The Republican

The Republican

"Article Four: His Honour Lessan of House Firanne shall henceforth be obligated to call the Burghal Assembly annually, on punishment of Prorogation of His Royal Duty." the scribe called out.


A murmur of tacit agreement filled the room of Assembly members, still drooping over their candles and well beyond a hangover. Faederiko took this as a moment of triumph, after all he had been been the one to introduce this article as a key part of the Radicals' manifesto, and now even the staunchest Establishmentarian in Eadwyn Hafford, member of the Mournish old guard, barely blinked at the Assembly writing the very idea he had so staunchly opposed into law. The truth of the matter was that the illegitimate King Lessan was doomed to lose his power entirely if it were not for their benevolence, and so formerly great men like Eadwyn, men who still remembered Guimo's pact with the Anomedians, were forced to accept whatever scraps of consolation were thrown their way. That deal with the devil was the only good decision the old fart made - it led us to this moment.


"Article Five: The Burghal assembly shall henceforth be assigned legislative supremacy, and the full right to execute any act with a total bypass of Royal Assent. Addendum: when deemed necessary by the Chair of the Assembly." the young man continued.


A triumphant "Hear, hear!" came from the bench of the Moderates and their leader, Chair of the Assembly Maenno Guanes, who had pushed for the addendum as a compromise that avoided a potential dominance over the entire legal organs of Savournia by the Radicals, Faederiko's faction that held a majority in the Assembly at present. Not only is it a jab against our land reform, it's also clearly a gambit to further his own power, the selfish bastard. Faederiko looked over at his boss Mayor Hossan, who muttered something under his breath. This was the price they'd had to pay to even have the article passed in the first place, but few other than the most moderate of Moderates were happy with the final consensus. In fact, that was a fitting description of the Declaration of Civil Liberties: a makeshift collection of painfully delicate legislature that had been whittled down to a shoddy compromise that favoured only the presiding Chair and his clique. The Declaration had its victories, of course, and once the Captive King was presented the deal he would sign it immediately, but the merchants and townsfolk who had been squeezed out of every last penny through duties and tolls would have to grin and bear the sight of their demon returning to its tyrannical throne, albeit blinded and with clipped claws.


"Article Six: The prerogative to declare war, sign a treaty of peace, and sign any other treaty regarding foreign affairs shall henceforth be assigned to His Honour only in the event of majority approval in the Burghal Assembly."


This was one of the few articles that received little fanfare, especially since even the Establishmentarians would agree that Lessan's recent treaty with Anomedia had put the crown in such horrific debt that the servicing alone covered over a third of royal expenditure. Lessan was not a shrewd operator; it was how he found himself in this position in the first place. Indeed, if it weren't for his status as the son of the abominable Guimo who had happened to be the man to liberate the cities from Sindar tyranny, he would likely have been overthrown immediately. After all, how does one man have the right to call himself King, an aristocrat, when true power lies in the hands of the Burghers and the mayors? Better and more appropriate trade deals would be organised by those who they truly affected, and there was little question about that. The Assembly seemed so utterly bored by this idea that no one even bothered to raise their voice, all preparing themselves for-


"Article Seven: Royal Accounts for each year should be submitted to the Assembly for review; if the honourable members do not vote a majority in favour, the Accounts shall be returned for reevaluation and revenues shall be suspended until an agreement."


This was the coup d'état, the final blow against the royal prerogative, and the room broke out into chaos once again. The article seemed tame by itself, but in practice would be a method for the Assembly to starve out any King they disagreed with, anytime they wanted, with nothing but a simple majority. This was the final transfer of absolute rule to a figurehead monarch, and a man who would have to kneel to his own subjects. The Establishmentarians stormed out in shame, with Hafford leaving his seal on his seat as a sign of his disapproval; the Moderates frowned in frustration, knowing that while this gave them absolute power in the present, it gave a route in for the Radicals; and the Radicals cheered. Faederiko never thought he'd hear such a beautiful ballad in his life - the King, the mighty Lessan, dethroned through legislation. It was a heroic triumph for law and order, and the proper representation of the townsfolk.


Hossan looked over at him and grinned, saying something through his gleaming smile that was drowned out by the cacophony of discord that still crashed against every surface in the room. As the last of the Establishmentarians left, a conflicted Chair Maenno stood up and made his declaration.


"The Assembly has voted twenty five yeas, twenty four nays, and eleven abstentions. It is thus declared that the Act of the Seven Suggestions shall be submitted for Royal Assent. The Assembly shall reconvene in the Burghal Chamber at the fifth hour on the morrow. Dismissed."


As the last of the members slipped out of the conference room, Hossan and the rest of the radicals stayed behind, gathering their thoughts. After a long wait, and a few shared glances, Mayor Hossan grabbed Faederiko's arm, tugging it harshly as he brought him onto the table. Faed tried to regain his balance, but splayed out onto his hands and knees, sending shock through his sleep-deprived mind. He clenched his fists and stood up next to his leader. What is he trying to pull? Hossan grabbed Faed's arm, and raised it up into the air.


