Behind the rival groups lay a flat dark plain, under a drizzle-filled sky, with the smell of forests and of salt wafting from the sea to the south. For a short while they would be happy enough here, all the cares and impending changes now forgotten. Two young men presently lined up their horses, paused, then belted across the horizon, the others cheering on in feral calls.

The sight of such carefree enthusiasm made Brynd feel he was getting old. He had youthful dreams once, which seemed to be travelling further and further out of his reach. Perhaps he should stay out of Villjamur when the gates would be shut for all those years…

The garuda suddenly landed next to him. Brynd didn’t even flinch. He had spotted the creature hovering overhead only moments before.

With a chalk-white face offset by golden plumage, and large wings now tucked neatly behind his back, the garuda stood nearly six feet tall. He was wearing black breeches, with nothing covering his upper torso, revealing ferocious muscles 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 colour 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 armoury 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 Defence 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 sceptically. ‘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 never be too certain who’s listening in, these days.’

‘Listening in?’

‘Listening in.’ Urtica reached under his cloak, produced the arrow. ‘I urgently need to know where this came from.’

Fentuk took it, examined it closely. ‘Hard to tell in this light.’ He rolled it between his fingers, lifted it this way and that. ‘Well, it ain’t Jamur,’ he continued. ‘Not from any of the islands to the west or south. My guess would be Varltung, but I can’t be certain. Made very poorly, you see. Could also be Maour, Dockull or even Hulrr.’ The man pursed his lips thinly. ‘Why? Where d’you get it?’

Urtica clicked his tongue against his teeth. ‘It was found in the corpse of a Night Guard soldier. The commander suspects it was a Varltung ambush. I was hoping to get your confirmation, to support the case for a campaign against that nation, before the Freeze sets in.’

‘Oh, well, I… I couldn’t say for sure it’s from Varltung, no.’

‘Are you certain you can’t be sure? We need to strike back against the Varltungs before it’s too late.’ The chancellor waved his hands in the air to stress the point.

‘No,’ Fentuk said. ‘I really can’t be sure, not if it could mean war. Not on my word. Is this all the evidence you have?’

‘We’ve more,’ Urtica said. A lie, of course, and he didn’t think twice about saying it.

‘I can’t help you in this case, chancellor. I’m sorry.’ He handed the arrow back to Urtica, who concealed it beneath his cloak again. ‘Was that everything?’ Fentuk said, running his hand through his hair. ‘I have to be getting back now.’

‘No, there was something else – something much more important.’ Urtica looked around the parapet. He stepped in closer to Fentuk. ‘I must whisper this.

‘I can offer you a substantial sum of money to make sure that you never have to step foot in that rancid armoury again – we’re talking safe accounts and country estates. All you have to do is confirm for me that this arrow came from a Varltung bow, and back me up officially if I wanted to initiate an order of war. You could do that for me, couldn’t you, Fentuk?’

The chief of defence was solemn as he clasped the parapet. ‘I… I really don’t know.’

Urtica placed an arm around him. ‘I wouldn’t like to say what might happen otherwise. I mean, there are some prominent pro-military Council members with significant investments in armoury and ores – and in times of war their incomes and influence are known to rise hugely. Should they be denied this opportunity – and your name will be thrown about the Atrium – well, I have heard tell of punishment beatings for this sort of thing in the past. Such stories…’ He shook his head and sighed for effect.