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Tano’rath cursed, his belly a mess of shredded scales and pocket marks. Multiple solid rounds had embedded themselves in his flesh. His skin was thick, and very little lasting damage was dealt. Luckily, Arakod was tending to him, preventing the smaller dragon from bleeding out. It seemed impossible for something as large as Arakod to be dextrous, but he was good at what he did. Tano’rath’s wounds were quickly being cleaned and bandaged. His midsection would soon be swathed in gauze.
The near black dragon was one of the many cases in the Council, especially after the attack on the Council Chambers themselves. After both combats, the adrenaline was beginning to wear off, leading to the dragons who had been wounded to finally notice. In some cases, they succumed to the inevitable. The doctors were doing their best to keep that from happening.
It was a gruesome, and ultimately sobering task. One Arakod knew was nothing compared to what the other doctors were dealing with.
Looking over, he watched as both Torkos and Gilead fought to reset Negadrake’s broken arm, using plates nailed to the ulna (the bone closest to the body between the hand and elbow) to do so. Nega was biting down on a rolled up piece of leather to keep from shouting, but grunts still issued through the clenched razors.
Both doctors had dried blood up to their arms, on Torkos’s lab coat, and the freshest dripping onto the floor. Even from where he was administering to Tano’rath, Arakod could smell the stale dragonblood. Or perhaps it was the stuff caked to his claws. He wasn’t sure.
The medic looked back to his patient and finished wrapping Tano’rath’s midsection. When that was done, he left the black dragon to rest on the cot. It had been pulled from the Council’s sleeping quarters, along with all the others wounded dragons rested upon.
Arakod sullenly contemplated the state of the Council as he wove between the wounded. It wasn’t looking good.
A dozen or so dragons were laid out with Nega and Tano’rath, waiting to be administered to. A couple others were admittedly dead, but Arakod could not remember who, and the body bags revealed little despite the extreme uniqueness of dragons. Many of those that survived, along with spiritual advisor of the Council, gathered around a hastily dug pit, the center scorched black. Blake was granting the Rights of Passing to those that had been lost. Their bodies were reverently placed in the center of the pit, and three fire-breathing dragons consumed their honored dead in flames until they were nothing but ashes, and allowed their essence to return to the earth.
Arakod wasn’t sure he believed this, but others agreed with it, and who was he to judge them? The big black dragon was by no means a prophet, nor did he ever try to act as one.
He inhaled, and slowly released the breath, feeling the weight of the past few hours settle on him. Guilt was his constant companion now, always whispering treacherous words into his ears. Arakod had known about everything as all Councillors did. The raid, the communicaitons, the Surpreme Chancellor, and Kettouryujinn. He’d known it all.
Distrust was rife within the Council now that everything had come out in the open, and the thought of a traitor only made it worse. Not many dragons trusted each other as much as they had before, but the Councillors and specialists were regarded with outright suspicion, Arakod included. Even as he worked, the big black dragon received discreet, but hostile glances. For some reason, he couldn’t blame them.
He hated himself too.
A garble spat form the portable radio he carried, shaking him from his reverie. it sat in a holster wrapped around his foreleg. Arakod went to grab it, curious as to what more bad news they should suffer, but looked up momentarily.
Torkos had his own radio to the side of his horned head. That meant the summons were for Councillors and specialists only. Or HIgh Command as Arakod had heard some coin it. The very ones the majority of the council were suspicious of. this was not going to look good in the face of what happened. Already many were outright glaring at them.
More garbled static. Arakod lowered the holstering stap and brought the device to his ear. The voice of Draconis played over the line.
“-Timber, Enerin, Drakko, Chill, and Sorien, report to the Supreme Chancellor immediately. I repeat, Blake, Rekalnus, Arakod-”
    It sounded as if Draconis was reading the names off a list, such was the weary monotone of his voice. The whole thing had come down hard on each and every one of them, but for some reason, Draconis more so. Perhaps it was because he alone held responsibility over the dragonstones collected during the raid. None of the Councillors nor the even the Head Councillors knew their whereabouts besides Draconis and the Supreme Chancellor, and they weren’t being forthcoming with it either.
    Not that Arakod cared.
    The medic holstered his radio again and began dragging his bulk towards the towering form of Robinton. The Guard had essentially become the lodestone for the Council to hold onto, ever vigilant at the entrance to the Chambers. Dragons ignored the fact that he had known all about the raid, and instead focused on his demeanor. The deaths of friends and the attack itself did nothing to the stoic Rob. While he did mourn those who died, it might as well not have happened for all the emotion he outwardly expressed. Arakod knew such things were focused inward.
    He padded up the larger dragon, the same size as a bipedal compared to himself, or even less significant, when faced with the sheer size of Robinton. One could say he was almost humbled by the mighty gold dragon.
    “Rob!” Arakod called up to the Guard. “Where’s Zorath?” He paused, cocking his horned head as he rethought his words. “Actually, just tell me where the meeting is.”
    The gold dragon swung his head over form the Chamber entrance to Arakod, peering down at him with eyes larger than Arakod’s fist. “The black Drake,” he rumbled, “is right here.”
    Robinton shifted to the side and moved his tail, revealing Zorath and Shinkou together with Predaking and a few others. The giant metal dragon have been easy enough to see over Rob’s thick tail, but was not always around the two battle dragons. His only order had been to keep an eye on them. Fortunately, the instincts had yet to consume either Zorath or Shinkou since the raid.
    “Thank you,” Arakod said, joining the dragons in Predaking’s shadow. He caught sight of Rob’s massive head nodding as he did so.
    The Councillor raised his head above the forms of the two scouts, Enerin and Timber, scanning the crowd that had gathered. Zorath and Shinkou sat to his right, side by side. Both were twice again larger than Arakod, and of all people, he wanted to aggravate them the least. Drakko was opposite of him, somewhere around half again his size, his normally blunt features sharper after the crystal’s effects. Brighthorn had his head on the floor, his daughter on one side and Torkos on the other. Predaking was to Arakod’s left, keeping close tabs on the battle dragons. Filling in the gaps between the larger dragon were the rest of High Command, including Draconis, Blake Indigo, Rekalnus, Sorien, and Hatakah, along with a few new additions affiliated with the leaders of the raid.
