An Angel Called Eternity

The Tribesman and the Tyrant: Kliran's Return

The Seventeenth Day of the Sixth Moon, 347BD.
Aegos, Aegan Hills, Dathan.

Godwyn sighed as he watched them lay his father to rest. Poor, poor August. The man who should have led them all back home. The man had been so certain that the war would end within his lifetime that its continuation had come as a genuine surprise to him, seemingly at least.

Well, Godwyn was in charge of the Klironomoi now. Godwyn Horaxe was going to lead his people home, and damn the Imperator.

He'd heard a few of his men singing a popular marching song amongst his people, the 'Kliran Bodyguard's Song', and for perhaps the first time he'd actually listened to and taken in the words.

There were better times before this,
One, two, three.
For at least we had a homeland,
One, two, three.
Before we see those good times again,
Our great-grandsons shall long be dead so,
One, two, one, two, three.

That had been the truth for so long, hadn't it? they'd stayed here, serving a foreign ruler for so long, that there wasn't a single one of them whose grandparent could remember a time when they were truly free.

The Tyrant's men, we're paid with bread,
One, two, three.
A loaf to feed a dozen soldiers,
One, two, three.
Thrice a day you'll earn some thin soup,
And you'll live your life on that so,
One, two, one, two, three.

Again, it was the truth. They were paid a pittance, and had lived their lives in shanty-towns and slums if they weren't in a barracks. There was no expectation that they might contribute to any fields of theology or philosophy, only that they work as craftsmen and soldiers. That was to be their lot in Aegos.

Only, was that really all his people could be? Of course not. That was all they were allowed to be. They could be so much more, if only they were given the chance.

If only they would take that chance.

But then he supposed that circumstances hadn't really been conductive for a return home within the lifetimes of the last few generations; the Silence had only just receded from the world after all, and to try and return home with a column of civilians and possessions amidst the chaos and the daemons would have been suicidal and foolhardy.

Now that the Silence was receding it seemed that such constraints were no longer an issue.

Compelling as such thoughts may have been, it had been the last part of the song that had really hammered home for him the fact that he needed to get his people to leave here at last. The rest of the song had been little more than a jovial lament at their living conditions and their history, but the last verse had really solidified in his mind that their poor conditions and hope to go home really had just been a tool used by the Imperators and the Tyrants before them to ensure that the Klironomeans had stayed as their loyal hounds.

Each morning we are drilled by southmen,
One, two, three.
The Tyrant makes us speak in Aegan,
One, Two, Three.
They promise us freedom in Kliran,
That's how they convince us to stay,
One, two, one, two, three!

And that was just it, wasn't it? Drilled by southern men who saw them as disposable and barbaric, having their culture diluted by that of Aegos despite all promises to the contrary because in all honesty there was bound to be some level of cultural pollination after having lived here for so long, and then they would be told that their loyal service would be rewarded with assistance in taking their homeland back if they would only wait a little while longer.

Well, he was done waiting. His people were done with waiting. They were to leave as soon as he gave the order, no matter what anyone said.