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A.R.Yngve
DARC AGES
Book Three
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Chapter 56

As Tharlos Pasko continued to deteriorate, so did his rule.

He repeatedly postponed the meetings of his Koban-Jem cult, while burying himself in the plans for the attack on Kap Verita. He had even allowed himself not to dye his long hair in several weeks - and it was rapidly darkening to its natural stripy, black nature.

The control of Pasko City itself was left to the city guard and its corrupt, underpaid militia; extortion rackets and kidnappings became their routine. The previously bustling city began to resemble a ghost-town, its streets increasingly abandoned and filthy.

The once prosperous ghetto of the city's religious minority, now ransacked and burnt, still remained in ruins where a few desperate survivors fought starvation.

On one wall of the ghetto ruins was scribbled a message in large black letters, that captured the general mood:

NO LAW
NO FAITH
NO HOPE

Lord Migam Pasko could sometimes be seen staggering through the rooms and halls of his spacious castle, always with a bottle in hand - a derelict in his own home, his hair and beard long and unkempt, eyes dull and red. The castle staff ignored him as much as they could.

As for Tresa Pasko, she was falling into a state resembling her husband's dementia since autumn. But she upheld a shrill and hollow facade of normalcy whenever she showed herself in public.

In this state of affairs, Tharlos found himself spending every free moment fantasizing about murdering his parents. Countless plots played in his rotting mind, each more intricate than the last. He suffered no pangs of ill conscience, only the fear of failure and defeat.

One evening in the beginning of Tsemba, Tharlos tuned in to another of Bor Damon's radio speeches. The gaunt, tall young warrior paced back and forth on the tiled floor, his head aching dully with hate and loathing.

Then he had an idea.



At once Tharlos sent for his best spies, Rosen Craz and Goldy Stierne, and gave them a new assignment.

They exited the castle disguised as soldiers, and sneaked into the parts of the city where the growing opposition to the Pasko family used to gather.

In a dark back alley, the spies shed their disguises and entered an illicit tavern, where cutthroats and dissenters gathered to plot. The spies began to talk loudly, so that people could overhear, of what ought be done with the ruling family.

The spies had not been sitting in their dark corner for very long, when a cloaked figure approached them. His face was in shadow; his hands, supporting a beerstein, were pale and well manicured - the spies noticed a heavy ring glistening on one of his fingers. Nobleman fingers, they thought, belonging to a man of the lower nobility. Rosen and Goldy exchanged knowing glances.

"I heard you are here in business matters?" the cloaked man asked - attempting to sound tough, but not quite succeeding.

"Who's asking?" Rosen probed suspiciously.

"No questions, no lies," came the man's reply. He looked about himself, then slid down on a stool facing them. He leaned forward and said in a lower voice: "The word gets around. You want to get rid of... a troublesome itch, and you are prepared to pay for it."

Stierne nodded slightly, not moving closer. "Have you heard of the goings-on in Castilia?" he asked.

"Who hasn't?"

"What do you think of the... situation?"

"What do you think?" the man retorted.

The agents smiled. "Relax, we hate that tyrant Pasko as much any man," Rosen Craz said reassuringly. Yeah, I think Lord Bor Damon is right. Sir Tharlos is a bad, bad man. You know what they say about him?"

Relieved to be among friends, the cloaked nobleman replied: "Yes, he robs young women and sacrifices them to an evil idol. There is a secret cult around Koban-Jem. He leads it." And added bitterly: "That is, he used to lead it before he started this futile war with our allies the Damons. He will be the end of us all."

Goldy Stierne nodded thoughtfully, took a sip of his drink, and said: "But isn't the old city lord the truly guilty one? He's a raving drunk. Someone ought to put an end to his misrule, so that the succession could be arranged, before Sir Tharlos snatches the throne with the support of the law - wouldn't you say?"

The cloaked man said nothing, but nodded to them, drinking in heavy swigs. The spies ordered another round, and bought the man more beer. Two rounds later, they decided he was ripe for the picking.

"Could you keep a secret?" Rosen asked casually.

"For a hundred in gold, I'd keep any secret," the cloaked man whispered with ill-concealed greed.

He was an easy victim.

Rosen explained: "We represent a friend in another city. An important man, our friend, who thinks the Paskos have outlived their rule. Our friend wishes to liberate this city from Lord Migam's tyranny..."



In the following morning, as Darc was preparing the radio soundstage for a new broadcast, he spotted something in a dark corner.

It was a working model of a radio receiver, built into a wooden frame, the size of a knapsack - the type they had been spreading blueprints for, before sending any actual messages.

Darc blinked at the frame of tubes and circuits that was gathering dust under a sheet, and hesitated... then it dawned on him.

"Damn!" he shouted, and slapped his forehead. "What was I thinking?"

Darc rushed over and carried the radio receiver into the light. He walked across the laboratory to Mechao's central control table that held the power switchboard.

From here, electrical current from the transformer station far below was directed to various parts of the mansion and the local villages. He found an adjustable power socket, tuned down the voltage enough to fit the tiny receiver, and connected it. Then he put on the earphones, and switched on the receiver.

Slowly, he turned the radio's crude tuning dial across the spectrum of frequencies, and listened for voices. For several minutes, he heard nothing but white noise and random static. He realized that the rock catacombs were blocking most signals coming from the outside.