    Arakod couldn’t help but think this was a motley gathering.
    He sighed and settled down, chin nearing the point where it would be brushing Enerin’s horns. He might as well be comfortable during this.
    “So we have gathered,” Zorath said solemnly. “A somber gathering of friends in the face of loss.”
    Dragons bowed their heads respectfully at his words, while a sudden thought struck the medic. Arakod realised that there was no Tairivius attending, and figured that he must be one of the honored dead secured in body bags, or had already been granted the Rites of Passing, for he hadn’t seen him amongst the wounded.
    Arakod silently commended his spirit as Zorath continued.
    “I have called you here to understand where we are as a whole. I want the names of the dead, the wounded, and what we are to do now that we have done what we came to do.”
    Nobody spoke, and Arakod shifted in place.
    “You are free to speak unhindered, for I am well aware of my mistakes to date.” Zorath frowned as the last words let his muzzle, and Arakod was sure they were hard to swallow.
    Torkos stepped forward, and all eyes turned to him. His lab coat was sticky with blood, surrounding him in a potent scent that he seemed oblivious to.
    “I believe I can answer two of your points. As for the third, I can only offer speculation.” The doctor took a breath before continuing. “As of now, half a dozen of the Council are no longer with us. Tairivius is amongst them. He will be missed.” Torkos grimaced. “Almost a dozen more were wounded severely, and will not be able to fight for a long while. At the very least, they would need a week to recover.”
    “And the dead?” Zorath growled. “What of the rest?”
    “DM, Fenris, Seryn, Starry, and Wraa, all dead. DM took a bullet to the heart during the early moments of the raid, and Fenris received shrapnel to the head and died on the way here. The rest died during the attack, and I cannot completely explain all of their deaths. They will be missed.”
    “And avenged,” spat Predaking, his vox harsh with static in his anger.
    “No.”
    “What?” Predaking snarled.
    “We are not avenging them, and that’s final,” Zorath growled.
    “Are you saying we’re just going to let those bastards go? Especially after what they did to us, I would’ve expected a more honorable Supreme Chancellor to go after them. But this? This is spitting on their ashes!” The barb Predaking added stung Zorath almost visually.
    Arakod heard Enerin whimper beneath him, knowing the green water dragon disliked and particularly feared infighting amongst the Council.
    “Stay calm, little drake,” the medic said. “I do not think this will end as poorly as it seems.”
    He didn’t get a response in reply, and Zorath said to Predaking, voice dangerously low.
    “What would you have me do?”
    “Hunt them down and exterminate them!” Predaking roared, getting the attention of more than one Council member.
    “And how would I do that?” Zorath shot back. “We don’t even know where the bastards are. I will not be having the Council go on a wild goose hunt to be hunted in return or exposed to society. Use your reason Predaking! You’re a machine. I would’ve expected you to be good at that.” The Black’s own barb caused Predaking to exhale a gout of steam, but he reluctantly backed down as his logic engines agreed with Zorath’s words.
    “We should have kept a prisoner,” Sorien muttered, more to himself than anyone else. A certain red dragon overheard him.
    “Except we didn’t,” Hatkah replied. “There’s no point worrying over it like a hatchling.”
    Sorien shot the Illusionist a venomous glare, one that was lost on the Red. The two had instantly taken a dislike to one another as soon as they met, loggerheads from the start. Arakod was surprised Drakko had yet to do anything about it, but figured Brighthorn wanted his apprentice to grow a thick skin. It’s what he would have done.
    “What of Abria?” Blake asked. “Torkos and I-” he nodded in the Doc’s direction, who nodded back- “have her prepared for the extraction of the feral mind, or suppression in better terms. Perhaps she would have crucial information on Naberish and his group.”
    The dragons of High Command shrugged to one another, surprised none of them had thought of that first. Zorath leaned his neck forward to put his head dangerously close to the Spiritual Advisor of the Council. His hot, moist breath washing over the human, still smelling of blood from the foreign dragons he’d killed.
    “Is it possible?” Zorath asked, enunciation each word.
    “That depends entirely on our two specialists, Chill especially,” Blake said smoothly, trying to contain his disgust at his friend’s breath.
    Zorath swung his muzzle to Chill, almost nosetip to nosetip with the golden dragoness. She proudly stood her ground before the volatile creature that was her Supreme Chancellor. Arakod watched the confrontation with almost smug satisfaction.
    “If at all possible, could you?” Zorath rumbled.
    “Yes,” she growled fiercely.
    “Ah,” Drakko interrupted,” she could... but with just her alone it would be dangerous. There’s a very real possibility of her losing her own mind. A better course of action would be to fix myself of my affliction and have us both handle her.” Drakko eyed his daughter. “It wouldn’t pay to get cocky at such a tenuous stage.”
    Zorath pulled back and nodded. “Then that is our goal. I’ve already sent copies of my own custom crystals to Drake Tech to reverse their effects. My engineers say they will have them done in a matter of days. When they have done so, I want the Council back on a war footing. Everyone is to be armed. The Council shall not be taken by surprise a second time!” the Black declared.
    Dragons nodded in agreement, grim determination written upon their many assorted features. They wouldn’t let their Supreme Chancellor down.
    Kettouryujinn stepped forward for the first time, and Arakod wondered why the Eastern had been so passive. Shinkou didn’t say anything, but Arakod followed his gaze to behind Predaking. There were raised voices, Rob’s easily cutting through as he talked with someone, and he suddenly lifted his thick tail to reveal a trio of figures. The most obvious being Sturalke, the abomination of the Council (I didn’t add this info in on him as I didn’t know it at them time). His limbs numbered at thirteen: two pairs of wings to carry the immense weight of a four-armed taur. In front of him, walking side-by-side, was Connor and Levi. All three faces were set in stone, their expressions unreadable.
    If Zorath was perturbed by the interruption, he didn’t show it. Predaking was not so restrained.
    “What are you doing here?” he growled.
    “Making our voices heard,” Levi retorted. “You all kept secrets from us. We are here to make sure there are no more.”
    The trio stepped into the group, Sturalke being a menacing figure behind his friends. Arakod noted that Connor looked to Torkos first, who nodded over.
    They’re a foolish lot, Arakod thought, testing Predaking and Zorath’s tempers like that.
