Angst Box Set 1

by David Pedersen

  “Are you still good?” Hector asked.

  “Nobody better,” she boasted, picking something out of her front teeth with her tongue. “We are talking on the water, right?”

  “Probably,” Hector flirted.

  Angst really hoped he didn’t sound like this when he spoke to women. What could Hector possibly see in her?

  “You haven’t answered my question.” She grunted. “Where?”

  After a long pause, Hector finally said, “There’s a place off the coast of Angoria. It’s not on the map, but—”

  “Nope!”

  “Not so fast, it’s not like—”

  “Nope!”

  “We’ve got money, if that’s the prob—”

  “Nope!”

  “But there’s—”

  “Nope!”

  It went on like this for minutes. Very long minutes.

  “Everyone could die,” Angst said, ignoring Hector’s interrupting hand.

  “Pardon?”

  “Everyone on Ehrde could die,” Angst said.

  “That doesn’t affect me,” she said, crossing her arms.

  “Really?” Angst asked. “You aren’t a part of everyone?”

  “How is it that everyone could die?” She eyed the sword. “That thing really is big. Why is it glowing?”

  “It is?” Angst asked. In the back of his mind, he could almost, barely, hear a song. He looked at Victoria and smiled. “It does that, sometimes. Look, it’s complicated. Do you really want to know?”

  “No.”

  “Will you take us?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?” Angst leaned forward. “Are you afraid?”

  “Don’t make me kill you.” Jarblech reached to her side.

  As Angst stood, he heard every pirate behind him come to their feet.

  “That island, it’s death,” Jarblech warned. “You know who lives between here and there? She doesn’t let anyone near that place.”

  “So you are afraid?” Angst prodded.

  He could feel it coming and could’ve stopped it but knew where the dagger was headed. It landed with a thud at the edge of the table directly in front of Angst.

  “I didn’t ask if you were afraid of me,” Angst snapped, urging the dagger to rise from the table and float to her. “Who is she?”

  “The lady of the sea.” Jarblech waved her hands wildly. “No one survives a trip to Angoria these days. She’ll crush the life out of any boat that tries. It’s not as easy as showing up with a giant magic sword and swinging it about.”

  “You won’t take us?” Hector asked.

  “My ship wouldn’t be safe. It’d be destroyed like all others,” she said. “I’m sorry but not even my baby could bring you, and I’ve got the biggest, fastest ship in the harbor.”

  “What ship is safe? How can we get there?”

  “You’d need a boat made out of steel to get there and back, and there is no such thing,” she spat. “Ain’t enough luvin’ for that trip.”

  Angst and Hector made eye contact before Hector continued. “So you’d take us with a metal ship?”

  “Yeah, sure, whatever,” she said dismissively. “You can all sit down now,” she yelled to the pirates.

  “I can’t move,” a woman called out from behind Angst.

  “My legs are stuck,” another woman said in a husky voice.

  “That’s why your bar makes me so happy!” Angst shouted. He spun about to look, grinning from ear to ear. “Your pirates are all women!”

  18

  Unsel

  Maarja ignored the rude stares from people who scurried out from under her long gait. Every person was hunched over and bundled in heavy layers of winter clothing—as if this were an actual winter. They gawked openly at her height, exposed skin, or both, depending on whether eyes lingered or strayed. She wanted to swat them away like flies, but had to remember she was a guest in Unsel, and they weren’t really flies.

  Maarja and Jintorich stopped at an unkempt street that most seemed to avoid, even walking on the road in favor of the walkway. A horse and carriage made an arc, inching closer to the “safe” side as if circumventing a hole in the ground. The cursed street was a dark path of cold, broken cobblestone that curved out of view several blocks in. It was empty and quiet. They looked at each other, but Jintorich merely shrugged. She nodded, and they made their way past boarded shops and “Keep Out” signs.

  “Are you certain this is the way?” Maarja asked. “This entire area of town looks abandoned.”

  “It’s hard to get much from the castle staff, but it seems Angst has some friends,” Jintorich said, huffing out clouds of air as his legs shuffled quickly to keep up. “They said he frequented a bar in this area.”

