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A.R.Yngve
DARC AGES
Book Three
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Chapter 59

Bor Damon's private radio receiver remained activated, day and night - he dared not risk missing any vital information. At dawn, Lachtfot approached him in a corridor.

"Why have you left your post?" Bor snapped as he saw the robot coming toward him.

The machine's legs stopped moving, and Lachtfot replied: "Urgent news, my lord. I registered a voice from the radio receiver, my lord."

Bor hurried into the radio room, and put on his earphones. He heard Darc's distress call - and Bor was still waiting for the report from his missing scout ships.

"I order full alert now," Bor told Lachtfot. "Tell Librian to meet me. All officers to the hangar bay, ready for flight according to the plan. All hangar personnel to their posts. And - you and the other robots will guard my family."

"Yes, my lord."

The city lord transmitted the attack order to his allies.



Darc finished his radio speech without any musical number, and switched to the homing beacon. He moved over to the central switchboard and found the correct lever. As he pulled it, the elevated cable-line began to sink down into the island's thick underbrush. He grabbed his rifle and ran to the exit.

On the way he called out for Shara and Eye-Leg, but heard no response. Were they already by the Sunray, as he was hoping?



No radio communication took place between the ships of Tharlos's armada, or with their home bases. At close range, a primitive system of multicolored searchlight-signals sent urgent orders between ships.

The signalman in Tharlos's personal ship, watching the other ships from an observation window, called out in the cockpit: "My lord, the troops are afraid!" Then, after he had signaled with his own searchlight: "Weather's not changing, but the winds are unpredictable.

"Fuel levels are critical. The troop carriers must land soon!

"Engine failure on three, no, five ships! The Golden Wing has lost both engines! She's going to crash!"

Seated in the cockpit of his flagship, Tharlos gazed down at the main island below, and its harbor ruins. He spotted no sign of artillery or armies, only small, deserted terraced fields on the hillsides. But he could not understand what was disturbing the aircraft engines.

He searched the dark, gray skies for attacking aircraft - but saw nothing there, except a haze of volcanic ashes blowing from the burning mountain up north. Tharlos barely heard the explosion of The Golden Wing plummeting into the ocean a thousand meters below.

"Sir Devis!" he barked at the senior nobleman next to him. "Read engine status."

A graying nobleman, wearing pilot's goggles and lightweight armor, surveyed the dials and gauges of the panel above his head.

"Fuel pressure stable, engine temp high, burn cycle eleven points below normal. My lord, it's the volcanic ashes and sulphur in the air. Our jet tubes are not built for all that pollution."

"Prepare for immediate landing at the largest southern island!"

Tharlos shouted at the signalman and the officers. "The foremost flank follows me down to strafe the island - all carriers, start descending now! Mark the ruined harbor for landing."

The flagship screeched down from the sky, flanked by other diving fighters. Mechao's islanders had no means of shooting down aircraft.



At the edges of the ruined harbor, Dohan and his small army waited. They were lying down in trenches, behind rocks and palm-trees, hidden underneath camouflage of leaves and twigs, covering their shields so that no reflexes might reveal their positions.

Their line of defense was not very wide, but they stood between the invaders and the trail leading up to the nearest village and the hidden cable-line.

Tharlos's ships roared past the southern harbor, firing a barrage of pulses at the site and the surrounding vegetation. Bushes and palm-trees instantly burst into flames, and some of the armed islanders were forced to move closer to the beach.

The enemy jetfighters followed up with a fast sweep across the hills - and spotted Mechao's rock mansion in the mountainside. One ship made a second turn, and its rear gunners pounded the mansion as it whizzed by.

The mansion's front wall disappeared in a series of explosions and sparks - but when the smoke lifted, it still stood almost untouched. The volcanic rock was far too hard to be penetrated from the air. Darc was just crouching down behind a front window, when the laser pulses hit.

The air cracked like a thousand whips - he lost his hearing for a few moments, and stone fragments flew like bullets through the room. He opened his eyes as the ships roared away - and he realized that he had been hit.

A splinter of rock had ripped up his left shirt arm and opened a long red wound. The pain in his arm rose rapidly, with each frantic heartbeat. Darc tore off his shirt-sleeve and wrapped it around the bleeding wound, wincing as he did so.

Crouching down again, he crawled below the windows and headed for the front entrance. He had to reach their only parked ship, and see that it was safe. Outside, the island was ablaze with fire and smoke - and the distant volcano still erupting.



The citizens of Damon City turned their heads up to watch the sky, and what they saw made their skin crawl. Above, a squadron of Lord Damon's jet fleet roared past and away from the city.

From afar, one could just make out the shape of another squadron. The two ship formations joined, ascended into the clouds, and flew out of sight.

The noise awakened all citizens; among them was young Awonso. He was still asleep in his home, after a particularly lengthy nightly visit to high-priestess Inu. The outside noise receded, and Awonso recognized it. Suddenly alert, he rushed outside and gazed into the gray winter sky. He could see nothing.

Awonso returned indoors and asked his mother: "The noise, mother - was it...?"

"Lord Damon's air fleet, and another fleet I think. They headed down south a moment ago. Shouldn't you hurry to the castle and ask Librian what is going on?"

"Goddess!" he exclaimed. "The lord is away... the city! The merchant plot... I must warn Librian!"

Awonso got into his clothes and ran out into the slush-covered street. His steps were swifter, his body not as plump as it once had been. He had not reached far, when a figure separated itself from the crowd and caught his attention. The man stood in his way, with a mocking sneer on his bearded face.

Awonso spun around, and saw another man closing in on him - fumbling with something inside his cloak. The conspirators from the Merchants' Lodge! The apprentice librarian saw a roofed electric carriage whirring past, loaded with soldiers. He leapt into the cobblestone road, reached for the open end of the wagon and held on to the hatch.

A sitting sergeant shouted at him: "Go away, boy! No free rides!"

One of Awonso's pursuers made a desperate dash for the passing vehicle; a knife-blade gleamed in his hand. Awonso glimpsed him coming, swung one foot up and heaved himself into the back wagon of the carriage.

The man ceased his pursuit, and merged with the street crowd. Awonso crawled to his feet, and faced two rows of armed soldiers sitting on each side of the wagon - sixteen men in all.

The sergeant asked: "Who are you?"

"Awonso, deputy librarian at Lord Damon's castle. I must get into the castle and see Librian!"

The sergeant gave him a shrewd look, and said in a slightly less intimidating manner: "I remember... you're not allowed in there now. Library's closed to outsiders."

He moved toward Awonso, who clung to the wall and refused to leave. "Please, it's a matter of life and death! I have proof of a conspiracy against Lord Damon! I must warn him!"

The sergeant halted, and looked about himself. "The city lord is away, and Lady Bwynn is in charge now. If you want to meet Librian, you must go through her. Right?"

Awonso agreed, and the sergeant did not throw him off the wagon. The ride he had hitched was heading toward the castle, and he could see the city guard on the march throughout the city. Maybe, he thought, the Paskos were going to attack again.

Then he understood - or thought he understood. Lord Damon was heading south; the city lord was going after Darc and Sir Dohan first.



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