Serial
56: Revolution
January
24th, 33 S.D. 03:22 Belet, Northern Henron
After a long, cold ride across the plains, Koter and Tibil reached the village of Belet. In appearance, the place looked decidedly destitute. Each building was fraught with holes and worn down by age. The roads were in a state of utter disrepair, with their uneven levels, gaping potholes, and upturned chunks of earth simply scattered about. Yet this remote settlement belied a great secret. It had long ago been abandoned by its true residents. In their place, a host of rebels had claimed it as their own. As they’d entered, they’d been inspected by two guards then promptly escorted to one of the least rundown homes. Evidently, there was someone inside quite eager to discuss things with Tibil.
“Go on in,” Koter said as they disembarked. The Field Lead tied his horse to a nearby post as Tibil cautiously opened the door.
“Are you coming as well?” he asked, but Koter shook his head.
“No. I will wait out here.” He leaned back against the wall, halfway between the door and a cracked window. Koter stared off into the distance, folding his arms and crossing his leg.
“Sa...” Tibil said as he pushed his way into the house. The interior largely stood barren; only a few pieces of furniture populated the main room. A number of gas lanterns were burning at the moment, one of which sat on a low table before him. In front and behind that table, two ragged, torn couches faced one another. Coming up to this point, Tibil halted. He glanced around, but even so saw nary another person. For an instant, a shock coursed through his body. Was this all a trap in the end? Tibil frowned nervously as he turned back towards the door wondering what he should have done. Out of panic, he visibly shuddered when a man’s voice suddenly came to life.
“By the stars!” exclaimed someone. “Tibil! It truly is you now, sa?”
Tibil spun around and observed an elderly man approach from a corner of the house. He squinted for a time, feeling a sense of vague familiarity in this person. The man wore little glasses over a pronounced, somewhat scholarly nose. His gray hair ran backwards, wildly, almost eccentrically. A thin beard outlined his face.
“You are...” Tibil said, pausing for a bit while his memory made the connection. “Minister Albolt! Why, I hardly recognized you without that uniform you always wore in father’s court!”
“Indeed,” Albolt said, smiling. “But you will have to find some other feature to remember me now. I have long since stopped attending the Henron Court, as you should well know, Tibil.”
“Sa. You were supposed to have been executed.”
“As were you, my boy,” Albolt emphasized.
“Have you really heard about me already? It was hardly 20 hours ago that my predicament became what it is now.”
“Let us say we here in Belet have our ways of knowing. We suspected as much even before Heigon gave the orders himself. It seems we were not late in our actions, fortunately.”
“I cannot thank you all enough. Were it not for you, my life would be forfeit,” Tibil said, bowing for a moment.
“Do not thank me, Tibil. It was Koter, after all, who delivered you to us.”
Tibil’s brow quickly flicked up. “Koter is his name? Wait, you mean the same one from TRIBLADE?”
“Sa.”
“Then Prime Lead Govan...”
“Knows nothing of this,” Albolt said.
Tibil bit his lip as he puckered for a moment. “Yet, he said he was under orders. Yours then?”
“No,” Albolt frowned, clapping his hands together but once. “The lad is an enigma. Whoever sent him to aid us remains unknown. However, given the risks he had undertaken, we have placed our trust in him. He is of no mind to stand on the side of your father, and that is the only account that matters here.”
“I suppose you did not simply save my life because we know each other,” Tibil put forward.
“I would be lying to you if I said I could have let you die without a burden upon my heart. Equally so, I would be lying if I said your life did not have tactical advantages we need. I believe now would be a good time to sit down, for we have much to discuss at length.” Albolt gestured to the shabby sofas. They each occupied one for themselves. As Albolt eased his old self slowly into the cushions, he exhaled longly before speaking again.
“I imagine you went through quite an ordeal yesterday.”
“An ‘ordeal’ is something quick and over with. The sorts of trouble I saw were disasters in their own rights, and things still do not look much better.”
“Fair enough,” Albolt said, nodding slightly. “You do understand the key details of your situation, correct?”
“Well, it is not terribly hard to recount the facts,” Tibil began. “While in the capital, father sent word to have me apprehended and killed. I only became aware of the plot thanks to Vergon, my faithful friend. It would seem I have been judged a threat to father’s position, although I cannot fathom why. I have never harbored any thoughts of forcing him from his place.”
