Now I open it and slip through, being careful to remember to slide it closed behind me. The hall I’ve entered runs in either direction about ten strides. Fighting echoes from both directions, but my goal is right in front of me. I step across the hall and open the door to the Records Room.
This door looks like wood, but the wood is a façade covering thick steel. Looking both ways first, I close the door, then slide the bar across it to lock myself in. The room smells of old paper and leather. As valuable as these old scrolls are, they are not of the highest value. I stride past them to the back of the room and run my hands over the blank, smooth wall there.
When I find the latch, I apply pressure, and a section of the wall lowers itself out, revealing the real treasure. A series of crystals lines the table thus revealed. The true records of the Order. Our memory of all that has come and of every prediction the Eye has made.
This cannot fall into enemy hands. I drift my hand across them, steeling my nerve for what I am going to do. Suddenly my dragon roars to life, and I’m blinded with an unthinking rage. My vision shifts and I’m no longer looking at the crystals, but at an Invader. He stares, and I’m aware of fear. Fear that isn’t mine.
Her. She’s in danger. Protect her.
I shake with unbridled anger, but there is nothing I can do. My mate is in danger. I’ve yet to lay eyes on her, but I know it. I know this vision is true, though I’ve never before been granted the sight.
I slam my fists down on the crystals. They explode under the force of my blows. The wood of the table itself cracks and splinters. I slam them again and again, destroying the entire apparatus. Still my rage is untamed.
Instinct rages to protect, to save her, but there is nothing I can do. I roar as I rampage, destroying the room.
The vision fades away. I’m left standing in the wake of my own destruction, shaking in the aftermath of my own anger. A hidden door slides open, and three Zmaj burst into the room.
“Councilor!” Aeros exclaims, seeing me.
The three of them look around, shock obvious on their faces.
“Destruction protocols,” I say, forcing my emotions under control. “Now!” I bark when none of them move.
They snap to attention and set to work. The males jump at my command, but not before their eyes widen and their tails stiffen. Two males gather scrolls and papers into a pile. Aeros stomps on the mangled crystals, finishing the work I started.
As each crystal crunches my stomach knots and bile rises in my throat. We are destroying our memory. The only records of Tajss I know for sure still exist. Tajss from before the Devastation. My beloved planet and its history—but the past is a weapon that must not fall into these Invaders’ hands.
“Has anyone seen the Premier?” I ask.
“No, sir,” Typhon answers. “We’d hoped he was here.”
“How far have they penetrated?” I ask.
The three warriors pause and look at each other before anyone answers.
“Almost all the way,” Pachua says.
“How did this happen?” I ask.
“They seem to have disabled the early alarms,” Reoz says.
“Impossible,” I mutter, shaking my head.
They don’t contradict me, but I know I’m lying to myself since obviously they did. Pachua kneels next to the piles of papers and books and belches flame. Fire licks hungrily at the dry tinder and in moments it’s clawing its way across the pile. The four of us step back, standing side-by-side watching our life’s work burn.
The sense of loss in my guts tears at me, but there is something more important. My mate is out there, on this planet, and obviously the Invaders aren’t holding back. I must find her.
“What does this mean, sir?” Reoz asks.
I stare into the flames, letting the warmth soak into my scales.
“That Tajss has been put back into play,” I say.
“Play, sir?” Pachua asks.
I turn my head and stare until his scales color with shame.
“Have you learned nothing? Do you not do your studies?” I ask.
“Sir… I mean…,” he looks past me at the door to the records room.
“I know,” I say, shaking my head. “How many lost?”
“Most, sir,” Pachua says softly.
“Your brother?” I ask, not wanting to know the answer.
Pachua and his brother were almost as inseparable as Archion and Khal, more even. They were the only twins in our compound. Often finishing one another’s sentences, even.
“I do not know,” he says, his twitching hands and tail showing his agitation.
“They’re Invaders,” I say. “Invaders are cloned soldiers, war-meat, that means someone on one of the other planets has gone from suspecting epis exists on Tajss to knowing it. If they’re launching a full-scale invasion, as it seems, then every Zmaj and Human on the planet is in trouble. It’s up to us to save them all,” I say.
“Yes, sir,” the three males answer as one.
“It’s on us,” I say. “One way or another.”
They nod their acceptance of the reality.
“Even if?” Aeros asks.
“Yes,” I answer, knowing what he’s asking without it having to be said. “Even as we did before. If it comes to that, we will activate the Devastation protocols.”
The only sound is the crackling fire as it consumes history, hungry still and more than willing to consume the future as well. Fire lives in the moment. No past, no future, it rages until there is nothing left, and it sputters out. I can only hope that it’s not a metaphor for us.
“Separate, find as many as you can,” I order. “Gather them and escape. We’ll meet at the Weeping Male rock. You all know it?”
They nod that they do and then we separate into the halls. I grab Aeros by the arm before he heads off.
“Stay with me,” I order.
I lead the way towards the Council Chamber area. It’s deep in our compound, and I hope that some have taken refuge there, especially the Premier. This deep in the compound, the halls are wide enough for two Zmaj to walk abreast, but I let Aeros stay slightly ahead. The knowledge I have must survive.
The sounds of fighting are a constant din, accenting the clanging alarms that have not yet been shut down. There’s so much noise I can’t orient by sound. As we turn a corner we step into a battle.
Four Invaders block the hall, but backs are to us. My brethren are fighting the front two. The two in back stand ready to take advantage of any opening or to replace the fallen. Aeros doesn’t hesitate, driving his lochaber into the back of the neck of one, and I mimic his motion on another before he can turn around.
They drop without a cry, but one of the others turns to face us. He whirls swords and clubs in all four hands. They whistle through the air forming an effective shield. Aeros stabs, feinting, probing for an opening. I step up and do the same. We alternate going high, low, instinctively doing the opposite of each other.
The Invader knocks the blades aside each time, keeping us from getting through. A grin spreads across his face, showing his yellowed teeth. He changes the pattern of his swings, moving from defensive to offensive. The two clubs continue a swirling dance but now the swords dart in and out like the tongue of a zmeya.
Aeros is nicked on the arm, grunting as the blade slices him. He steps back and the Invader advances, a blade jabbing at my left. I knock it aside but have to jump back too to avoid the other blade driving into my right.