"Behold! A young man, the most obscure delegate from the poorest of the six cities, has entered into the light, and battled with the best. Behold! This young man alone gave us Article Four, and together we nailed the yoke of Article Seven onto Lessan's crooked neck! Let us drink!" he yelled.


It was the greatest moment of Faederiko's life. All his four-and-twenty years he had been kicked down, and through his determination to tear down the King who oppressed his people, he had come far. No more arbitrary taxes, no more arrests, no more prerogative. The people reigned, through their esteemed delegates. Hossan had made the right choice by appointing him into this position, to represent their shared city of Medelan with all his courage.


Faederiko cleared his throat to regain everyone's attention, and blurted out the first thing that came to his mind. "Down with the tyrant!"


"Down with the tyrant!" they repeated, again, and again, and again. They continued, their voices barely tiring through their zealotry, all the way to the nearest tavern, where they drank themselves blind. The night spun around him, and Faederiko's mind flung itself through the dark hours in a train of ecstasy.


Faederiko woke up with a Mournish hammer pressing into his skull, clawing at his mind. Fucking hell. What even happened last night? He looked to either side of him, and saw a burly young man with short, curly hair, and an older woman, hair with grey streaks, lying asleep, each huddled close to him. I didn't even know I was into that, but I suppose we learn something new every day, he laughed. He scrambled to get out of bed, crawling in between the two of them and climbing down by the foot of his bed. Luckily for him, he recognised the furniture, and knew that this was in the 'Oarsman's Dive', by Tarenna's harbour, the tavern that he and the rest of the Radicals frequented. At least I'm in the same city. Faed slipped over to the wardrobe and found a wrinkled white shirt and a pair of stained brown trousers, likely left over from his last visit, and shoved himself in front of a mirror. His curly brown hair fumbled across his face, and he looked as if he had been dragged out of a sewer, so he turned around and scavenged for more. Opening up a drawer, he pulled out a dark-grey gambeson and a feathered hat. This is good enough. His head still pounding, Faederiko assembled his outfit in front of the mirror and tentatively pulled open the door, finding an empty corridor in front of him.


Something felt off. The tavern was completely quiet, and Faed's hairs stood up from his skin. He made his way through the corridor and down the stairs, but again, nothing. He'd hoped to see at least one of his fellow delegates, but instead he was met with only a subtle rumbling from outside. His heart pounded. He opened the door, only to be met with a street thronging with crowds, yelling, pushing, some even sobbing. No one took note of him, and he began to panic. What is this, revolt? An uprising? I need to get to the Assembly. Faederiko took off, weaving his way through the crowds and fumbling across pebbled stones, his sights set on the Assembly's Provincial Court, at the top of Garonne Hill in the centre of the city. His eyes clung to it like an infant to its mother, and his battered mind could think of nothing but marching through the doors. He heaved his left leg forward, then his right, left, right, and dredged his way up the hill, all the while the shouts grew louder, more violent, and the pushing turned to scrapping. Everything moved so quickly, and he could hardly grasp the time to blink between each punch thrown, and each yell. "Rus Publeyca!" they yelled. "Rus Publeyca!" Anomedian. I believe it means something like 'popular rule'. Their republics died the moment Arenykos took the Mother Eagle's call - what is this about?


With the great oaken doors to the Burghall Assembly stood before him, Faederiko finally made the last few painful squeezes between the folk of the crowd and ascended the five steps to the entrance, despite his several near-misses at tripping and slamming his head into them. As he stumbled onto the first step, Faekeriko stood erect, wiped down his clothes, and looked at the two guards standing before him. "Are you going to let me in or not?"


After a short wait, the two men looked at each other before pushing open the doors, throwing Faed in, and slamming them behind him. He could hear the storm of footsteps rumbling outside, and a sudden banging against the door. No wonder they were so cautious about that. Collecting himself, Faederiko scanned the hall, spotting his fellow Radicals on the left-wing of the amphitheatre, seemingly agitated and with an evident lack of Mayor Hossan. The Moderates sat in the centre, as usual, but also spilled over onto the right, seemingly having picked up some of the Establishmentarians, while Hafford and his clique had stayed at home. However, as was custom whenever he appeared, the King, that damnable Lessan, was sitting - no, standing - over the Chair's seat. His long, black curly hair had been strewn out, part of it dangling over his face, with his crown nowhere to be seen. It was evident that the man hadn't slept.


"Ah, Delegate Faederiko! At last, at last! May you tell the floor where your superior is, the Higher-Delegate Hossan?" he asked, his lips trembling.


"I will be entirely honest, Your Honour, I haven't the faintest clue." Faed retorted, stumbling over to his seat and dropping down with a thud.


"Well.. well... Nonetheless! Nonetheless! Let us begin!" Lessan managed to blurt out, looking as if constructing each single word took him every part of his mental faculties. "I, His Honour, King Lessan, hereby prorogue this session of the Honourable Burg-"


The man couldn't even finish his sentence until he was interrupted by a deluge of insults from the Radicals. No law can be made if the man cannot finish his sentence... Faederiko stood up, motioning to take the floor, and continuing even when ignored. "I believe," he yelled, "that not every man in this room can hear His Honour. May he repeat his words?"


