Angst Box Set 1 Read online

  Angst

  Book 1

  1

  Angst was not happy. This was not an uncommon occurrence, or a fleeting concern caused by a recent event. Unfortunately, this had been his state of mind for years, and today’s project reaffirmed everything he believed to be wrong with his life. His expectations lay heavily on his shoulders, making them droop like the nearby tables burdened with enormous stacks of paper and parchment. He sighed at the discouraging mess, which almost reached high enough to block the hint of sunlight creeping through the castle window. Paper dust filled the air, giving the light a solid quality that seemed to point to the door.

  He walked around the desk and reached for the light as though grasping a handful of silk then opened his hand to find it still empty. Was it empty hope that he would never escape his personal trappings, procrastination and daydreams? Or merely a tease that couldn’t illuminate the room? He lifted a nearby candle and used it to kindle others around the smallish office. Noon approached, and the sun would soon rise over the castle, stealing the small bit of natural light and warmth this room offered.

  It was the last day of summer. His wife and friends were outside enjoying that light and warmth, while he spent his weekend filing papers. Angst sighed once again to cleanse his bout of procrastination and pouting. He reached for a nearby stack of bureaucracy when the office door flew open with a loud bang and slammed against one of the tables. The candle nearest the door went out, and several pieces of parchment were blown off a nearby table, rocking in the air until they landed on the dusty floor. Angst watched as hours of sorting slowly drifted to the floor.

  Bad news entered the room on two well-fed legs. The younger man had a greasy disposition and wore a dark scowl. He walked up to Angst and stood within smelling distance—unfortunately, as he reeked of yesterday’s work clothes and last night’s mead. The visitor peered down his nose at Angst, straightening haughtily to tower over him.

  Angst didn’t care about being short, but he felt worn out. Years of sitting and pastries and gravity had abused his body. He’d developed a middle he’d sworn he’d never have, making him the unbecoming combination of short and pudgy. His thick dark hair had grayed and thinned until there was more growing out of his ears than the top of his head. Angst didn’t enjoy getting older, but realized that time is precious and confrontations like these wasted it.

  Lifting a beefy hand, the visitor pointed his sausage finger, poised to direct his words with it like a conductor. “I been looking for someone all morning, and heard a noise in here,” the man said with a thick tongue.

  “Right. Well, what can I do for you?” Hiding his irritation, Angst bent to retrieve the parchment that had fallen to the floor.

  “Dis Mr. Milt, he calls himself, does some masonry by use of his infliction,” said the walking slab of beef. “Dis needs ta be stopped. Now.”

  Angst took a step back. “I’m sorry, who are you and what are you talking about?”

  The man stuck out his chest and jabbed at a symbol on his shirt that indicated he worked for the mason’s guild. “I’m in charge, and dis Milt is breaking de law with his magics.”

  Angst shook his head quickly and attempted to translate. “You are with the mason’s guild and there is a man using magic to do mason work. Is that what you’re trying to say?”

  “Dat’s what I said. You need ta listen.” He worked hard to take a deep breath and wiped his fat, sweaty brow before pointing again. “Dis man is breaking de law and messing with our business. As assistant co-leader, I demand you make him stop.”

  The true source of the complaint was greed—the fact that masonry work wasn’t being done by a guild member, but rather by some independent, magic notwithstanding. A smart guild, and some were, would hire the person and pay them for their work, thus making the use of magic legal. This guild wanted justice, pronounced ‘intolerance.’

  “And his name was Mr. Milt, is that correct?” Angst questioned politely as he pretended to scribble a note.

  “Yes, and we will be pressing full charges. Do ya hear?” said the assistant co-whatever as he banged on Angst’s table with a meaty finger.

  Angst looked up from the parchment in his hands and raised an eyebrow. “Full charges? Who do you think I am, the local constable? I’ll pass this along, and maybe speak to the man, but there are no charges pressed at this station.”

