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By Root 908 0

beneath the downy feathers of his chest. Tied to the garuda’s waist was a belt with two long sheathed daggers. The creatures were always an amazing sight. They now primarily inhabited several towering cliff faces at the Fugúl Colonies on the island of Kullrún, which was sealed off as a military training ground. There, over a thousand of them lived in caves. They had been an essential part of the Imperial armies for thousands of years. Although communicating with each other through shrill bird calls, they used sign language to interact with humans or rumel. How and when it had come about was anyone’s guess, but such communication was essential to their joint campaigns.

“Sele of Jamur, wing commander,” Brynd said.

The bird-man, Wing Commander Vish, then raised his arms to sign, Why have you stopped?

“We’re only stopping to rest the horses. Did you spot anything on the way here?”

Just more refugees approaching the Sanctuary Road. There are probably at least a thousand camped outside the city now.

“As many as that.” Brynd shook his head. “What’ll you yourself do—during this Freeze?”

The wing commander eyed him expressionlessly, then signed, What do you mean?

“I mean, when the ice comes so densely that people are sealed in. That’s not so far off now. You’re intending to stay in Villjamur, right, for all those years? What’re you going to do there?”

Just because the gates are closed, doesn’t mean I can’t fly. I can still serve the military, serve the Empire. You appear rather philosophical today, commander.

“I guess the Emperor’s death will bring about changes for the city. Maybe I should be thinking of a change myself.”

Maybe you have never quite felt a part of things in Villjamur. I always thought you were too self-conscious about the color of your skin.

Brynd looked away as if to cut him off. “Well if that’s the case I’ve picked the wrong career.” He wasn’t aware garudas could be so perceptive. “I’m just getting old.” Brynd laughed. “Perhaps I’ve started thinking about myself too much.”

Then you’d be the same as the rest of your race.

“Come on. Let’s get something to eat.”

Chancellor Urtica strode through the armory as if he owned the place, yet was almost knocked back by the change in temperature. Rows of men drenched in sweat were working at benches. They looked up to inspect the intruder, their white eyes startling against dust-smeared skin. In the background, a huge furnace burned violently, producing a heady smell. Everywhere, the clunk clunk clunk of metal being beaten and contorted into shape.

“Can I help you, chancellor?” A short, stout man, blond hair, wearing a short-sleeved black tunic and black breeches. His arms, shimmering with sweat, were totally smooth because continual exposure to the flames had burned away all the hairs. This was the Chief of Defense for Villjamur—in reality, a retired soldier who still directed the smiths according to battle orders.

“Indeed you can, Fentuk, my dear fellow,” Urtica replied, smiling around at the other workers, who glared back skeptically. “Walk out with me, if you please, so that we’re not heard.”

“Sounds important,” Fentuk muttered.

Urtica led Fentuk out of the building and over a darkened bridge nearby, where you could look directly across the roofs of Villjamur.

It was approaching dusk, a carnelian sky. House lanterns scattered throughout the city seemed to mirror the stars. The twin moons Bohr and Astrid hung on opposite sides of the sky, giving a brilliant light that seemed to catch all the spires and bridges in an ethereal glow. Some distance below them, a horse was being led along a dully lit street, its hooves clopping loudly on the stone. There was a flash of magic. A door opened and closed, chattering of women heard in between, and there was a lute playing sevenths in some tavern nearby, a dreary tune accompanied by an off-key singer.

One of those perfect Villjamur nights.

“So, Chancellor Urtica, what’ve you brought me here for?”

“Insurance.” Urtica leaned against the parapet of the bridge. The wind ruffled his cloak and he shivered. “One can