Chapter 4
Lord Migam Pasko was not pleased.
(With the color of the carpets.)
His spies had just returned to his castle with the latest news from Damon City.
("The new spring gowns are fa-bu-lous!")
The spies had prowled the city disguised as flying trade officials on a visit; gossiping with the locals, bribing the servants of the castle, handing the Diramons' maids a pearl or a ring. They stayed for two days but flew back in their airship to Pasko City a month later, having been forced to take a longer three-city route to avoid suspicion.
(So, uh, they were suspended in limbo for a month?)
That Bor Damon's quarterly harvest of food crops were turning out fine, while Pasko's growing ranks complained over sparce rations, was bad enough news.
(The Pringles shortage had ruined Pasko's wine-tasting parties.)
But the spies had picked up a persistent rumor, too: of a mysterious, white-haired stranger who had come from nowhere to visit lord Pasko's neighbor and rival. A stranger who was said to be immortal.
(Dick Cheney summarily dismissed the rumors about him.)
Lord Migam Pasko listened to his agents' report with ever increasing gloominess.
("One of these days I'm gonna quit this lousy job, you'll see...")
He was a fat nobleman like Bor, but Migam's fat spread all over his body, making his soft face look too small for his round head.
("I'm not fat, I'm big boned!")
He tugged nervously at his stripy, black whiskers as he asked the spies: "What is his name, the name of this mystery man with the white hair?"
"They call him 'Darc', my lord."
("But we'd rather describe his complexion as 'olive-skinned'.")
The city lord's wife Lady Tresa, who sat next to him at the dinner table, sneered at the spy: "Is that a name? It sounds more like a mistake to me!"
(It's Married With Children 3000 AD!)
Migam's adult son, Sir Tharlos Pasko, did not laugh.
(His pet poodle had just died.)
He sat up from his chair and paced the royal hall restlessly.
(Click-clack, click-clack, click-clack, click-clack... )
Tharlos was a gaunt young man, almost twenty years old. His naturally black hair was long and dyed pale yellow, in the fashion of the worshippers of Koban-Jem.
(Message!!)
He stopped at his mother's chair.
"The Damons are conspiring against us," he complained loudly, "and what do you do, my esteemed parents? You sit and wring your hands! We should strike now, while our forces are still strong!"
("Before the gravitational force and the electromagnetic force get weaker!")
His father looked up at him with a little contemptuous smile, and said in his calm, studious manner: "You still cannot forget that Bor's son beat you last year - can you?"
(We're deep in Henrik Ibsen territory now...)
Tharlos gave his father a furious glare. His long-fingered hand reflexively moved toward his behind, where he still had the scar from the last summer joust.
(The painful steroid injections had not helped him win.)
Bor Damon's son, Dohan, had fired a laser pulse through a weak spot in Tharlos' armor and burned his right buttock. Tharlos had screamed out loud, and the audience had laughed at him - even his mistress, Lady Okono had laughed.
(They laughed with him, not at him!)
That day, Tharlos had secretly sworn to kill Dohan. Lord Pasko made a slight nod, silently confirming that he remembered the occasion too.
(ACTING!)
The young Tharlos put his hands on his mother's velveteen-covered shoulders. She was still attractive for her age, but her cruel character gave her eyes an ugly slant.
(Attractive... with a hideous slant!)
"My dear mother, mistress of our house," Tharlos said with exaggerated sadness, "it pains me to see your beauty wither away in this dreary place, with no hope of it ever becoming otherwise." She stiffened in her seat, looking down on the broidery in her lap. "Pity my poor father, dear mother. Comfort him, and support him, because what would you be without him?"
(Boy, has this family got issues!)
The lord's spouse stared at her master with cold, spiteful eyes. Lord Pasko knew what that look meant, and the personal misery it implied for him - especially if he would try to sneak into her bedroom that night.
("Please, darling, don't make me wear the clown suit again!")
He took comfort in another pint of strong wine, the product of his own vineyards. At least I have the wine, thought Migam Pasko. It brings the city good trade, and it brings me oblivion. Thank you, bountiful Goddess, for the gift of wine!
("Aged in oak casks for five years, Pasko's Red Wine is pure bottled pleasure.")
("Do you mock me, floor? Are you mocking me, walls? You'll get yours, all of you!")
He left the hall with the spies, humming a ritual chant to himself: "I-eee-e-e-ee-ee, I-eee-e-eee..."
([Sings] "Here we are we now, entertain us! I feel stupid, and contagious!")
The spies were working for his gold too. And he had plenty of work for them, with the Summer Joust approaching. Let us see just how immortal this Darc is, he thought.
("Let us see him survive my Mariachi Band Of Doom!")
DARC AGES (c)A.R.Yngve 1995, 2000, 2004. All rights reserved. May not be copied without permission.
______________
A.R.Yngve
The MSTing of
DARC AGES
Book One
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(The birth of Renaissance Grunge.)
But Tharlos could neither forget nor forgive, ever. An obsessive pride drove him to avenge every slight, real or imagined.
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