  “Let me ask next time,” she said with a wicked smile. “For some reason I make them nervous.”

  “It was odd,” he said in his high voice. “Some at the castle really did appear to want to help, but they seemed reluctant.”

  “Maybe they were under orders,” she said.

  “Probably.” He didn’t sound convinced.

  As they went around another bend, Maarja felt the tiniest tug on her white fur boots. She slowed at Jintorich’s beckoning, following him around the curved road. Dozens of Unsel soldiers stood in front of a stone building that seemed misplaced. Neat and tidy, it was squeezed tight between abandoned shops with broken windows and shoddy wooden doors. A sign overhead read “Wizard’s Revenge.” The entry was missing a door, which rested on its side against the jamb. They could hear shouting as soldiers lined up to enter, weapons ready for battle.

  “Let me sneak ahead and scout...”

  Maarja ignored Jintorich and took three lumbering steps toward the remaining line of soldiers. Every day spent in Unsel was more frustrating. Princess Alloria avoided them, Vars was rude and condescending, people seemed unwilling to help, and she had little patience for more waiting. Her people needed Angst, and she needed answers. The guards lifted swords and shields defensively at her approach, and stepped back as a group.

  “What’s going on here?” she said, placing her fists on her hips.

  Her voice must’ve been louder than they were used to, because one soldier in the front dropped his sword. A tiny man—they were all tiny—stepped forward as threateningly as he could.

  “Leave this place, monster,” he commanded, the quaver in his voice almost under control. “This is Unsel business.”

  Before he had time to breathe, Maarja picked the fly up by his head and threw him down the street. The man screamed until he crashed into the second story of an old building and fell into a broken heap on the cobblestone. She grabbed another and grimaced at him as the rest scattered.

  “This is a poor place to hunt,” she scoffed before tossing him away. She knelt, forcing her head and shoulder through the bar entrance. The room expanded so quickly that soldiers inside jumped, several tripping over their own feet as they sought the retreating walls.

  Vars jerked his head about, interrupting his swing as Maarja entered through the doorway, the room growing to accommodate her size. Rook dodged the punch, slugging the older man in his armored stomach before wielding his sword.

  “What are you doing here, Nordruaut?” Vars coughed, pushing away from Rook.

  “We seek friends of Angst,” she stated. “You’ve been little help.”

  “You were to wait for the queen!” Spittle flecked his chin with every word as he fought to remain upright.

  “We’re friends of Angst,” Graloon said heartily.

  She lowered her gaze, looking darkly at Vars, who swallowed hard and wiped his chin.

  “I do not answer to your princess,” she said in a quiet, dangerous voice. “And you will show me the respect due an ambassador, or I will leave for home and return with two more Nordruaut. More than enough to decimate an army of small men, such as yourself.”

  “This business is none of yours. Leave now,” Vars commanded.

  “This is not a
place you want to be, Vars,” Rook said, jerking his thumb toward the wielders. “You don’t want to upset them.”

  Vars and Rook turned their heads to see fire covering Janda’s hands, and her eyes burned a fierce red. The nearest guards shuffled nervously, holding up shields, sweat already dripping freely.

  “Magics are illegal.” Vars’s shout was weak and his eyes wide with madness. “The queen—”

  Men and women stood behind Janda, their faces stern and determined. Hands, arms, and eyes shone brightly—a rainbow of light behind her. Sounds of power filled the room, static electricity bit at the air, ocean waves sloshed, and fire crackled. Rook shivered at the raw power behind him, but couldn’t control the winning smile that spread across his lips.

  “As you can see,” Graloon said gruffly, “she’s not our queen.”

  Soldiers had already retreated to the Nordruaut, who wouldn’t let any exit. She grabbed the nearest one and shoved him out, squeezing him between herself and the doorframe. A yelp was followed by several pops before he went silent. She reached for another, eyes filled with anticipation, but waited for Rook’s signal.

  Vars’s eyes flashed angrily at the soldiers’ retreat. Rook threw down his sword, grabbed Vars’s breastplate with both hands, and shoved him against the wall. A look of hate and disdain covered Vars’s face, followed quickly by bitter despair.