Lessan began to panic. "I hereby pro-"


He was cut off again, and this time by laughter. The fool is being undermined by the very practices of the Assembly he wrote into law. Faed took a breath through his cackling to reply once more. "I believe His Honour may wish to admit that we care little for his words, and so we shall never hear them until our tongues are torn out!"


"Enough!" Lessan screamed, finally breaking through the laughter and causing shocked silence, while invoking a smug grin from some of the Moderates. He turned cautiously to the guard beside him. "Send them in. Arrest every man on the left-wing."


Faederiko froze, trying to figure out if he'd really heard what the coward said. He looked left and right, and saw a single-file line of soldiers marching in on either side, bowing their heads towards the ground to reveal their flat-topped helms as they slowly began to level their spears at the Radicals. Faed simply couldn't believe it. We were so close, so close to success, but that craven, that tyrant, calls in his soldiers as he always did, and we now stand endangered. He joined his comrades in screaming "Traitor!", but to no avail. One by one, each delegate was grabbed and began to be herded back the way the soldiers came. It seemed as if every single one of Lessan's enemies would be extinguished all at once, apart from Hossan. Where the fuck is Hossan?


As if his words were an incantation, the main doors flung open behind him, and his boss Hossan strode through, flanked by soldiers from the city guard. The room fell silent.


"May all in this room confess that they observed His Honour, King Lessan, order his men against the delegates, in clear violation of section two of the Burghal Assembly's agreed rites?"


"Aye!" the room replied in near-unison.


"Then by the law of the realm, it seems prudent that I declare that His Honour, Lessan Firanne, be taken in custody by his faithful subjects until he is suitably punished for his violation. Get him." Hossan declared, smirking.


The city guardsmen flooded into the room, causing Lessan's men to break ranks and flee. The King, quickly realising that he had no clear escape from the situation, reached down to his ankle and drew out a dagger, seemingly wishing to make some kind of last stand to preserve his honour. The guardsmen, however, had other plans; as the miserable King charged at them, one man slammed his shield against his head, while another slammed his knee into his belly. Utterly dazed and deflated, King Lessan collapsed to the floor, and was quickly dragged over to Hossan, who was now standing over the Chair's seat as his adversary had been just moments before. As the guardsmen began running further into the building through the two entrances that flanked the hall, chasing down the King's men, the two that remained forced the King down to his knees and placed him in the centre of the room, facing up towards Hossan.


The Mayor of Medelan looked down on the tyrant, and began his speech. "Ever since I was first elected, twelve years ago, I have fought tooth and nail to keep Medelan safe from your tax burdens. Every year you cried out that war with the Free Cities was to come, and that you simply needed a dozen more ships, a hundred more men. Every year we acquiesced, and handed you a thousand more galleons, two thousand, until we had nothing more to give. And yet, in all your arrogance, you demanded more, all the while expecting us to smile and bow in your presence, and serve you the finest wines. You took everything from us, and gave us nothing, citing some bizarre notion of sacrifice made by your father, a man whom neither we appreciated, nor is the same man as you. You have no right to use his name as a rod with which to beat us until we drop to the ground, pleading for mercy, only for you to beat us again until we have no spirit to plead with.


"One thing changed in recent weeks, and that was the death of the insufferable King Fradirik in the Mansa, and the establishment of their Rus Publeyca. That moment proved to us that we could rule without a King, and that we could thrive in the absence of tyranny. Now, just like our counterparts, we have ended your insolent reign, and it is time to declare our own Rus Publeyca, the Commonwealth of Savournia!"


Faederiko couldn't help but leap from his seat in applause, cheering as he clapped his hands together with such force he thought that his skin might tear itself apart. This was the moment he had dreamed of, and it had gone perfectly. All those loyal to the people now stood in one room, applauding a dutiful and wise leader who fought for the realm, not his pockets, and the tyrant was on his knees.


"Put him in the dungeons." Hossan ordered, finishing his oration.


Faed immediately dashed forward, bowing his head to his boss and singing a thousand praises, dropping to one knee, and swearing an impromptu oath of allegiance, prompting his peers to follow suit. In response, their new liege bid them rise, and briefly took Faederiko aside, dropping his ear-to-ear grin and appearing more sincere.


"You've done some incredible work, lad, and I couldn't be more proud of you. The road ahead will be difficult, and I plan to put all the armies and fleets Lessan assembled to good use, but with you and the others by my side, I'm sure I can succeed. However, all that said, I cannot be a mayor and govern the realm at the same time, so I hereby appoint you Mayor of Medelan." he said, a proud gleam in his eye.


Faederiko paused, before mumbling a thank you, only to see that Hossan had already begun speaking to someone else. Something held back his jubilation. Who elected him as our ruler, and who elected me as mayor? Deep down, he knew he must've done the right thing, and that Hossan's rule would be glorious and noble, but he couldn't help but feel as if nothing had truly changed. If this is the rule of the people, then where are they?