Councillor D'Zone wrapped up his update, stating that he thought unless the entire King's Guard was being deployed (something almost unthinkable and impractical as it was spread too thin as it was) it would be madness to send any more dragons to Antarctica. It was just too dangerous without knowing exactly what they were dealing with. A close eye should be kept on developments in the human investigation that was underway, and a review of this should take place weekly.
All of this sparked off a furious debate, led in the main by Councillor Rosebloom who advocated immediate intervention on a massive scale. Speaking passionately about the need to "find answers," to "get to the bottom of what had really happened," and to "finish the scientific work that was the original mission," with each hour that passed, the debate grew more and more rowdy as angry exchanges took place across the massive table. Fists were slammed, insults hurled, chests puffed out and of course flames were blown, each and every dragon there expending massive amounts of steam and heat. The grand old chamber hadn't seen anything like it in decades.
After close to ten hours on this subject alone, with all the dragons irritable, tired, and now starting to get hungry, the wording of the motion to be voted on had almost been agreed. From the king's perspective, it looked as though he had more than a good chance of getting the result he wanted. His opponents, the ones who wanted to send a huge dragon task force to Antarctica had, it would seem, been too aggressive in their behaviour towards some of the councillors who were very much neutral in all of this, and if his experience and judgement were any guide, that would drive them to vote against such a force being dispatched. That, combined with the councillors he was sure he could trust to vote his way, would ultimately lead to the motion being overturned. But there was just a tiny, nagging doubt ringing out in the back of his mind.
Councillor Rosebloom stood and, with the agreement of all the dragons there, announced that, "the strongest possible force of dragons will be made ready and sent to Antarctica within one standard month." That would be the proposed motion, and with the golden abacus waiting, the dragons would now vote either in favour of the motion, or against it. The room fell deadly silent, with no sounds of fires crackling or smouldering; they'd long gone out and not even the slightest hint of flame dribbled from any of the dragon's noses or mouths. Most sat up straight in their ornate chairs, eyes closed, thinking about the subject, concentrating on linking telepathically with the abacus.
Watching on from his raised throne, the king felt a little tickle in his finger as he was just about to close his eyes. At first he thought he'd just imagined it, but then the tickle became a scratch. Trying hard to control his outward appearance, not wanting to give anything away, he sought to look inside himself in the hope that it was something easily explained away. Almost immediately though, as he delved deep down, he became aware that once again it was the ring that was causing his... discomfort, a discomfort that was increasing in magnitude by the second. Controlling his breathing and focusing with all his might, he managed to ignore the waves of... not so much pain, but distraction, warning, strange thoughts, almost as if someone or something were screaming a message at him that he just simply could not understand. With what seemed like his last breath, he sent out his command to vote against the motion, after which he just slumped forward, head in hands, eyes closed, pretending to mimic the body language of the other councillors, as he fought inside for his sanity.
Moments later, it was over. Sweat pooled on the floor around his feet, because he'd given so much in his own personal fight. With his wits about him once more, he sought to find out exactly what was going on. A few of the councillors were still sitting, head in hands, but many had got up and were chatting in groups with each other, something that tended to happen after the last vote. The dragons were a pragmatic race and with the vote having taken place, they all realised there was nothing else they could do but get on with their normal business and just accept the outcome when it was announced, something that would happen very soon. Sitting back in his chair, trying to look composed and calm, but feeling anything but, the king strained his enhanced senses to the limit, trying to listen in on some of the many conversations going on around the room.
"...truly believe it's the right thing to do..." he heard from one corner, sounding very genuine.
"...costly gamble that could prove expensive both in financial and political terms..." growled another voice, just out of sight.
And then just as he was about to give up, he picked up on,
"...so, it's started. The beginning of the end. It was always about getting to this point. It's hard not to be sick and tired of all this... but not long now, not long at all."
It wasn't so much what had been said, although the king struggled to think of a context in which the words that he'd heard would be acceptable. But there was malice and contempt behind the statement that he'd stumbled across. The threat wasn't even very thinly veiled, but that wasn't the worst part. Whoever had whispered those words (and they had been whispered so quietly that he couldn't identify who'd uttered them) had been very sure of the outcome of the vote they were now waiting to hear the result of. As far as the king was aware, the result was still unknown, making the whispered words all the more disconcerting.
A few minutes later, the last of the seated dragons stood, indicating that voting on the motion had finished. As one, all the councillors gathered together and stood in front of the abacus, the king included. It wouldn't be long now, he knew. As they all gazed up at one of the most celebrated relics from a bygone age, very slowly the balls started to move, one at a time at first, almost gathering a will of their own. Some slid across one way, only to falter and then return back to whence they came. It was a nerve-racking moment, especially for the king who had so much riding on the result. Briefly, and it was spectacularly briefly, the king thought he'd won. About two thirds of the balls had headed across to the left of the abacus, the 'against' side of the beautifully crafted relic, the amount almost perfectly coinciding with the figures the king had done in his head about who would vote which way, thus giving him victory. But in the blink of an eye, the balls changed, some moving one way, some the other, leaving the result in no doubt, but staggeringly different to the outcome the king had hoped for: an overwhelming majority in favour of sending a force to Antarctica. Still hoping for the balls to slide back his way, the king was devastated when terrific jets of flame erupted from almost every part of the abacus to signal the vote had been carried by fourteen votes to eleven. The gathered dragons were silent. This in itself was unusual, as normally there was a group celebrating success, slapping each other on the back or blowing flames halfway across the room. The king had seen enough. Now that the vote had concluded there was nothing else he could do. With the meeting effectively over, the decision to send troops to Antarctica within the month already made, the king, looking a million times more composed than he felt, strolled purposefully over to the huge, heavy doors, swung them back and strolled off in the direction of his private residence, all the time contemplating what had just happened and exactly what he was going to do next. It seemed time was now very much against him.