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A.R.Yngve
DARC AGES
Book Three
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Chapter 48

Alchaia's run

In the beginning of the month of Oktam, Tharlos gathered noblemen from all Castilia for a diplomatic conference in Pasko City.

Lord Azuch Fache sent a lowly robot representative, but refused to fly there in person. Tharlos Pasko surprised his guests by also inviting nobles from outside the Madrivalo province. The perceived threat of Darc's radio campaign must have been great, to convince them to risk such a long jet flight.

Laser messages arrived from other parts of Juro, even from the north of Awrica, to confirm the sudden widespread interest in Tharlos's initiative. After all, it was Tharlos Pasko who had first attacked Damon City - where Darc's career had began. Tharlos was not late to stress this fact.

After a modest but adequate welcoming ceremony, the visitors were ushered into a sealed hall in the castle. Tharlos took his seat and asked his murmuring guests for silence.

"My dear peers and guests - the good Lord Migam Pasko wishes you welcome to our house." He gestured at the empty high seat, where his father used to sit. "I regret to say that my father the city lord is gravely ill. He has granted me full authority over state affairs though, and I will serve as his representative."

The dozen or so guests - robots excluded - nodded their approval. Lord Fache's robot messenger raised a skeletal metal hand.

"Yes?"

"My master wishes to know if Lord Migam Pasko has appointed a successor to his title, Sir Tharlos."

Sir Tharlos. Tharlos was certain that Lord Fache had programmed his ambassador to only use that derogatory title, no matter what Tharlos called himself.

With an effort, he checked his fury and continued: "An heir has not yet been appointed. But the outcome is fairly clear, when you consider the fact that my only brother Andon Pasko is married away in another city... a marriage which I, in hindsight, deeply regret."

Tharlos made his best to feign a flash of sorrow; several guests appeared to buy his act. In reality, Tharlos was only relieved to have his weak brother out of the way, so that he could pursue his plans undistracted. The robot ambassador made a polite nod, and was still.

"Good. As you all know, the safety of our civilization is hanging by a thread. An impostor and demagogue known as Darc is stirring up the lower classes, not to mention The Ones Whose Very Name Brings Disease, against us..."

He looked across the table for a response; there were several.

"I share your concern," the slight Lord Yota said solemnly, and his son Ue nodded in silent agreement.

"Indeed," thundered Lord Orbes, slamming his hand against the table, "he is a threat not only to Castilia, but to the world! Imagine what would happen if we let him continue his campaign!"

A representative from Seguda City, the port town otherwise known as Kibralta, added to their self-righteous anger.

"Yes, the filthy Wastelanders would storm our grand old cities and destroy them forever! The Goddess knows we have fought them back before... but that was before one of our own class betrayed us and turned to their help!"

A younger nobleman from Western Castilia asked him: "Sir, are you referring to Lord Damon, or his renegade son, or Sir Darc?"

Tharlos raised his hands and gave the guests a suave smile. "My good friends, let us not bicker about details. The crucial matter is that we unite now, before it is too late! We must attack this tumor called Darc, before it spreads to healthy parts of our society!"

Lord Orbes asked: "But where can he be? Even Lord Damon does not know where Darc and his wayward son might be hiding."

Tharlos raised an index finger. "Darc may be a clever fiend, but he is no cleverer than our united might. I have just learned how these 'radio' devices work. To track down and fix his position, we must build our own sets of radio receivers. Together we can use those to pin down the source of the radio waves.

"Our next step would be to organize a strike fleet. Because I already suspect that Darc is located somewhere across the sea. This fleet would be bigger than anything seen in centuries. It badly needs an experienced commander who has met the enemy before..."

His charisma and boldness worked like a charm on the desperate noblemen. Before the end of the day, Tharlos had convinced the guests - robots not included - that he was their man.

An agreement was signed, and a new military alliance was formed - perhaps the mightiest alliance in the known world...



The month Oktam passed, and Eye-Leg's replacement body was approaching ripeness.

Rumors grew about the Leper Girl in Mechao's household, and the islanders were afflicted by a sense of impending misfortune. Many began to mutter curses over the strange guests who had upset their long peace. The presence of the newcomers had also stirred desires.

As the pressure in the hot air rose and sank in the stormy days, a confrontation became inevitable...



Dohan was instructing several hundred islanders on the beach, one cloudy day. He had already organized a 24-hour network of watchtowers and lookouts across the islands.

Rows of natives in camouflage clothes - only a handful of them men, mostly old - learned to mimic his moves with sword, bayoneted rifle, and shield.

Several of his students wore helmets and shields of wood; their metal arsenal was still being made. Dohan had no previous experience as a combat instructor. Whatever he could recall of his lifelong training, plus a few more tricks he had learned during his adventures with Darc, he used.

Toward the afternoon, Dohan showed his students a flat, polished aluminum shield.

