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Three of the Citadel's Emerald Ranger class stood to attention in a row in the middle of the hall, the remains of the day's light shining down on them through the oriel high above the gathered Odonata lords. The light reflected off their handsome green carapaces, scarred with the marks of many battles, their multifaceted eyes hardened with experiences many of the soft-headed advisers and politicians surrounding them had never witnessed. Although they stood proudly on all six legs, it was plain to see they were exhausted, but nobility and duty ran thick through Emerald blood and they would sooner bite off their own forewings than admit fatigue.
All three rangers were in a bad way. The centre ranger, Patrol Leader Therydion, clearly favoured his left forewing, once handsome and pearlescent, now hanging in tatters. The ranger to his left had a jagged cut running from the centre of his head down his thorax, with a sickly coating of blood that was only now starting to show signs of drying up. The third ranger's long abdomen was twisted and held out behind her at a peculiar angle, the normally eye-catching green and black stripes now dulled as if the pain she was clearly suffering were diluting the colours.
Even more disturbing than the sight of the three wounded rangers was what lay before them on the ground: three neatly stacked piles of wings, four in each stack. A stark reminder of the fate that had befallen Therydion's Emerald Ranger patrol.
Lord Hydrea spoke to the three Rangers before him, "Perhaps, with the High Magister's permission, you could explain in more detail the purpose of your patrol and what transpired today?"
With a slow nod from Dephronyis, Patrol Leader Therydion raised his head, his compound eyes appearing to search the rough and pitted ceiling of the Great Chamber for a moment. "My Lords and Ladies, my patrol was tasked with searching the northern reaches of our lands, six hours as the Jracon flies from the Citadel, near the location of the last sighting of Hawker activity some 3 days ago. We set out early this morning, flying in low, tight formation. Reaching the borders at the sun's zenith we continued in a westward fashion for quite some time, keeping the border a short distance to our right, sighting nothing worthy of note. We were within sight of the West River when we were ambushed and set upon by eight Hawker scouts. They employed slash and run tactics - sweeping in with sharpened tarsus spurs to cut at our wings," Therydion pointed to his own damaged forewing, "and carapaces," he pointed to the angry wound on the Ranger to his left. "Ranger Vincentius fell immediately, suffering a fatal blow to his head, and although Rangers Phygia and Lydus fought valiantly and brought down two each of the Tainted, they were beaten by sheer numbers and succumbed soon after.
"My two remaining Rangers," Therydion pointed left and right with swift, efficient movements of his straightened foreleg, "Euclio and Donatus, and myself, chased the remaining four Tainted and tore them from the blasted skies." This last sentence was spoken with such a calm detachment that it chilled Dephronyis.
What had the Hawkers, the "Tainted" as Therydion called them, done to these young minds? He could remember Therydion as a Naiad not so many moons ago, determined and courageous, yes, Ranger material for sure, but a kind heart and caring towards his younger siblings, with a ready joke and a laugh.
Lord Hydrea's voice pierced the reverential silence, jolting many from thoughts of mortality and morality. "Six of our number left the citadel, and three of us did not make it home this time. We must mourn the passing of three of the Odonata who defended our realm and our borders from the Hawker scourge that is growing ever closer. Their wings shall now join their ancestors in the Emerald Oriel. An honour, to be sure, but they have died in their prime. How many more must die? How long can we keep those damnable Hawkers from regaining their power? Now that they have tasted blood once again they must know that there is no going back for them and they will only continue to force their way into our lands in their search for what they have lost. We must strengthen our borders, double our patrols and invoke military rule!"
At this, the chamber instantly resonated with dozens of voices, arguing with those around them, the conflicting views rising and falling in the air.
Magister Dephronyis raised his forelegs for silence before speaking, "Hydrea, there is no doubt in my mind, nor I believe in any minds here today, that we face a significant threat. However, the Emerald Council is more than capable of keeping our loved ones safe, keeping our Citadel secure, and keeping the Salix alive." The Salix was the name given to the willow tree that contained the Citadel within its bark and branches. "I see no benefit to military rule here. It is surely the bluntest of tools for a task that requires the high intellect and finesse of the Council, not the mighty brawn of the Rangers."
