Angst Box Set 2 Read online

  Angst’s head jerked up. He turned around slowly, and his teary eyes went wide. Chryslaenor fell from his back, clattering noisily onto the marble floor, making both bundles in Heather’s arms wail.

  Angst took labored steps toward Heather and their babies, his face pale, filled with sorrow and wonder. He looked at his children, tears trickling down his cheeks. His gaze turned to Heather and he swayed on wobbly legs. Faeoris moved behind him.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice shaky.

  “Oh, Angst,” Heather said. She sounded so happy to see him.

  “What have I done?” Angst asked.

  Faeoris caught him as he collapsed.

  2

  He wanted to fake it—to just stay on this uncomfortable cot, ignore the growing ache in his back, shut out the noisy room, and pretend to sleep. Like most things these days, he didn’t seem to have a choice—there was so much that needed doing. But more than anything, Angst wanted to lie still and pretend to be unconscious. It felt like he hadn’t slept in months, but his tiredness wasn’t merely a lack of sleep; it was a bone-weary exhaustion, as if he’d spent a week moving a friend’s furniture. Couldn’t he have just a little more time to understand what had happened? Angst had wanted to be a hero, and then he was, and now wasn’t he supposed to be celebrating? Sleep sounded like a great way to celebrate.

  So very much had happened since wielding Chryslaenor, he could barely fathom it. Before the foci, Angst had spent a lifetime doing nothing. He’d filed documents for the crown in a castle cellar where even the candlelight had seemed dim. He’d had some friends, including the young princess Victoria. He’d had some foes, including her mother Isabelle. He’d loved his wife, and they’d only argued every third day. It hadn’t been a terrible life, except, he’d known it wasn’t his.

  Angst had longed to be a hero. A knight. Someone who could protect Unsel from monsters and dragons, even if they only existed in stories. Someone who was respected, despite being old, and chubby, and short. Despite being a magic wielder. As a youth, he’d pushed and begged Hector to train him to fight, teach him how to be one of those men in armor. Hector had reluctantly agreed, even though they’d both known it would never happen, because Angst was a wielder. Wielding the magics had been mostly illegal since before memory, and Unsel was the only nation progressive enough to tolerate it even a little. His lifelong goal wasn’t against all odds; there were no odds to barter with. It just wasn’t going to happen.

  On one prophetic night, trying to protect his friend Rose, he’d hefted the giant sword Chryslaenor, which everyone had thought was just a statue. Much more than that, the sword was a foci that enhanced his magic with vast power. When actual monsters began to attack and only “the magics” could stop them, Angst was more than happy to represent. He’d used this opportunity to drag his reluctant friends through an adventure that was filled with hope, and pain, and battle, and sacrifice, and everything required to become a hero.

  That win seemed to open doors within doors. The monsters were created by one of the five elements, Magic, who was at war with the other elements, Earth, Air, Fire, and Water. When his father said, “I fought the elements,” it meant he walked to school, uphill, in a windy snowstorm. Angst’s fight hadn’t been that simple. He’d battled physical representations of elements, and each time, it had hurt. A lot. Earth had died protecting Angst and his friends. Air was obliterated when Angst exploded bonding with a second foci, which he’d used to destroy that crazy bitch, Water. And he wasn’t done.

  He just didn’t understand why they even needed to involve humans. This war that happened every two thousand years was like a great game to them, one that usually kept them from engaging directly. Each had their own army to fight for them. Magic created a great river of orange ooze that the Nordruaut called the Vex’kvette. Everything that touched the ooze either died, or changed into a monster. Angst had killed the scariest monster of them all, Sir Ivan. Fire used dragons, great wyrms with wings. Tori had helped him kill the biggest one. Water had an army of gargoyles, and now, maybe an army of merpeople. Air fought with cavastil, giant birds with long steel beaks—he’d killed quite a few of them racing to Unsel after fighting Ivan. Gamlin were invulnerable hedgehog porcupines that used to do Earth’s bidding, and now worked for Angst.

