“Were you Warleader, Riggis,” Tool said, still standing relaxed, hands at his sides, “would you slay your best warriors simply to prove your right to rule?”
“Any who dared oppose me, yes!”
“Then, you would command out of a lust for power, not out of a duty to your people.”
“My finest warriors,” Riggis replied, “would find no cause to challenge me in the first place.”
“They would, as soon as they decided to disagree with you, Riggis. And this would haunt you, in the back of your mind. With every decision you made, you would find yourself weighing the risks, and before long you would gather to yourself an entourage of cohorts — the ones whose loyalty you have purchased with favours — and you would sit like a spider in the centre of your web, starting at every tremble of the silk. How well can you trust your friends, knowing how you yourself bought them? How soon before you find yourself swaying to every gust of desire among your people? Suddenly, that power you so hungered for proves to be a prison. You seek to please everyone and so please no one. You search the eyes of those closest to you, wondering if you can trust them, wondering if their smiles are but lying masks, wondering what they say behind your back—”
“Enough!” Riggis roared, and then charged.