    “What would you like to know?” Zorath asked.
    “Everything,” Connor replied.
    Sturalke folded his four arms over his chest.
    “Fine. I shall brief you afterward.”
    Zorath picked himself up to stand at his full height, looming over most of High Command.
    “Are we done here?”
    “Not quite,” Draconis said, stepping forward. “There is still something that must be attended to.” The dragon of red and gold widened his stance as if to brace himself for the delivery of his next words. “There’s still the matter of the other dragonstones.”
    “Other dragonstones?” Torkos asked.
    “Yes, following up on Drakko’s raid of the warehouse, I did some research and found that some dragonstones really were released into the Black Market. Another, rival company of my own Draconis Industries International paid a pretty to acquire every single stone in the market, and I have dispatched my own team of elite specialists to go collect them.”
    Shocked silence met Draconis’s words. Arakod only smirked at the dragon’s daring.
    “You are telling us this now?” Zorath growled.
    “I figured that considering the circumstances and your mental stability, it would’ve been best to take matters into my own claws and handle them appropriately. My teams shall not fail you.”
    The Black huffed. “Be that as it may, I am still your Supreme Chancellor. The next time such information is received, I am to know of it. We have far more to worry about than just these stones.” Zorath glared at Draconis. “Am I understood?”
    A muscle in Draconis’s muzzle twitched, and he nodded stiffly. “Crystal, sir.”
    His voice sounded strained.
    “Is there anything else you would wish to say?” Torkos asked, obviously annoyed with such infighting. “For, if not, I have brothers to tend to.”
    How blunt and artless, Arakod thought, just like him.
“Yes,” Rakalnus replied. “There’s still a traitor amongst us. Someone who already knows our plans. It has to be one of us here.” The flight instructor pointed at Torkos. “All the evid
    ence leads to you: your phone, your leadership, and your raid.”
    There was a moment of stunned silence and an intake of breath. The very thought that such an accusation could be hurled from one Council member, let alone a Councillor, to another was infallible. Arakod narrowed his eyes upon Rekalnus, a trickle of smoke leaking from one nostril. Rekalnus’s bold and brash move had taken what all of the Council feared to speak of and unashamedly dumped it in their laps without remorse. Every dragon and human present now had one important question to ask themselves.
Arakod looked to Torkos, curious as to what the Doctor’s reaction would be. the dragon was practically shaking with anger, and Arakod felt slightly apprehensive of what would happen should Torkos lose his temper. Muscles in his neck spasmed, a steely glare focused on one of his oldest friends.
“It’s not me,” Torkos rasped, his tone made all the harsher by broken rib. His chest was wrapped in his own bandages beneath the lab coat.
“Then who is it? Who else do you have in mind that could have ruined us so thoroughly?” Rekalnus put to the Doc, the flight instructor’s normally calm demeanor disappearing. “What evidence do you have on anyone else?” Rekalnus shouted.
“How about you answer this,” Torkos growled. “Six of us may have died, but how many more would have been lost to us if not for my care? Each and every single one of you have needed my help at one time or another,” Torkos snarled, his solid-gold stare meeting the eyes of all of those present. Many couldn’t hold his gaze for long. “Does none of that count for anything?” He turned back to Rekalnus. “You and I are both loyal members to the Council, and have been since it was formed, so do you really think me a traitor?”
Rekalnus held Torkos’s stare for a long time, neither eyes’ wavering. Arakod heard Enerin whimper quietly again, but he was too intent on the confrontation to care.
“Perhaps not,” Rex said at last, “but I’ll be keeping an eye on you nevertheless.”
The group turned to Zorath, who had watched in silence, but everyone there felt a palpable sense of agitation. Few understood just how close High Command was to each others’ throats, and those that did were terrified of what would’ve happened should they have done so. The scale of self-feeding betrayal and death of such an act was beyond comprehension.
“I think,” Zorath said, voice thick, “that we are done here. Make ready, hope for the best... and prepare for the worst.” He hammered a paw into the raw-stone floor. “Dismissed.”
Torkos was the first to leave, giving Rekalnus a sideways glance as he did. The trio that joined halfway into the meeting were next to leave. Enerin and Timber slid out from under Arakod, and the rest followed. Everyone had a duty to perform, be it a weapon to clean, playing lookout, or manning the kitchens.
Arakod was one of the last to leave, and while there were other dragons that needed his care, the other doctors could handle them easily enough. No, he was more interested in Zorath, who seemed to have been overcome by grief and melancholy. He was speaking with Blake in hushed tones, Shinkou at his side. Arakod couldn’t make out their words, but it was obvious Zorath regretted... something.
As if realising he was under speculation, the Supreme Chancellor looked up at the medic.
“Do you need something, Arakod?” he asked, not unkindly.
“No,” Arakod replied, “I was just leaving.
Zorath nodded to him, and Arakod took it as his cue. He lifted himself and made his way past the giant form of Robinton. Like Torkos, he too had brothers to tend to.

The Black, so recently turned a battle dragon, watched Arakod leave, feeling odd. He’d normally have to look up to the medic, but now found such things were reversed between him and many of the Council.
Zorath sighed at the state of depression his Council had descended into.
“You were going to say something?” Blake asked, completely composed despite the sheer inferiority of size compared to the two dragons.
One would not find it hard to realise that Blake was an extraordinary person even at the least of times. He’d become Zorath’s closest advisor, always being there when needed and always knowing what to say. Even though he stayed close to the Supreme Chancellor at all times, his loyalty was not in doubt after the attack where he led the Council and struck down a dozen dragons. Zorath understood just how potent Blake’s magic could be, being a witness to it many times.
“How did we get here?” Zorath asked himself, yet looking to Blake for his honest guidance. “We’re ready to tear each other apart at the slightest warning, and some group of dragons set on destroying us would rather whittle us down and toy with the Council than outright face us. At the rate this is happening, we’re bound for self-destruction.” Zorath narrowed his eyes, his blackened aura beginning to crackle with anger. “Why?”
“Such things have never happened before,” Blake replied, thinking as quickly as possible. He could feel, without even touching his own powers, the sheer amount of energy his Supreme Chancellor could bring to bear was phenomenal, the crystal amplifying his already overwhelming abilities tenfold. “The Council has never had a reason to question its members’ loyalty, and now that we are unsure of it, we are reacting the only way we know how.”
