Instantly I sit upright, alert as a hare, and around me every single one of my neighbours does the same; even the woman who grunted at me when I sat down unfurls from her crone-like hunch to glower over at Unwin. As my hand glides to my belt to check for my knife, I see other hands moving to boot tops and waists, all of us wanting the reassurance that we’re armed.
Whatever this meeting is about, Unwin clearly expects the news to be taken badly, and my heart sinks because there’s only one thing he could possibly say at this point that would make us mutinous. The already scant air feels as though it’s congealing in my throat.
Chanse Unwin looks around the room once more, taking us all in, before pressing his palms together. “I have news from the Council in Tressalyn,” he says, his voice unctuous and self-satisfied. “And it is not good. Three nights ago the Sleeping Prince’s golems attacked the Lormerian town of Haga. They destroyed the two temples there, and once again left no survivors. They slaughtered anyone who refused to bend the knee to him, some four hundred souls. This attack follows the sacking of the temples in Monkham and Lortune, and brings his army within fifty miles of the border between us and Lormere. Based on this pattern, the Council believes he’ll march on Chargate next.”
At this everyone turns to their neighbour with raised eyebrows, petty local arguments and generations-old feuds forgotten as they begin to murmur to one another. I don’t look at anyone. Instead I squeeze my fingers around the hilt of my knife and take a deep breath. Chargate is on the other side of the trees; it’s Almwyk’s Lormerian counterpart. It would put the golems merely hours away from us, the other side of the wood.
Unwin clears his throat, and the whispering dies away. “The Council concludes that its attempts to negotiate with the Sleeping Prince have failed. He has outright refused to sign a treaty of peace with Tregellan and will not deny that he plans to invade.” His gaze flickers briefly to the captain, who smirks and glances at one of the other soldiers, making me wonder how much Unwin truly knows of what he’s reporting, and what he’s merely been told to relate. “Because of this,” Unwin continues, “the Council has sat in emergency session, and unanimously decided that we have no choice but to declare a state of war in Tregellan.”
He pauses dramatically, as if expecting us to make some protest. But we say and do nothing, remaining stony-faced and silent, saving our reactions until he gets to the crux of the matter, the part that affects us, and warrants fifteen of the newly mustered Tregellian army’s finest in a room where we barely outnumber them.
Realizing this, he continues. “Last night the Tregellian army sealed the border from the River Aurmere to the Cliffs of Tressamere. Including the East Woods.” He pauses and the whole world narrows to this room, to these words. Don’t say it. I concentrate as hard as I can. Don’t say it.
“All trade and traffic between here and Lormere is prohibited from now on. The border is closed. Anyone caught trying to cross it will be killed on sight.”
We draw in our breath as one, taking all the air from the room.
“Given its strategic position, the village has been requisitioned as a barracks and base of operations for the garrison defending the border. Almwyk is to be evacuated. Immediately.”
No. There is the tiniest fragment of a moment in which the news filters into the brains of the occupants of the room.
Then all hell breaks loose.
I found out about the meeting when Chanse Unwin rapped on my door before the sun had risen this morning. I’d finally fallen asleep an hour or two before dawn, and I’d been dreaming of the man again. This time we were standing on the bridge over the river, near my old home in Tremayne. It was summer; silver fish darted in the clear water beneath us, and the sun beat down on us, making my scalp warm. I was dressed in my old apprentice’s uniform. The dress was blue and clean, the many pockets of my apron full of small vials and plants and powders. I could smell them, the herby, pungent tang of rosemary and willow bark and pine: scents that meant home and knowledge, work and happiness. I reached into one of