A day later, the city still burned. Draconas again searched for Marcus, but the little room was empty. The dragon warriors vanished inside their illusion. This time, Draconas knew where they were headed, and he had the feeling that they would not wait two weeks to attack the castle. Frustrated, unable to think of a way to stop them, he watched the smoke of New Bramfells snake up into the heavens as the few survivors, tiny as mice from this height, wandered among the rubble, searching for a life they had once known and would never find again.

Draconas made a decision.

“For once, our kind is going to have to take a stand, and we’re going to have to do it fast. No time for arguing or dithering, no tabling of motions or referrals to committee.”

Draconas opened himself up to the minds of all dragons everywhere, letting them see into his mind, letting them see all that he had seen—the fall of the human city.

“As specified in our laws,” Draconas said to the dragons, his colors red with flame and blood, “in time of dire emergency, any member may call a meeting of Parliament. It is such a time and I summon you to attend.”

He closed his mind swiftly, before the flood of questions overwhelmed him, and flew to the meeting site.

39

BECAUSE HE HAD ALWAYS FELT COMPELLED TO VIEW HIMSELF AS AN advocate for the humans among whom he walked, Draconas had previously appeared before the Parliament of Dragons in his human, “walker” form. This day, he came before them as an equal, a dragon, one of their own. He was the first to arrive, and he did that for a reason. He wanted to greet every single dragon, look each in the eye.

The dragons entered, one by one. Some, like Lysira and, astonishingly, the old irascible Malfiesto, greeted Draconas warmly, their crisp, sharp colors flowing beneath his wings and lifting him with their support. Others, such as Litard and Arat, barely glanced at him as they entered, and they kept their colors wrapped close to themselves, sharing nothing with him, yet all the while trying to bore inside his skull.

Notable in absence was Anora. The speaker’s rod lay on the floor where she had last laid it down. No one stood in her place. No one picked up the rod.

The mood was electric. Tension sparked and cracked among the dragons, who eyed each other suspiciously.

Draconas had to do the impossible. He had to try to bring them together.

“I have summoned you here—”

“Such a summons may be issued only by the Minister,” stated Mantas, a young and hot-headed male.

“In an emergency, any dragon may call a meeting,” Draconas returned, keeping his colors even and level. He knew he was being deliberately goaded. “In any event, you answered it.”