I ran along the trail, quiver banging against my shoulder
blades in a rhythmic—and rather painful—thump, thump, thump.
I gripped the
hilt of my sword, also conveniently knocking against my hipbone, and scowled.
Why in all
Renaissance did Marcor have to tell my father I wasn’t actually scouting the Villein
route all those afternoon hours? I never told on Marcor when he went off
scouting for the prettiest girls by the water well, when he was supposed to be
standing guard by the town gates.
“I’ll get him,”
I muttered to myself, dodging a branch that extended over the trail.
A horse whinnied
in the distance, and I stumbled to a halt, scanning the forest.
Movement. Over
there, in the trees to the left.
I dived into the
sparse underbrush by the side of the trail and laid low, glad I was wearing
green and brown and not those idiotic red-and-gold tunics my father often
demanded I put on.
“Is anyone
there?” a voice called.
No. There is
certainly not anyone there and I suggest you get out of here. Hell’s about to
break loose and all that.
“Hello?”
Goodbye. Why
aren’t you going away yet?
“I could’ve
sworn I heard someone,” I heard the girl mutter—it was definitely a girl from
her voice.
Her horse
snorted.
“What is it,
Broman?”
The horse didn’t
reply. Good horse.
“Come on,
Broman.”
I heard the
sound of a horse heading down the trail. I relaxed.
Inching upwards,
I peered over the top of the bushes.
The girl stood on
the trail, an arrow nocked in my direction.
We stared at
each other, and then I had my own arrow out and aimed at her. I walked out onto
the trail and faced her, less than thirty paces apart.
“You’re fast,”
she said, indicating my bow and arrow.
“You’re sneaky,”
I replied.
“What?” She
looked confused.
“Never mind. Who
are you?”
She shifted her
bow. “And why should I tell you that?”
“Because I have
an arrow pointed at you.”
“So do I.”
“That’s
irrelevant.”
“It is not!”
“Yes, it is.”
She shook her
head. “Just tell me where I can find the town of Renaissance, and I’ll put down
my bow.”
“Really. Well,
since you had to force me upon pain of death to get me to say, the town’s further
down this trail.”
She nodded.
“Thank you.” A pause. “Why were you running from it?”
“You heard me?
Why didn’t you say ‘come out, come out, wherever you are’, then?”
“Because that
would be stupid. Broman,” she called, and her horse emerged from the trees.
“A fine animal,”
I said, looking Broman over.
“You say that
like you don’t mean it.”
I shrugged.
“Horses can’t compare to riding the imbrangilae.”
“Imbrangilae?”
“You’ve never
heard of them?”
“They can’t be
rode.”
“Yes, they can.
I’ve done it.” And my father thinks I’m a fat, stinking liar because I told him
so.
“Do you know who
the leader of this town is?”
“There’s no
leader. There’s just a council of old fogies.”
She snorted.
Then, as if in some kind of accord, we put down our bows.
“I need to speak
with these fogies.”
“Why do you need
to speak with them?” I didn’t add my father was one of them.
“Because there’s
an army coming.”
I stared at her.
“An army?”
“Yes. Down the
Villein.”
I cursed. An
army was coming down the Villein—just the road I had avoided on scouting
missions for the past three months.
From Alejandra Digiovanni's perspective:
I expected him to ask how many soldiers
there were.
But instead he looked behind me.
“Question.”
“Yes?” I shifted, impatient to get to
Renaissance.
“Hope you don’t mind imbrangilae.
Because one’s flying toward us.”
I whirled and spotted the descending
black form.
“Oh no,” I whispered.
I ran down the path, toward the boy—who
just stood as the rhythmic beat of wings grew deafening.
“Get out of the way!” I shouted.
“I told you! I can ride the
imbrangilae!”
“Don’t be idiotic!”
I grabbed him and tried to drag him
away, but he was too strong.
The imbrangilae landed on the path,
cold air blowing past as it exhaled, and I pulled close to the boy.
Hoping, by some miracle, he really
could handle the thing.
It was a hideous creature. Mismatched
eyes, bulbous skin, wings like they’d been chewed by rats and mended by
spiders.
The boy grinned.
“Nabil,” he said.
I sucked in a breath as the creature
extended its head, leaning close.
And closer, until I thought my spine
would crack with not moving.
It nudged him, blasting more chill as
it snorted.
The boy shook free of my grip and
walked around the imbrangilae, stroking its hide. Then he climbed, using its
joints to hoist himself up just in front of the wings.
