by Paul Cude
After a few more seconds, the transformation was complete. Lying slumped on the chilly stone floor, gasping for breath, a stocky, bald-headed man with a brown goatee beard and strange black tattoos on his cheeks and neck looked up menacingly at the audience before him.
A low murmur of disbelief rippled through the crowd. Unsteadily, the fully naked man before them got to his feet, taking in his surroundings as though he'd been asleep for many years. Gazing over the king's left shoulder, his eyes locked onto a pale blue pair he knew very well. George!
"Traitor!" he screamed, lunging towards his former brother-in-arms with a crazed look on his face, only to be stopped inches away by hulking great guards who had appeared as if from nowhere. Troydenn spat in George's face, all the time wriggling and kicking in an attempt to break free from the guard's vice-like grip.
Wiping his face with the back of his hand, George desperately tried to maintain an illusion of calm and serenity, even though every muscle in his body screamed at him to fight. With Troydenn’s feet dragging along the ground, the guards hauled him back to the spot in front of the king that he had previously occupied. This time a red beam of energy shot out of the trident at the king's command, hitting the imprisoned dragon in the right foot before curling upwards and around his entire body, finally stopping at the top of his head, forcing him to stand bolt upright.
"ENOUGH!" roared the king. "You will stand and listen to the charges brought against you and your supporters.”
From the darkness above the stone doors a balcony suddenly appeared, illuminated by an eerie green light. Dressed in scarlet robes, lined with purple piping and a matching hood over her head, the magistrate slinked into view, gavel in hand. Smacking it onto the stone balustrade in front of her, causing a distinctive THUD to resound around the cavern, she commanded everyone's attention.
"Troydenn, formerly of the High Council's Royal Guard, you are hereby charged with one of our race's gravest crimes. Your followers have already admitted that they murdered, maimed, kidnapped, stole, threatened and embezzled, all on your orders, all in your name. The one thing that is sacred to us as dragons, taught to us throughout our formative years in the nursery rings, is that we as a society are here to protect and guide the human race at all times because of their potential, and because of THAT prophecy. Throughout dragonkind’s history, nearly all dragons have strived to obey this underlying principle laid down in our law.
I declare that you, Troydenn, are not only guilty of the crimes previously mentioned, but of the most heinous crime our civilisation recognises... manipulation of the human race for your own selfish purposes. Since nothing on this scale has happened in over fifteen hundred years, the punishment will be decided by the king and his Council," she announced, clutching her gavel tightly.
As the magistrate stood up, the eerie green light illuminating her faded away, making her indistinguishable from the stone walls behind. Simultaneously, the same green light appeared around the king and Troydenn.
With his long golden locks, backlit by the light, the noble features of the king's face turned from quiet contemplation to steely determination as he prepared to speak.
"Over the last two days the Council and I have discussed the sentence that should be imposed on you, Troydenn. I can honestly say that this has been the hardest thing I've had to do throughout my entire reign. I believe the outcome was reached in a fair and unbiased manner, considering all the relevant options and circumstances along the way, although it should be noted that the decision was not unanimous, but reached by a majority of twenty four to one. The Council hereby decrees that, YOU, Troydenn, and all of your conspirators currently in custody, will be transferred forthwith to our secure, remote detention facility, where you will remain for the rest of your natural lives."
A combined GASP from those looking on echoed around the chamber. A few feet behind the king, George stood rooted to the spot, absolutely shell-shocked. Not for a moment had he believed the sentence would be so harsh, despite his earlier conversation with Axus.
Throughout the proceedings Troydenn remained totally impassive with his jaw jutting out, his piercing eyes not moving from the king.
"Because of the natural constrictions of the detainment facility, you will all be extremely limited in using your magical powers. Provisions and equipment will be on hand to prevent any unwanted fatalities; however you will have to work hard and constantly manage the limited resources available to you, to ensure your continued existence. Life will be very difficult for all of you. If you have anything meaningful to say Troydenn, any words of regret or apologies you'd like to offer up, now is your chance to do so.”
Instantaneously the red coil of energy holding the guilty dragon in place faded to nothing. Troydenn held his finely honed arms high above his head and turned three hundred and sixty degrees, addressing everyone in the cavern as the green light cast an ominous shadow over his malevolent face. Snarling like a rabid dog, he spat,
"We will break free from whatever prison you confine us in, and when we do, we will destroy your precious dragon domain and visit a terror like none other on all your little human pets. Whether it takes ten years or five hundred, we WILL find a way."
Having heard enough, the king, in one lightning fast swipe, knocked the over-confident dragon firmly to the ground with the end of his trident. Blood poured from his mouth and nose as the urge to get up and strike back overwhelmed the dark dragon. But it was too late. Six guards appeared out of the shadows, completely surrounding him. It was then that he knew any chance he might have had was long since gone.
"Sentence has been passed," announced the king. "Secure him for his flight with the rest of them."