“Not yet, at any rate.”
Tibil glanced away at those words. “He is not being rational. If I were being framed, I could understand that, and I would know who to blame. But, this is all father’s decision. Out of his own consul and advice, he has disowned me.”
“Sa,” Albolt said raising a hand. “It may seem quite inexplicable, but that is what happens when the full story is concealed from one’s eyes.”
“Full story?” Tibil blinked as he shuffled forward to the edge of his seat. “Whatever do you mean, Albolt?”
“I speak of the motives that move behind closed doors, of plans and formulas devised in secret, not unlike ours,” the old man chuckled. “You father may have absolute authority in name, but there are always wills that cannot be bent. You see, before I was done away with, another minister was assassinated.”
“Who?” Tibil asked.
“Silna.”
“I thought he had passed away, a heart attack, heart failure or some such.”
“That is what is reported, but while I was still in Heigon’s favor, he told me otherwise. The cause of death was indeed a heart attack, one triggered by a powerful poison.”
“Wait, what justified his life be wiped away in such a manner?”
“Tibil,” Albolt said, leaning back against the sofa. “Do you honestly think the people, our people, are satisfied with everything? The ways in which we live and die, are they acceptable?”
“I am not foolish enough to think everything is fine. We do have a stable, orderly society, but we are repressed by ourselves. Our military carries an incredible jurisdiction over civilians, and not every punishment or corrective action they take is even remotely fair. On top of that, father stands above all others. He is the law of Henron, and so much as questioning that leads one to the grave. Add a poor economy, and Henron has plenty of internal issues. Was Silna vocal about our problems? I doubt father’s tolerance lasted long if that were the case.”
“You are sadly correct,” Albolt answered. “Silna knew one day you would come to take over, so he began the framework for many reforms. He had hoped you would be more open and receptive than your father, which I can already see is true. Heigon would little even acknowledge our situation. Needless to say, Heigon was not amused once he learned of this. He considered it treachery, and from that Silna received his fate, as did you.”
“How exactly did I get myself caught up in events like that?”
“You should really be blameless. Heigon, however, is not a man to bear an offense lightly. When people started talking about a future without him, he began to feel enraged as well as vulnerable. In addition to Silna, he lashed out at me, and obviously yourself. His actions manifest his own insecurities and expose his blind ego. He would solidify his grasp on Henron even at the expense of his only son. Heigon wants to be revered as our clan’s current leader. Even planning what to do after his eventual demise is tantamount to treason, an attack on his sovereign governance. In having you eliminated, he hoped to rid us of any notions of change.”
Tibil sighed and hung his head. “So that explains it all,” he said, slowly wiping a hand over his forehead.
“Power can corrupt every one of us,” Albolt warned, thoughtfully bobbing his chin up and down as he tugged at his beard. “No soul on the Continent is exempt from its temptation. The mark of a true leader, however, is someone who can resist its influence.”
Tibil turned to the side and laughed slightly. “You are always full of such wonderful little sayings, Ver Albolt,” he noted genuinely.
“And you have always had such keen ears to listen, Tibil. Quite unlike your father.”
“Sa, alright. We have spoken about how both of us got here, but where do we go from this point? What are our roles?” Tibil remembered how Koter had spoken to him earlier. It seemed as if Albolt and the others had a use for him. But in what capacity?
“Sa, the crux of the conversation,” Albolt said.
“You all want to change our land for the better. What specifically will we do?”
“There are three goals we primarily have in mind. The first is to bring an end to this costly, misguided war. I am sure you know just how badly things are going for us, sa?”
“Well,” Tibil began. “As I understand it, we have suffered loss after loss, with naught to show for it.”
“An assessment more candid than a certain someone would care to make. We have experienced nothing but setbacks. However, we are probably blessed that the enemy is so strong.”
Tibil thought for a while, trying to gain the finer meaning of Albolt’s words. “Oh...” he said. “I see. Because of that so-called ‘Wolf of Sventa’, the unbeatable warrior, we are losing by a large margin. Support is bound to be low, and moral among the soldiers will buckle. We should be able to garner enough sentiment among the Henron to cease all hostilities.”
