Some
months went by and Strom was at an alter of some sort. He had migrated from south of Ganesh’s
Kingdom in Denmark to the north, the home of he descendants of Ishmael. There were thousands of people in front of
him. He was about to give a speech that
would make or break his plans for vengeance.
Strom had to get this right. His
anxiety was not detectable, but was surely present. That is how cool Strom was. The crowd chanted his name waiting for him to
begin. Strom let out a sigh and began
his tirade, “To be king! That is my
dream. That is my destiny. That is my only passion now. My obsession; I cannot deny it. To be king!
I will destroy those who have stood in our way. I will reward those who expedited our rise to
power, to greatness. Glory, my friends,
will only be achieved when the treacherous tyrants are given justice. Let us revolt. Let us organize. Let us fight back and take back our
lives. Give our farmers their land
back. Give our fishermen their seas
back. Give our smith’s their steel. Give me my crown. I will give you much more than I will take. Help me earn my station and I will help you
get back your lives that you rightfully earned.
We must oust our common enemy. We
will bury the house of Ganesh. But
first, let us feast!”
A tremendous amount of applause followed Strom’s
motivational speech. There was a great
amount of respect for him. His son Heti
was present as he always was. Heti
seemed more of a servant than a son, always doing petty chores and running
errands. He scurried closely behind
Strom as he walked to a table by at an empty seat to the left of Quadri and
Rohib, the only remaining relatives of Ishmail.
They were his great nephews. The
three men all shook hands and took their seats.
To Strom’s right was woman with him he chatted with the entire
night. Quadri and Rohib spoke quietly
with each other so as not to be heard by Strom or Heti. Quadri said to Rohib, “What exactly do we
know about Strom?”
“All my scouts have been able to reveal is that he is
the widower of a caretaker’s daughter.
Other than that, he is a normal peasant.”
“Should we relinquish our power to a normal
peasant? That does not seem to be a wise
decision, brother.”
Rohib said candidly, “I believe he is sincere. Besides, if he is not who we wish him to be,
he still cannot be as bad as Ganesh or Crom.
He is. . .the lesser of two evils, so to speak. He does posses a charisma, however. Such a charisma we do not posses. A great orator is more powerful than a dumb
wise man. He can employ his ability to
such great extent that we are destined to get what is ours.”
“That is true.
I suppose our message needs to get out, regardless of who delivers
it. The message is more important than
the messenger. I had my doubts, but now
I am optimistic.”
Smiling at his brother’s response Rohib reassured him
by saying, “Well now, the people shall have their lives back, and Ishmail shall
be avenged.”
###
More Greatest Evil
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