I expected the creature to buck. But it didn’t—it sat there,
cleaning its face.
“How many soldiers are there?” he
called.
“Around two thousand.”
“Renaissance has 333 people.”
“So precise?”
“My father’s chronic about it.”
“Your father?”
“He’s, um, one of the councilpersons.”
I stared at him.
“You’re not Corey Pendergraft, are
you?”
His head flew up.
“How’d you know?”
“I’m Alejandra Digiovanni. From the
Espadon River clan?”
“Oh.”
His face turned guilty. “I know I disappeared
when you visited Renaissance before, but—“
“You were supposed to marry me!”
“Does it matter to you?”
“No. But . . .”
“But?”
I sighed. “Every suitor I see tells me
I’m ugly. You didn’t even bother.”
“You’re not ugly. You’re—pretty.
Beautiful, I—“
“Just tell me how to get to the
council.”
“Get up here.”
I violently shook my head.
“Why not?”
“For one, I can’t just leave Broman—“
“He seems like a smart horse. And
imbrangilae will be faster.”
“But—“
“You won’t fall.”
“I’m not worried about falling—“
An arrow whipped past and hit the side
of the imbrangilae—it bounced right off the skin—making it scream like metal on
stone.
Other arrows hit the dirt and a nearby
tree, just missing Corey.
I spun around, searching frantically,
but couldn’t see anyone.
Then a woman jumped down from a branch
overhead, arrow nocked.
I gasped, recognizing the symbol on her
shoulder: Chiavona Desert Clan.
She circled me as four others landed on
the path, swords out and flashing.
The imbrangilae roared, an angry,
dangerous sound.
The snipers paused and it whipped its
tail, slamming a man into a rock. A concentrated gust of freezing air turned a
second of the five into an icicle, and she collapsed.
Corey unsheathed his sword and hit two
of the snipers on the head with the hilt. I grabbed a knife in my boot,
throwing it at the nearest attacker.
It cut her shoulder and she staggered,
but she lunged with a dagger and nearly stabbed me. The imbrangilae screamed
again and struck her with a claw.
“Get up here!” Corey shouted.
I grabbed one of the imbrangilae’s
knobbles, climbing up and sliding in behind him.
“Up, Nabil!”
“Are you sure about this—“
“To Renaissance!” he cried.
From Nabil's (the imbrangilae's) perspective:
I shrieked again as another arrow hit my leg.
“To my father’s
house!” Corey shouted.
I twisted around
and looked at him. He hated his father.
“Trust me, Nabil.”
Fine, then.
The humans
lurched against my neck as I tore through the clouds, the freezing air
enveloping the lot of us.
“Is this creature
insane?” the female screamed, and I could sense her fear.
“Nabil always
travels through the clouds!” Corey shouted back. “I don’t know why!”
It was a short
trip to Renaissance. I landed in the central square, and the people nearby screamed
and ran.
I sighed. Gone
were the days when humans trusted us.
Corey jumped off
and ran toward his father’s building.
I helped the
female down my back by leaning to one side as she dismounted, earning a yelp.
She glared at me as she marched away.
I gave her a
grin made of incisors.
“Father!” Corey
exclaimed, as his father marched out of a nearby building.
I walked closer
to my human, sending a cool breeze into the approaching man’s face.
“Who is this
girl?” he demanded.
“Alejandra
Digiovanni. Who am I addressing?”
“Sir Anderson
Pendergraft,” the man said. Then he turned to his son. “Corey, I want to know
exactly what you think you were doing by running away!”
“Having fun.”
He glared.
I snorted in
disapproval.
“Oh, be still,
you cumbersome animal.”
A strangely
human idea, but I got the impulse to throw something at his head.
“An army is headed
this way,” the girl declared.
“Is there?” the
man asked.
“Two thousand
soldiers, at least. Your son said 333 people live here, so I would advise immediate
evacuation.”
“Miss Digiovanni,
our affairs—“
I rolled over
onto my side, convulsing. A few people who’d gathered in the square hopped
away, scattering like leaves.
“Is something
wrong with that animal?”
“Um . . . are
you all right, Nabil?” Corey asked.
I grinned again.
I couldn’t believe they didn’t know, when it was such common knowledge
to any imbrangilae.
“Er . . .”
“Speak up! I
will not have you mumbling like alley rubbish,” the man snapped.
“Nabil seems to
be . . . laughing.”