“Pointing fingers and naming names,” Shinkou said in sibilant tones. It was the first thing he had said since Predaking’s outrage.
“In a nutshell, yes,” Blake said.
Zorath turned away from the both of them at their words, and Blake could not guess his emotions, for they had been increasingly erratic since the raid had begun. And, out of the corner of his eye, Blake could see the metal Predaking watching Zorath’s every move.
The Black had yet to lose his mind to the instincts once more, and Blake knew that Zorath understood that the Council needed him now more than ever, and it was through force of will that he managed to stay sane.
“I made the decision to bring the Council to England,” Zorath said at last. “I chose to fix a grievous mistake on part of my own country, and while I cannot simply stomach the deaths on my claws, I am the only one who deserves the blame. Rekalnus and Torkos both stepped out of line.” He suddenly locked gazes with Blake, a fire in his eyes that was not simply rage. It was a fire fanned by one realizing that they had made a monumental decision... and plan to see it through.
“I want you to talk with Torkos and Rex. Make sure everyone understands that if anymore accusations are to be made, then they are to go through me. Now go,” Zorath ordered, flicking his tail. “We have work to do.”
Blake bowed and left, leaving Zorath and Shinkou by themselves. The Eastern looked quizzically at his friend.
“What work do we have?”
Zorath couldn’t help but grin. “There are plans to be made.”

Shortly after High Command disbanded, Draconis received a communication from an unknown source. Following protocol set for him by the Supreme Chancellor, he called in the two lead scouts, Enerin and Timber, and rushed off from his monitors and computers situated in the heart of the hill to reach Zorath.
He found the Black still in the main Council Chamber, for his size prevented him from being anywhere else. It had been only a couple hours since the raid and the following attack, and dragons were still going about their work. The sight of a hurried Draconis peaked many interests.
“Zorath,” Draconis gasped, interrupting the two battle dragons as they talked, “you may want to hear this.”
The Black’s eyes shot up at the urgency of Draconis’s tone, and blinked at the smaller dragon as a signal to continue. Shinkou shared a worried glance with him.
“Five minutes ago, I received an encrypted message from... someone. I’m not sure who, and I don’t know why as I haven’t read it. I figured it would be best to bring it to you immediately.” Draconis held out a tablet backwards for Zorath to read, but he ignored it momentarily.
“What of-”
“-The scouts? I’ve already sent for them. They shall be here in a moment’s notice.”
Zorath nodded in appreciation for Draconis’s efficiency. “Very goo. Let’s take a look at this.”
Draconis held out the data-slate as if looking for an appraisal. Zorath’s glowing-red eyes scanned the document, and as he got lower, his brow became more and more furrowed. Shinkou lifted his head over Zorath’s shoulder, but while Zorath could sense him, he did nothing to stop his friend. Quickly, Shinkou too wore a mask of suspicion and guarded interest.
Unnoticed by the battle dragons, Enerin and Timber strode across the Chamber from the entrance. Draconis inclined his muzzle to them out of respect, and while Enerin was too curious of the odd scene before him, Timber still had the good-grace to nod back.
The trio waited patiently for Zorath and Shinkou to finish reading. When Zorath did, the look on his muzzle was thunderous.
“How dare he!” Zorath spat in anger. Draconis, Enerin, and Timber were taken aback by Zorath’s outburst. Draconis swiftly fpun the data-slate around and began reading the message for himself. He didn’t react as his Supreme Chancellor had, but an eye-ridge was raised.
“What is it?” Enerin asked.
“It’s a summons,” Draconis began.
“A summons some pauper-poacher believes he can make on the entire Council!” Zorath growled.
“It says here that the summons is only for you,” Draconis corrected, pointing at the slate. He looked up at the giant dragon. “There is no mention of the Council specifically anywhere in this message.”
“You get all of us, or you get none of us,” Zorath snapped.
“Wait, step back a little,” Enerin said. “What’s going on?”
Zorath looked to Draconis, who offered the slate to the scouts. Timber took it and began reading. “A few minutes ago, I received that message from an encrypted channel. It was sent by someone who calls himself The Eccentric, and he is rather politely, if forwardly, requesting Zorath’s presence. He included a time and address at which to meet him. It leads to as manor home nearby.
“What does an encrypted channel mean?” Timber asked emotionlessly, still reading from the slate.
“An encrypted channel is a multi-digit code that-”
“English, please. Or Dragontongue if you can speak it,” Timber interrupted.
Draconis smarted slightly, and fixed Timber with a stare. Enerin grinned slightly at the jest. “Whoever sent that didn’t want anyone else but us to see it,” Draconis supplied.
Timber finished reading, and made to hand it to his friend, but Enerin brushed it away. The green water dragon thought it would be best to get the information from his friends than the document itself. Besides, it was likely to be filled with annoying flatteries and all manner of fillers designed to persuade Zorath to go meet this Eccentric. Zorath’s stubborness seemed to have preceded him.
“So what do we do about it?” Enerin asked. “Whoever this is knows we’re here, and I guess it couldn't hurt to see him.” He looked from face to face in search of an ally.
Zorath shrugged his thick shoulders thoughtfully. “While you may be right, this could also be a trap left for us by Naberish. They have, so far, been the only ones who know about the Council being in Britain.” Zorath glanced down at the two scouts, who wondered exactly why they were called here. “Have either of you seen or heard any sign of the local populace catching onto us?”
“None,” Timber said without pride. “The few that have gotten close were shown off by indirect means. Nobody knows we’re here.”
“Apparently not,” Zorath muttered.
“Why don’t we send an armed escort to meet this Eccentric and see what he has to say,” Shinkou suggested in his lilting voice. “Have Blake lead it as a negotiator. There can’t be many reasons he would want to see us, and he has a reason,” Shinkou said with conviction.
“Yes, that sounds like a plan,” Zorath agreed. “Let’s not become complacent though. Enerin, Timber,” Zorath turned to the scouts. “You two are to go with Blake and meet this Eccentric. Grab two others of your choosing to go with you. While Blake can handle himself well-enough on his own, there is little that can be more intimidating than four heavily armed dragons.
Zorath grinned ferally.
“Am I wrong?”

