When the World Starts to Fray Read online

  Moving her gelding up into a canter again, Li’or headed against the flow of the wagons, her long braid trailing behind her. She stopped and got updates with each guard as she went, most of them inclining their heads and treating her with respect. She was nearing her one hundred and fiftieth year, the last thirty of which she’d spent building a reputation for herself among the sell-sword circles. She’d only had a few issues with insubordination along the way, but that was expected with any group of mercenaries.

  She’d been lucky. Being an elf meant most people expected her to be mysterious and wise, whether that’s how she really felt or not. So she had easily slipped into leadership positions and learned to fill those shoes along the way.

  After making her rounds, she reported back to the front to Yorren, who had moved the subject of his lecture from silk trading to bartering strategy.

  “Yorren… Yorren!”

  “Li’or! All is well, I trust?” He was grinning ear to ear.

  “The mud is still a hindrance, but there’s not a lame horse, bandit, or zhu’dac to be seen,” she replied, smiling as well. She had always tried to keep a professional distance from all her employers, but Yorren was so damned likable. Between that and how long she’d worked for him, he’d started to work his way under her skin. It saddened her, but this would have to be the last time she rode with him. She felt herself getting too attached.

  “As I knew it would be with you along for the trip! My boy!” Yorren exclaimed as he slapped his nephew’s back so hard the boy was almost thrown from his seat. He latched on to the armrest at the last moment. “If Mistress Li’or is still running with caravans when you take your first trip, you’d be a fool not to bring her along.”

  The boy glanced up at Li’or and a blush crept from the collar of his shirt, well up into his hairline, and he quickly looked the other way, causing Yorren and Li’or both to laugh. Yorren grabbed the boy up in a one-armed hug and dropped the reins to ruffle his hair.

  Li’or looked away out over the plains and sighed as a familiar twinge twisted in her chest. A breeze rolled over the grass, rippling the blades like water, blowing south right alongside the caravan. As she watched, the wind abruptly changed direction. The grass stilled and then bent to the north as the wind swept back towards the wagons. Only a few small clouds floated by, interrupting the perfect blue of the sky. It didn’t look like they would be in store for another storm today, no more violent wind or rain.

  Then a few tiny motes of light flared and died on the wind- a telltale sign of Altering.

  She frowned, eyeing the clouds a little longer then looked back towards Yorren.

  “Yorren, do we have a Weaver in the caravan?”

  “Li’or, dear, you know I tell you about everyone and everything in my wagons. If we’d had a Weaver, it would have been the first thing I’d have told you.”

  Li’or nodded absently and went back to making her rounds.

  For the rest of the day, Li’or stayed on patrol around the entirety of the caravan. The odd shifting of the grass and the flickers of light made her uneasy, so she sent out scouts as well. Normally, she would have expected complaints, but the hired swords grinned as they cantered off. That, of course, only made her frown. Hopefully, they’d do what she told them.

  Li’or herself rode circles around the caravan, pausing here and there beside a wagon to take in the surroundings and check on the wagoners before moving on once again. Her main concern this close to Breen was bandits. The beast-like zhu’dac that ranged through the mountains weren’t a threat in the Silver Gilt River basin. They didn’t tend to go far from their caves and typically didn’t move in large enough groups to threaten an entire caravan. They weren’t smart enough.

  True to his word, Yorren kept the wagon train going until the sun started to disappear behind the horizon. The sparse clouds glowed in shades of pink and gold as the light faded around them. All the wagon drivers moved with practiced efficiency to arrange the wagons end-to-end in a large circle, then herded all the oxen and horses into the center where they were hobbled for the night, brushed down, and fed. The merchant’s wives and the hired cooks all came out of their wagons, bringing with them spits for roasting meat and pots for tea and stew. The lively mood that had come with the departure of the rain carried into the evening. One man even pulled a gudok and bow out from one of the wagons and played while a few people danced.