High Magister Dephronyis turned gingerly, his carapace creaking, to face the three Rangers in the pool of light at the centre of the chamber. "Therydion and his patrol here - my deepest apologies - Therydion and the remaining members of his patrol here, have clearly shown the utmost bravery today, and I understand they left not a single Hawker with his life intact. I will personally recommend they receive formal commendations for their actions. But we must not forget that it was the Jracon Council that commanded increased patrols along the northern edges of our land, and it was the Jracon Council that ordered further training in defeating Hawker attacks of this very nature. I believe we are making appropriate measures to ensure the safety of Odonata society."
Resting heavily on his gnarled staff, his ageing tarsus gripping the smooth and twisted wood, Dephronyis wiped his large eyes with a foreleg, "Lord Hydrea, all Jraconi know of your impressive heritage, coming from a line of Emerald Rangers that stretches back into the River of Time, each generation lauded for their courage and bravery on the battlefield and at the war table. As such, I appreciate your belief that military assistance is essential under these circumstances."
Lord Hydrea bowed slightly and vibrated his wings in recognition of the compliment, his large compound eyes watching Dephronyis all the while for the inevitable counter.
"However," continued Magister Dephronyis, "The Edicts state that military rule can only be enacted when a majority is reached through Council Will - you must request a formal vote. I for one strongly oppose such a step. I truly believe we can achieve victory through the Council!" Dephronyis allowed the greens of his carapace, muted by age, to rise in tone to accentuate this last sentence.
At this, the chamber erupted once more, the hzzzz of a hundred urgent wings, the tamping on the woody floor of a hundred adamant tarsi.
Lord Hydrea nodded his large head, chewing on his mandibles in anticipation, "Of course. I, like all of us, respect and revere the Council's position in Odonata society, and under normal circumstances, I would bow to the Council, and wholeheartedly endorse its wise decision-making."
"But," he said, moving towards the Rangers in the centre of the space, slowly turning to make eye contact with as many of the Council members as would meet his firm gaze, "These are not 'normal' circumstances. The Council does not have the military experience needed. It is with a heavy heart that I formally invoke my right to request the Council votes on whether Citadel rule be handed over to Commander Japhryis until such time as the Hawker threat is eradicated."
High Magister Dephronyis clamped his mandibles tight, visibly tense even through his exoskeleton. His lidless eyes betrayed no emotion. The air in the chamber hung heavy as the noble Council members present awaited his response. Dephronyis stood still, the pulse of his abdomen the only movement visible. Then with tired words, he spoke, "Then so be it. The Council must vote. May Holy Thau guide us." Turning to a small entrance in the side of the chamber, Dephronyis called out, "Kostadin, your assistance if you please."
A quick flutter, and a winged figure buzzed into the chamber, slender in stature, and noticeably smaller than the gathered Emeralds. Kostadin, Lord Dephronyis' assistant, was a Zyg, distant cousins of the Jracon, and invariably occupying more lowly positions in Odonata society - farm hands, messengers, house servants, and, as in Kostadin's case, administrative assistants to the Jracon. Landing neatly before his master, Kostadin tucked his wings along the length of his bright red body and lowered his head, "My lord?", he spoke with the characteristic soft, sing-song voice of his race.
"Please prepare for a Council vote."
"Right away, my Magister." And with that, Kostadin leapt into the air, opened his wings, and performed a smart flip before swooping back into the dark entrance from where he had emerged, a slight aura of Ar visible around him to those skilled at perceiving such subtleties, aiding his rapid flight in tight confines.
Dephronyis shook his head gently at his servant's keen exuberance, sparing a moment to reminisce on his own youth and boundless energy - halcyon days chasing summer gnats to fill his belly, chasing the pretty Jraconzinhas to fill their bellies. Now he was barely able to rise from his quarters and glide to the Council chambers without feeling his wing muscles ache with age. Kostadin was one of a long line of Zygs who had served him faithfully over time and was likely to be his last. Dephronyis had long since made peace with his mortality and enjoyed his final days as High Magister almost as much as his early days as a Sub-Imago academic. The role of High Magister was unusual in the democratic Odonata society in that only the current High Magister could choose a replacement. Should a High Magister die without choosing, only then would the Council get to pick a successor.