The guards duly hauled Troydenn off into the darkness by his arms, the sound of his bare feet dragging along the ground gradually fading into nothingness.
A booming THUD reverberated around the chamber as the magistrate smashed her gavel once more against the stone balustrade in the darkness, high above them all, and declared,
"This tribunal has ended."
Dragons in various guises shuffled out via several concealed exits. George remained with a heavy heart, on his own in the darkness, tears streaming down his face. He struggled to understand why. Of course he understood that the crimes committed by his former comrade in arms and friend were amongst the most serious his kind had ever seen, and on a purely intellectual level he understood that the punishment was probably the best thing for dragons, humans and the whole planet in general. But somehow he couldn't help thinking that this was a sad day in dragon history, and something that could possibly have been avoided if he and others had acted sooner, to stop Troydenn's actions before they'd got so far out of hand. As he wiped away a few of the tears with the edge of his shirt sleeve, he couldn't help think that today's events might have repercussions well into the future.
Suddenly a well muscled arm appeared around George's shoulder. Instinct and training taking over, he became immediately alert and ready to fight. Dropping, he pulled away, turned and squared up to... the king.
"I'm, I'm, I'm sorry Your Majesty," he stuttered, caught entirely by surprise.
"George, less of the ‘Majesty’ please."
"Sorry," replied the forlorn knight, wiping his tear stained face on his sweat covered tunic.
"Listen, son, I know you have reservations about what's happened here, and you wouldn't be half the dragon I know you to be if you didn't. It's understandable, it really is. I also know what a wonderful job you did in bringing him in, keeping the carnage and loss of life to a minimum, and in repairing that wonderful old city. You are a credit not only to that uniform, but to the entire dragon race. It's no surprise that what's happened is affecting you so badly. It's nothing to be ashamed of. But try and think about the bigger picture. The pain will ease over time, and gradually fade altogether, but it might take a while.
You're a good dragon George, one of the best in fact. One day you will make it onto the Council and I think you'll
go on to make a great king, mark my words. But tell anyone I said that and I'll have to have your tongue cut out, as I'm supposed to be entirely neutral in these matters," said the king, winking and smirking at the same time.
Finally breaking into a smile for the first time in days, George replied,
"Thank you Majesty," with the emphasis very much on the ‘Majesty’.
Smiling back, the king said,
"That's more like it," before breaking into a great big belly laugh.
Over as quickly as it had begun, the light-hearted moment and the bond of friendship between the two immediately became concealed as one of the councillors approached.
"The flight has gathered with all the prisoners, Majesty, and is ready to take off on your command. A tracking station has been set up in the magistrate’s main office so that we can all monitor their progress."
"Thank you for letting us know, Osvaldo. Give the order. George and I will be there shortly," replied the king.
The councillor nodded and disappeared back into the shadows, but not before giving George a disapproving look.
"Hmmm..." whispered the king. "There's something about that dragon that's always bothered me, but I just can't seem to put my finger on what it is. He's always worked tirelessly for those he's responsible for, helped others, been a model councillor in fact. But just recently, the way he's acted and some of the things he's said have been really out of character. You're not to mention this to anyone else, but Osvaldo Rosebloom was the one councillor that opposed Troydenn's sentence."
George tried to take in the importance of what the king had just told him, but there was no time.
"We'd better get moving youngster," whispered the king.
Fleet of foot, the two of them headed off in the same direction as Osvaldo, the king leading, in near total darkness, through a maze of narrow corridors. After a minute or so, the monarch stopped abruptly. Running his hands along one wall, high above his head, George could just make out the tiniest of 'clicks', before the wall parted in front of them to reveal a bustling, brightly lit control room. As they stepped forward, the young knight told himself that he had to get a secret entrance like that of his own.
At least the size of two tennis courts put side by side, the square office was gigantic. Huge long counters that acted as desks for the dragons in their human form ran the entire length of every wall. Taut, white, stretched canvases covered every inch of the walls above the desks. Dozens of dragons darted about, most either holding clip boards, strangely shaped tools, bunches of different coloured wiring, or an array of different dragon snacks. In the middle of them all, Axus stalked about, adjusting, double checking, and generally moving things along, his muted, gruff tones gave some idea of the stress he was under. Many dragons sat at the lengthy desks along each wall, only one per wall though, wore a shiny, copper coloured helmet with a dizzying array of multicoloured wires coming out of it. Wires ran in a big bunch, down the back of the chairs, along the floor and then up to an odd looking machine in the centre of each desk, lights flashed, parts whirred, while all the time a faint tap-tapping could be heard. It was unlike anything George had ever seen. All connected together by an even bigger bunch of wires thicker than a weightlifter's arm, 'advanced' didn't begin to cover the machines. George wondered if he was getting a small glimpse into the future. If only he knew.
In the centre of the room, two dozen leather clad stools had been scattered about for the councillors to sit on. Most chose to stand.
Axus, shaking his head and tutting, made his way across the room to the gathered councillors and the king. George listened off to one side.
