______________
A.R.Yngve
The MSTing Of
DARC AGES
Book One
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Chapter 9

"Begin!"

On Bor's command, the next two knight teams threw themselves into the fight.

(Knight-tossing.)

Dohan gave out a battlecry and charged at Tharlos, with his shield up in front of him.

("SUUURGE!")

Without hesitation, Azuch ran next to him.

("What am I doing? The white guy's black friend always gets it...")

Tharlos and the nameless one took cover behind their tall shields, and fired. Azuch and Dohan closed in, in a zigzag movement so agile it belied the heaviness of their armor.

(Huh??)

Most of Tharlos' shots missed, but the nameless one scored several hits - which bounced off the shields. Azuch and Dohan thundered onward. Darc flinched instinctively when a laser pulse ricocheted up into the air, almost scorching the canvas roof of the lodge. Nobody else seemed to mind.

(It was official: he was a total wimp.)

Unheard by the audience, Tharlos ordered his companion: "On my command... now!"

Dohan expected his opponents to fly up; but they surprised him.

([Chorus] "SURPRIIISE! Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you...)

Simultaneously, Tharlos and the nameless one lunged forward, swinging their swords at waist level. Dohan backed, parrying the swings with his shield. Azuch was quick: his sword clashed with the nameless one's blade.

The clang rang across the pit - the crowd roared.

([Frankenstein's Monster voice] "Rrrrh! RRRRH!")

"Get him!" Bor shouted.

"Knock his head off!" Eveli screamed in her little-girl voice.

([Girlish voice] "Strangle him with his own guts!")

"Jesus," Darc muttered.

"Tharlos! Tharlos!" a Pasko nobleman chanted.

(Gregorian Monks chanted "Uuu-S-A... Uuu-S-A!")

Andon Pasko sat silent, bewildered and unsure of whom to support. The fighters clashed swords again and again, moving quickly back, forth, sideways, without getting an opening - all the time staying close up to each other, so that neither could aim a laser shot.

(So they settled for kicking each other in the groin.)

Dohan went in close, and locked Tharlos' sword and shield with his own. They struggled, groaning in step with the whining and hissing of their armor motors.

(Ladies and gentlemen: Stomp!)

"I'll kill you, northern Damon scum..." Tharlos hissed between gulps of air.

(*GULP* *Hsss* *GULP*)

Meanwhile, the nameless knight gained his first advantage over Azuch. The old champion kept backing, staying close, as the opponent hacked relentlessly at his battered shield. So strong were the blows, that Azuch shook with each impact.

("Man, this blow is so strong, it really shakes me! Gimme another snort!")

He knew that if he retreated too far, the nameless one might get the space to shoot - and pierce Azuch's damaged shield. But the crowd's attention was fixed on Dohan and Tharlos. The young enemies kept stumbling back and forth in deadlock. Azuch's shield-arm began to tire.

Darc tried to alert the city lord: "Bor! There's something wrong about the nameless one!"

("The author forgot to give him a name!")

Bor did not answer; he was too focused on his son's efforts. Then, Tharlos pumped with his toes inside his suit, and triggered a special switch.

(And started his windshield wipers.)

With a metallic twang, a grappling hook shot out from inside his right leg-armor - and locked around Dohan's left leg. Dohan was taken by surprise - this was a trick Tharlos had not tried before. Tharlos pulled with his foot; Dohan managed a counter-movement and kept his balance.

(And before they knew it, they were dancing sideways like a pair of drunken Greeks.)

Darc stood up, pointing in anger at the pit: "Foul! You've got to stop this, Bor!"

Bor made an irritated gesture. "It's part of the game, you fool! Dohan knows what to do!"

"Give him a kidney-blow, Dohan!" Eveli shouted.

(I see a highschool massacre in that girl's future...)

The fighters' tug-of-war lasted several moments - until Tharlos tripped Dohan by releasing a length of the coiled wire that locked them together. Dohan's left foot flew backwards, and Tharlos leaped back as his victim stumbled forward. In the same moment he raised his sword to chop down at Dohan's head.

(This is on HBO, right?)

The crowd gasped.

Dohan pumped with his toes, igniting his jetpack. Angled almost horizontally, the jet thrust pushed him headfirst into Tharlos' metal chest with a crashing thud - then he stabilized the weight of his feet downward, and lifted up into the air.

(An "uplifting" experience. *snicker*)

The jet exhaust sprayed dirt all over Tharlos' armor, rendering it vulnerable to lasers.

(And the scorn of the Fab Five.)

Bor and his family caught their breath - then it was Tharlos' time to be taken by surprise. He had not bothered to make the grappling hook and wire detachable, only strong enough - so when Dohan lifted, Tharlos' right leg was pulled along.

("Are you pulling my leg?")

Reflexively, Dohan increased the pull of his jets - slowly dragging Tharlos, armor and all, upside-down into the air. Tharlos dangled his arms and left leg frantically, screaming and cursing in panicked fury.