  Had he actually done all that? Not alone, and not without loss. Soldiers, uncounted heroes, had died trying to protect Unsel from attacks by Water and Magic. Half of Melkier’s grand central city was destroyed when Fire dropped a sun on them, or whatever that was. He’d watched Vars slay Victoria’s mother, Queen Isabelle, and her Captain Guard, Tyrell. And then, his friends Rook and Janda. And then, Moyra. All of it was his fault. Nothing had happened until he’d touched the sword. These thoughts roiled through his head. He struggled to keep his eyes shut, until he heard it...heard them. A disgruntled “wah” followed closely by another, and his eyes shot open with panic. He was the father of twins. He sat up, and reached out with both arms, making everyone in the room gasp.

  “Please.” He beckoned.

  Without a word, Heather stepped forward and rested the twins in his arms. He could see her face in theirs, and maybe his too. One suckled a thumb before quieting, the other took a minute of rocking. He wasn’t sure where the rocking came from, but his body leaned into the cadence instinctively. The little bundles snuggled into the crook of his arms and fell asleep. His children were warm, and comforting, and his shoulders relaxed. For the first time, looking at them, he felt he’d done something right.

  He looked at Heather with all the apology he could muster in his eyes. Hers were cool, but she smiled. Her beautiful face was framed with brown, curly hair that had just begun to gray. She was almost his height, and curvy in a way he appreciated more than she did. Neither of them were thin, but she’d kept youth in her face far better than he had, and in his eyes, not much had changed. Heather blushed at his thoughtful gaze, and her look thawed slightly.

  After several moments, he realized that his wife and children weren’t the only ones in the room. Guards stood at the entrance, both men he recognized, who nodded respectfully. Physician Nynette stood over Jaden as he slept. He breathed slowly in his deep slumber, but at least he was breathing.

  Beside his wife stood Angst’s tall, stunning Berfemmian friend Faeoris. He couldn’t help but be surprised she was still here. How long had it been since he’d cast the spell? It had to have been months, so it was surprising that she’d waited. Faeoris was a far better friend than he’d hoped for or deserved after their brief adventure. She stood a head and shoulder taller than his wife. Her face was pretty, with high cheekbones, full, full lips, and dark eyes that complemented her fine, light brown hair. Like most Berfemmian, she was mostly naked, which was great. She wore a small, armored top that pushed her breasts up and together in a wonderfully distracting way. Her tiny leather shorts had scaled armor protecting both hips, and her legs were covered with shiny leather boots that almost reached her shorts. He smiled curiously at her, and she replied with a quizzical gaze.

  “I’m glad to see you,” he said. “But surprised that you didn’t return to Angoria. Won’t they be lost without you?”

  “Marisha is leading in my stead,” she said. “And I would never leave a friend in need.”

  “I never doubted you’d have my back,” Angst said with a nod, still meeting her gaze.

  “Good,” she replied curtly. Faeoris nodded at the young woman in a bed to his left. “Who’s that?”

  Angst turned his head to one side, stretching his neck over the bundle in his arms. His eyes widened. The young woman breathed as deeply and steadily as Jaden. A mane of light brown curls poured over her shoulders. She was beautiful, with a tanned complexion, dark eyebrows, shapely lips, and a little nose. Aerella. They’d met at the cursed mage city Gressmore, which had relived the same day for two thousand years. When Angst killed the man who’d created the curse, her father Anderfeld, his friends had been thrown free from the city, and Aerell
a with them. She’d adventured with them for a short time before being sucked into a vortex by the monster Ivan. Angst had feared her dead, except that she kept showing up in his dreams to warn him, guide him, and annoy him.

  “An old friend,” Angst replied.

  “I’m not that old,” Aerella said in her husky voice, propping herself up on her elbows. “At least, I hope I don’t look that old.”

  “You’re awake!” Angst said in surprise. He wanted to leap out of bed, but exhaustion and babies kept him in place. “What happened? Where have you been?”

  “In time,” Aerella said, gently massaging her temples.

  “Why wait?” Angst asked. “You can tell me now.”

  “No, I mean I’ve been lost in time. I’ll explain more later, when the world stops spinning,” she said with a thick tongue. “But I think this is it.”

  The physician brought her a metal cup of water, which Aerella gulped down.

  “What’s it?” Angst asked.

