Angst Box Set 1

by David Pedersen

  “Not now, Creeper!” Rose snapped, spinning around. The gorgeous man had already killed eight of the little monsters. “I’m hungry!”

  A gaggle of the fish-men were hopping toward her, shaking their old, banged up weapons. She lifted Chryslaenor overhead. Black lightning stung her thin, pale arms, crackling loudly as it arced toward her assailants, reaching out like fingers. As a group they skidded to a halt, those in front retreating while the ones behind tripped over them, creating a tangled heap of arms and legs. Creeper hid behind his forearms while the attackers levitated several feet over the ground, completely helpless.

  She sucked in their life, ravenously eating her fill while healing her new injuries. Two brave, or foolish, little monsters leaped from her side only to be caught in the black lightning. Within seconds, dusty remains dropped into piles on the rough ground. They were delicious, all of them, and despite feeling satiated, she wanted more. Her hero was bleeding from his arms and face. He was covered in creatures like bees on honey, unable to leap to freedom.

  Carefully, so carefully, she reached out with the lightning, plucking them off one at a time, cautious not to include him in her meal. It was tempting; she could feel his health, his life, and badly wanted to taste that, absorb it into herself. Her arms shook from fighting the temptation as his attackers became lifeless husks.

  He tripped back to freedom. Now it was his turn to gawk in awe of her power. His eyes didn’t mirror her passion, and disappointment made her stomach drop. His was the look of calculation, of surprise and consideration. He didn’t smile at her, or drink her in with his gaze. The beautiful man merely stared on with wide eyes as if bewildered. Then he saw Creeper standing behind her and ran toward them with his staff pointed at her companion’s face.

  “Not him!” she said taking a hand off Chryslaenor and holding it out to stop the man. “He’s with me.”

  His eyes narrowed, but he stopped. Creeper clung onto her leg as if that would protect him. She wielded the foci once again, pointing it at the beasts surrounding them. They halted, looking down at the piles of their dead comrades and backing away from the giant blade of death.

  “I think they’re going to retreat,” Rose said, hoping he understood.

  The man ignored her, once again diving into the fray, grunting as he swung the staff in a wide arc. A fish-man’s arm dropped to the ground, followed by the leg of another, then a hand, and a body, before he finally buried his blade in a head. The attackers were frightened now, and their actions became frantic, desperate.

  “Stop! They’re done!” she pleaded. “I can’t absorb any more!”

  He kept fighting as they clawed and bit at his body. She forced the lightning out, hefting those attacking him into the air and absorbing just enough to kill them. The rest of the monsters ran, scattering like marbles. She dropped Chryslaenor and fell to her knees. She’d taken in too much, and felt like vomiting. The residual power was so sickeningly sweet, as if she’d bathed in molasses, and she just wanted to lie down and hold herself.

  He lay there, moaning in pain, dark blood pooling around him. Rose crawled to her hero and placed a hand on his arm. He tried jerking it away, his eyes wide with fear, but he was too injured. Before healing him, she planted a kiss on his lips. It was barely returned, as if she were a relative, but that was enough. She expunged the darkness, healing him to his original, beautiful self.

  “Thank you,” he said, abruptly standing and picking up his staff.

  She waited for his hand to help her up, but it never came. Maybe he hadn’t liked the kiss? She was more nervous now than before the attack.

  “Thank you,” she said with a swoon in her voice that made her blush. “Who are you?”

  He was a head taller than her, which she loved. He looked down with an unnatural, reserved smile on his face. Maybe he was just from somewhere else. Maybe she’d just misinterpreted their ways.

  “I am ANduaut,” he said in his tenor voice. “And you are?”

  “Hi,” she said, taking his hand and shaking it. “I’m Rose.”

  She felt a tug at her sleeve once more. She sighed. “Oh, and this is Creeper.”

  ANduaut nodded dismissively. “What is this place?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me,” she said.

  “I really don’t know,” he said. “I don’t understand how I got here, but I hate it. It’s cold and smells of dead fish.”

  “Probably my fault. I’ve killed a few of them,” she joked.

  “As have I.” He sneered. Or was it a smile? He was so hard to read.