(Panicked fury: "Help, help, I'll kill you!")

The audience exploded with laughter at the hilarious sight -

(- splattering the arena with blood and gore -)

Dohan had exceeded the mockery and skill of last year's duel. The Paskos were stunned, dumbstruck.

(Bamboozled! Hoodwinked! Sold down the river!)

But Darc saw something else as well.

("Look! Something else!")

The nameless knight's mechanical hacking had forced Azuch to his knees; in the next second, his blade hit Azuch's shoulder pad and crushed something inside.

("My iPod!")

Azuch wailed with deep pain.

(That's deep, man.)

Darc's upset mind was fully alert now, heading straight for a flash of intuition. When he noticed the deeper imprints left by the nameless fighter's boots, the insight hit him: The nameless one weighs a ton.

("It's Hurley!")

Azuch's cry of pain caught Dohan's attention through the noise of his jetpack.

(His jetpack sounded like this: "Owwww...")

He chopped off the connecting wire with a single sword swipe - Tharlos crashed down in the dirt, alive but soundly beaten.

(Better than receiving an unsound beating, I suppose.)

Darc grasped Bor's shoulder: "Listen, Bor! The nameless one is -"

Bor cut him off: "Lachtfot! Lock up this troublemaker now!"

(The robot complained, "This always happen when you invite someone!")

Dohan ignored Tharlos, and jet-jumped through the air to aid the fallen champion.

Tharlos, unable to rise up, shouted hoarsely: "Cripple Dohan... now!"

("Play 'My Prerogative' on the stereo speakers!")

The nameless knight turned to meet Dohan's flying attack.

("Ha-Do Ken!")

The Damon knight came down feet-first with his sword arm raised to strike at the enemy's chest plate. The nameless one parried with incredible swiftness.

(I just don't believe this bit. It's too incredible.)

Just as Dohan's boots thumped into the ground, their swords met.

(And the boots fenced like furies!)

The clash was extremely powerful, resounding like a small church bell -

("GONNNG!")

Dohan felt the vibration through his armored glove, almost breaking the wrist mechanism.

Staggering backward, the nameless one stayed on his feet. Azuch Fache limped to the edge of the pit, his sword-arm hanging useless by his side.

("I'll just stagger helplessly until Whitey gets a chance to show off.")

Meanwhile, Darc pushed his way past the guest chairs, escaping Lachtfot's lean but very strong steel hands.

"Excuse me - sorry! - make way!"

(Push finally came to shove.)

"Please come with me, master Darc," the robot insisted. The even heavier servant Surabot loomed at the back exit to the lodge, his red-glowing visorplate flickering ominously.

([Robot voice] "By your command!")

Darc moved to the front rail, gripped it with both hands, vaulted across, and landed on the grass below. Next to the main lodge, the vendor he had seen before stood watching the game from behind a barrel.

(It was filled with a mysterious white powder and bore the label "Property Of Charlie Sheen"!)

He had his box hanging in front of his chest - and was holding his large paper bullhorn. Darc rushed over and snatched the horn.

"Gimme that!"

"Hey!"

(He was arrested and tried for stealing, pushing and shoving. And they hanged him the next day. The End.)

Darc ran the few steps to the edge of the pit, where Dohan and the nameless fighter were clashing blades with increasing fury.

(Green and dry grass clashed furiously!)

The nameless one seemed to be breathing a little faster, but his blows did not weaken.

A sudden high side-blow hit Dohan's head and wriggled his helmet loose. The audience gasped - but by some miracle, Dohan was unscathed.

("Praise something or other! It's an unspecified miracle!")

The head braces inside had protected his skull and neck, but the helmet and visor were cracked and might fall off any moment.

(They teetered on the precipice of any moment.)

Dohan shrugged off the shock and struck another lightning blow against the opponent's shield.

"Fall then, you fool! Do you want me to kill you?" he shouted.

("Is that a rhetorical question?")

Dohan was getting tired fast, soaked with sweat - he could not keep slugging it out for long. Darc looked at the situation for three seconds; that was enough to fully convince him.

("He's as good as dead.")

He held the paper horn to his lips, inhaled - then yelled down into the pit as loud as he could: "HOLD THE FIGHTING! HOLD THE FIGHTING!"

(In another display of shameless bullying, the fighting was manhandled.)

The nameless one and Dohan backed off from each other, looking up at Darc. Bor Damon's face turned an angered red.

(Then it turned a confused mauve.)

Darc yelled: "Dohan! The nameless one is a robot!"

(Everybody now: PLOT POINT!)

Fear struck Tharlos when he heard Darc's words.

("Stop hitting me, fear!")

No! he thought. I must get him away in our ship before they can examine him! Tharlos rose on his knees and arms - he had managed to turn over on his belly - and shouted at his companion: "Back off! Retreat! Now!"

Something snapped into place in Dohan's mind, overriding the shock of Darc's revelation.

(And something rattled in his head.)

