When the World Starts to Fray Read online

  When the World Starts to Fray

  Anagovia Book One

  Sam Parrish

  Copyright © 2020 by Sam Parrish

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For everyone who dreams of adventure.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  41 years ago

  * * *

  The waters of the Rak-Shai Sea were a black so deep they seemed to swallow all light.

  Ordelieus Thalken stood on the walls of Pinescar, gazing out at the great expanse of bay where the swamp met the ocean, shivering in the night air. Whether it was the void of the water or the hiss of the humid wind through the cypress trees, he couldn’t shake off the feeling of being watched.

  Resting his spear in the crook of his arm, he swiped his helmet off and ruffled his dark hair, mentally berating himself for his fatigue. He was on edge. Had been for weeks. War was looming on the horizon and every soldier in Pinescar was running on precious little sleep.

  “Dreaming of your bed?” a familiar voice came from behind him.

  Ordelieus started and spun around. His sergeant stood behind him, arms crossed over his barrel of a chest, an easy smile on his lips.

  “No, sir. Of course not.” He slapped his helmet back on and snapped into a crisp salute, right fist to his chest.

  Sergeant Vernulf chuckled and came up to stand beside Ordelieus against the pine logs that made up the wall of the city.

  “It’s alright. You work too hard and I know you didn’t volunteer for this watch because you enjoy it.”

  It was true. Ordelieus’s wife, Milla, had just given birth to their third child and wasn’t ready to return to work. Meanwhile, their other two children were outgrowing shoes and clothes at an alarming rate. They needed the money, so Ordelieus jumped at the opportunity to take on a second shift.

  “That easy to read, eh?” he conceded, self-consciously brushing a few specks of dirt off his chain shirt.

  “You are,” Vernulf said with a laugh. “Don’t fret, I completely understand. My own are likely to eat me out of house and home.”

  Ordelieus chuckled, but the spear in his grip wouldn’t let him forget the other reason he was standing guard that night- the reason all the guards were being offered double shifts in the first place. “Has there been any news of the war?”

  Vernulf pushed away from the wooden battlements with a sigh. “Nothing new since yesterday. The Rak-Shai are still moving in on Wraithport. But stay vigilant.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Vernulf strolled along the wall towards the guard tower about fifty paces away, the light of the full moon reflecting off his armor. Ordelieus was once again alone with his growing sense of unease. He shifted his grip on his spear, adjusted his sword belt just to be sure, and looked back out towards the water.

  A shadow pulled around one of the mangrove islands in the bay.

  A ship. As it drew closer, Ordelieus could see the continual shifting of multiple triangular sails, could see how low the ship sat in the water as it cut through the pitch-black waves. And on its bow, a bright white serpent coiled, shining in the moonlight, its mouth opened towards the city. Muffled oars rose and fell along its sides, speeding it silently forward.

  “Rak-Shai,” he whispered.

  He backed away from the wall, his heart leaping into his throat as a second and third ship slipped into the bay.

  The war had finally found Pinescar.

  “Rak-Shai!” he yelled as he bolted towards the guard station and the warning bell at the top of the tower.

  Vernulf stopped dead in his tracks and spun toward the port. “Shit,” he hissed as Ordelieus raced by. “Men! To arms!”

  Fire sprang to life on the ships as he ran. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the bright points of light arc up and across the bay, thudding into the longships and brigantines lining the docks. The tar used to seal the hulls and sails burst into flame.

  Ordelieus flew through the open doorway and into the guard tower. Four more guards sat around a battered table throwing dice.

  “Rak-Shai in the harbor! Get your weapons!” Ordelieus yelled. He snagged spears and bows off a weapon rack and tossed them at the men, not even waiting to see if they were ready. If the idiots couldn’t react fast enough for that, they were doomed anyway.

  “The bell! Alert the Weavers!” he bellowed up the stairwell before dashing back out onto the wall.

  Panic had wound its way between Ordelieus’s ribs, but his training took over and guided his feet to his station. He was back at the battlements, beside his fellow soldiers and stringing his bow as well, before the bell started ringing. It tolled a deep, hollow peal that echoed across Pinescar. In a matter of moments, signal bells all across the city answered.

  By then, there were eight ships bearing down on the city and likely even more just out of sight. They were close enough that the flash of bared steel was visible on the deck of every ship. Soldiers, and lots of them. Sweat slicked Ordelieus’s palms and ran into his dark eyes, but he widened his stance and took a steadying breath. He would be ready if the new regiment of Weavers fell.

  He hated not knowing what to expect from the so-called blessed warriors of the Seamstress. The goddess had only made herself and her chosen soldiers known a few months ago. This contingent had arrived only two weeks prior, greeted with a celebration fit for visiting nobility. Ordelieus had only caught glimpses of the mysterious soldiers since then, and he hadn’t seen anything particularly impressive. But he was prepared in case they should fail. He nocked an arrow and waited for the ships to come into range.

