by D. M. Almond
CHAPTER 7
Arch Councilor Zacharia was pondering some last minute details sent up to him for the night’s festivities in the fourth level square, when he heard the clicking coming from his library. Curious, he stood, rounding his desk, and entered the room. Books lined the walls from floor to ceiling, neatly set in their shelves with masterful organization. Passing his leather armchairs, he flipped the hidden wall switch, opening the mechanism that was emitting the insistent clicking racket. Behind this panel hid a glass screen and several dials. He flipped one and the screen flared to life.
“Arch Councilor Zacharia,” Magistrate Fafnir spoke to him from his office. “I have some strange news.”
“I take it this is important enough to disturb my preparations for tonight’s ceremonies?” Zacharia said, tapping his lips with a forefinger.
“Arch Councilor…,” Fafnir paused, his face flickering in the static of the communications monitor. “There are a couple young men here from Riverbell. They are claiming the village was attacked by a swarm of skex, sir.” Deep lines of concern riddled Fafnir’s forehead. Zacharia furrowed his brow at this news. “Milord, they say th-the skex are on their way here in a mass horde!” The magistrate had trouble keeping the uncertainty out of his voice.
“Fafnir, sound the alarm immediately. Treat this as a very real threat, and may Baetylus save these Walker boys, if their tale proves to be false,” Arch Councilor Zacharia commanded, not even waiting for the magistrate to respond before flipping the switch to disconnect the line.
Another flick of the dial opened the lines for all the Elder’s quarters at once. He had to alert everyone.
Meanwhile, many miles down the wall below him, Magistrate Fafnir was calling all men to arms. He wondered fleetingly how the high councilor had known the names of the men at the gate when he himself had not known them. He told himself this was no time to ponder the strange ways of their leader, instead making his way to the armory where the Praetorian was already pulling a chitin-armored breastplate over his head. Now was the time to put to use the skills of his men, skills they had trained in all their lives but never needed. He ordered Banner to lead the walls’ defense, as if such a command was necessary.
With grim determination, Praetorian Banner accepted the mantle, draping his heavy battle-axe over a shoulder and heading up to meet the enemy.
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