  “Do you know how we can get out?” she asked, crossing her arms.

  “No, but maybe we can explore and find an escape.”

  “Together?” She smiled, her heart racing.

  “Of course,” he said flatly.

  Nordruaut

  The gray men were much larger and more powerful than humans, two of them easily eight feet tall, the biggest almost nine. They glared at Jarle, their beady eyes flickering behind broken masks coated in dark blood. The creatures had been forced to their bone-covered knees, where they waited for death or escape.

  He inspected their armor: thick protrusions that gripped their skin like skeletal fingers. It appeared to grow out of their ribs and legs. A rough, turtle-shell-skin protected their backs and arms. It was as if the Fulk’han had been bred for combat. And in spite of their stoic demeanor, there was a sense of unflinching pride in the arch of their spines, their squared shoulders, their thrust-forward chins.

  The invaders had fought fiercely, and wide cracks splintered their armor. Bodies littered the corridor; two Nordruaut men had already been gutted by the time they’d arrived. Niihlu had shoved Jarle aside, splaying the first gray man open with his foci. His opponent had split in half, freezing solid before either side struck the ground. Jarle stared on in awe and fear as the two remaining grays backed into Feemi’s room. Niihlu tore down the wall with one swing as Rasaol arrived, shouting that he wanted prisoners.

  Feemi. Jarle shook his head sadly. It had been long minutes since Niihlu had entered her room. Jarle took a step forward, and Rasaol placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “I wouldn’t,” Rasaol warned. “Leave him be.”

  “She was one of mine,” Jarle said grimly.

  He stepped over rubble, entering through the widened doorway. The room was cold, as if he were outside and without furs. Niihlu sat on his knees, holding Feemi’s hand against his chest. The great axe leaned against the wall at an angle so it fit in the room. Frost covered his body, and ice dripped from his elbows, shattering as it landed on the floor. Niihlu’s pale face and gray eyes were contorted by pain and guilt.

  “What have they done to you?” Jarle whispered.

  Niihlu hunched over Feemi’s body, unmoving.

  “This was not your fault, Niihlu,” Jarle said. He wanted to place a hand on the younger man’s head, but thought better of it.

  “Yes, yes, it was,” Niihlu choked out the words.

  His young ward sat back, exposing the dead Nordruaut woman. The hand he held and the attached arm were frozen solid. Wounds on her neck and chest protruded grotesquely—red meat covered by patches of white ice. It was as if Niihlu had tried bandaging her with chunks of iceberg.

  “How... What happened, son?” Jarle asked.

  “These things, these weapons can heal. It told me so,” the distraught man explained. He squeezed her hand desperately, and bits of frozen finger dropped to the floor. “She was alive. I tried, truly tried to listen to Ghorfjend. The weapon failed me, failed her. Her wounds froze shut... She died so fast. I am cursed.”

  “Those wounds, Niihlu,” Jarle said softly. “They were too much, even for magic. Even for that.” He pointed to the foci.

  “Perhaps.” Niihlu nodded. His head remained bowed for long moments before he spoke. “Thank you for being here. You were always good to me, Jarle. To us.”

  “I tried,” he said.

  “I loved her.”

&nb
sp; “Then let’s go find out why they killed her.” Jarle’s anger came out in a barely-contained growl.

  Niihlu’s distraught eyes became dangerous as he stood and slowly walked to the giant axe, hefting it like a stick. Jarle followed him to the corridor, and both gray men turned at their approach.

  “Let me go, animal,” the scarred gray snapped. “I will not be held prisoner by your likes.”

  “Why did you kill her?” Jarle asked.

  “She was there,” the smaller gray spat. “That’s reason enough.”

  Niihlu touched the man’s armor with the tip of Ghorfjend. The gray man screamed as ice covered his chest, reaching out to his arms and legs until he was silent.

  Niihlu faced the larger of the three Fulk’han. “Who are you?”

  “I am Guldrich of Fulk’han,” the man said proudly.

  “How did you get in here?” Niihlu asked, frosty air leaving his lips with every word.

  “I don’t know,” the gray said, staring at his companion.