  Movement on the docks pulled his attention away from the invaders. The Weavers had arrived and were filing out onto the longest dock in the harbor.

  There were only twenty of them to face down the incoming army. All of them wore simple black leather in the place of useful armor with nothing denoting rank, just the silver star of the Anagovian crest on their backs. Ordelieus’s eyes darted from one Weaver to another as he searched the group for any kind of weapon. There were none. They were completely unarmed and completely unprepared.

  Then, as one, the soldiers reached their hands forward, drew back, and flicked their hands out like they were cracking a whip. Tiny flashes of light flared and died out over the bay, like fireflies. As the sparks faded, the water heaved.

  A large wave rolled out towards the invading ships and their progress slowed to a crawl. The Weavers all reached to the right and their hands closed in white-knuckled fists, like they were trying to pry apart iron bars. The tiny lights crackled around them as they heaved back to the left. A towering wave rose up from th
e black water and crashed against the side of the lead ship. The water rolled over the deck, capsizing the vessel as it went. Faint screams echoed over the water, reaching all the way to where Ordelieus stood.

  Impossible.

  “Hold your places!” Sergeant Vernulf yelled. Before them, the Weavers created another wave and sunk a second ship, then a third, and a fourth. “Just look at that. Amazing, isn’t it? We’re just a redundancy tonight. No way they’re getting past that.”

  “What exactly is that?” Ordelieus asked, but Vernulf didn’t hear him over the crashing of the waves, the cries of the dying, the groan of breaking wood. He just kept walking.

  Ordelieus stood with the rest of the guards and watched as the Weavers churned the water in the bay into froth. He scanned the shores and the piers, but none of the Rak-Shai made it out of the water. The animated waves threw them from the ships and dragged them straight to the bottom. They never stood a chance.

  The Seamstress was a vicious goddess to give her chosen such terrible power.

  “Corporal Thalken!” Vernulf’s voice carried over the crashing of the waves.

  Ordelieus was so engrossed in the one-sided carnage that he barely heard his commander. The words didn’t click into place; it was just more noise joining in with the rest.

  “Ordelieus!”

  He flinched and turned, falling into another hasty salute. Vernulf’s voice carried an edge in it that left no room for any other kind of response. Scores of soldiers and civilians had crowded onto the top of the wall- another thing he hadn’t noticed- and his sergeant’s face was lost in the crowd. A cheer went up as the last Rak-Shai warship toppled under the waves.

  “Run an update to the general. Tell him the Weavers were successful. The Rak-Shai have been crushed.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Ordelieus left his bow and spear with the other defenders and squeezed through the crowd before making for the closest set of stairs leading back down into the city.

  Compared to the crowded wall, the streets of Pinescar were strangely empty. Before the war, the trade city had been a bustling hub of commerce between Anagovia and Rak-Shai. After the first attack from their neighbor across the sea, Pinescar had become an important staging ground for the war, citizens and soldiers alike balancing on the edge of a blade, waiting for the day when they would be called into battle.

  But now, Ordelieus’s footsteps were the only ones echoing off the walls as he jogged towards the barracks where the general was waiting.

  Gravel crunched behind him and Ordelieus whirled, reaching for his sword. But nothing was there, not even a flicker of movement. He kept his sword loose in the scabbard and turned back towards his destination.

  The gravel crunched behind him again, this time in the unmistakable pattern of footsteps. Ordelieus spun to face whoever it was but found that his hand was frozen on his sword’s hilt. He couldn’t draw his weapon, his fingers as still and heavy as a statue’s. A familiar tightness took hold of his lungs, restricting his breath, even as his heart broke into a gallop. He took deep, even breaths and fought to stay calm.

  A cloaked figure stepped into the street in front of him, the cowl of the cloak drawn to conceal their face.

  “Weapons won’t be needed,” an odd, androgynous voice rasped from under the cowl. “I’d much rather just talk.”

  “Show yourself.” Ordelieus tried to walk towards them, but his feet refused to obey him. “What in the name of the gods?” he muttered.

  “Trust me, soldier, the gods, the Seamstress, none of them have anything to do with this. They really don’t have much to do with anything at all.”

  Ordelieus gritted his teeth and strained. His feet didn’t budge, his hand didn’t draw his sword. He needed help, but no one was likely to come. All the people in the city were distracted, probably even beginning to celebrate Anagovia’s victory. He doubted he could ever be loud enough to get a guard’s attention over that.

  “No, no, no. I see what you’re planning. We don’t need others interfering,” they said, chuckling.

  Ordelieus’s heart pounded against his ribs and he fought against his own body to draw breath. Did they really just read his mind?