  “You fool,” Rook spat. “Don’t you see? Unsel will be destroyed without them! Is that what you want?”

  “You don’t know what you’re in or how deep it goes,” Vars snarled. “Out! Everyone out!” he barked at the remaining soldiers.

  Maarja made her way completely into the room, stretching to her full height. Graloon winced as the room grew larger still. Rook let go, and Vars brushed off his golden leaf-embroidered plate armor as though wiping off filth. He tried staring Rook down, but their eyes merely dueled.

  “You just don’t get it, do you?” Rook asked.

  “This isn’t over,” Vars bit off every word as he backed toward the door.

  “You keep saying that,” Rook replied. “I’m ready when you are.”

  Vars backed out of the room, glaring at Rook with crazy eyes. Soldiers along the walls reluctantly followed, some angry, but most flashed the wielders apologetic looks or just stared at the ground guiltily. As the last few exited, they called out, “Hey,” or, “What’s this?” as Jintorich pushed against armored knees to make his way into the room. He shook his head in frustration, slamming his staff down hard. It flashed white and struck the wooden floor noisily. His beady eyes sought Maarja, who merely shrugged.

  “Tall people,” Jintorich scoffed in his squeaky voice.

  “Me?” she asked, her eyebrows rising with his temper.

  “Don’t make me come up there,” he said.

  “Fine, I shouldn’t have run ahead.” She smirked, holding up both hands defensively.

  Jintorich nodded curtly and hopped up onto a table beside her. Graloon approached them, wincing as he pushed against his temple with the palm of his hand. He looked up at Maarja, who remained standing in the now insanely tall Wizard’s Revenge.

  “Miss,” he said politely, beckoning her toward the floor. “Would you mind having a seat? I feel like my head is going to split.”

  She sought Jintorich, who shrugged. She looked around, careful not to crush any chairs or people before sitting and crossing her legs. Graloon sighed with relief as the room immediately shrank.

  “So much better,” he said gratefully. “I’m Graloon. May I get you anything?”

  “Ale.” She nodded.

  “Yes,” Jintorich agreed. “If you please.”

  Rook and Janda approached, holding their hands up in greeting. He was still hot from confrontation, and took several deep, calming breaths.

  “Maarja, Jintorich, thank you!” He smiled and shook hands with Jintorich as best he could—the Meldusian’s hand was incredibly small, almost like a child’s. He frowned when Maarja reluctantly shook his hand and felt like a child himself. “Your timing couldn’t have been any better.”

  “I’m certain it’s nothing they couldn’t have taken care of.” She nodded toward the other wielders in the room.

  “Maybe,” he replied. “But fortunately we didn’t have to.”

  She nodded gruffly and said nothing more, staring at him as if waiting for something.

  He turned to the Meldusian. “You’re looking for Angst?” Rook asked.

  “His friends, yes,” Jintorich squeaked. “We both have need of his counsel. Do you know when he will return?”

  “No. Hopefully soon,” Rook said.

  “What was all this?” Jintorich asked. “Why were you being arrested?”

  “Because we wield magic,” Janda said, looking over the other guests, who were just sitting. “Most of the people here do.”

  “Alloria has made magic entirely illegal, and apparently all wielders are now outlaws.” Rook sighed. “I can’t imagine I’m in any better standing.”

  Janda rubbed his shoulder consolingly.

  “It makes no sense,” he growled. “How can they make all wielders illegal, but still be waiting for Angst?”

  “None of this makes sense,” Graloon said as a trail of mugs floated behind him. “The important thing is, how are we going to keep everyone safe?”

  A mug the size of Jintorich landed at his feet, and he smiled broadly. The same size mug, no larger than Maarja’s thumb, floated to her hand. She frowned and drank it like a shot before eyeing Jintorich’s ale. He got up and stood in front of the mug defensively, which made her laugh.

  “Whelp.” Graloon sat hard on a wooden bench and rubbed his back. “Now what?”

  “We need to defend against the soldiers and the monsters,” Rook said, smashing a fist on the table. “We need a militia.”