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Tano’rath cursed, his belly a mess of shredded scales and pocket marks. Multiple solid rounds had embedded themselves in his flesh. His skin was thick, and very little lasting damage was dealt. Luckily, Arakod was tending to him, preventing the smaller dragon from bleeding out. It seemed impossible for something as large as Arakod to be dextrous, but he was good at what he did. Tano’rath’s wounds were quickly being cleaned and bandaged. His midsection would soon be swathed in gauze.
The near black dragon was one of the many cases in the Council, especially after the attack on the Council Chambers themselves. After both combats, the adrenaline was beginning to wear off, leading to the dragons who had been wounded to finally notice. In some cases, they succumed to the inevitable. The doctors were doing their best to keep that from happening.
It was a gruesome, and ultimately sobering task. One Arakod knew was nothing compared to what the other doctors were dealing with.
Looking over, he watched as both Torkos and Gilead fought to reset Negadrake’s broken arm, using plates nailed to the ulna (the bone closest to the body between the hand and elbow) to do so. Nega was biting down on a rolled up piece of leather to keep from shouting, but grunts still issued through the clenched razors.
Both doctors had dried blood up to their arms, on Torkos’s lab coat, and the freshest dripping onto the floor. Even from where he was administering to Tano’rath, Arakod could smell the stale dragonblood. Or perhaps it was the stuff caked to his claws. He wasn’t sure.
The medic looked back to his patient and finished wrapping Tano’rath’s midsection. When that was done, he left the black dragon to rest on the cot. It had been pulled from the Council’s sleeping quarters, along with all the others wounded dragons rested upon.
Arakod sullenly contemplated the state of the Council as he wove between the wounded. It wasn’t looking good.
A dozen or so dragons were laid out with Nega and Tano’rath, waiting to be administered to. A couple others were admittedly dead, but Arakod could not remember who, and the body bags revealed little despite the extreme uniqueness of dragons. Many of those that survived, along with spiritual advisor of the Council, gathered around a hastily dug pit, the center scorched black. Blake was granting the Rights of Passing to those that had been lost. Their bodies were reverently placed in the center of the pit, and three fire-breathing dragons consumed their honored dead in flames until they were nothing but ashes, and allowed their essence to return to the earth.
Arakod wasn’t sure he believed this, but others agreed with it, and who was he to judge them? The big black dragon was by no means a prophet, nor did he ever try to act as one.
He inhaled, and slowly released the breath, feeling the weight of the past few hours settle on him. Guilt was his constant companion now, always whispering treacherous words into his ears. Arakod had known about everything as all Councillors did. The raid, the communicaitons, the Surpreme Chancellor, and Kettouryujinn. He’d known it all.
Distrust was rife within the Council now that everything had come out in the open, and the thought of a traitor only made it worse. Not many dragons trusted each other as much as they had before, but the Councillors and specialists were regarded with outright suspicion, Arakod included. Even as he worked, the big black dragon received discreet, but hostile glances. For some reason, he couldn’t blame them.
He hated himself too.
A garble spat form the portable radio he carried, shaking him from his reverie. it sat in a holster wrapped around his foreleg. Arakod went to grab it, curious as to what more bad news they should suffer, but looked up momentarily.
Torkos had his own radio to the side of his horned head. That meant the summons were for Councillors and specialists only. Or HIgh Command as Arakod had heard some coin it. The very ones the majority of the council were suspicious of. this was not going to look good in the face of what happened. Already many were outright glaring at them.
More garbled static. Arakod lowered the holstering stap and brought the device to his ear. The voice of Draconis played over the line.
“-Timber, Enerin, Drakko, Chill, and Sorien, report to the Supreme Chancellor immediately. I repeat, Blake, Rekalnus, Arakod-”
    It sounded as if Draconis was reading the names off a list, such was the weary monotone of his voice. The whole thing had come down hard on each and every one of them, but for some reason, Draconis more so. Perhaps it was because he alone held responsibility over the dragonstones collected during the raid. None of the Councillors nor the even the Head Councillors knew their whereabouts besides Draconis and the Supreme Chancellor, and they weren’t being forthcoming with it either.
    Not that Arakod cared.
    The medic holstered his radio again and began dragging his bulk towards the towering form of Robinton. The Guard had essentially become the lodestone for the Council to hold onto, ever vigilant at the entrance to the Chambers. Dragons ignored the fact that he had known all about the raid, and instead focused on his demeanor. The deaths of friends and the attack itself did nothing to the stoic Rob. While he did mourn those who died, it might as well not have happened for all the emotion he outwardly expressed. Arakod knew such things were focused inward.
    He padded up the larger dragon, the same size as a bipedal compared to himself, or even less significant, when faced with the sheer size of Robinton. One could say he was almost humbled by the mighty gold dragon.
    “Rob!” Arakod called up to the Guard. “Where’s Zorath?” He paused, cocking his horned head as he rethought his words. “Actually, just tell me where the meeting is.”
    The gold dragon swung his head over form the Chamber entrance to Arakod, peering down at him with eyes larger than Arakod’s fist. “The black Drake,” he rumbled, “is right here.”
    Robinton shifted to the side and moved his tail, revealing Zorath and Shinkou together with Predaking and a few others. The giant metal dragon have been easy enough to see over Rob’s thick tail, but was not always around the two battle dragons. His only order had been to keep an eye on them. Fortunately, the instincts had yet to consume either Zorath or Shinkou since the raid.
    “Thank you,” Arakod said, joining the dragons in Predaking’s shadow. He caught sight of Rob’s massive head nodding as he did so.
    The Councillor raised his head above the forms of the two scouts, Enerin and Timber, scanning the crowd that had gathered. Zorath and Shinkou sat to his right, side by side. Both were twice again larger than Arakod, and of all people, he wanted to aggravate them the least. Drakko was opposite of him, somewhere around half again his size, his normally blunt features sharper after the crystal’s effects. Brighthorn had his head on the floor, his daughter on one side and Torkos on the other. Predaking was to Arakod’s left, keeping close tabs on the battle dragons. Filling in the gaps between the larger dragon were the rest of High Command, including Draconis, Blake Indigo, Rekalnus, Sorien, and Hatakah, along with a few new additions affiliated with the leaders of the raid.