“Sa. An unpopular war will not last long. As it stands, the whole affair is terribly one-sided as well. If we do not stop, Sventa will see to it that we do. They will make it so we simply cannot fight back.”
“The other goals are...?”
“Sa, moving on. Our second objective is to establish better economic conditions in Henron, chiefly by addressing foreign trade.”
“You mean with Gandians?” Tibil asked.
“No, within the Central Plains,” the elder responded. “While there is some movement of goods between the Central Plains and the rest of the Continent, only the border clans enjoy frequent merchandise, specifically on the Western Corridor, and to a lesser extent those near the Lower Vestel. Consider that the more aggressive and territorial major clans have markets that act as silos, essentially. Those clans that are neutral or actually aligned with another share their products, and in that simple display of cooperation, they prosper.”
“That is a lofty premise,” Tibil said, leaning forward; his elbow sat on his knee while his arm and fist propped up his jaw. His eyes stared into the lantern as he talked. “But what you suggest runs contrary to our culture. Henron has always been a proud, independent clan, unreliant upon the likes of others. Our very history is of a people who carved out an existence in this land and made it their own. We have always fought against others, and we have always been alone.”
“And if something does not work, you change it so that it does. Our ways no longer benefit us. The times have provided us with us with as much evidence. Henron will not be able to ignore this reality forever. A shift in our ways of thinking may be uncomfortable, but continuing about like we do now will certainly beget us greater, more troubling problems.”
“So, basically, we would have Henron soften its external stance with others in the hopes of sparking business?”
“Correct,” Albolt affirmed. “Neither Henron as a clan nor the rest of the Central Plains may be so accepting of the idea, initially, but eventually it should take root.”
“I should hope so. What of the final goal?”
“Well, if the first were trivial, and the second difficult, the next is going to be outright crazy.”
“Let me guess; father needs to relinquish his position, by force or otherwise.”
“Tibil, we must be honest with ourselves. There really is no way around it. Heigon must not be allowed to wield the sort of power he has. No Henron should, in fact, ever. This cannot be a revolt against one tyrant in exchange for another potential. We need a new system, a new way of instituting our society.”
“So replacing him is not enough?”
“No one is going to replace him. I know you personally looked forward to becoming such a harsh, unforgiving dictator yourself, but I must inform you that shall not be happening,” Albolt said with a wink.
“Hah! I never had any love for the future I was supposed to have,” Tibil smiled. “The next supreme leader of Henron? It was actually something I dreaded, like an impending sentence. Digressing, what sort of new order did you have in mind? Obviously, it does away with autocrats, but who then shall come to carry our clan’s authority?”
“After much thought, I have concluded that a council of some variety will be best. You are aware that the Sventa themselves are a highly organized clan, correct? They have familial houses that send their head representatives to a sort of central congregation where they hash out solutions and agreements. For a clan as large as they are, they have a remarkably efficient model of government. We could learn a thing or two from them.”
“To be fair, are not the Sventa already divided into groups based on their surnames and such? Toroms as they call them? We have nothing comparable. Both you and I, for example carry no last name. I suspect belonging to a particular family makes it easier for large groups to share similar political views. In the end, they probably have to contend with only a few factions amongst themselves. We might have dozens. How will this council serve as anything more than a forum for a thousand different views?”
“You and your shrewd scrutiny,” Albolt grinned. “Naturally, we want the members to be able to agree on something, so there cannot be too many of them. However, having only a few turns them into an oligarchy if abused. As I have devised, we can divvy up Henron into four distinct regions, based on the compass of course. From each region, we assemble 32 members who will convene in the capital and collectively drive our clan forward.”
“Hmm...” Tibil mused. “I see. You figure each representative from their area of Henron will have similar interests. But among the four regions, each of the delegates will be nuanced enough to spark real debates and discussions.”
“That is the theory in general, sa.”
“However, I am still unaware of what I can do for this movement,” Tibil said, putting his hands together, interweaving his fingers. “I cannot fight well, save for emergencies, nor can I make for an effective combat leader. And, if we are to oust my father to change Henron, I do not see myself as having any support from the people at large. They do not know me intimately; any position I assume, any office I hold will simply look as if I were just as ambitious as father was.”