  Niihlu touched the dead gray man with his axe and gave a tiny push. The corpse crumbled to shards that he kicked down the corridor.

  “I told you,” the gray man said defensively. “I don’t know how we arrived, but she attacked us!”

  Rasaol backhanded the gray man with enough strength that chips of bone flew. The gray did not fall, but held his ground, looking squarely into Rasaol’s eyes. Dark blood dripped from his chin, framing the man’s teeth as he smiled.

  “Do you see, Jarle?” the king asked. “How powerful they’ve become?”

  “Everything I’ve seen here is far more dangerous than I anticipated.” Jarle frowned, fighting a shiver of concern. Nordruaut did not shiver.

  Ghorfjend flared brightly, as if it were on fire. White flames dripped to the floor, hissing on contact. Jarle finally saw fear in the eyes of the remaining gray men.

  “Speak truth now. You have only moments.” Frost coated Jarle’s lips as if he stood at the northern tip of Ehrde. “Why are you here?”

  “You are like him, the one that killed Takarn. The Angst,” the gray man spluttered at Niihlu.

  “I’m nothing like Angst,” Niihlu said in a crisp voice. “He would let you live. Tell me how you arrived here!”

  “I do not know how I got here,” he replied through gritted teeth. “I have no desire to be here, and after I escape, the only reason I would come to this wretched place again is to destroy all of you!”

  “Lies,” Rasaol said. “Lies and deceit. They spy on us, they invade us, kill our people, and all that remains is lies. Kill him!”

  “No!” Jarle shouted, holding up a hand as Niihlu lifted the axe.

  “What is this?” Rasaol asked, his jaw tightening.

  “This is not our way,” Jarle said. “We are not murderers!”

  “This is not murder, it’s justice!” Rasaol’s eyes were wide with fury.

  “We don’t murder prisoners.” Jarle kept his voice calm. “Our laws dictate that all disputes, even one so grievous, must be resolved by challenge. Niihlu, do you wish to fight this Fulk’han?”

  Rasaol looked at Niihlu’s confused gaze then back at Jarle, shaking his head. He burst out laughing and patted Jarle on the shoulder. “We will see justice met with your old ways.”

  Jarle nodded, but Niihlu shook with a fury.

  “This is nonsense.” Niihlu pointed the axe at the Fulk’han. “He killed Feemi and lies about sneaking in. If I kill him now or later, what difference does it make?”

  “Murder is their way, not ours, Niihlu,” Jarle said sincerely, gripping his companion’s shoulder. He jerked back his hand, barely able to bend his fingers from the burning cold. “What have they done to you, son?”

  “He chose to be our champion.” Rasaol stared at the beastly gray man crouching on the floor. “And of all times, we need one now.”

  20

  Angst let go, releasing their bones so they could move again. Some of the pirates smiled at him, some looked wary, and one winked. Tori smacked him on the arm, but he was mostly oblivious. He smiled at each and every one of them before sitting back down.

  “They aren’t all women,” Jarblech said grumpily. “Though sometimes I wish they were.”

  “That’s new,” Hector said. “What happened?”

  “It’s those felking mermaids!” She spat on the floor and banged her fist on the table, making Tori jump. “The stupid men just jump in after them and are gone. Eaten by those monsters.”

  “Huh.” Angst felt his friends’ eyes on him. “You don’t say.”

  “Over half our men are gone. We can’t even let them near the water unsupervised!” She was shaking, her fists balled up in anger. “All we can do is trap those bitches on the shore and hope that scares away the others.”

  “Are they really all bad?” Angst asked in disbelief. Moyra had tried to kill him, but surely it was more like self-defense? She had almost died in a trap. He had a hard time believing she was a killer.

  “The worst sort of monsters you can imagine.” One of Jarblech’s eyes was wide and crazy, and her nose twitched nervously.

  “They sound just awful,” Victoria agreed, peering pointedly at Angst.

  “We keep the men in at night, under guard. That’s why you don’t see them in here,” she said. “They can’t seem to help themselves.”

  “So we’ve noticed.” Tarness smirked.

  “Can we start with the drinking now?” Angst asked.