  “It means I’ve been traveling through centuries to end up here,” she said firmly, pushing herself upright and facing him with a stern gaze. “It means that I’m here to stop you from destroying the world.”

  “Great,” he replied.

  3

  Fulk'han

  Guldrich knelt on his mount, placing a calming hand on its back as he looked up at the full moon. He took a welcome breath of the crisp spring breeze—a moment’s respite from the stench beneath him. It was worth it; every moment of hard work, and pain, and frustration had all led to this. Four months ago, the Fulk’han leadership had tried to jail him for failing to overthrow Unsel. They’d wanted revenge against Angst for killing Takarn Ivan. Guldrich had, indeed, failed. The Fulk’han had underestimated the wielders in Unsel, a mistake that would never happen again.

  Before he was jailed, a purple Fulk’han woman, Felicia, had tasked him to find a champion. The woman had cast a magic portal and pushed him through. He’d appeared in Nordruaut, and spent weeks battling the giants to free himself. Guldrich had even lost his arm during a battle with their champion and been shocked to learn that his new ability to heal was powerful enough to grow another one. He’d learned many things, about himself and about the Nordruaut. More importantly, he’d found something. Something big. Something powerful.

  Guldrich had waited three months before returning to Fulk’han. As a general and an experienced warrior, he knew the importance of timing. It was imperative that the arm cut off by the Nordruaut champion, Niihlu, was fully healed and strong. He also needed to collect information, which had been graciously provided by his purple seductress. More importantly, it had taken that long just to come to terms with the monster, their new champion.

  He looked down at his new arm. Before Niihlu had sliced it with the giant frozen axe, his bicep and forearm had been covered with scars, a mark for every kill. It now looked naked, and he rubbed at the bony protrusions on his gray forearm, hungering to replace what was missing. He took another deep breath and gritted his teeth before Felicia placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “It’s time, my general,” she said, her voice husky and sincere.

  Part of him still wanted to kill her for casting him into Nordruaut unprepared, for making him suffer through the challenge. But without her magic, he would never have discovered how truly weak the Nordruaut had become. He would never have learned that he could heal through the loss of limb. He would never have discovered their champion. She’d been useful, in many ways, and she’d been right. Somehow she knew, always knew, what was coming. Her furry purple tail rose seductively up his spine before reaching his neck, wrapping around to brush his cheek affectionately. Guldrich ignored it as best he could, and nodded in agreement.

  He stood beside Felicia on his champion’s broad shoulders and stepped down hard. “Forward!” he commanded.

  The creature let out a wet snort before tromping toward the capital. Light from a thousand torches in the center of the city cast a glow, as soldiers congregated around the remains of Takarn Ivan. Upon their approach, however, he couldn’t help but be impressed with how many Fulk’han had gathered to march. Felicia had explained that, without him, they would march to their slaughter. He had to do this, he had to save his people, and the only way was to set them on the right path.

  “Slowly,” he said to his champion. “We don’t want to kill, just scare. For now.”

  Soldiers gasped and shouted as Guldrich approached. He ignored them and the tension he sensed from men and women preparing to war. Some raised shaky spears, but all scurried away from his mount. A sea of gray men covered in bone armor and beautiful furry women of all colors parted way, making a path to Emperor Gath, General Arbeter, and Sergeant Adviser Beld.

  Guldrich scoffed aloud. Gath had the gall to stand at the base of Takarn Ivan. The tree-like husk of Ivan’s remains still retained power, orange embers flitting about it like fireflies. Its dark tendrils reached high up into the night. Felicia shivered beside him at the sight, but said nothing.

  Gath appeared an easy target, small and weak. Guldrich reminded himself of the plan, that the Fulk’han leadership could still be useful. He didn’t want to be a bureaucrat; he was a general. But if they didn’t comply, he may not have a choice.

  “What...what is this?” Emperor Gath shouted. “Guldrich? Is that you?”

  Guldrich let the question hang in the air. “We are at a time of champions, Emperor. Every nation is coming forward with a hero to represent them on the battlefield. It is time for Fulk’han to have a champion of its own!”