  Li’or watched them all with a contented sense of detachment. Humans lived their fleeting lives with an enthusiasm and recklessness that she couldn’t understand, even though their company was all she had ever known. It was as if they tried to fit as many life experiences into their short time as they could, even if some of those things were outright dangerous. But she wasn’t sad. Keeping them all at arm’s length was better in the long run. She’d experienced more than enough loss while watching her village grow old and die around her. Let them live their fast-paced, abbreviated lives without her. Eternity loomed over her shoulder. That they could never understand.

  She watched for a time while she groomed and fed her horse, then ate her own dinner. As the revelry died down and people began retiring to their wagons and bed-rolls, she got up to take one last patrol for the night to ensure all the night’s guards were set.

  She ducked down and crawled under one of the wagons, coming out right near the feet of a guard. She glanced up as she rose and had to fight to keep the scowl off her face. Terric stood watching her, his arms crossed and a smug look on his face.

  “You know what kinds of things crawl around on the ground?” he asked. “Poisonous snakes, carrion beetles, yo-”

  “You forget yourself, Terric.” Li’or said, brushing off the knees of her breeches.

  “I forget nothing,” he scoffed.

  She frowned. Terric was notoriously difficult to work with. He had unwittingly built himself a reputation for insubordination, limiting the number of people who would hire him. It was unfortunate because he was good with a sword and had enough of an analytical mind that he would make a good leader. But he was just blighted mean.

  “That is true. Meanwhile, I seem to have forgotten the watch schedule tonight. I thought I was stationed here.” She crossed her arms and tried to look disappointed.

  In the low light of the torch, it must have been convincing. Terric gave her a look halfway between a glare and a smirk. “I don’t know how you keep getting hired as captain of these little jobs. Has to be for the novelty of a woman running about in men’s clothing. You’re not until the last shift, Captain. I have this one with Leif- that lad’s Threads are all tangled- Bootstrap, Bodell, Clicks- he’s too damned old for this- and Dathen. Right useless, that one. I had to give them all a swift kick in the arse, but they’re in place.” He put his hands on his hips and spit.

  Li’or fought down a smirk. “Well, perfect. That’s all I needed to know. I’ll leave it in your capable hands.”

  Terric just scowled and turned away from her. She allowed herself a smile as she crawled under the wagon and back into the protective ring of the camp. No matter how many times she played him, it never got old.

  She wandered back over to where the horses were hobbled and spread her bedroll near a supply wagon. Lying down, she watched the stars until she drifted into sleep, lulled by the steady sound of the horses nibbling on grass.

  The caravan got off to a late start the next day and it wasn’t until after noon that the city finally came into view on the horizon. Breen was a large port city that shipped wares from all up and down the Silver Gilt River across the sea and south to foreign markets in Vaeshek. The walls of the city were tall and stark white with a heavy black gate facing the north. Li’or made her way up to the front of the caravan and rode alongside Yorren as they approached the entranceway.

  When they were still about a quarter of a mile out from the city, a horn rang out over the top of the walls and the gates swung open with a loud groan. No less than fifty soldiers in black and white armor poured out of the
city, Breen’s black and white banner snapping behind them as they charged.

  “What in the name of the gods…” Yorren muttered. He held up his hand and signaled for the caravan to come to a stop.

  Li’or reined in beside him and watched the soldiers race across the field towards them. She’d heard the lord was eccentric, but surely this kind of greeting was unusual even for him. She shifted in her saddle, feeling anxious.

  An odd noise drifted towards them from over a hill to their right. It swelled and morphed into a low howling. Li’or’s heart leapt into her throat.

  “Yorren, signal the guards!” She kicked her horse forward and swung around in between Yorren’s wagon and whatever was coming. “And send the women and children into the wagons!”

  “What is that noise?”

  “The gods-damned signal, Yorren!” Li’or snapped. She stepped off her horse and quickly strung her bow and nocked an arrow.

