Chapter 9 - Kratocles Speaks

“The clock has str-struck our time, Teirons.” a demur, anticipatory few claps and stomps received the opening soliloquy. “My beloved volon is the object of-of-of a v-violent and persistent threat, which comprises a p-erversion of the laws of Leeges. Before we have received any dedi-declaration of intent, before t-embassy of Ahn has consulted even with this city’s mayor and its governing council, the royal army of Ahn has issued a general mobilization across-s-s its Mantes forts.”

A hot summer air blew through the plaza before the mayoral office at that instant; fluttered in the red, yellow, blue and white pennants on the speartips of the Teironian guards which stood around the Tyrant’s stage; waved over the huge banner of the same colors, with the image of a great snowy owl with eyes like the ocean, which hung from the pediment of the great Aster stoa; danced in the thin grey hair combed over the freckled, shiny scalp of Kratocles of Teiron, First Citizen of the volon county, Tyrant; blew warm and loud in his ears, and compounded their already-diminished sense of hearing to muffle the chorus of booing and wrathful reply which his opening occasioned from the enormous crowd. That crowd, and whatever spirits were then carried on that hot summer wind, had come to hear the tyrant speak.

“In the short few days since the death of Srik Tiiillich - by a party whose goals and intentions remain unknown, at least to our own people - the whole of Leeges has entered into a state of emergency. Whole of Leeges… Despite this, I and the other leaders of Teiron have consistently pursued a policy of restr- of temperance and restraint. The n-nations of Ahn and Villgorania cannot impute up-up-on us any action or statement which has not been in the spirit-of-p-peace.”

The approval of the crowd was not yet enthusiastic, but there was enough of it to engender a scatter of applause - and to distinguish any person, even in that throng, who did not meet the speaker’s words with at least a face of admiration. Most such faces were genuine.

Amidst the crowd, however, there watched one face in particular; one whose expression could not be pried for its earnestness. Indeed, no one else in the crowd could tell even if the face were approving, or disapproving, or angry, or otherwise cast, in response to the speech of Kratocles, First Citizen of Teiron, Tyrant. The hands that were attached to this face clapped when the rest clapped - the feet stomped when the speaker’s pauses called for stomping - but the face remained anonymous. It derived this anonymity from concealment under a dark green hood.

“At the h-hour when this army at our b-border is leveling spears towardsus-us, Teiron may declare with a clear conscience that she has pursued a… persevered relentlessly, from the inciting act of this crisis, designed to perverts - uh - avert senseless loss of life, further loss of life, on either side of the Mantes - a loss for which the muira nations will bear the press-pressing responsibility should they step beyond the neutral line.” A chorus of unanimous and repeated applause broke out. The cloaked figure applauded with the rest. “My noble army, finest military in all the volon c-counties, rised at-”

“The tyrant’s such a grand speaker for his age.” A voice speaking softly to the left of the hooded figure caught the latter’s attention. The green hood shifted to the side, holding the face beneath still in shadow. The eyes in the shadow saw a man with the wrinkles and whiskers of forty years upon his face, and a body that was thirty. Hard labor clung to the man like summer sweat, and had the latter not already darkened the neck of his tunic and plastered his short black hair to his forehead, the former would have done so. He had an open, simple face with a wide nose, and small eyes, and a flat mouth.

At the moment, the man’s eyes, nose, and mouth were fixed in a genial expression as he glanced at the hooded stranger. “I heard him once before,” the man went on, indicating the tyrant on his stage. “Ten summers back. He had fewer stumbles then. Fewer guards too.”

“You don’t approve?” the voice under the hood replied tonelessly.”

“Are you kidding? It’s outstanding. Almost makes me want to start soldiering myself. I just mean, it’s rare as lice on a snake to see the Tyrant and the Noble Spears, this far from the capital.”

“-stand ready to defend the towns and fields of our- our volon county.” Another thunder of applause rounded out the concluding sentence of another paragraph from the venerable Teironian leader. He stood atop the stage, basking in the sound as much as a man of his years could bask. The spear on which he leaned - his fingers wrapped tight around the handle - had been fixed in place by Kratocles’ aids so that the tyrant could keep his balance. The huge fur cloak-of-war draped over his shoulders looked out of place in the late day sun, but did small service by concealing the skeletal, shaking frame of the man underneath. The voice trembled to begin again, but not one person in the crowd heard the tremble, or paid much mind to the scattered look in the crows-footed eyes. The speech had been crafted well.

