Eagerly following every syllable, every gesture of the Leader, was little Tinth. Born to the nobility, trained in the arts, a student of philosophy, Tinth had deserted his heritage to join the forces of Kanus. His reward was the Ministry of Education. Many teachers had suffered under him,
And finally there was Bomis, the Minister of Foreign Affairs. A professional diplomat, one of the few men in government before Kanus1 sweep to power who had survived this long. It was clear that Romis hated the Chancellor. But he served the Kerak Worlds well. The diplomatic corps was flawless in their handling of the Safad trade treaty, although they would have gotten nowhere without Odal’s own work in the dueling machine. It was only a matter of time, Odal knew, before one of them—Romis or Kanus—killed the other.
The rest of Kanus’ audience consisted of political hacks, roughnecks-tumed-bodyguards, and a few other hangers-on who had been with Kanus since the days when he held his political monologues in cellars and haunted the alleys to avoid the police. Kanus had come a long way: from the blackness of oblivion to the dazzling heights of the Chancellor’s rural estate.
Money, power, glory, revenge, patriotism: each man in the room, listening to Kanus, had his reason for following die Chancellor.
And my reasons? Odal asked himself. Why do I follow? Can I see into my own mind as easily as I see into theirs?
There was duty, of course. Odal was a soldier, and Kanus was the duly elected Leader of the government. Once elected, though, he had dissolved the government and solidified his powers as absolute dictator of the Kerak Worlds.