  Now the mason was hot with anger, his face red, his finger still conducting. He obviously intended to use the full power of his size to intimidate Angst. “I been wandering around dis castle for hours, and now dat I found someone, I want something done. Dis Mr. Milt needs ta be locked up or put down or whatever’s done with dese inbreds.”

  Angst did his best to speak calmly. “Your ‘charges’ have been noted. You can leave now.”

  “Mebbe ya don’t understand me, but we’re gonna march over ta Mr. Milt and fix dis right now.” His finger was now stabbing Angst’s chest instead of the table.

  The finger didn’t hurt as much as the stream of insults spewing from the man’s mouth. Angst’s jaw set as a wave of frustration crashed against his patience. He glanced over to confirm the door was mostly closed then took a half step forward and raised his right hand, which was surrounded by a bright blue aura.

  The mason tried to step back. “Wha’?” he said, his eyebrows coming together in a thick frown that seemed to weigh down his thick forehead. “I can’t move muh leg?” He removed his finger from Angst’s chest and began pulling at his left pant leg. His foot had sunk into the solid stone floor and was now buried to the ankle.

  Angst’s cheeks flushed with anger and the familiar surge of energy now filled his body. It wasn’t enough—he wanted to scare this intruder—so he held his hand over one of several large tiles protruding from the floor. The word Magic had been cleanly chiseled into the tile, giving it the ominous appearance of a very wide grave marker.

  He willed the tile to rise. It lifted into the air pulling along with it stone-wrought shelves like an enormous dresser drawer that pulled up instead of out. He’d formed this underground storage from the very bedrock beneath the castle years ago. This storage kept papers from becoming piles around the cramped office, and out of the hands of overly ambitious politicians. It would’ve taken four strong men a frustrating hour with crowbars and pulleys to wrench one of his hidden shelves free, but Angst could move them in seconds, with little effort.

  The man had paled, but he hadn’t passed out yet, so Angst pulled up the rest. Like saplings instantly sprouting into trees, a forest of shelves grew before them. The man’s head jerked each time another one appeared. When the floor stopped moving and they were completely surrounded by shelves jam-packed with parchment, the man braved a look at Angst before staring at his own feet as if waiting for one to grow beneath them.

  Angst glared at the frightened man. It would take nothing, absolutely nothing, to file this man in the shelves and hide him with the other nonsense. Or, he could simply push the mason’s chest. With his foot stuck firmly in place, his ankle would break as he toppled to the ground. How much trouble could he get into for breaking a man’s ankle? He sighed. All of it. All of the trouble that the kingdom could muster. Angst took a deep breath and, as always, let it all go.

  The mason was now visibly shaking and sweating profusely. His leg freed, he stumbled toward the entrance. He aimed his favorite pointing finger at Angst. “You...dis was wrong wut you did! You’ll get reported too. All of you need to be gotten rid of.”

  As the man fell through the door, Angst was left shaking his head. His heart was still racing, and that familiar anxiety gripped his insides. His emotions had gotten the better of him, and yet he’d backed away from someone who truly deserved some educating. As always, Angst fel
t he’d accomplished nothing and was disgusted with what his life had come to. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

  2

  They laughed. They all laughed. The sort of infectious laughter that forced even the storyteller to lose some modicum of control. Angst clutched his belly with one hand while wiping away tears from his cheeks with the other.

  The pretty young redhead sitting across from Angst was the first to recover. For Rose, the moment of levity was brief. She angrily grabbed an empty carafe and marched up to the bar.

  “Watch out, Graloon, here she comes,” yelled Tarness in his deep booming voice.

  The others at the table watched Rose stomp off, pitcher in hand. The aging barkeep, Graloon, looked up from his flock of customers to see her approaching. Having experienced that storm on many occasions, he hustled through a doorway and into the kitchen. Rose sidestepped the bar and crossed that pretend line which protected bartenders from the more aggressive patrons. A bartender hopped out of the way as she proceeded into the back room as well.

  Angst looked at the other two men across the table, and they all burst into laughter.