"Mist, rain, glass, mirrors and smoke," he stated, "are often enough to weaken or deflect a laser-beam. Plasma beams, that appear similar to lasers, will burn through all such mediums. The best protection is always a blank, curved metal surface - aluminum, silver, or gold. If you fire at another man's... shield..."

Dohan stopped; his concentration faltered. Some members of the female audience were crossing and uncrossing their legs in a seductive fashion, and cast telling looks into his eyes.

He cleared his throat, and went on: "If you fire at another shield, the beam can bounce back at you. You must watch the angle - the way the shield is being held. A flat shield can bounce the beam directly back at you. A curved shield will bounce the beam in another direction, and it might hit someone next to you. Watch this!"

Dohan took the flat shield, and placed it upright in the sand a few meters away from himself. He put on a helmet, shut the facial visor, stepped back and kneeled behind another, curved shield.

Next to his position stood a man-sized boulder. He ambled closer to it, then aimed at the flat shield and fired one pulse.

The snap of the laser was heard, and simultaneously came a sharp crack when the reflected pulse hit the boulder next to Dohan. A tiny piece of the impact hole exploded, sending out a puff of smoke.

Dohan took off his helmet and grinned at his stunned audience.

"See? The ricochet hit close to me. It happens very often in battle. Remember the shield-wall tactic we trained earlier?" With a stick, Dohan drew a large sketch in the sand to show the group. "If the chain of shields breaks up at one point, the whole line of soldiers is vulnerable to laser ricochets. If one man, uh, soldier in the line falls, you must close the gap -"

Dohan was interrupted. A young messenger woman came running down a path, wearing a short skirt and running-sandals with studded heels.

"Aircraft! Aircraft flying in from the coast!" she yelled.

The crowd of natives, and a handful of onlookers, scrambled into cover behind rocks, camouflaged sheds, palm-trees, and ruins.

Dohan grabbed the shields and followed suit. The messenger girl ran after him, and accompanied him into cover.

"Where is it, girl?" She pointed up east, at a cloud. He saw no sign of aircraft. "I can't see it. Did it pass beyond the hills?" She nodded eagerly. Dohan hesitated a second, then said: "Take me to your lookout point."

He commanded the others to stay in hiding until he had returned, and ordered another messenger to alert Mechao and the village council.

The first messenger girl dashed off across the sand, Dohan breathing heavily as he ran after.

After a few minutes, they both reached a small green ledge above the beach. From there, the view was excellent in all directions. They huddled down in the undergrowth, and Dohan scanned the sky.

It still seemed as if the only aircraft in the vicinity was his own, concealed one.

He turned to the girl. "Are you certain you -"

Again she interrupted him - by embracing him and kissing his face. At first, Dohan was too confused to react; the next instant, he felt the girl's hand groping at his crotch. He tossed her aside furiously. The young woman stared back at Dohan with wild, brown eyes full of excitement. He was speechless.

"What's wrong?" she asked, sounding accusing and hurt, as if they were familiar with each other.

Now Dohan recognized her face: well shaped, with thin lips painted dark red, and her hair set up behind her head into a tail specked with glass beads. She was leaner and her limbs more wiry than Meijji's, but she resembled Meijji in shape and age. It was the younger sister Alchaia, who often kept herself in the vicinity of Dohan.

"There was no aircraft?" he asked, sending her an angry glare.

Alchaia rolled up her eyes and replied: "Of course! How else could I get us any privacy? In a boat?"

"That was a stupid prank, girl," he said as he started to walk away. "If I ever catch you with a false alarm again -"

"What? You wouldn't hurt someone who loves you, no? It's not fair that only she gets to bear your children! This is my island too!"

Only a lifelong training in courteousness prevented Dohan from slapping her.

"Enough of this," he muttered and treaded downhill, back toward the beach.

He wished his father - or Darc - had taught him what to do when courtesy failed. Running away from any challenge embarrassed him.

Alchaia yelled after him: "I could -"

She was about to utter a threat, but the fear of her older sister's wrath stopped her.

Alchaia saw no end to her jealousy. The long-lasting shortage of men on Kap Verita was not always painful to the islanders. Several unmarried women adapted effortlessly to a life with only female companions; and many of the few men married several brief times, fathering a great number of children.

But when two young women were competing for a desirable man, bloodshed lay close at hand. Alchaia decided to lie low, and wait for another opportunity to get Dohan - or get rid of Meijji.



When Mechao finally arrived to the beach with the council members and asked Dohan about the alert, Dohan said it had been a false alarm. The alert was called off. The islanders laughed and joked among themselves, happy that the dreaded attack had not come.

But Mechao sensed, through experience, that one of his daughters had mischief in mind. Later that day, he advised Amada to watch over Alchaia until the wedding.

"Those children!" Amada exclaimed. "Our prime source of joy and grief!"



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