  Inhale for three counts, exhale for three counts, he told himself.

  “You seem like a hard-working man and you’d make a good leader- firm, with a fire in you. I was watching you on the wall. Those men respected you. I need someone like you for a… very special job.”

  “I feel like I’m going to have to refuse.”

  Ordelieus railed against whatever was holding him, but still he was locked in place. He hadn’t shifted an inch.

  There was no fighting his panic then. All he could think of was never getting home to his wife and children. Terrible images of what they might have to resort to flashed across his mind’s eye and he threw all his weight against whatever was holding him. The force locked around his entire body like a vice and squeezed. He cringed, taking his eyes off the cloaked figure for a split second.

  When he looked back up, he gasped. They were mere inches from Ordelieus’s face.

  A sharp smell, like the air after a lightning strike, rolled out from under the dark cowl as the stranger spoke.

  “This isn’t an offer you’re capable of refusing, Ordelieus.”

  A crushing pain wrapped itself around Ordelieus’s skull as a massive weight landed on his shoulders and forced him to the ground. The pressure on his head increased and he cried out, then utter darkness fell over him and he knew no more.

  A Good Reputation

  * * *

  Now

  For three days, storms had battered the twenty merchant wagons as they lumbered down the road from Crespwell to Breen. Three days of bogged-down wagons, horses with missing shoes, and no cook fires for warm meals. Li’or Halwyn- originally hired as lead guard for the trip- had quickly turned into lead farrier and primary mud-mover. The twenty-five silver stars she’d charged the merchant weren’t nearly enough.

  She still regretted her low price, even when the clouds finally parted. The wagons bumped along the road on squeaking wheels, drivers called back and forth to each other, and laughter rang out from up and down the line. There were nineteen other swords for hire that she’d been keeping organized during the short trip. Together they formed a loose circle around the wagons as they rattled along.

  “Li’or! My dear! Up this way, if you would?” Yorren, the owner of all the wagons in the caravan, called to her from the front of the line.

  Li’or sighed, pushing her horse into an easy canter and riding to the front where Yorren rode with his nephew. He was an aging, round-bellied man with hardly a hair left on his head; it had all moved to his cheeks in a wild, snarled beard. He was a rarity, an honest and hardworking merchant. He was also one of Li’or’s favorite men to work for, hence the reason she was on her fourth trip guarding his wagons.

  “We should be seeing the gates of Breen before nightfall tomorrow, and it’s about time! Didn’t expect all that rain to catch us so early,” he said with a cheerful chuckle. “Thank the gods I was able to find you again for this trip. The animals would all be barefoot and we’d be lucky to make it to Breen before the snows came if you hadn’t been here to patch us all together! The gods of the sky really gave us a show, eh?”

  Li’or paused, one of her eyebrows lifting.

  “You keep to the old gods?”

  “Eh, well, you know,” he said with a shrug. “I’m an old man. I was already grown by the time the Seamstress showed up and started making people into Weavers. I’ll stick to what I know.”

  Li’or nodded. It wasn’t often she met people that kept to the old gods. The revelation only made her respect Yorren more. He hadn’t flocked to the Seamstress crowd like so many others.

  Now, if only he wasn’t quite so loud...

  But he was right, the gods of the sky had rained torment down on them. It hadn’t taken long for the roads to turn to mush in the relentless downpour and many of Y
orren’s horses had their shoes simply sucked off in the deep mud. Li’or had been able to nail them back on, all the while thinking in the back of her mind how much more practical oxen were. Oxen were stronger and didn’t wear shoes, but Yorren always pointed out that they didn’t make as flashy of an entrance as a matching set of horses.

  “Gods and goddesses aside, thank you again for riding with us,” Yorren said earnestly. He reached into the pockets of his trousers and pulled out a small coin purse. “Humor an old man and accept a small bonus? I know you don’t work for free and you’ve worked twice as hard as usual with all this rain.”

  Li’or grinned and reached down from her tall bay gelding’s saddle and accepted the purse. It was polite to refuse a gift twice before accepting it, but she’d earned it. It had been a rough few days. “Thank you. I’m going to run a quick loop around the wagons. This mud could still pull a shoe.” She didn’t comment that a few of the guards needed more hands-on management and that she needed to make sure they weren’t drinking. She’d tell Yorren not to hire them again once they got to town, when they’d all left to go their separate ways.

  “Of course, of course. Let the others know we’re riding all the way until dark! Make up for lost time! I swear I can already smell the sea.” Yorren waved her off and immediately turned to his nephew, a soft-looking boy of about ten with fair hair and skin, and launched into a lecture on the differences between various types of silk. Li’or smiled at the boy as she turned around. He looked like he would rather have been walking than endure that particular speech.