  He stomped his foot twice, and the creature he called Lurp awkwardly reached over its shoulder and pulled them from its back with a giant hand, setting them down as gently as a hammer. Guldrich winced as his knees buckled, and Felicia yelped in pain. He glanced back at his champion in irritation, and his heart skipped a beat. Even after these months, the beast was horrid to look at.

  Lurp wasn’t merely a mount or a man; it was something else. It had taken Guldrich days to dig Lurp free of the confines of the Vex’kvette. Like a goldfish placed in a larger pond, Lurp quickly grew. The hand sticking out of the ground that had grabbed his leg had become large enough to lift several men. After setting them down, it rested on its fists—all six of them—like a gorilla. Each fist had a thumb but only three thick fingers, as if there wasn’t room for a pinky. Lurp had no feet, merely hands attached to arms the size of old tree trunks. His torso was easily twenty yards in length, covered in wispy hair that hung from his body in patches.

  The monster’s skin was mottled, a splatter painting of black and olive and peach, as though the Vex’kvette couldn’t decide which skin would dominate from the creatures it had combined. Lurp’s dark charcoal face was too thin for a ‘human’ that large, as if someone had squeezed his cheeks until his forehead jutted out in a lumpy protrusion. His right ear was proportionally normal, while his left hung off kilter and rested low like a guilty labrador’s. His bottom teeth stuck up in all directions from his jutting jaw, like trees after an earthquake, several almost reaching his large pug nose. But the most frightening thing about Lurp wasn’t his six arms, folds of muscles, or terrible smell. It was his eyes. Those eyes that seemed far, far too intelligent and attentive for a nightmare apparition.

  Guldrich tore his gaze away and met the emperor’s eyes. Eyes that seemed far less intelligent than they should’ve. Emperor Gath had aged quickly over the last three months. Was it a sign of weakness? He rubbed his bare arm and took a deep, restrained breath.

  “Our champion, my liege,” Guldrich said with a short bow. “I call him Lurp.”

  Gath appeared disappointed, as if the bow wasn’t enough, but it was all Guldrich would give. The old, gray man hesitated. He looked from the giant to Guldrich, calculating the connection. His awe-filled visage twisted to disgust, as if Guldrich had shown him a pile of feces.

  “This is no champion,” Gath spat, waving Lurp away like a fly. “This is a Vex’kvette monster. Nothing more. We hav
e no time for your nonsense, Guldrich. We march on Unsel, to finish what you failed to do!”

  “You’re going the wrong way,” Guldrich shouted so all could hear.

  Soldiers chuckled hesitantly, looking at each other as if deciding whether the general was just crazy, or actually mocking the emperor. Guldrich needed their attention, quickly. Many were loyal enough to Gath, but marching on Unsel would mean facing wielders they couldn’t defend against. As far as he knew, Felicia was the only Fulk’han to wield magic, and nothing she had cast could be used as a weapon. No, one wielder wouldn’t be enough to face Unsel, nor was Unsel their true goal.

  “You’ve gone crazy in your absence.” Gath shook his head in disbelief. “We know where Unsel is.”

  “No one here cares about Unsel. You’re marching to find Angst,” Guldrich said. “The man who killed Takarn-Ivan.”

  Heads bowed and soldiers muttered in agreement. Spittle formed on Gath’s thin lips as he waved one of his advisers forward. The gray man whispered something in his ear.

  “Angst hasn’t left Unsel for months,” the man stated. “We will find him at their capital, and destroy him.”

  “He will be leaving soon,” Guldrich said, surprising himself with patience.

  “Where do you think he is going?” Beld asked, swallowing hard as he looked up at Lurp.

  Guldrich looked at Felicia. The purple woman’s eyes were always hungry seduction, and they peered at him as she nodded in confirmation.

  “To Nordruaut,” he said firmly. “This is where we must bring the battle.”

  “Nordruaut?” Gath laughed. “We aren’t prepared to face those giants; they would slaughter us.”

  “The giants are weak,” Guldrich called, turning away to speak to the soldiers. “I killed a score of them myself. Stories of their strength are just that: stories. I hunted them like cattle and walked away a free man. They are not the danger. We hunt for Angst, and he heads north.”