Chapter 7
Trumpets sounded through the morning air, signaling to the citizens that this was the day of the Summer Joust.
("Attention, K-Mart shoppers!")
The Summer Festival was to take place the very same day and evening; with dancing, singing, and drinking lasting beyond midnight.
(Followed by karaoke, brawling, puking, flatulence and copulation until morning.)
From five neighboring cities, prominent guests and competitors arrived to Damon City. Their sleek jet vessels painted the sky with lines of colored vapor, before they sank down onto the landing-space outside the castle.
(Apparently this story takes place in an alternate universe where things can sink up OR down.)
And the guests walked down from their ships, dressed in splendid colors and decorated with their most expensive electronic ornaments. A myriad tiny, multicolored lamps blinked in the metal braids and collars of the wealthy, beautiful noblewomen.
(Fashion by RadioShack.)
When the ladies took off their traveling-cloaks, they exposed straight skirts reaching to their ankles, with gold- and silver-embroidered family patterns.
(The patterns read "Made In Taiwan", "Porn Star" and "I'm With Inbred.")
The Oriental-featured Yotas, one of the most powerful families of North Castilia, was accompanied by little glittering thin-legged robots.
(A support crew carried the robots' extension cords.)
The Paskos, though impeccably dressed, wore little jewelry and brought no servant machines - their resources were being directed elsewhere, which they kept silent about.
(Their secret Cayman Islands bank account!)
The minor, but highly admired Fache family was represented only by its champion Lord Azuch Fache and his servants. His absent wife was, as always, sick in bed.
(*COUGH*drunk again!*COUGH*)
And half an hour late as always, Lord Orbes and family landed on the field and came laughing down the ship ladder. They were the Damons' close allies, and it was expected that one of Orbes's sons would marry Bor's daughter Eveli in a few years.
(And she would have to put up with their incessant laughing for the rest of her life.)
Bor Damon and family arrived, bidding his esteemed visitors welcome with much good-hearted cheer.
(He made a cheerful grunt.)
For this occasion, Bor wore the heavy electronic collar with his name inscribed, which worked as a portable computer and loudspeaker; it amplified his voice and carried shortwave commands to his robots.
(Underneath the name, his brother-in-law had inscribed "Kick Me.")
His beautiful and popular wife, Lady Osanna, escorted the noblewomen to the castle gardens for refreshments, while they waited for the men to prepare for the main event.
("Osanna, you must join our book circle. We read Maya Angelou and get in touch with our inner selves...")
The young ladies-in-waiting tried to linger close to the young knights, as their mothers jokingly urged them onward.
("Come now, girls, you know they can't have sex with you before the game...")
Tharlos tried to catch the eye of the graceful Lady Okono Yota, but she remained aloof. Several ladies eye-flirted with Sir Dohan as they strolled off, giggling.
The competitors of the five families greeted each other apart from the crowd, formally but with no visible hostility.
("Hello, dog breath!" - "Good to see you, douchebag!")
Their elders, retired champions and noblemen, retreated to the castle with Bor Damon. Because they had trained armored combat since they were children, the knights had learned to control their body movements with the utmost calm. Their armored suits were more than just metal - they were exo-skeletons. Responsive, powerful, and natural extensions of the knight's fighting abilities. Through T'ai Chi and other arts, the knights had mastered harmonic body control.
(However, the armored suits also had built-in diapers, so out of life-long habit they soiled their pants where they stood.)
This early in the day, a few hours before the actual duelling, the fighters wore light, loose-fitting clothes covered by tunics in their family colors. Like their fathers, they mostly had crew-cut hair.
(Look, is this going to be 400 pages about clothing? Get on with the story already!)
Sir Dohan Damon wore blue, red, and black in large checkered patterns. His short beard was as ruddy as his stubby hair, his eyes pale blue. Dohan behaved in a relaxed and friendly way; he mostly knew his competitors from last year, and they knew him.
Still, Dohan kept a careful eye on his arch-rival Tharlos - wearing black, orange, and yellow - who remained silent as the others exchanged jokes and boasts. Tharlos' dye-yellow hair made an eerie contrast to his dark, intense eyes that promised no friendship.
(His eyes said: [Austrian accent] "Remember when I promised to kill you last? I lied!")
Lord Azuch Fache - wearing white and green - was the oldest of the champions, having remained at the top to the impressive age of thirty-seven. Though he rarely won the first prize nowadays, the younger knights looked up to him for advice on techniques and weapons care. Azuch had several tiny scars on his dark face and hands, from battles and jousts in his glorious past.
