The Tyrant by Eric Flint and David Drake

So, late in the day, Demansk decided it was time to seize the greatbeast directly and wrestle it to the ground. He stood up, indicating his desire to address the Council. But then, unlike many of his predecessors that day, waited politely for Speaker Chollat to call upon him before speaking. The man who would be tyrant understood perfectly well that politeness and outward modesty were weapons as sharp-edged as any others.

“Justiciar Demansk has the floor,” said Chollat.

Demansk stepped into the center of the Chamber. Then, his left hand on hip and his right extended, as was accepted oratorical demeanor, he began his speech.

A very short speech, it would be. Taking a greatbeast by the horns and bringing it down could either be done quickly—or not at all.

“You fear another Marcomann!” he boomed.

Then, he waited. So far that day, no one had posed the fear openly. Circumlocution and euphemism had been the style of oratory and public debate for two decades now. That, too, was a legacy of Marcomann, under whose iron rule few had dared to speak clearly and openly.

Demansk had a reputation for bluntness. Almost to the point of crudeness. A simple soldier, whose skill on the battlefield and in campaign maneuvers was not matched by its political equivalent.

Over the years, Demansk had cultivated that reputation simply because it allowed him to avoid the tedium of endless babble. Now he found it useful for another purpose. Simplicity, like modesty and decorum, was another blade.

“And so do I,” he added, loudly enough to be heard throughout the Chamber, but not in the booming tone of his opening statement.

“And so do I.” Two strides forward, a half turn; right hand on hip; now the left extended dramatically. “We all know I am the danger.”

A polite nod toward Jeschonyk. “The Speaker Emeritus being famous for his prudence and sagacity.” A deeper nod, almost a bow, toward Tomsien. “And Justiciar Tomsien for his steadiness.”

Steadiness, he thought to himself. Now there’s a euphemism worthy of the best politician. Translation: Tomsien would cheerfully undermine the Confederacy and take the power, if he could. But his are the methods of a rising river, allowing time to levee the banks. Only I pose the danger of a tidal wave.

“And so did the three of us ponder the matter.”

Half turn, one stride; pause; quarter turn; left hand back on hip, right hand extended hip-high, index finger pointing dramatically at . . . not much of anything, except marble, but it was nicely done and in the customary style.

“Thus did we agree to allot the portions of power wisely. To Jeschonyk, whose age if nothing else will serve as a check to ambition, goes the direct authority over the state. An equal among three in name, he will exercise the power here in the capital.” Now he straightened his back, both hands on hips akimbo—the classic pose for announcing a surprising development.

“We furthermore agreed—and I hereby request that it be included as a provision in the establishment of the Triumvirate—that both Justiciar Tomsien and I be banned by law from entering the city so long as we retain our posts as junior Triumvirs.”

The crowd of Councillors was relaxing visibly. Jeschonyk was a familiar figure. Alone in the capital . . . he could be reasoned with, persuaded—bribed, if need be.

Demansk spread his hands wide and took a half step back—then leaned forward. A more surprising development still. Even the legendary orator Hyrthel, who was said to have perfected the stance, could not have done it better.

“Tomsien will then be given the army. Command over all forces except those assigned to naval duty—as well, of course, as household troops permitted to Councillors by law.”

He thought that was a nice touch, the last. Very few Councillors, Demansk himself being one of the exceptions, maintained a body of household troops as large as the law permitted. Doing so was extremely expensive, if nothing else. But by reminding them of their rights—whether they chose to exercise them or not—he was subtly reassuring the Councillors.

All eyes were now fixed on him. He turned about, took three strides, and resumed the standard pose: left hand on hip, right hand extended and raised slightly above his head. “And I, you wonder? I ask one thing alone—that I be given command of the naval forces. All of them . . .” He paused for a moment, then added a bit slyly: “except, of course, those which Justiciar Albrecht might need for his continued campaign against Preble.”

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