  The howling rose in pitch and a mob of zhu’dac flooded over the hill, more of the creatures than she’d ever seen in one place. The beasts never moved in such large numbers; they were too aggressive and fought too much amongst themselves. What she was seeing defied logic. But still they came, waving their rusted swords and make-shift clubs in their clawed hands, saliva and foam flying from their canine-like muzzles. They charged towards the caravan.

  Li’or glanced back towards Breen’s soldiers. They weren’t going to get to them in time. A few of the zhu’dac pulled ahead of the pack, running on all fours like wolves.

  Li’or gritted her teeth and loosed an arrow. It took one of the closest beasts in the chest and it fell with a yelp. She grabbed another arrow and repeated the process, scoring another kill, but there had to have been close to a hundred of them. Two wouldn’t matter. A few of the other guards got themselves together and launched some arrows into the mob with questionable success. It still wouldn’t be enough.

  Before she could stop and think about her odds, she swung herself back into her saddle and drew her sword with a rasp. The soldiers from the city were in a full charge, but they still wouldn’t make it in time. By the time they rammed into the flank of the zhu’dac horde, the creatures would already be ripping the wagons apart.

  “Form up!” she screamed to the guards. “We’re meeting them out there, away from the caravan!” She could at least buy them some time. “Yorren… when we charge, you get into the city.”

  She didn’t even look towards him as she frantically tried to come up with a plan. She only had nineteen guards. It was going to be a massacre.

  “Piss on this!” Terric yelled. “I’m not dying for some trader.” He spurred his horse toward the city. A few others hesitated then peeled off after him. Li’or’s heart caved in on itself. Fifteen.

  There was no more time. Ten guards had gathered while the others tried to usher the people into their wagons. That would have to be enough. She set her heels into her horse and they leaped forward.

  It was pandemonium. Her guards’ battle cries cut off as they collided with the zhu’dac. Her horse leaped and swerved as he struck out with his hooves. Li’or clung tightly with her knees and swept her sword in great arcs, trying to catch as many of the beasts as she could. They fell around her and she surged forward only to meet with another wall of bodies. Her horse reared and darted to the side. He kicked out with his hind legs and nailed one square in the chest. The zhu’dac was shoved backward and into two of the others, but she was still forced to yield ground as more swarmed forward to take their place.

  Li’or risked a glance towards the reinforcements and she nearly dropped her sword.

  The soldiers had stopped and were lining up their archers, all the armored cavalry in the back. She scanned the contingent and found the commanding officer off to the side, flanked by guards and wearing a ridiculous plume on his helmet. He was going to let them die, possibly kill some of them with misplaced arrows.

  She yelled in frustration and urged her horse forward with renewed purpose. Zhu’dac fell to either side of her horse as she lathed her sword back and forth in a rage. She pushed harder, claws raking her legs and catching in the leather of her saddle until she finally surged out of the horde. Her gelding stretched low over the ground and they barreled towards the officer.

  “What in the five realms are you doing?” she demanded when she reached him, her horse sliding to a stop.

  The bastard sneered at her through a bushy blond mustache. “We’re about to kill zhu’dac, obviously.”

  “You’re about to kill my men!”

  “A few mercenaries is a small price to pay when Breen and her people are in danger.”

  The clamor of the battle and the fleeing wagons rang in Li’or’s ears. She glanced down at her sword, coated with blood and matted with brindle zhu’dac fur. She hated the poor reputation that men like Terric gave swords for hire. She’d spent too long building a good reputation to be treated like a mangy stray, and she had good men and women working for her on this trip. Her resolve hardened and she whipped her blade up to the officer’s throat. Metal sang as all his guards drew their swords.

  “Call them off of me and send them in to fight. Now.”

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he stammered.

  “What’s right. Now send them into the fight before I lose my patience. Your guards may get me, but not before I get you first.” Blood dripped from her sword and landed on the officer’s white breastplate.

  “There will be repercussions for this, elf,” he spat, face blazing red.

  “I’ll deal with that later.” She met his eyes, unblinking.

  “Men! A wedge formation! Charge the zhu’dac!”