    Arakod couldn’t help but think this was a motley gathering.
    He sighed and settled down, chin nearing the point where it would be brushing Enerin’s horns. He might as well be comfortable during this.
    “So we have gathered,” Zorath said solemnly. “A somber gathering of friends in the face of loss.”
    Dragons bowed their heads respectfully at his words, while a sudden thought struck the medic. Arakod realised that there was no Tairivius attending, and figured that he must be one of the honored dead secured in body bags, or had already been granted the Rites of Passing, for he hadn’t seen him amongst the wounded.
    Arakod silently commended his spirit as Zorath continued.
    “I have called you here to understand where we are as a whole. I want the names of the dead, the wounded, and what we are to do now that we have done what we came to do.”
    Nobody spoke, and Arakod shifted in place.
    “You are free to speak unhindered, for I am well aware of my mistakes to date.” Zorath frowned as the last words let his muzzle, and Arakod was sure they were hard to swallow.
    Torkos stepped forward, and all eyes turned to him. His lab coat was sticky with blood, surrounding him in a potent scent that he seemed oblivious to.
    “I believe I can answer two of your points. As for the third, I can only offer speculation.” The doctor took a breath before continuing. “As of now, half a dozen of the Council are no longer with us. Tairivius is amongst them. He will be missed.” Torkos grimaced. “Almost a dozen more were wounded severely, and will not be able to fight for a long while. At the very least, they would need a week to recover.”
    “And the dead?” Zorath growled. “What of the rest?”
    “DM, Fenris, Seryn, Starry, and Wraa, all dead. DM took a bullet to the heart during the early moments of the raid, and Fenris received shrapnel to the head and died on the way here. The rest died during the attack, and I cannot completely explain all of their deaths. They will be missed.”
    “And avenged,” spat Predaking, his vox harsh with static in his anger.
    “No.”
    “What?” Predaking snarled.
    “We are not avenging them, and that’s final,” Zorath growled.
    “Are you saying we’re just going to let those bastards go? Especially after what they did to us, I would’ve expected a more honorable Supreme Chancellor to go after them. But this? This is spitting on their ashes!” The barb Predaking added stung Zorath almost visually.
    Arakod heard Enerin whimper beneath him, knowing the green water dragon disliked and particularly feared infighting amongst the Council.
    “Stay calm, little drake,” the medic said. “I do not think this will end as poorly as it seems.”
    He didn’t get a response in reply, and Zorath said to Predaking, voice dangerously low.
    “What would you have me do?”
    “Hunt them down and exterminate them!” Predaking roared, getting the attention of more than one Council member.
    “And how would I do that?” Zorath shot back. “We don’t even know where the bastards are. I will not be having the Council go on a wild goose hunt to be hunted in return or exposed to society. Use your reason Predaking! You’re a machine. I would’ve expected you to be good at that.” The Black’s own barb caused Predaking to exhale a gout of steam, but he reluctantly backed down as his logic engines agreed with Zorath’s words.
    “We should have kept a prisoner,” Sorien muttered, more to himself than anyone else. A certain red dragon overheard him.
    “Except we didn’t,” Hatkah replied. “There’s no point worrying over it like a hatchling.”
    Sorien shot the Illusionist a venomous glare, one that was lost on the Red. The two had instantly taken a dislike to one another as soon as they met, loggerheads from the start. Arakod was surprised Drakko had yet to do anything about it, but figured Brighthorn wanted his apprentice to grow a thick skin. It’s what he would have done.
    “What of Abria?” Blake asked. “Torkos and I-” he nodded in the Doc’s direction, who nodded back- “have her prepared for the extraction of the feral mind, or suppression in better terms. Perhaps she would have crucial information on Naberish and his group.”
    The dragons of High Command shrugged to one another, surprised none of them had thought of that first. Zorath leaned his neck forward to put his head dangerously close to the Spiritual Advisor of the Council. His hot, moist breath washing over the human, still smelling of blood from the foreign dragons he’d killed.
    “Is it possible?” Zorath asked, enunciation each word.
    “That depends entirely on our two specialists, Chill especially,” Blake said smoothly, trying to contain his disgust at his friend’s breath.
    Zorath swung his muzzle to Chill, almost nosetip to nosetip with the golden dragoness. She proudly stood her ground before the volatile creature that was her Supreme Chancellor. Arakod watched the confrontation with almost smug satisfaction.
    “If at all possible, could you?” Zorath rumbled.
    “Yes,” she growled fiercely.
    “Ah,” Drakko interrupted,” she could... but with just her alone it would be dangerous. There’s a very real possibility of her losing her own mind. A better course of action would be to fix myself of my affliction and have us both handle her.” Drakko eyed his daughter. “It wouldn’t pay to get cocky at such a tenuous stage.”
    Zorath pulled back and nodded. “Then that is our goal. I’ve already sent copies of my own custom crystals to Drake Tech to reverse their effects. My engineers say they will have them done in a matter of days. When they have done so, I want the Council back on a war footing. Everyone is to be armed. The Council shall not be taken by surprise a second time!” the Black declared.
    Dragons nodded in agreement, grim determination written upon their many assorted features. They wouldn’t let their Supreme Chancellor down.
    Kettouryujinn stepped forward for the first time, and Arakod wondered why the Eastern had been so passive. Shinkou didn’t say anything, but Arakod followed his gaze to behind Predaking. There were raised voices, Rob’s easily cutting through as he talked with someone, and he suddenly lifted his thick tail to reveal a trio of figures. The most obvious being Sturalke, the abomination of the Council (I didn’t add this info in on him as I didn’t know it at them time). His limbs numbered at thirteen: two pairs of wings to carry the immense weight of a four-armed taur. In front of him, walking side-by-side, was Connor and Levi. All three faces were set in stone, their expressions unreadable.
    If Zorath was perturbed by the interruption, he didn’t show it. Predaking was not so restrained.
    “What are you doing here?” he growled.
    “Making our voices heard,” Levi retorted. “You all kept secrets from us. We are here to make sure there are no more.”
    The trio stepped into the group, Sturalke being a menacing figure behind his friends. Arakod noted that Connor looked to Torkos first, who nodded over.
    They’re a foolish lot, Arakod thought, testing Predaking and Zorath’s tempers like that.