"We have four dragons flying separately from the rest of the convoy, Majesty. They will transmit the images they are seeing directly to their opposite number in this room. Those telepathic images will be passed through the wires in the receiver's helmet, and then projected onto the canvas on the walls. We should have nearly real-time images from four different viewpoints, one on each wall."
Glancing around the room, George tried to get his head around what Axus had just said. The flying dragons would travel with the guards carrying the prisoners to the detention facility, but their job would be to transmit telepathically the images that they were seeing so that everyone here could make sure the rogue dragons were successfully incarcerated. Every dragon had telepathic abilities, but George figured these four were probably handpicked for the job given the importance of this mission, maybe from the pool of dragons that worked for the Daily Telepath itself.
The Daily Telepath was known to every dragon outside the nursery rings (because those still studying there were deemed too immature to receive it) as a daily news bulletin transmitted telepathically throughout the world. Remote or cold places might be the only exceptions. Reporters collated the news before it was then edited into a telepathic version of a broadsheet. Those that worked at the Daily Telepath were generally accepted as being exceptional in their chosen field of study, particularly if the field was telepathy. The Daily Telepath's offices were situated in the dragon domain, ironically directly beneath the Daily Telegraph's offices in Fleet Street, London. Dragons in their human guises worked for both, making sure news items from the dragon and human world were available to the editor of the telepathic news bulletin.
Once edited, the bulletin was broadcast at precisely five fifty eight am GMT daily, via humongous thought-amplifying transmitters located in the basement of the offices. On leaving Fleet Street, the information would flow freely throughout the underground world of the dragons, using massive crystal boosters on a local level, each individual one powered by geothermal energy. After it had been made available on that day, it was then stored in much smaller crystals throughout the land, so that those who had missed the original transmission through either sleep or work, could catch up. A typical Daily Telepath bulletin consisted of the main news story (either dragon or human, occasionally the same story but from the two different points of view) usually with a bold headline. Global weather warnings played a part... typhoons, blizzards, tidal waves, that kind of thing. Sport was also on the agenda. Not human sport of course... what dragon on the planet would want to know about that? None of course. No, we're talking about dragon sport, and in particular... LAMINIUM BALL! There also featured a letters section where dragons could air their feelings, as well as an obituary column where dragon death notices were placed. This was one of the most important functions of the bulletin as dragons rarely die, but when they do their kin, and of course their friends and colleagues, travel far and wide for the normally extravagant funeral proceedings. Coverage of the Council's activity normally featured high on the list of what the dragon in the street wanted to know, while the king himself normally took something of a back seat unless there was a special occasion of some sort.
It seemed to work quite well for the most part, with dragons often being overheard in both their human and natural form discussing the day's events from the bulletin. Recently the Telepath had been experimenting with images and had tried incorporating them, with varying degrees of success. These experiments had taken the form of black and white pictures, but by the time the bulletin had reached the readers, information drop out had caused the pictures to become blurred and unrecognisable. They hadn't given up though, with dragons right at this very moment working on how best to incorporate pictures so that regular readers could get a glimpse of their favourite laminium ball players scoring, winning that vital point. The future was not that far off.
George's mind, having wandered off, was brought back to the room by hearing Axus finish off telling the king about the projection system.
"So you see Majesty, this was the only way to use the boosters in that area and keep the transmission secure. We certainly don't want every dragon in the world viewing the captives on their way to Antarctica, do we?"
"Not with some of Troydenn's followers still unaccounted for, no we don't," replied the king gravely.
Axus clapped his hands to get e
veryone's attention.
"Could you all move to the centre of the room please, as that's where you'll get the best view of all four projections."
Turning to one of his subordinates, Axus ordered,
"Dim the lights and start the projectors please."
Everyone gathered in the centre, most still choosing to stand. Osvaldo, though, was conspicuous by his absence. Abruptly the room plunged into darkness, before the walls came alive with moving images that took George a little while to process.
On the main wall, the one he thought of as 'in front', was an image from the middle of the pack, showing dragons left, right, above and below, all flapping their gigantic wings, propelling themselves along. It was just possible to make out the tightly fitting harnesses they all had strapped on, each able to transport one, two or three sedated dragons in human guise. Nearly all of the visible prehistoric beasts carried three unwilling prisoners.
On the left wall the view was clearly from a dragon flying at the back of the pack, high up on the right hand side. It showed all of the dragons and their cargo from above, moving at break-neck speeds through a large open cavern.
On the right wall the view was from a dragon skimming along the surface, underneath the left side of the flight. As this particular winged behemoth looked up, he could see giant underbellies with prisoners strapped to them, bones and muscles in the dragons' wings working furiously to keep them aloft, speeding them along at nearly five hundred miles an hour.
Behind, the scene showed the convoy from quite some distance back. The dragon projecting this image must have been trailing the group by about a mile and a half, with the group only really showing up as small dots, ones which appeared in corresponding shades and positions to those in the convoy. The carried captives weren't visible at this range.