A Knight of the Sacred Blade by Jonathan Moeller Page A

crowding the speaker’s platform. Wycliffe smiled at them all and turned to the flag-draped podium. A dozen microphones rose from its top like black antennae. Wycliffe smiled and held up his hands for silence. 
    The clapping died to faint clapping and a few cheers. Wycliffe looked over the faces of his supporters. Most had begun as lifelong Republicans and Democrats. Over the years, he had lured them into his fold, bit by bit, until he had an organization just as large and wealthy as either of the traditional political parties. 
    And now the pieces would fall into place.
    He felt the black magic stirring behind his eyes like a spider wrought of ice, waiting to be unleashed.
    “Ladies and gentlemen,” said Wycliffe, the speakers booming his voice over the arena. He gestured at the row of chairs behind him. “Distinguished guests, fellow public servants, prominent citizens of Chicago and Illinois, but most all, citizens of Illinois and the United States of America.” He gripped the podium with both hands, leaned forward, and grinned. “I’d like to thank you all for coming, especially in this snowy weather. Such a turnout gives me confidence in the future of democracy in this country. Now, if you’ll indulge me for just a moment, I’d like to start out with a story.”
    A chuckle went through the crowd.
    Wycliffe grinned. “As many of you know, I started out my career as an aspiring historian. I never got past just aspiring, I’m afraid. Other opportunities called…I’m afraid had to settle for a career in Congress.” He sighed and spread his hands. “I guess it could have been worse. After all, I could have become a lawyer.” 
    More people laughed. The attorney general grumbled something.
    Wycliffe let the laughter die down. “I was working on a historical paper the very day my career in politics began. It was about two brothers, Tiberius and Gaius Gracchus, two statesmen of ancient Rome. Tiberius was assassinated in 133 BC, and Gaius in 123 BC. But you haven’t come here for a history lecture, I assume. Why, do you ask, is this pertinent, given the grave issues that face our nation today?” 
    He stood silent for a moment, as if collecting his thoughts. He focused his will and drew the black magic to himself, letting it grow stronger and stronger.
    “When you think of ancient Rome, of what do you think? Emperors, no doubt. Slaves. Gladiators. Perhaps the ladies think of Russell Crowe?” Another laugh went through the crowds, and Wycliffe let his expression grow serious. “But, in truth, the Rome of Tiberius and Gaius is not so very different from our modern United States of America. At that time, Rome was a republic, not so very different from ours. Rome was the mightiest nation of her time, much the same as the United States. Rome had vanquished her enemies by the valor and bravery of her soldiers, again, much the same as the United States.” Wycliffe leaned forward and bit off every word. “And like the United States, the republic of Rome was in danger of becoming a dictatorship ruled by a tyrannical Caesar.” 
    The black magic writhed in the back of Wycliffe’s mind. He had spent years studying the effects of the Voice on crowds. He had found he could not use the Voice to compel the crowd, the way he used it to force inconvenient people to commit suicide. The Voice could control individuals, but it could not control an entire crowd at once.
    But the Voice could implant emotion.
    Wycliffe hid his grin and let the Voice filter into his words.
    “The republic of Rome was under siege,” he said, his will commanding the Voice to evoke disgust and outrage. “More and more wealth gathered in the hands of a rapacious and ruthless few. The Senate and the Assembly of the People had less and less control over these robber barons. In truth, the robber barons packed the Senate, and turned the Assembly of the People into a tool of their greed. And what of the everyday man, the Joe Six-pack, or the Joe