The position had been thrust upon him long before he had felt ready for such gravitas, when his hard work in academia had come to the attention of the outgoing High Magister, Lord Fyrae, a Jracon of great repute as both a warrior and elemental Thaumaturge. Dephronyis had been summoned high up inside the Salix to the Magister's chambers. After all this time the chambers were now a place of familiarity, but few other than the High Magister and his closest staff ever entered the chambers, so the young Dephronyis had flown in with great trepidation and awe.
Dephronyis had been informed by Fyrae, in terms that allowed for no misunderstanding, that the time for philosophical study was over and that he must embrace a new future as High Magister. Lord Fyrae knew, as did most Jracon who survived to old age, that his time had come.
Within days, Lord Fyrae had passed, and Dephronyis had stumbled blinking into the light of sudden responsibility. Lord Fyrae's wings had been raised up to the Emerald Oriel located in the very centre of the Salix's crown, positioned to best catch the sun's rays through their pearlescent surfaces, placed alongside those of his ancestors in their enduring task of illuminating the Great Atrium below. The Great Atrium was a tall hollow space that rose nearly the full height of the Salix, from where a hundred portals and tunnels passed through the tree's trunk to a thousand chambers inside its bark. The Salix was the Citadel, the very heart of Odonata society, and was tended, fed and watered by nearly one hundred carefully chosen Skimmers, the Jracon breed most skilled at horticulture and farming practices, and specialists in the magical Thauma arts dedicated to the manipulation and summoning of animals and plants, Mestre Bichou and Mestre Planta respectively. Their mastery of Mestre Planta, in particular, had allowed the Salix to grow far taller than was naturally possible, and it overshadowed many smaller willows that grew elsewhere on the banks. While Odonata civilisation had expanded to such an extent that it had long since spilled out of the confines of the Salix, the most important divisions remained within the Citadel itself, protected inside the tree by magical thauma wards interred in the woody flesh of the tree itself. The noble Emerald families kept residence inside the Salix as well, but the remainder of the population, the lowly Zygs, and the other Jracon breeds - the green-tarsused Skimmers, the academic Darters, the artisanal Chasers and the low-ranking soldier Clubtails, lived within the ever-circling shadow of the Salix, outside the protective canopy of the overhanging willow branches.
Dephronyis knew his own four wings would soon join Lord Fyrae's, and his narrowing vision told him this time was imminent, but he knew he could not pass on with the damnable Hawkers right on the edges of Odonata lands, threatening the peace he and his Emerald Council had worked so hard to achieve, with his fellow Jraconi and Zyg needing his help and guidance.
Dephronyis was shaken from his thoughts by the return of Kostadin who, with a flurry of Ar thauma, guided three large baskets hovering gently before him into the Great Chamber. All three baskets were made from tightly-woven reeds crafted by the much-lauded Chaser reed-mason Lorius, his services sought by many wealthy Emerald families for his incomparable furnishings, tapestries and artworks that adorned many noble homes. Two of the baskets were ovoid in shape with a flattened base, taller than Dephronyis and enclosed at the top, with a single small hole on their upper surfaces. The third basket was a more practical affair, a simple open-topped device to carry food and supplies or, in this case, numerous dried reed seeds, each the length of a Jracon tarsus.
Kostadin placed the three baskets on the ground before the three Rangers, the two enclosed baskets either side of the open-topped basket. He fussed back and forth, his wings hissing as he adjusted the left-most basket by the slightest of movements before flitting to the basket containing the seed heads, attempting to line up the seeds, a near impossible task as the seeds seemed determined to lie as chaotically as possible. Kostadin's red carapace darkened, his frustration apparent.