  “She’s half his size,” said Tarness as he laughed, bracing himself with a tight grip that seemed to make the table wince. The large man picked up his oversized steel stein, and his muscular black arm flexed as he lifted the mug to his bald forehead, trading sweat for cooler condensation.

  “I don’t know, Tarness. Right now, I’d say she’s the biggest person in here.” Hector peered around the room with his sharp blue eyes while running his hand over the remaining grays of his military haircut. His taut, weatherworn face was decorated with several well-earned scars and a bit of stubble. “Did anyone find out if Dallow was going to make it?”

  “I only saw him once this week,” replied Tarness. “I’m sure he’ll make it. He always does, even if he’s usually the last to arrive.”

  Angst looked around and smiled. The Wizard’s Revenge was more than just their favorite pub. It was the greatest spot he could imagine to sit and watch people. Being one of the few establishments that openly welcomed “their kind,” so all hallowed these halls. There were several hundred known magic-wielders in Unsel, each making an appearance at some point throughout the week. Some came to enjoy company of friends, others to eat, and all to share rumors about the kingdom and their murky futures. The room was filled with inspiration and perspiration, with those who sought answers, and those who thought they had them.

  It was a loosely guarded secret that magic was entertained, and entertaining, at the Wizard’s Revenge. A swirling black hole appeared over a nearby table, depositing food and drink for the happy patrons. A new row of sticky wood bar tables had appeared in anticipation of more guests. The room always adjusted to the number of customers in it, while still offering a cozy atmosphere, no matter how many there were.

  Angst loved the patrons of the Wizard’s Revenge, and struggled to temper his people watching. A cursory glance of the crowd was always met with familiar smiles and polite nods, but that told no tales. Actual watching, or even worse staring, would often be met with clouded eyes or pent frustration. The untold story of wielders in Unsel hid behind long draws of mead in a smoke-filled bar. Youth just learning to want something more, and elders longing for what they couldn’t have, all came here to find out nothing had changed. Yet.

  Past the angry and tired crowd, a tall man entered the pub. As the door closed behind Dallow, he took in a deep breath of mead and lingering smoke, and sighed out a bit of marriage and age before searching the bar. Pushing long blond bangs aside, he squinted, instead of admitting his years and putting on glasses. Dallow was older than Angst and Tarness by several years, but somehow appeared younger than all of them. He was almost as tall as Tarness, yet lean as a teenager. Dallow found the group and made his way over. They all rose at his arrival to clasp arms and pat shoulders.

  Rose came back with a full carafe and sat across from Angst, setting the port wine on the table with a thump. “You can go ahead and save your tips for me,” she said before noticing Dallow had arrived. “Nice of you to show up.”

  “It is nice of me,” Dallow replied, smiling slyly. “Not to mention, I don’t tip minors. Isn’t there a law against underage workers?”

  Rose slugged Dallow’s shoulder with one tiny fist. She was fifteen years younger than the rest of them and glad to remind everyone of it. Almost too thin, yet still curvy, when she walked, she threw her curvy hips around in a way that left a lot of men wide-eyed and slack-jawed. Her long, straight hair was dark red, and her eyes were dangerous—large dark pools that were easy to get lost in, which Angst found himself doing until he realized he’d just been caught.

  “Stop it,” she said sincerely, and reached across to punch him too.

  Hector had brought Dallow up to date on Angst’s filing misadventures and was now speaking in length and breadth on the bad and the worst of some guilds, especially the masons.

  When Hector directed his attention to Rose and Tarness, Dallow leaned over to Angst and whispered, “You could get into trouble for that bit with the mason. Think you can ask for a pardon in your not-so-secret ‘meeting’ tomorrow morning?”

  Angst grabbed his friend’s arm and leaned in. “How... What meeting?”

  Dallow rolled his eyes. “We’ve known each other almost our entire lives. You may be clever, sometimes, but you can’t hide things from me. I’m just trying to tell you, be careful. If I know that you are meeting with her, so do others.”