So he moved the receiver across to the soundstage, and connected it to the broadcasting antenna - it ought work just as well for taking in signals.

As he tuned in this time, Darc stumbled on a loud voice, surprisingly undisturbed and clear.

"Jesus," Darc whispered to himself. "Of all the people in the world, it had to be you..."

It was Bor Damon's authoritative voice he heard, coming in from Castilia. "And it should be obvious even to my enemies," the voice explained with painstaking slowness, "that this military alliance should not, in any event, be led by Sir Tharlos Pasko. He is far too young for such a responsibility. His book of merits show nothing but one failure after another. Sir Tharlos's attempt to take my city by force failed, though his army was larger and armed with new weapons.

"It has come to my knowledge, that an unknown third party in the north is supplying Sir Tharlos's forces with a new type of robots - war robots. These failed to help him take Damon City, but they caused a great loss of lives and should be considered highly dangerous. If these robots are used in his crusade against Darc, they will become a source of widespread death and injury.

"I wish to emphasize, as I have done before, that I do not support any side in this coming conflict. It is merely my earnest wish to avoid the dangerous concentration of power under a dishonest tyrant such as Tharlos Pasko. His family was once allied with my own, but he betrayed that alliance most shamefully. This should be a lesson to all his present allies..."

Darc sat transfixed by what he heard, and dared not miss anything of Bor's speech. It lasted at least an hour - long-winded and wooden - but to Darc, it was a godsend.

When Bor finally ceased his speech, Darc knew a great deal more of what was about to happen. His worst suspicions were confirmed, and he hurried to find Dohan and tell him.



"You heard my father? And he is well?" Dohan asked eagerly.

Darc nodded impatiently. "Yes, yes, your city is safe so far. But we are not. Tharlos and his new alliance will attack the main island anytime soon. We must move all the islanders away from here, now!"

They went to the dining hall as they talked, to discuss the matter with Mechao and Amada. Meijji was already alerted and on her way.

Dohan grinned cynically, and said: "Where could they escape - to the mainland? All of them at once? No, they must hide or fight."

"They are good at hiding, sure, but Tharlos know we're here and he won't stop searching until he finds something."

"So it is to fight, then. I've taught the islanders. Their weapons and defenses are nearly ready. Most of them are women, but... "

Darc chose to ignore that last foolish remark, and they entered the mansion's large dining hall. When Amada and Mechao had arrived, Meijji and her brothers walked in. They listened in tense silence as Darc explained about Bor Damon's radio speech.

Later in the day, Darc summed up the situation: "Tharlos Pasko is preparing to attack this island now. Dohan's father is reinforcing his own forces back in Castilia, in order to stand against Tharlos's new alliance. And we have nowhere to turn for help."

Amada spoke, grave and cool in the face of danger: "Your radio campaign... and Dohan's father's radio messages... they must have been heard by many city people. This is something new to us, that one or two men can be heard across the entire world. Could this not be of some help?"

Dohan was the first to answer her, while scratching his ruddy beard. "I was thinking the same. This radio device can be used to mobilize people against Tharlos, and it will... but it will not make an army race to our rescue. That simply won't happen." He glanced at Darc.

Darc asked Mechao and Amada, as he studied a map of the region: "How do you reckon the mainland cities here in Awrica will react to the radio broadcasts? Will they join Tharlos? I have no information about their intentions, and they are the closest to us."

Mechao shook his head, frowning. "No one knows. You were inside the Old City of Dakchaor yourself - what did you learn about the city-dwellers and their intentions?"

Everyone in the dining hall looked to Darc for an answer.

He shrugged uncertainly. "Nothing, really. They are so different from the city-folks up north - I can't explain them."

Mechao stepped forward, folding his arms behind his back. A stern, hard appearance was about him - as if the crisis had brought out a harsher side of the old witchdoctor.

"This is the main island; most of our population lives here. They can hide on the other, smaller islands, or on the northern volcanic island, Fogo... unless Fogo erupts soon."

He turned to his wife - they were not so different in height, but Amada's thicker build and higher shoes made him look slight in her presence.

"My dear," he asked gravely, "what does the sea tell you?"

Darc blinked, confused by Mechao's question. Amada moved to a tall window, gazed outside and said nothing for a while. The seabirds outside made little noise; even the sounds of insects and the sea appeared to settle down.

Then she spoke in a voice that sounded distant: "Fogo is awakening. Within the next few days, the volcano shall erupt again. All islands to the north are threatened. It shall last for many days. An earthquake comes too, bringing storms and giant waves in its wake. The air shall be filled with ash and fire."

Amada's heavy eyelids fluttered a little; had she been in a brief trance?

She resumed, in her normal voice: "I will spread the word. We should prepare to leave the islands for the mainland, until the eruption is over."

Darc asked: "When was the last time Fogo had a major eruption?"

"Four, maybe five hundred years ago," Amada said quickly.

Darc shut his eyes, letting the news sink in. A major volcanic eruption was the last thing a reasonable person would want to stay near.

"We have to move Eye-Leg out of the laboratory and into the village. We cannot risk her getting buried if the mansion caves in."

Later, the meeting broke up. Everyone went to work, eager to finish what could be finished while there was still time...



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