David Drake: Tyrant

His breath was coming short. His own mouth was no longer closed.

Your brother's coming, with some chieftains in tow. You'd better get that erection under control, lad, or things'll get awkward. These Southrons, y'know, don't share your decadent Emerald tastes. They're likely to misinterpret your state of mind.

Laughter broke passion's rush. So, when Esmond and the chieftains strode up to the tent, Adrian was able to greet them with nothing more than a hand outstretched. But still, during the time which followed, his mind only followed the conversation at its edges.

There was room, really, for just a single thought at the center of it. A different sort of trance-haze had seized him.

She's coming back to me. I know she is.

For the first time, then, he was finally able to let go that rein of honor which had driven him to return her to her family, long months before. Almost a year, now. Let it go, cast it aside — and, with it, all restraint. He had never loved a woman before, and had never allowed himself — quite — to love this one.

Soon enough, he knew, Center and Raj would be back, pouring caution and cunning strategy into his mind. But on this subject, at least, he would listen no longer. He had satisfied honor once. Once was enough, for a lifetime.

Chapter 4

"Interesting idea," drawled Ion Jeschonyk. The elderly Speaker Emeritus lifted himself up on an elbow and swiveled his head toward the man lying on a couch directly opposite Demansk. "What do you think, Justiciar Tomsien?"

Tomsien was staring at Demansk, his dark brown eyes shaded by a heavy, lowered brow. Abruptly, he lurched on the couch and came to a full, upright sitting position. He planted thick hands on thick knees and leaned forward. A full but rather solid belly bulged within the expensive fabric of his robes.

"Interesting," he echoed. "But. ." His brow was now gathered in a massive frown. "It's not that I don't trust you, Demansk — at least as much as I trust anyone in these rotten modern times." Demansk nodded his head in acknowledgement of the praise, as faint as it might be. "But," continued Tomsien, "I don't understand why you're proposing it. What I mean is—"

"What does he get out of it," finished Jeschonyk. The old politician smiled wryly. "Good question. Your answer, Justiciar?"

Demansk shrugged. "Personally, you mean? About what I said. Greatly increased power, obviously. With that will come the usual riches."

Tomsien was shaking his head before he had even finished. "I can't say I like you all that much, Demansk, but you've never seemed especially ambitious to me. And, as rich as you are already, I can't believe you care much about that business either. So stick with the 'good of the Confederacy' explanation. That's actually believable, coming from you."

The heavyset Justiciar was still obviously dissatisfied. "But nobody is that altruistic. There's got to be some personal angle to this you haven't told us. And before I agree to anything, I want to know what it is."

"Me too," chimed in Jeschonyk.

Demansk was now sitting upright himself; and, like Tomsien, had his hands planted firmly on his knees. He leaned back a bit and studied the ceiling. As could be expected in the villa of a man as wealthy as Jeschonyk, the frescoes were magnificent. Although Demansk thought depicting the legend of Wodep and the forest nymphs in such exquisite detail was in questionable taste for a room devoted to anything other than orgies.

Of course, by all accounts, orgies were likely to take place anywhere in one of Jeschonyk's residences. For all his advanced age and long-standing reputation for political sagacity, the Speaker Emeritus was one of Vanbert's more notorious lechers. His frequent thunderous denunciations of "modern decadence" in the Council chamber had never stopped him from indulging his own private vice.

Demansk's thoughts were not particularly condemnatory, however. Lechery was a harmless enough vice, as such things went. And this much could be said of Jeschonyk — the man had never, unlike many Speakers, plundered the public treasury for his own gain.

He lowered his eyes and gave the other men in the chamber a stony gaze. "I have not explained the specifics of my proposal yet. Forming what I'm calling a 'triumvirate' will bring needed stability to the Confederacy — and, no small thing, keep that greedy pig Albrecht from getting his hands on the Speakership again. Which — you both know this as well as I do — he's been spending enough money to pull off if he's not stopped soon."

Mention of Albrecht, as Demansk expected, caused the aura of vague suspicion in the room to change. Or shift, rather, from his own person. Whatever else, the three men in that chamber had one thing in common: a thorough detestation of Drav Albrecht, the current Speaker of the Assembly and, several years back, the Speaker of the Council. Even by the standards of the modern day, Albrecht took corruption to new heights. Not even the traitor Redvers had been — quite — so mindlessly avaricious.

Demansk took advantage of the momentary "meeting of minds" to drive on. "But that's just the beginning. Stabilizing the political situation in the Confederacy is pointless if we don't use that stability to solve some long-standing problems. The worst of which, in my opinion, lies beyond our own borders. Say better: the worst of which is caused by the fact that our borders don't reach far enough."

Jeschonyk and Tomsien froze. With one exceptional episode, Vanbert had ceased being an expansionist power decades ago. And that one exception had been under Sole Speaker Marcomann, who had used his conquest of the western provinces of the northern half of the continent to set himself up as — in fact if not in name — the dictator of the Confederacy. He had been the last man to hold the Speakership of both the Council and the Assembly simultaneously — an ambition which all the men in that room knew was held by Albrecht. If Albrecht obtained his goal, however, it would be by the profligate use of bribery. Which, in the end, was not as dangerous as the means of sheer military power which Marcomann had used.

Demansk's lips twisted into a grimace. Technically, the expression might be called a "smile." But there was no humor in it.

"Relax," he commanded. "I am as well aware as you are of the dangers involved. Which is why my proposal, I believe, accomplishes three salutary goals. It locks out Albrecht, it keeps any of us from becoming a dictator. . and it allows me the chance to accomplish a personal goal which is rather dear to my heart. Vengeance."

Not surprisingly, it was Jeschonyk who first understood. Tomsien was. . not stupid, no; but not quick-witted, either.

"Ah," murmured the old Speaker Emeritus. "I see."

"I don't," said Tomsien crossly.

Jeschonyk waved a languid hand. "Demansk will allow you to command the southern provinces, facing the barbarians with most of our army. Since I'm too damn old anyway to take the field any longer — Preble was it, for me — I'll remain here in the capital exercising political control. Which frees him up to put paid to the stinking Islesmen altogether."

Tomsien's eyes widened. It took him longer to see a point, perhaps, but he was quite intelligent enough — experienced enough, at least — to see the implications once he did.

The real threat of a new dictator would come from whichever Confederate official could conquer large new territories on the continent. That alone would provide them with the land grants needed to cement the loyalty of a large enough army. The Western Isles, even all of them put together, did not allow for that even if conquered. The Isles were, and always had been, places for traders and fishermen and pirates. There simply wasn't enough acreage to create a large new layer of propertied men who could serve as the base of support for a dictatorship.