  “It doesn’t matter; I’ll take the risk. She...” Angst paused and thought for a second. “I’m needed, and I can’t turn away from that.”

  “You’re needed, or you need? I don’t think that’s a completely honest answer you are giving yourself,” his friend whispered.

  Angst shrugged and reached for his goblet. While he probably should’ve been concerned that Dallow knew about tomorrow morning, or that others might know, the incident with the mason was more distressing. Angst had wielded magic when it could get him in trouble, but was he upset at the idea of getting caught, or that he hadn’t finished what he’d started? The mason had deserved a good bending. It had been a long time since Angst had experienced such blatant, overt, in-your-face bigotry, and he’d started losing his temper. He could’ve taken the man down without using magic, and using magic defensively was illegal, so he worried a bit.

  “What about you?” Angst whispered back. “Late for a real reason, or does she even know you’re here?”

  Dallow sighed, and his shoulders dropped. For a moment, his age showed. “I—”

  The new pub waitress finally bustled up to the table. Young, blond, and very attractive, she was also completely lost. Her pretty eyes grew wide at the mostly-full carafes of mead. In a practiced effort to procure tips, she bosomtastically leaned over the table and breathily asked, “Is there anything at all I can get for anyone?” She smelled like cheap perfume sprinkled over the musky scent of hay and sweat.

  “No,” said Rose loudly, breaking the general stupor that had overcome the table. “I did your job for you, and if I have to do it again, they can pay me your wage for the night.”

  The waitress looked Rose up and down and huffed noisily before stomping off to another table.

  “Whore,” Rose said quietly, but not too quietly.

  “You’re going to put poor Graloon out of business one of these days,” Dallow said with a laugh. “He’s either going to have to go outside the city to find new barmaids, or stop giving you free meals every time you get upset.”

  “I can’t help it. He shouldn’t hire stupid prostitutes to serve us.” She made no apologies, ever.

  Hector coughed uncomfortably and tried to change the subject. “Why doesn’t Graloon ever give me free meals when I’m upset?”

  “Because you don’t walk funny like Rose does,” Angst replied.

  They laughed, and Rose struck Angst again with her tiny stick arms. He feigned pain.

  Hector looked a
fter the waitress. “Wait, she’s a prostitute?”

  Rose rolled her eyes and shook her head.

  Hector winked at Angst. “So what are we in trouble for doing this week?”

  Angst’s heart felt heavy and he sighed. “I read the new laws as they are delivered, but there’s no keeping up with them. Every week, the queen dips a quill in hate and scribbles on scrolls of bitter...and she never seems to run out of either.” He took a draw of port and poured another. “There wasn’t anything that directly affects what we do at work, but they want to restrict magic to be used only for work. That translates to no magic at home.”

  “How do they enforce that?” asked Rose.

  “The last time they tried that, they quickly followed up with strict restrictions at pubs and inns,” said Graloon in a gruff voice. He’d approached the table with more port. He looked over at Rose. “This place wasn’t always called Wizard’s Revenge. Ten years ago, we called it Wizard’s Retreat. There were new restrictions on magic almost every day, tensions were at an all-time high. Then, ‘mysteriously,’ a fire burned down the pub. Three times in one week.”

  “Three times in the same week?” Rose shook her head.

  Graloon’s droopy expression looked even wearier than normal. “Each night the Wizard’s Retreat burned to the ground, it reappeared the following morning. The third and final time, a member of the queen’s guard also lost his home to a fire.”

  “Wouldn’t that have made things worse?” Rose asked, her eyes filling with surprise.

  Graloon shook his head. “Nobody died. The guard and his family woke the next morning in a barn just outside the city. Wizard’s Retreat was gone forever, but a fire resistant, stone building had appeared in its place. We named it Wizard’s Revenge, and that was the last of the fires.”

  “Also the last time they tried to get so strict,” said Tarness. “Well, until now.”

  “Stone?” Rose asked, looking at Angst.