"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.