“Laughing,” the
female said. “Of all the things to do, that creature—“
“Is there a
reason, Father?”
“You trust that
animal more than me?”
“Yes.”
The man sighed.
“Yes, there is a
reason. No one can attack Renaissance,” he said.
I got to my feet
again. Now things were beginning to make sense.
“What?”
Corey demanded.
“The imbrangilae
protect it. They and the humans here made an agreement several hundred years
ago that they would shelter us. No one has attacked this town in decades, hence
it was never obvious to the current citizens of Renaissance.”
“And what do the
imbrangilae get in return?” my human asked.
Silence.
I glared at the
man.
“The humans
aren’t holding up their part of the deal,” the girl offered.
“That’s
disgraceful!” Corey cried.
“—But
regardless, doesn’t anyone care about the army?” she continued.
Corey’s father
replied, “If I know the imbrangilae, they’ll have run them off by now.”
I grunted in
affirmation.
“What’s that
sound?” someone in the crowd called out.
“It sounds like
a number of imbrangilae flying toward us,” Corey said.
The humans in
the square were flustered enough, but the prospect of so many of us sent them
panicking.
“Why are they
coming?” Corey shouted to his father, over the screams and yells.
“To settle the
agreement! They’ve decided it’s time we paid for not keeping our side of the bargain.”
From Corey Pendergraft's perspective yet again:
A huge imbrangilae landed in the square, and several more
landed in the streets, filling Renaissance with creatures practically everyone
despised. More hovered above, their freezing breath chilling the air.
“They’ll kill
us,” Alejandra whispered.
“Don’t be
ridiculous,” I replied. “Killing is the least the imbrangilae could do.”
She shook my arm.
“Shut up!”
“Well, you—“
“Estant,” my
father called.
The largest
imbrangilae roared.
“I apologize for
our past disregard of the treaty.”
“You . . .”
Estant rasped, in a horrible, ripping voice that should never have come from
something living, “. . . have broken that treaty more times . . . than we
imbrangilae remember. Your history lies in the dead . . . forms of imbrangilae
. . . who we trusted to you.”
“I know,
Estant,” my father murmured.
“Humans must pay
the price . . . of their actions.”
The crowd was
quick on the uptake.
“Kill them all!”
someone shouted.
“Burn them!”
screamed another. “We won’t die!”
“SILENCE,” boomed
Estant. “Did I ever mention . . . dying?”
“It was
implied,” my father said mildly.
“I will not have
your . . . insinuations. What I propose . . . is a trade. We imbrangilae . . .
want five of your . . . offspring.”
An outraged
woman cried, “They want our children?”
“We want to
train you . . . to understand us. I know we are ugly by . . . your standards.
But with knowledge, perhaps . . . we can come . . . to an alliance, however
tenuous.”
“Estant,” my
father said, “do you realize what you’re asking? To send children to your lairs,
to live with your kind?”
“Yes. Humans
killed seventeen imbrangilae . . . in the past century. Is that not . . . fair?
We would never . . . kill one of you.”
Silence.
“I volunteer,” I
said. “I will travel to your home.”
“You . . .
volunteer?” Estant rasped.
“I do, too,”
Alejandra declared.
“Two,” the
imbrangilae said. “There must be . . . three more.”
“We’ll go.”
I turned to see
twins emerge from the crowd, a sister and brother, identical except for a long
scar down the girl’s face.
I knew them.
Outcasts, forced to scrounge in alleys for food. I’d tried to speak to them,
but they’d spurned me, expecting to get bullied or tricked.
“That will do,”
Estant said. “Forget the fifth.”
“They’ll die!” a
man shouted.
“We won’t,” I
said. “We’ll be just fine with the imbrangilae.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I trust
Nabil.”
I don’t think he understood our speech, but
Nabil shrieked.
I smiled.
“Then we have an
agreement,” Estant roared, rearing. “You humans will . . . forget this day, as
you forget . . . everything else. But there will . . . be a time when you must
remember . . . and do not overlook the detail the imbrangilae could kill you
all.”
He took off.
“Good luck, Corey!”
my father shouted, as Nabil walked up.
“Goodbye,
Father.”
I jumped onto
Nabil’s back as Alejandra awkwardly hoisted herself onto another imbrangilae.
The twins, I had
to notice, were more graceful.
Nabil lifted up
and soared into the clouds, but not before I peered back down at Renaissance.
Such a small
place.
I couldn’t wait
to see the rest of the world through the imbrangilae’s eyes.