    “What would you like to know?” Zorath asked.
    “Everything,” Connor replied.
    Sturalke folded his four arms over his chest.
    “Fine. I shall brief you afterward.”
    Zorath picked himself up to stand at his full height, looming over most of High Command.
    “Are we done here?”
    “Not quite,” Draconis said, stepping forward. “There is still something that must be attended to.” The dragon of red and gold widened his stance as if to brace himself for the delivery of his next words. “There’s still the matter of the other dragonstones.”
    “Other dragonstones?” Torkos asked.
    “Yes, following up on Drakko’s raid of the warehouse, I did some research and found that some dragonstones really were released into the Black Market. Another, rival company of my own Draconis Industries International paid a pretty to acquire every single stone in the market, and I have dispatched my own team of elite specialists to go collect them.”
    Shocked silence met Draconis’s words. Arakod only smirked at the dragon’s daring.
    “You are telling us this now?” Zorath growled.
    “I figured that considering the circumstances and your mental stability, it would’ve been best to take matters into my own claws and handle them appropriately. My teams shall not fail you.”
    The Black huffed. “Be that as it may, I am still your Supreme Chancellor. The next time such information is received, I am to know of it. We have far more to worry about than just these stones.” Zorath glared at Draconis. “Am I understood?”
    A muscle in Draconis’s muzzle twitched, and he nodded stiffly. “Crystal, sir.”
    His voice sounded strained.
    “Is there anything else you would wish to say?” Torkos asked, obviously annoyed with such infighting. “For, if not, I have brothers to tend to.”
    How blunt and artless, Arakod thought, just like him.
“Yes,” Rakalnus replied. “There’s still a traitor amongst us. Someone who already knows our plans. It has to be one of us here.” The flight instructor pointed at Torkos. “All the evid
    ence leads to you: your phone, your leadership, and your raid.”
    There was a moment of stunned silence and an intake of breath. The very thought that such an accusation could be hurled from one Council member, let alone a Councillor, to another was infallible. Arakod narrowed his eyes upon Rekalnus, a trickle of smoke leaking from one nostril. Rekalnus’s bold and brash move had taken what all of the Council feared to speak of and unashamedly dumped it in their laps without remorse. Every dragon and human present now had one important question to ask themselves.
Arakod looked to Torkos, curious as to what the Doctor’s reaction would be. the dragon was practically shaking with anger, and Arakod felt slightly apprehensive of what would happen should Torkos lose his temper. Muscles in his neck spasmed, a steely glare focused on one of his oldest friends.
“It’s not me,” Torkos rasped, his tone made all the harsher by broken rib. His chest was wrapped in his own bandages beneath the lab coat.
“Then who is it? Who else do you have in mind that could have ruined us so thoroughly?” Rekalnus put to the Doc, the flight instructor’s normally calm demeanor disappearing. “What evidence do you have on anyone else?” Rekalnus shouted.
“How about you answer this,” Torkos growled. “Six of us may have died, but how many more would have been lost to us if not for my care? Each and every single one of you have needed my help at one time or another,” Torkos snarled, his solid-gold stare meeting the eyes of all of those present. Many couldn’t hold his gaze for long. “Does none of that count for anything?” He turned back to Rekalnus. “You and I are both loyal members to the Council, and have been since it was formed, so do you really think me a traitor?”
Rekalnus held Torkos’s stare for a long time, neither eyes’ wavering. Arakod heard Enerin whimper quietly again, but he was too intent on the confrontation to care.
“Perhaps not,” Rex said at last, “but I’ll be keeping an eye on you nevertheless.”
The group turned to Zorath, who had watched in silence, but everyone there felt a palpable sense of agitation. Few understood just how close High Command was to each others’ throats, and those that did were terrified of what would’ve happened should they have done so. The scale of self-feeding betrayal and death of such an act was beyond comprehension.
“I think,” Zorath said, voice thick, “that we are done here. Make ready, hope for the best... and prepare for the worst.” He hammered a paw into the raw-stone floor. “Dismissed.”
Torkos was the first to leave, giving Rekalnus a sideways glance as he did. The trio that joined halfway into the meeting were next to leave. Enerin and Timber slid out from under Arakod, and the rest followed. Everyone had a duty to perform, be it a weapon to clean, playing lookout, or manning the kitchens.
Arakod was one of the last to leave, and while there were other dragons that needed his care, the other doctors could handle them easily enough. No, he was more interested in Zorath, who seemed to have been overcome by grief and melancholy. He was speaking with Blake in hushed tones, Shinkou at his side. Arakod couldn’t make out their words, but it was obvious Zorath regretted... something.
As if realising he was under speculation, the Supreme Chancellor looked up at the medic.
“Do you need something, Arakod?” he asked, not unkindly.
“No,” Arakod replied, “I was just leaving.
Zorath nodded to him, and Arakod took it as his cue. He lifted himself and made his way past the giant form of Robinton. Like Torkos, he too had brothers to tend to.

The Black, so recently turned a battle dragon, watched Arakod leave, feeling odd. He’d normally have to look up to the medic, but now found such things were reversed between him and many of the Council.
Zorath sighed at the state of depression his Council had descended into.
“You were going to say something?” Blake asked, completely composed despite the sheer inferiority of size compared to the two dragons.
One would not find it hard to realise that Blake was an extraordinary person even at the least of times. He’d become Zorath’s closest advisor, always being there when needed and always knowing what to say. Even though he stayed close to the Supreme Chancellor at all times, his loyalty was not in doubt after the attack where he led the Council and struck down a dozen dragons. Zorath understood just how potent Blake’s magic could be, being a witness to it many times.
“How did we get here?” Zorath asked himself, yet looking to Blake for his honest guidance. “We’re ready to tear each other apart at the slightest warning, and some group of dragons set on destroying us would rather whittle us down and toy with the Council than outright face us. At the rate this is happening, we’re bound for self-destruction.” Zorath narrowed his eyes, his blackened aura beginning to crackle with anger. “Why?”
“Such things have never happened before,” Blake replied, thinking as quickly as possible. He could feel, without even touching his own powers, the sheer amount of energy his Supreme Chancellor could bring to bear was phenomenal, the crystal amplifying his already overwhelming abilities tenfold. “The Council has never had a reason to question its members’ loyalty, and now that we are unsure of it, we are reacting the only way we know how.”