  Li’or waited until she heard the concussion of the calvary hitting the mass of creatures before she lowered her sword. A quick glance over her shoulder showed the zhu’dac mass shattering under the hammer that was the cavalry, many turning tail in full retreat.

  “I wonder, has the punishment for blatantly disobeying your superiors changed since I was in Breen last, or are you still completely stripped of all rank?” she asked.

  The officer’s face deepened from red to purple, telling her all she needed to know. He’d made the decision to use only archers against his superior’s orders.

  “Who are you to question how I command my soldiers?”

  “I’m just a mercenary. Anyway, I’ll take my question to General Vidgar. It’s been a while since we’ve shared a pint.” She cast him a bitter smile over her shoulder and charged back into the fray, indignant stuttering following after her.

  Expected

  * * *

  Hashkan Clearont tried his best to read a scroll while swaying on the upper deck of the ship as it pulled towards the port in Breen. A large swell sprayed over the railing and plastered his dark hair to his forehead, nearly ruining his scroll. He jerked his arms up at the last second and barely kept the documents dry. His gray Weaver’s robes didn’t fare quite so well. He scowled and stood up, miffed. He had booked passage with the trader that owned this ship in order to get here quickly from Varistad and he was convinced it was the worst decision he had ever made in his twenty-four years.

  It had taken the better part of the month to get around the Vernoud Forest Peninsula and he had been sick for about nine-tenths of the time. Here towards the end, he had finally found his “sea legs” and had been able to try and enjoy the remainder of the trip. Unfortunately, the activity of the crew had tripled as they prepared to make port, so it was either be jostled on deck or sit in his dark hole of a room. And so, he had sworn to himself that he would not travel by water again, no matter how quick and convenient it may seem.

  But he was finally arriving. They were pulling into the bay and Hashkan could see the masses of black roofs and the bright white walls enclosing the city. All the noises of the port could be heard echoing off the walls and water. A sailor stepped up into his peripheral vision.

  “Apologies Weaver, but I need to get to those ropes behind you.” She ge
stured to the ropes attached to the main sail and averted her gaze.

  Hashkan sighed and struggled to keep the patient demeanor expected from his position. Seamstress, he could not wait to get off that ship.

  “Don’t apologize, madam. I’ve got to finish gathering my things, anyway.” He forced a smile and she bowed as he walked off.

  Hashkan went below the deck to his room and collected his few belongings. He had five scrolls on Altering theory, three bound books of blank paper for taking notes, and a few changes of clothes. Even with the extra care he took while packing the scrolls, he was still finished long before they were at the docks. He was on deck waiting as the ship slid into its place in the harbor and his feet were the first to hit dry land.

  All eyes were on the Weaver as he strolled down the gangplank. As hard as he’d fought to grow accustomed to the swaying of the ship, now he found himself fighting for balance on dry land. He clenched his jaw and struggled to keep his footing but held on to his cool exterior. His pride refused to let them see him struggle. He was a Weaver. A Weaver didn’t struggle.

  Everywhere around him, men and women scrambled around the pier carrying goods, loading and unloading ships and wagons. Here horse-drawn carts wheeled away, loaded down with fish, and across the way, pulleys on huge rotating arms lifted boxes and swung them onto the boats on creaking, straining ropes. It seemed every other person was trying to sell something they had just pulled off a ship or trying to get rid of things they didn’t want to take with them. It reeked of fish and the salt of the ocean.

  And it was so crowded! Hashkan had spent the last ten years of his life studying and serving at the Seamstress’s Gathering in Harthmere, hardly ever leaving. The only crowds he saw were the ones that came to worship in the Sanctuary. Now he found himself having to walk sideways through what tiny gaps he could find in the crowd. He took his pack off his back and carried it across his chest, concerned about cut-purses in the thick mob. He hadn’t been to Breen before, so he pushed through the crowd trying to get out onto the main road where he could find a guard and ask for directions to the Gathering.