(Ah, that kind of scars! Professional wrestlers cut themselves with concealed razors so the audience gets to see blood!)
His black eyes sometimes seemed to bury themselves in some secret memory, especially when he heard the sound of jet engines.
("Guys, have you seen my eyes? They went and buried themselves again. It's crazy!")
Rumor had it that the battle against the Lepers of 930 A.M. had scarred his soul as well as his skin.
("No, I'll never get over Macho Grande. Those scars run too deep.")
The Orbes family had as many as two young competitors: the adult champion Sir Saburé and his younger brother, the contender Sir Kensaburé. They looked very much alike, though - both being squat and blond. Their colors were checkered blue and black. Of all the competitors, the Orbes's were ranked the least competent fighters, but compensated in good humor their lack of skill and control. The presence of the Orbes members was much appreciated at festivities and competitions - if not in battle.
(To put it frankly: they were a couple of dorks.)
Sir Kamo Yota, the shortest of the fighters, wore red and white. He was about Dohan's age, but was already regarded as a future joust champion in spite of his short experience. Lord Yota had personally trained him toward perfection. Vhustank, Dohan's personal servant robot, served the competitors non-alcoholic drinks as they sat chatting on the marble benches next to the parked ships. Only young Kamo refused to drink.
("Haven't you got anything with booze in it?")
He smiled courteously at his host and said: "Excuse me for not drinking, Sir Dohan. I am in need of deepest physical concentration, and must not disturb my body with foreign substances."
("I only smoke dope from my own country, man!")
"You are excused," Dohan replied casually.
([Mutters] Stupid git...")
He decided, out of politeness, to change subject. Scanning the Yotas's sleek black aircraft, Dohan nodded thoughtfully.
(ACTING!)
It had a very low profile, and a long rear flap instead of the standard snub-tailed rear ports of the other vessels. In length, it measured about fifteen meters. The craft also had three instead of the customary two jet tubes.
"Say, Kamo, that is an impressive new ship your family has built this year.
("It'd be a pity if something... happened to it.")
How fast does it go?"
Kamo smiled again and bowed his head slightly, his half-shut eyes revealing little of his swelling pride.
(He was met by jeers of disapproval. "Hey! Take your 'swelling pride' elsewhere, you little pervert!)
"I should ask my esteemed father," Kamo said humbly. "He recently took it for a test flight, and when the ship reached maximum speed, the sound bang could be heard from miles away. Thus he named our ship 'The Roaring Wind'."
(Also known under the nickname "Daddy's Joyriding, Window-Smashing Little Bastard.")
Murmurs of approval came from the impressed guests: reaching the speed of sound was very rare, even for the best jet ships.
("Murmur murmur approval murmur murmur...")
Kensaburé Orbes wanted to save his friend's face, and intervened: "But your Sunray is no snail of a vessel either, eh, Dohan?"
Dohan suppressed a grin and said, as if to himself: "Well... it may not reach the speed of sound, but it navigates well and has a range of -" - he stood up, pointing south - "- from here to North Awrica and back.
"With a light load and spare fuel," he added self-effacingly.
("Nyah nyah!")
A rich, ponderous voice sounded in the silence: "Word has it that Lord Damon has invited a special guest today..."
("Our Special Guest: Martin Short!")
The others turned to Azuch Fache, who stood up - it was he who had asked the question. Azuch continued: "A guest from the past, or possibly the future. A white-haired man who is said to be immortal. Is this to be held as truth?"
("Or to be held like something smelly that you'd rather not touch, like a dead fish?")
Dohan hesitated.
("Duuuh...")
He yet knew next to nothing about Darc, and what little he had seen of him was hardly impressive. Clearly, his father's guest was an odd stranger - he could barely speak their language properly. But Dohan sensed that Darc was part of some sly scheme to make his rivals nervous. It smelled of foul play, and Dohan did not want any part of it. He was going to prove himself like last year, without his father backing him up more than necessary.
(Sure! Keep telling yourself that, trust-fund brat!)
"Do not believe everything you hear," he told them. "That stranger is no one in particular - perhaps a fool or jester, who is here to entertain us with jokes and music."
Sir Tharlos Pasko glanced at Dohan and Azuch with a contemptuous face, saying nothing - his nostrils widened, while not sniffing at his company, since he was too well trained at controlling his breath.
(His face turned red, then purple and finally blue, until he fainted from holding his breath for too long.)
But his mind was aflame with hateful thoughts: Just as I thought - a trick to undermine my confidence. Did you think I would fall for such children's stories, you red-haired scum! Koban-Jem spits upon your mother's face.