“Pointing fingers and naming names,” Shinkou said in sibilant tones. It was the first thing he had said since Predaking’s outrage.
“In a nutshell, yes,” Blake said.
Zorath turned away from the both of them at their words, and Blake could not guess his emotions, for they had been increasingly erratic since the raid had begun. And, out of the corner of his eye, Blake could see the metal Predaking watching Zorath’s every move.
The Black had yet to lose his mind to the instincts once more, and Blake knew that Zorath understood that the Council needed him now more than ever, and it was through force of will that he managed to stay sane.
“I made the decision to bring the Council to England,” Zorath said at last. “I chose to fix a grievous mistake on part of my own country, and while I cannot simply stomach the deaths on my claws, I am the only one who deserves the blame. Rekalnus and Torkos both stepped out of line.” He suddenly locked gazes with Blake, a fire in his eyes that was not simply rage. It was a fire fanned by one realizing that they had made a monumental decision... and plan to see it through.
“I want you to talk with Torkos and Rex. Make sure everyone understands that if anymore accusations are to be made, then they are to go through me. Now go,” Zorath ordered, flicking his tail. “We have work to do.”
Blake bowed and left, leaving Zorath and Shinkou by themselves. The Eastern looked quizzically at his friend.
“What work do we have?”
Zorath couldn’t help but grin. “There are plans to be made.”

Shortly after High Command disbanded, Draconis received a communication from an unknown source. Following protocol set for him by the Supreme Chancellor, he called in the two lead scouts, Enerin and Timber, and rushed off from his monitors and computers situated in the heart of the hill to reach Zorath.
He found the Black still in the main Council Chamber, for his size prevented him from being anywhere else. It had been only a couple hours since the raid and the following attack, and dragons were still going about their work. The sight of a hurried Draconis peaked many interests.
“Zorath,” Draconis gasped, interrupting the two battle dragons as they talked, “you may want to hear this.”
The Black’s eyes shot up at the urgency of Draconis’s tone, and blinked at the smaller dragon as a signal to continue. Shinkou shared a worried glance with him.
“Five minutes ago, I received an encrypted message from... someone. I’m not sure who, and I don’t know why as I haven’t read it. I figured it would be best to bring it to you immediately.” Draconis held out a tablet backwards for Zorath to read, but he ignored it momentarily.
“What of-”
“-The scouts? I’ve already sent for them. They shall be here in a moment’s notice.”
Zorath nodded in appreciation for Draconis’s efficiency. “Very goo. Let’s take a look at this.”
Draconis held out the data-slate as if looking for an appraisal. Zorath’s glowing-red eyes scanned the document, and as he got lower, his brow became more and more furrowed. Shinkou lifted his head over Zorath’s shoulder, but while Zorath could sense him, he did nothing to stop his friend. Quickly, Shinkou too wore a mask of suspicion and guarded interest.
Unnoticed by the battle dragons, Enerin and Timber strode across the Chamber from the entrance. Draconis inclined his muzzle to them out of respect, and while Enerin was too curious of the odd scene before him, Timber still had the good-grace to nod back.
The trio waited patiently for Zorath and Shinkou to finish reading. When Zorath did, the look on his muzzle was thunderous.
“How dare he!” Zorath spat in anger. Draconis, Enerin, and Timber were taken aback by Zorath’s outburst. Draconis swiftly fpun the data-slate around and began reading the message for himself. He didn’t react as his Supreme Chancellor had, but an eye-ridge was raised.
“What is it?” Enerin asked.
“It’s a summons,” Draconis began.
“A summons some pauper-poacher believes he can make on the entire Council!” Zorath growled.
“It says here that the summons is only for you,” Draconis corrected, pointing at the slate. He looked up at the giant dragon. “There is no mention of the Council specifically anywhere in this message.”
“You get all of us, or you get none of us,” Zorath snapped.
“Wait, step back a little,” Enerin said. “What’s going on?”
Zorath looked to Draconis, who offered the slate to the scouts. Timber took it and began reading. “A few minutes ago, I received that message from an encrypted channel. It was sent by someone who calls himself The Eccentric, and he is rather politely, if forwardly, requesting Zorath’s presence. He included a time and address at which to meet him. It leads to as manor home nearby.
“What does an encrypted channel mean?” Timber asked emotionlessly, still reading from the slate.
“An encrypted channel is a multi-digit code that-”
“English, please. Or Dragontongue if you can speak it,” Timber interrupted.
Draconis smarted slightly, and fixed Timber with a stare. Enerin grinned slightly at the jest. “Whoever sent that didn’t want anyone else but us to see it,” Draconis supplied.
Timber finished reading, and made to hand it to his friend, but Enerin brushed it away. The green water dragon thought it would be best to get the information from his friends than the document itself. Besides, it was likely to be filled with annoying flatteries and all manner of fillers designed to persuade Zorath to go meet this Eccentric. Zorath’s stubborness seemed to have preceded him.
“So what do we do about it?” Enerin asked. “Whoever this is knows we’re here, and I guess it couldn't hurt to see him.” He looked from face to face in search of an ally.
Zorath shrugged his thick shoulders thoughtfully. “While you may be right, this could also be a trap left for us by Naberish. They have, so far, been the only ones who know about the Council being in Britain.” Zorath glanced down at the two scouts, who wondered exactly why they were called here. “Have either of you seen or heard any sign of the local populace catching onto us?”
“None,” Timber said without pride. “The few that have gotten close were shown off by indirect means. Nobody knows we’re here.”
“Apparently not,” Zorath muttered.
“Why don’t we send an armed escort to meet this Eccentric and see what he has to say,” Shinkou suggested in his lilting voice. “Have Blake lead it as a negotiator. There can’t be many reasons he would want to see us, and he has a reason,” Shinkou said with conviction.
“Yes, that sounds like a plan,” Zorath agreed. “Let’s not become complacent though. Enerin, Timber,” Zorath turned to the scouts. “You two are to go with Blake and meet this Eccentric. Grab two others of your choosing to go with you. While Blake can handle himself well-enough on his own, there is little that can be more intimidating than four heavily armed dragons.
Zorath grinned ferally.
“Am I wrong?”