“Tibil,” Albolt said, shaking his head back and forth. You so easily assume there is no faith in you among Henron. There is a reason why Silna saw you as a chance to make Henron into something more.”
“But if I stand against father, and then we win, the whole case will appear as nothing more than a son’s grab for power... I would ideally step aside from all forms of authority.”
“I am afraid we want to ask you to do just the opposite. Allow me to explain. I do not believe Henron is ready for the sort of robust democracy the Sventa have established. At any rate, that kind of civil progress must occur naturally, not artificially. The time will come, but a direct upheaval without transition - especially with the war ongoing - would throw us into chaos. We need someone who will usher in the new era.”
“Consider, Tibil, that the people require a sense of familiarity in their government. Heigon may have been cruel all of these years, but he was predictable, a known factor of our lives. When the moment of change arrives, your presence will help ease the minds of the clan. You are correct: no one really knows Tibil Henron. But among the masses, even they can plainly see you are fairer than your father. Did you know there was much talk a few years ago that you would seize Henron for yourself? It was a baseless rumor �" obviously, since Heigon did nothing to you then - but the point of matter is the gossip did not stick and quickly died. It simply did not fit your character, how Henron perceived you.”
“Sa, sa...” Tibil sighed. “But... what exactly would you have me do, assuming we could achieve any of this?”
Albolt laughed for a bit, tossing his head back. “Sa, sa. Sorry my boy. That is the third or so time you have asked, but I seem to keep getting lost in the smaller details. Very well. We want you to assume the mantle of a new position, that of the Marshal.”
“Marshal, is it? Please tell me it is nothing like becoming lord of all Henron.”
“Far from it, rest assured. The Marshal’s purpose is to facilitate and conduct the meetings of the upcoming council. In that capacity, you will serve as a moderator, guiding them along. You will have powers specific to the operation of the council, but in comparison to Heigon, you will not have the leeway to act as you please.”
“Shrieks, thank the stars for that. I want nothing to do with having strict control over the lives of our people.”
“You would have some authority, chiefly over the military, and you may issue temporary decrees in times of crisis, but outside the council itself you would serve as our face to the world.”
“You mean, like an ambassador?” Tibil asked, cocking his head to the side.
“In so many words, that is correct. As Marshal, you will become a statesman.”
“Sa... After running away into the night, I was kind of hoping I could have put Henron behind me, start a new life somewhere else, maybe go to Gandia. It seems, however, you have already written me into our future, our history that is to come.”
“Guilty as accussed,” Albolt chortled.
“I suppose this is no time to shirk a man’s responsibility and flee his own land. Ah, and I was already contemplating the beaches of Senada... Joking aside, why me? Why choose me as Marshal? If you wanted to avoid a panic among the people once father is overthrown, all you need is someone of charisma to rally them around a new government.”
Albolt snuffed loudly. “And who was it some 40 years ago who showed us such charisma? Now look at what he has brought us to. We have no need for personalities. We need a figure of integrity. Someone the people can trust.”
“I still do not know if I qualify, but I think the will of our people will judge me for whatever worth I might prove.”
“So then, you will join our cause?”
“Albolt, even if I cannot fulfill the role you have laid out for me, I cannot idly stand by any longer. The condition of Henron is untenable; we need to change. But mere talk has its limits. Tell me, Albolt, how will we achieve everything you have laid out? Even with his flaws, father maintains support from many officials. I do not think we can persuade everyone to our faction, and in that I foresee a lot of strife among ourselves as Henron. If we cannot succeed quickly, we risk our movement dissolving into utter civil war. How can we muster the force to win the battle that will surely come?”
Albolt cleared his throat shortly before leaning in. “Well, if you thought everything I had outlined already was bold, you have yet to see my true audacity.”
“Albolt, what in the world are you plotting now?” Tibil asked, hunching forward as well. The former minister spoke lowly as if protective of his words, despite the two’s relative privacy and obscurity.
“It sounds farfetched, but I am sure the person I have in mind shall help. She seems reasonable and compassionate. The outcome of our endeavors would surely be something she will endorse.”
“Who? Who is this woman?”
“Losha Holvate Sventa.”
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