Unravel by Amelia Loken

Author:Amelia Loken
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sword and Silk Books

Three days before St. Ione’s feast day, a soldier bursts into the Council room, breathless.

“Boats… crossing the Muse… Isle Dinant. Counted five large ferries.”

My heart clenches. I flee the room even as it fills with questions and commands. I hurry to the courtyard and mount an already saddled horse, then commandeer a spyglass from a junior officer. I feel guilty as I ride out the gates toward the pass, but I don’t pause until I reach the first sentinel tower and ask for news.

“Alarm bells ringing on the island. There’s smoke.”

“Smoke?” I ask.

“Brandt soldiers have torches. They started on the north side of the island, burning what they can to flush ‘em out.”

I train my borrowed spyglass but am too far away to make out details, except for a few bright blossoms of flame and the rising smoke from the fires.

“I’m going closer, to the lower sentinel tower.” I leave before he can protest.

If Tanja or her people need help, Valonia will provide. Part of me wants to wait and organize a better response; more people, food, blankets, boats. Yet aid will be slowed by the parallel preparations for an invasion, for that’s what my father and his councilors will see, I’m sure. If I wait for them, it might be hours or even days before help is sent. What might happen in the meantime?

I reach the lower sentinel tower and dismount.

“Can you see what’s happening down there?” I shout to the men up in the tower.

“They’ve fired off catapults, but did little good stopping Brandt,” a scout answers. “Some Mirvray men are fighting back. Mostly the soldiers seem to be herding those rats to our side of the island.”

I freeze at that word, then my anger propels me up the outer stairs to the lookout.

“Never,” I gasp, mustering authority as I stare at the two scouts, “use that word again. They are people, not rats.”

They seemed startled by my arrival in their aerie, but nod. The grizzled one clenches his jaw and mutters, “As you say.”

I accept their submission, then train my spyglass on the island. Fires burn in several buildings, including the weavers’ lodge. All those bolts of magic-infused cloth, up in flame. My hands fist around the glass. I see figures but not faces.

“Your telescope must be better than this?” I say it as a question, but the younger one reacts as if I’ve given an order, stepping back from the large cylinder mounted on a tripod. I give him my glass in exchange, then stand on my toes to peer through the eyepiece.

Men and women. Children. They race through the streets, down toward the river. My heart squeezes. I try to discern faces. It’s difficult. They’re moving too fast. Buildings and greenery often block my view. I step away from the telescope and squint at the island. More smoke billows up and out.

The grizzled scout takes my place. I fidget until he steps away again.

The magnified Mirvray gather along the river. They pile into two ferries. The boats look overloaded.

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