David Drake - The Tyrant

"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."

He let it sink in, for a moment. That latest would further confuse and demoralize Albrecht's now half-routed supporters. Obviously speaking on behalf of all three of the proposed new Triumvirs, Demansk was making it clear that there would be no reprisals against Albrecht-or, by implications, his supporters.

Not immediately, at least. In the longer term, who was to say? But all the men in the Council Hall were experienced maneuverers. "The long run"… was later. Today they were looking at a major political defeat, and Demansk had just shown the rats the hole in the corner. He could see the benches stirring as men began whispering new offers and deals to each other.

It was time to drive home the spike. "I repeat: a ll naval forces-as well as whatever auxiliary support is needed for them. Never before in Vanbert's history has this been done. And do it we must-if I am to lead the expedition which will finally rid us of the pirates of the Isles. For I propose to conquer the Western Isles, and make them a new province of our Confederation."

That statement brought instant silence to the chamber. He could practically see the thoughts racing through the heads of the Councillors.

On the one hand:

Giving Demansk authority over all naval forces would give him considerable military might. The more so when all the possible implications of "whatever auxiliary support is needed" was added onto the balance.

On the other hand:

The Councillors, like all Confederates, thought in terms of armies, nor navies. Navies were simply not capable of conquering half a continent. Not even though a Vanbert navy was really more of an army on ships than a "navy" in the way that islanders thought of it.

It simply didn't matter. Every Councillor knew the basic arithmetic, if not the exact figures. Give Demansk every ship in the Confederate fleet, including the ones besieging Preble-even build as many new ones to add to it-and there still wasn't room on those wooden seagoing forts for more than…

At most, one fourth of the Confederation's forces. In practice, given the need to maintain the siege at Preble-and still under Albrecht's command-Demansk simply wouldn't have the forces available to impose himself as a dictator.

All that was needed was the final indirection. Demansk took a sudden step forward-almost a lunge-and extended both arms directly before him, hands clenched into fists. A mighty resolve made. "I will give you the Islands, fellows of the Council. And I will have my family's vengeance."

The last sentence was practically snarled. Which, in truth, took no histrionic effort at all. Vengeance was indeed something Demansk would obtain. In passing, to be sure. But given his reputation for simplicity…

What might come after never crossed the Councillors' minds. It was plain to see, as each face grew slightly slack with easing tension. Some so slack as to almost indicate derision. Every man in the Council knew that Demansk's daughter was being held in seclusion on his estates. Shamed, once, by her violation; twice over, by bearing a pirate's bastard.

They had it all now. The assurance of divided power; the most dangerous to be given the smallest spear-and now, even his personal motive, as far as possible from the grandiose dreams of a would-be dictator.

Quaryn himself led the hail which rose from the floor, calling for an immediate vote. Hands stretched wide; left hand in a fist, right extended wide-all in classic style. A pity that he stumbled slightly rising to his feet, true; but the Council was as inclined to be charitable toward small lapses in that moment as was the new Triumvirate itself.

Afterward, of course, the new dispensation took not long to manifest itself. As he strode down the steps of the hall, being almost assaulted by the roar of the crowd in the Forum-the professional rumor-spreaders were already at work-thirty men trotted forward to join his sons at his side.

There would be no pretense of indifference here. The men were all veterans of Demansk's First Regiment, and they took up positions all around him and his heirs. Shields up; assegais ready. No potential assassin was allowed to get within twenty feet of the new Triumvir as he passed across the Forum.

Somewhere along the way, Demansk reminded himself that small errors needed to be corrected along with great ones. He commanded his new First Spear to his side.

When the man trotted up, Demansk considered him a moment. Cut from the same cloth as Jessep Yunkers, obviously. Perhaps not as intelligent, but thoroughly capable at his trade.

"First Spear," he said, "what is your name?"

"I'd feel better about this if you were part of a convoy," said Demansk. He stared out from the headland at the western ocean. It might just have been his overactive imagination, but the waters seemed to be already turning gray with the change of seasons. The last convoy of the summer had left a week earlier.

"The skies are clear," said Helga. "We'll reach Marange well before the first big storm hits. We're only in the early part of autumn."

"Still-"

"Come on, Father." She shifted the baby into the crook of her left arm and pointed to the ship moored at the pier below. "Sharlz Thicelt may be a pirate, but-like all pirates-he knows his ships. That thing must have cost you a small fortune."

Demansk scowled down at the vessel. As a matter of fact, it had cost him a small fortune. Thicelt had selected the finest "one and a half" he could find in the ports of the western Confederacy. The "one and a half"-technically called a demibireme — was a bastard design. In essence, it was a fast, two-banked galley, adapted for both sailing and fighting. The adaptations, which allowed for the quick removal of the second bank of oars as battle approached, required a great deal of expensive detail work. Demibiremes were therefore a rarity. They were only used for precious cargo-and were highly treasured prizes for pirates, for whose depredations the design was perfectly adapted.

It was the latter factor, not the expense, which was really causing Demansk to scowl. Granted, the demibireme was the ideal ship to get his daughter to Marange quickly and give her the best chance of escaping pirates. It was also sure to draw the attention of every pirate ship which spotted her.