Dephronyis stepped forward, knowing of Kostadin's near-eternal compulsion, "Kostadin, thank you for your assistance. If you would be so kind as to take Therydion and the Rangers to Medico Serphynius so she can tend their wounds as best she can then return to assist with the count."
Kostadin's carapace blushed still darker red and nodded in acquiescence, affecting a grand, sweeping bow towards the High Magister. Then with a flourish of his foreleg towards the main entrance to the Great Chamber, currently barred by large doors woven of the same reeds as the baskets, the Zyg ushered the wounded Rangers out of the Chamber.
The reed doors closed with an Ar-created shhh and the Chamber relaxed perceptibly, many of the nobles and academics within the room unused to the violence apparent in the Rangers' wounds.
High Magister Dephronyis addressed the gathered Council members, "My Lords and Ladies, our Lord Hydrea has requested we deliberate on a quandary: State one, whether it is time for military rule, for Lord Japhryis, called from his Council duties earlier today due to the sad incident involving our Rangers, to take temporary control of the Citadel until we can find a solution to the growing Hawker situation. State two, to continue as we are, with Council deciding on all matters relating to Odonata society. As always, take one seed head each and place the seed in the basket of your choice. The basket to my left is for those choosing State one - military rule. The basket to my right is for those choosing State two - Council rule. May Holy Thau guide us."
Dephronyis stepped forward, his staff aiding his steps. Reaching into the middle basket he picked a single seed head in his free fore-tarsus and stepped to his right, dropping the seed head in through the narrow opening. The seed fell to the bottom of the basket with a dry rattle.
Dephronyis stepped back as the Council members each collected a single seed and made their choices before returning to the edges of the chamber to watch the other Councillors take their turn. Dephronyis watched as Lady Lancios stepped forward, a stern academic with an affinity for Mestre Planta, in particular, the parasitic ivy. Next came Lord Haldis, an academic like Lancios, but more interested in the pure interplay of the Elemental forces than what Haldis jeered was the uncouth behaviours of plants and animals. One by one, the Councillors dropped their seed heads in one or the other of the baskets, Dephronyis keeping a tally of the yays and the nays. With a sinking heart, he watched as the last Councillor, Lord Yrsius, a botanist, philosopher and surprisingly adept martial combatant, dropped his seed in the leftmost basket.
As Yrsius flitted back across the chamber to his vantage point halfway up the side of the chamber wall, Kostadin materialised from a second entrance almost hidden in the folds and curves of the chamber. The council members watched from the half-gloom that encircled the chamber as the Zyg meticulously removed all the seeds before lining them up on the floor in front of each basket, counting with a delicate, well-preened tarsus. The Councillors in the Chamber watched in silence, carapace colours charged with emotion as it quickly became apparent that the vote was a landslide.
Kostadin looked over the neat piles of seeds one last time, then stood to full attention, and turning to the High Magister said, "My lord, as per the Edicts, I have counted the Council's vote thrice, and the final count is -"
Dephronyis wearily raised his staff slightly off the floor, suddenly feeling every single day of his long standing as High Magister weighing down on his back, "There is no need, young Zyg, it is plain for all to see that we have a strong majority vote in favour of military rule. The Council has spoken. Please record in the Council Journal that as of this moment authority has been formally handed over to Lord Commander Japhryis, temporarily.
"This will take some time, days even, but we must ensure as smooth a transition as possible, and offer every assistance to Lord Japhryis through the process. If I am needed I will be in my chambers." And with that, the High Magister of the Citadel rose slowly from the floor on rustling wings, wrapping himself in Ar to take the weight off his declining flight muscles, before flying slowly out of the hall.
At this, the Chamber was filled with a cacophony as the Councillors, no longer under the scrutiny of the High Magister, discussed the outcome with fellow council members. Debate raged. The chaos the vote had evoked echoed along the passage, washing over Dephronyis as he stole away from the chamber, unsure if he were glad to be rid of the burden of protecting the Odonata from the Hawker scourge, or scared of the powerlessness he now felt trickling as a cold dread through his body. Had the Council voted to save the Citadel, or had they voted to save themselves from the difficult decisions ahead?