(The flames came out through his ears and set his clothes on fire. And there was much embarrassment.)
The senior champion gave Dohan an inscrutable, grave look.
(A look as inscrutable as a grave.)
"You may think I am but an old man full of old wives' tales," Azuch said in his dark, slow baritone. "But tonight my wife dreamed of the return of the King." Everyone stopped breathing, even Kamo - even Tharlos, who went pale white.
(And they all suffocated. The End.)
It was widely known that Azuch's wife was something of an oracle. Mean tongues called her a witch in disguise... but all Castilians took her rare moments of vision deeply seriously.
(As seriously as their magic 8-ball and Ouija Board.)
"I should not say more," Azuch excused himself when he saw their faces. "Forgive me."
The Orbes brothers both eagerly asked him to continue; like their father, they were superstitious to a fault.
(We had great fun mentioning "The Scottish Play" to them.)
Azuch held up his hands to call for silence, and granted them a full story.
("I grant you a storyfull of silence!")
"This is what my wife told me.
("Not tonight, dear - I've got a headache.")
'In my dream,' she said, 'I saw two dueling knights, fully armored. One wore yellow stripes, the other wore blue. The blue knight fought bravely, but the yellow knight was stronger. The yellow knight pressed on, and the blue knight lost his foothold.
("The Black Knight lost both arms and legs, but he just would not give up!")
"'Then, as it seemed that the blue knight would die, a tall man with white hair and clothes stepped forward.
("And then he stepped backward, and sideways, and sideways again... another one of them bloody Riverdancers!")
He struck with his silver sceptre and stopped the yellow knight's deathblow.
(So it became a close-but-no-deathblow?)
The blue fighter rose to his feet and struck down the yellow fiend with all his might. The man in white raised his sceptre, opened his mouth, and sang - but I could not hear the sound of his voice.
("But I think it was song, anyway. It might've been a very high-pitched scream.")
Then my dream ended.' Those were her words."
The young men looked at Azuch - the Orbes brothers were staring. Most of them, including Dohan, did not know what to think.
(This was a common mental condition of the aristocracy at the time.)
But Azuch suddenly grinned, laughing at them.
"Calm yourselves, you hotheads! We do not know the ways of the Goddess... so live and see. Now stop trembling like toothless old folk, and prepare for manly combat!"
(Sir Pinky mistakenly flailed his limp-wristed hands in preparation for sissy combat.)
Laughing with released tension, the party split up and went to their respective tents. Their servants were already polishing their armor, charging the battery cells and testing the mechanisms. From the armory tents, the sounds of metal against metal mixed with the snaps of lasers and the whining of miniature jet engines.
([Whiny voice] "We don' wanna burn fuel...!")
Darc sneaked up into the back of the main spectator lodge.
He looked across the jousting area, which was located in the south wing of the castle gardens. He could smell sweat, smoked meat and hot metal.
(With his shoes on fire, he leaped screaming out of the red-hot barbecue pit and knocked over the Worcester sauce.)
The din of musical instruments and voices filled the air.
A food vendor ambled by, calling through a large paper horn: "Sweeeet wine, ice-cold cakes! Get'em before the game!"
("Heeere's your tutsi-frutsi ice cream!")
A few meters in front of the roofed spectator platform, a rectangular dirt pit had been dug out and smoothed out; it was almost eighty meters long, twenty meters wide, and four meters deep. This was the jousting ground. But... No horses? No lances? Darc sensed that he had missed some important detail.
("Doh! I forgot to buy a ticket!")
He stepped down the way he came, and walked over to a nearby cluster of armory tents. The Damons' tent, checkered red-blue-black, was being guarded by Surabot and Vhustank. As Darc approached the tent, the polished brass figure of Lachtfot turned a corner and caught sight of him.
("None shall pass!")
"Please do not stray from my sight again, master Darc," the thin-legged robot stated as it joined his rapid walk.
Darc gave Lachtfot a sly grin and paced onward.
"Too fast for you, eh?"
"Just a moment - what is too fast for me, master Darc?"
"Nothing," Darc sighed. "Only my spinning head."
("Get me an exorcist.")
Lachtfot's electronic brain interpreted Darc's last remark as meaningless.
([Computer voice] "THE AUTHOR'S ATTEMPT AT WITTY BANTER DOES NOT COMPUTE")
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
______________
(Dohan Damon,
great-great-great- great-great-great-
great-great-great- great-great-great-
great-great-great- great-great-great-
great-great-great- great-great-great- grandson of Matt Damon.)
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