“I am Nikus of Aster,” the man went on as the cheers began to fade. “Smith.”

“Kloe of Teiron,” said the voice under the green cloak.

“Do you see the pocket of that Noble Spear? The one just below and to the right of the tyrant?”

“Mmm.”

“Those poppies sticking out of it, my daughter put them there. Hopefully that soldier and all the others won’t have to fight the muira. But if it’s to be war-”

“Why hope against a fight?” Kloe interrupted.

Before Nikus of Aster could answer, Kratocles’ voice cracked as he launched back into his address: “My Teiron will have H-Honor honor- on-her side in any d-deadly conflict which the muira-bring. Honor, which cannot even by an-n-n-n in-inveterate foe be made a mockery. All her brothers and sisters-s-s-s; s-soldier and civilian; freeborn and slave; each and every one of us in this - in the-the county will hold to our ancestral heroism in the days, the days - uh - the months, the season that are to come. Today we are, are equal in the face of-”

The cheering grew so loud at this point that paving stones of the plaza itself seemed to tremble. Kratocles’ next several sentences were lost entirely. Nikus had to shout at Kloe’s ear. “I suppose you’re one of them Diogists then?”

“A philosoph? No,” said Kloe.

“But you do prefer our army unsmiling. Bristling with weapons.”

Kloe shoved a pedestrian who bumped against her shoulder. Her strength belied the small shape beneath the cloak. The man stumbled into the crowd, for he was slightly drunk, and the fever pitch of the crowd was such that he did not even realize he’d been pushed.

In the same motion Kloe opened the palm of one hand and slammed the other into it as a fist. “The principal duty of our soldiers is service to the Tyrant and to Teiron. Anyone who has witnessed the muira burn, murder, and rape their way into Leeges could never want for loyalty; but for our soldiers it is essential. Any Teironian who would falter at the shedding of muira blood is unfit for service.”

Kloe looked down and saw her hands then; the one fist white-knuckled in the other palm; both of them covered small cuts that had scabbed over. She let her hands fall back beneath her cloak.

Nikus, meanwhile, pushed back his sweaty hair. “Sky’s spots,” he said. He gave Kloe a long up-and-down look. “Then you think war’s sure?”

“I hope it is.”

“My compass doesn’t point that steady.”

“Teiron counts upon the steadfast s-sport of her allies. Upon the- the spears and hewers of Teiron - er, ofThiges. Upon the friends of, f-friens of the Barthan fleet.”

As Kloe matched the applause she said, “War is Teiron’s only shield against barbarians.”

“I only fear for our own soldiers and farmers,” said Nikus.

The head twitched to glance sidelong. “You should carry arms.”

“Hah!”

“Then you may defend yourself and those you worry for.”

Nikus barked another laugh. “My family doesn’t have so much as a steel club to our name.”

“Any trade tool may serve in the fight. Wield whatever you possess as a weapon.”

“Already from every corner of Leeges the p-people call for p-peace- ahhhh - and wish my volon all the-the good in the sir-cylinder. For today we, we stand once again in defense of Law - of Life, Law, and Reason.”

Despite a flat and faltering finish - marked at the end of the speech only by the raising of a shaking fist on the part of the Teironian Tyrant - the avalanche of sound and voice that repaid these last words threw all prior applause in shade. The thunder of sandals and boots truly did shake the foundations of the plaza this time. Smallbirds started up from their nest in the eaves of houses on the opposite side of Aster. The laughter of three muira girls at play in an alley across the old riverbed tapered into silence. All looked in the direction of Aster, and the human voices that echoed from it.

For several moments the crowd seemed almost on the verge of riot. Only when the voices began to run hoarse and the hands turned sore from applause did the sound begin to fade. Nikus of Aster applauded along with all others, though not without some small inner misgiving at the celebratory pitch. He turned to spare another word with the hooded stranger.

But Kloe of Teiron had vanished. Nikus glanced around, but could not distinguish her in the emotion of the crowd.

And what emotion is that, behind the flushed faces, the bared teeth, the clenched fists? What gleams in the eyes of the mob, and the eyes of the muira children who stare from a far-off street?

Fear, Tyrant Kratocles. Fear, my ambassadors and statesmen. Fear, true soldiers and false soldiers of every race. Fear, fathers and mothers, children, all those that breathe under the same wounded red sun. And with every stirring word, frightened.