  “Will any of your mates mind if my friends here have a little party?” Hector pointed at Angst and Victoria. “They’ve been cooped up and need to let loose a bit.”

  Angst looked to Tori, whose eyes were as big as his. He couldn’t believe Hector was encouraging them to drink. How much had that kiss with Jarblech affected his friend? He closed his mouth but gawked openly at Hector.

  “Yeah, of course.” Jarblech smirked. “This place could use a some livening up.” She rubbed each of her fingers as if counting the money.

  Hector leaned over to Angst and Victoria and whispered, “You’ve got plenty of gold, Your Highness? Enough to buy rounds for everyone?”

  “More than enough,” she said with a nod.

  He looked at Angst. “Drink them under the table.”

  “Really?” Angst couldn’t control the ear-to-ear grin.

  “I don’t want a single one of them able to get up in the morning. Got it?”

  “Trust me, I can do this!” He patted Hector on the shoulder.

  “I’m going to go change!” Victoria said in excitement.

  “If you’ve got something strong,” Angst called out, “the first round is on me!”

  “You come with me.” Jarblech pulled Hector by the wrist and led him to nearby stairs. “I have some new things to show you.”

  Tamara brushed by Angst and Tarness, staring at the floor on her way toward the exit.

  “Aren’t you staying?” Angst asked, grabbing her arm.

  She jerked it out of his hand and moved in until her face was inches from his. “Are you going to force me to stay, wielder?”

  “Of course not,” he said calmly. “Look, I’m sorry if we scared you. Keeping you from moving was safer than hurting you in a fight.”

  “I wasn’t scared,” she muttered, pulling away and looking back at the ground.

  “Bad choice of words,” Tarness said, his eyes drinking her in. “What if we apologize?”

  “No,” she said.

  “And buy you drinks?” Angst offered.

  “No,” she said. “I should probably go.”

  “But it’s time for a party!” Victoria said from behind Angst and Tarness.

  Angst smiled. He felt like he’d just opened the present he’d always wanted. Victoria was wearing the white, silky dress from the last inn they’d danced at. It was eye-poppingly low cut, showing most of her pale cleavage. High slits displayed legs up to here with every step. Her eyes met his, and she smiled fondly at the attention.

  “I need
a drink,” Angst said.

  “Yup,” Tarness quickly agreed, his eyes lingering on Tori. “Me too.”

  “What about you, Tamara?” Victoria asked. “What can we do to get you to stay?”

  Without warning, Tamara stepped forward and kissed Tori squarely on the mouth. To Angst’s surprise, the princess didn’t pull back right away. When she finally did, Tamara was smiling as if all had been forgiven.

  “I’m going to go clean up,” Tamara said to Tori before spinning on her heel and rushing out of the pub.

  “I need a drink,” Angst repeated.

  “Yup,” Tarness quickly agreed, his eyes wide. “Me too.”

  “Jealous?” Tori said, looking slyly at Angst.

  “Of course I am!” His eyes mischievous slits. “I’d love to make out with a pirate!”

  “We all know you’re too chicken.” Tarness winked.

  The ground shook relentlessly. Or maybe it was his stomach. Angst winced at the bright light before clenching his eyelids together. Maybe if he tried hard enough, he could force himself to sleep. Even in this dream state, a powerful hangover was bearing down, and he wanted more than anything to remain comatose through the worst of it.

  “Just open your eyes, you big baby,” Victoria called out. She sounded frustrated, another reason to go back to sleep.

  “No, I’m sleeping.” The odd floating sensation of his dreams wasn’t uncomfortable. Maybe if he just ignored everything else...

  “I’m cold,” Tori stated. “How do I stop being naked again?”

  “I’m pretty sure I don’t remember,” Angst muttered, unable to keep one of his eyes from opening.

  His blurry friend was crossing her arms in front of her chest. She wore white furs in the Nordruaut style. A long feather stuck out of her hair, and woolen gloves covered her hands. She was definitely not naked, but there was no backing out now, and he reluctantly opened his other eye. Even asleep, he could feel his temples throb from the alcohol. His nose was stuffy and his throat scratchy. “What was that stuff we drank? It was spicy, and salty, and tasted like raisins.”