  Patrons nearby nodded or shook their heads.

  “Do we have time for that? Or money?” Graloon asked. “That requires training, and armor—for wielders, I’d assume armor like Angst’s.”

  “Butter.” Janda placed a hand on his fist. “We need to get everyone out before we begin to worry about that. Vars could send his soldiers door to door. They could start arresting people tonight, or even worse, killing them.”

  “You’re right,” Rook agreed reluctantly. “Safety first then war.”

  Maarja grinned wickedly at this, nodding at Jintorich in anticipation. Jintorich patted her leg and pointed to a large cask floating beside her. Her eyes lit up as she took it in hand and removed the cork, drinking deeply. Ale flowed down her chin, wetting her chest and soaking into her fur covering.

  “We can go to Angst and Heather’s,” Janda suggested. “Everyone stays away from there because of Scar.”

  “Great idea!” Rook said, kissing her on the cheek.

  “But what about the beast?” Graloon asked. “Isn’t he out of control?”

  “Maybe we can get the blacksmiths to make a giant collar?” Rook asked. “We’ll figure something out.”

  “Still, that’s a lot of people,” Graloon said. “There must be fifty or so with all the families.”

  “Some of the wielders can make temporary huts,” Janda said. “Others can hunt for food. Everyone can pitch in somehow.”

  “We need to do this quickly,” Rook said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Janda and I will give you directions, but you have to gather your families tonight. Spread the word. Tell the other wielders they have to leave.”

  “Wait,” Janda said with a frown. “We need to tell Heather, and Jaden.”

  “They’re at the castle,” Rook said. “We can’t warn them. Any of us would be killed on arrival.”

  “Angst won’t be happy about leaving her behind,” Graloon said.

  “Why would this decision upset Angst?” Jintorich asked.

  “Heather is Angst’s wife,” Rook explained. “He wouldn’t want her in danger.”

  “We are still welcome at the castle,” Maarja said, momentarily lowering he
r cask. “We can give her this message.”

  “It could be dangerous,” Rook said. “I guarantee that Vars is reporting your interference.”

  Maarja stood to her full height again, making Graloon wince and squeak like Jintorich. She downed the remainder of her drink and wiped froth from her chin. “Good, I welcome this danger.” She nodded, throwing the cask to the ground. It shattered like porcelain, leaving a heap of wood and iron bands. “Coming, my friend?”

  “Good luck to you all.” Jintorich waved at them. He hopped off the table and scrambled after her.

  Maarja knelt to face Rook. “Good hunt,” she said with a smile before squeezing out the doorway.

  The room shakily returned to normal size, as if struggling to shrink. Sweat dripped from Graloon’s brow, and he looked exhausted.

  “You okay?” Rook asked.

  “I feel like I just gave birth.” He grunted. “Next time let’s meet with her outside.”

  19

  Azaktrha

  Rose gawked in awe at the man. He landed with the grace of a swan, barely touching the ground before launching back into the air. His twin-bladed staff spun about twice before reaching out as if an extension of his arm. He drove it deep into the heart of a surprised fish-man. Jerking it out as he turned, he then sliced the necks of two assailants at either side. He rolled toward her, the blades held out horizontally. She stared at the dark man standing before her. She must’ve been dreaming. His barrel chest heaved with every breath, sweat dripping from his curly light-brown hair. The side of his mouth raised in a smirk at her expression. She wanted to caress his square jaw and lose herself in his dark eyes. Rose sighed, completely forgetting the silent horde of shocked creatures.

  “Fight!” he commanded, leaping backward as if diving into the ocean, flipping over to land on his feet behind a fish-man he stabbed through the back.

  “R-right,” she stuttered, her breath catching.

  Rose felt a tug at her torn sleeve. Creeper pointed at the invisible wall she’d slammed into. A splotch of her now-orange blood painted the wall—the stain looked remarkably like her face. Higher up, Chryslaenor had left behind a crack the length of her finger and almost too hard to see. She was relieved the beautiful man hadn’t seen her crash into it. Or at least hoped he hadn’t.