. She was pale, shivering, and her eyes widened in panic. “No more fighting! Please!”
“I won’t hurt you, child,” Maarja said, taking a step toward her.
Kala screamed. Scar barked, his monstrous head lowering to the Nordruaut. Maarja took a step back. Faeoris smiled and crossed her arms.
“No!” Angst shouted. “That’s enough!” He placed a calming hand on Scar and nodded to Maarja, who looked confused and slightly hurt that the girl was scared. “Thank you, Maarja. I think we’ll have to find another way.”
“I can help!” Kala pleaded. “I’ll feed Scar, and walk him, and help cook.”
“Kala,” Angst said. He was suddenly very aware that he was dripping wet in his undergarments. Unlike Faeoris, this made him very uncomfortable, and he dropped to a knee in the mud, hoping to look less imposing and creepy. “This trip is going to be very, very dangerous.”
“I want to come with! I want to be a hero, like you,” she said, her voice filled with shaky confidence. “And I couldn’t let Scar go alone. He said come with! He needs me!”
What had he done? He’d tried leaving the dog with Heather, but gave up that argument almost immediately. Heather had been beyond upset, and Angst would’ve agreed to painting the house pink if she’d asked. Distracted by so many different things, he hadn’t thought it through. Heather had mentioned the two were inseparable, that they had a connection. This didn't occur to him when Heather handed the pup over and said, "Kala said you need to take Scar with." The kid had planned this, and Angst couldn't help but smile.
He completely understood her desire for adventure, and probably would’ve done the same thing when he was twelve. Kala would make a great companion, in about five or six years. She had the ability to emulate any magic she saw, and the extent of her powers were just coming to fruition. But she was far too young to put in danger’s path. He looked to the others for help, and they all looked back at him, waiting for an answer he didn’t have.
Angst gazed on the prodigy. The rain had flattened her dark hair, which was far too long for traveling. Her olive cheeks were puffy with baby fat, but her thin dark eyes and determined lips in full pout mode made Angst smile. Her perseverance was moving, and who was he to argue with someone who wanted to be a hero? There was something he could do; maybe it would be enough.
“You can stay with us,” Angst said.
“What?” “No!” “You can’t be serious!” Protests rang like a chorus from all around him.
“Yes!” peeped out a little voice still behind Aerella. She jumped up and down in the mud before running to Angst and hugging him.
“But,” Angst said, holding Kala back and looking her in the eye, “only until we reach Oakhaven. I have a friend there you can stay with. She can see you home safely.”
“Oh,” she said, her excitement deflating. “But what about Scar?”
“Scar can go home with you,” he said, smiling. “Bring him to Heather so you can both keep her safe. It would mean a lot to me.”
She nodded sincerely, with a bit of win still in her eyes. She was getting her adventure, and she got to keep Scar. Angst sighed in relief as she gave him another hug. It seemed he’d finally done something right. Hopefully, Marissa was still at Oakhaven. The innkeeper was the only one he knew in the area who could be trusted with her safety. There were no further arguments, everyone else seemed more agreeable, or at least less upset.
“To bed then,” Angst said with a sigh. “We have a long day tomorrow.”
“Where will I sleep? You broke the wagons,” Kala said, looking at the pile of boards and muddy tarp. “I know! I can stay with Faeoris.”
Faeoris shook her head vehemently. Angst had the impression she didn’t love children. Who knew if Kala would make it through the night alive?
“Actually, she’s sharing my tent,” Angst said.
Kala’s thin eyebrows furrowed. “Won’t that make Ms. Heather upset?”
“Uh,” Angst said, his cheeks warm from being struck hard by this disclosure. “Well, I don’t know...”
“Oh?” Faeoris asked. Her cheeks were apparently red for a different reason, and she glared at Angst darkly. “Why didn’t you say Heather would be upset?”
“You, uh, you said you didn’t want to sleep in the woods alone,” Angst said. His sincerity was overshadowed by another scoff from Maarja and the cluck of Aerella’s tongue.
“But I didn’t know about Heather. She’s my friend,” she snapped. “Why did you think that would be okay?”
“Because you thought it was okay,” he said. It felt as if his argument was becoming less valid by the second.
“It’s not okay if your Heather would be angry...angrier!” she growled. “I don’t understand your messed-up customs of one partner and no bed sharing. Humans are stupid.” And with that, she sloshed angrily to the tent and crawled in, still naked, and now naked without Angst.
Kala covered her eyes as if suddenly realizing Faeoris wasn’t wearing clothes. What a great story this would make for his wife. “I guess I’ll just go home now,” Kala said, looking at the muddy ground. She sniffed loudly and clasped her hands together.
“I’m sorry, Kala,” Angst said. “Things are more complicated than they need to be.”
“It’s not complicated that you want to sleep with Faeoris,” she said.
Angst covered his face with a hand and sighed.
“You can share my tent,” Aerella said, peering at Angst while steering the young woman toward the other end of the campsite.
“I’m not sure where I should sleep.” Angst looked from Jintorich to Maarja.
“In the broken wagon!” Faeoris shouted from inside the tent. It sounded as if she was crying.
“For once, Faeoris is right. Humans are stupid,” Maarja said with a
nod. “I’ll be on watch.”
“You can join me, Angst,” Jintorich said. “I hope you don’t mind. I sleep naked too.”
Angst looked from Jintorich to the broken wagon, considering his options.
14
Wilfred enjoyed being a kingmaker far more than being king. Management was not in his blood. It felt much more natural to specialize in something and be appreciated for it. As Queen Isabelle’s advisor—he was busy without being overwhelmed, the compensation was excellent, and almost nobody in the general population knew who he was. He now longed for the person who didn’t recognize him, or even better, ignored him completely. Wilfred had always loved his work, but didn’t realize how much until it was too late. So here he was, on the other side, and the grass wasn’t greener at all.
General Mirot entered the great hallway that was currently the makeshift throne room. His burgundy cape flowed behind him, and a plain steel helm was tucked neatly under an arm. He walked toward the throne with an efficient stride and stern determination. His gray hair was swept back as if brushed by the wind. The man always seemed to be in a hurry. He was almost too thin to be a soldier, much less a general, as if he no longer had time for eating. Mirot consistently spoke to the point, in clipped sentences that didn’t banter creatively or bureaucratically. He was a storybook without descriptions, who provided a service to Unsel but not much else. Much like a well-made faucet, he served a purpose.
“Is there something wrong with your throne?” Mirot asked, his blue eyes cool and intelligent.
“Just stretching my legs,” Wilfred said, feeling his throat tighten.
Mirot placed his hands behind his back in a way that didn’t really appear at ease. He said nothing, staring at Wilfred, his expression impatient.
“It’s not my throne,” Wilfred said. And it wasn’t. The throne had been Isabelle’s, and was now Victoria’s. Sitting on it felt wrong. He wanted nothing to do with pretending to be royalty. More than anything, he dreamed of handing over a clean and healthy kingdom to Victoria, and being rewarded for that. Rewarded well.
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