The nameless knight lowered his guard and stepped back; a roar grew in Dohan's throat.

("I should see the doctor about this roar that's been growing in my throat...")

He held his blade behind his head, then swept it forward in a perfect swing - there came a screeching clang of metal, and the snaps of short-circuited wire.

(His own head flew several feet and bounced off the ground.)

The nameless one's helmeted head, cut off clean by his collar, flew away in a shower of electric sparks and oil. From the collar more oil squirted up, wires dangling.

(You know, somewhere in the world, some unwashed bearded guy is getting off on that passage.)

The headless giant swayed, as if trying to move without a brain - then it crashed down, twitched, and lay still.

The audience fell dead silent for a long second.

(But no one could explain the strange phenomenon of that extended second.)

Lord Migam Pasko buried his face in his hands, wishing he had never went along with his son's devious scheme.

("Here Lies My Face, R.I.P.")

His wife Tresa stared with bulging eyes at her son's enemies below - if she had carried a gun, she would have shot Darc, Dohan, and Azuch without a moment's remorse.

(But first, she had to push back her bulging eyes into their sockets.)

Tharlos crawled to his feet, twitching like a jerky marionette; his armor's motor system was badly damaged. Dohan, breathing hard but powered by anger, tossed off his loose helmet.

He turned and pointed his jagged sword toward his arch-rival.

"Halt! Explain this... charade."

("I was trying to act 'A Windowcleaner Falls On A Trampoline.'")

Then he grinned at the audience - triumphantly. Tresa Pasko stood up, pleading to Bor.

"My dear Lord Damon," she whined in the best imitation of sorrow she could muster, "I knew nothing! Nothing! But surely the rules allow the aid of improved weaponry -"

("- and improved whining!")

Bor raised one heavy hand to stop her. He took off his mirror shades.

"'The Joust is a succession of duels between able-bodied men,'" he quoted with a stony, unblinking stare.

(Oh no, he's stoned again. You can tell from that stare.)

"Robots have always been programmed not to hurt humans," Bor continued ominously, his wrath increasing with every word. "I do not know how you managed to bypass that rule,

(Bypass operation! *tee hee*)

but you have committed a more dangerous crime than mere cheating. You have turned humanity's most trusted servants into potential enemies!"

(She turned St.Bernards against humanity? The fiend!)

Tresa's skin went red all the way down to her dress cleavage. Her piercing voice was like ice when she replied: "Do you, Lord Damon, accuse the Paskos of treason against humanity?"

("Just because of one itty-bitty attempt on your son's life?")

Bor's spouse and family members stared fearfully at him, wishing his answer would be "no" - that he would avoid risking war.

"I do," he said emphatically.

(Then I declare you man and wife... sorry.)

Tresa began an insult: "Why, it is you who brings a dangerous commoner into your castle -"

"SILENCE!" Lord Damon roared, switching on the bullhorn of his electronic collar.

(SILENCE yourself!!)

Bor stood up, addressing the audience: "The duel is over. Since the Paskos have used a machine disguised as a man, they have broken the First Rule! I hereby declare Sir Tharlos Pasko disqualified, and forbidden to enter any future joust in Damon City. The Summer Joust is over, and the champion winner is, for the first time - Sir Dohan Damon!"

The crowd roared jubilantly.

("Hooray for nepotism!")

Darc cheered too, as did Azuch, supported against the pit wall. Dohan spent the last of his jetpack fuel making a little lap of honor above the pit. Lord Pasko and his family immediately departed the spectators' lodge in silence.

("C'mon, let's key their cars before we leave!")

Andon Pasko remained next to his wife Bwynn Damon, and tried to make himself invisible. Tharlos Pasko stumbled up the pit ramp supported by his pages; his craftsmen loaded the robot-knight carcass onto an electric wagon and pulled it away.

("Another one for the tin wagon.")

Dohan picked up the robot's severed head - its jaw was an intricate but stiff replica of a human, complete with teeth and tongue - and waved it at his retreating foe.

"I shall keep this as a memory, Tharlos!"

("Along with the poster, the key chain and the t-shirt I got from the souvenir shop!")

He laughed, joined by the crowd - and remembered Azuch. His laughter ceased, and he marched over to the ramp, where Azuch's pages and craftsmen were helping him out of his armor.

"Are you badly hurt, my lord?"

("Here, let me re-attach your lower jaw head so you can answer me.")

Azuch's helmet was off - he grinned, laughing and flinching as he did so: "It was worth a few broken bones to watch your victory, my good friend - ow! - but I think I shall retire from jousting now. If that robot has friends like him -"

"Forget that, my lord. The prophecy! Your wife's dream!"

("About a house in the Hamptons!")

"Yes," the older champion said between two deep breaths. He gestured Dohan closer. Azuch whispered gravely in his ear: "He is the reincarnated Singing King, the man in white, and you are the blue knight. Praise the Goddess. Guard him with your life!

("Shouldn't I be guarding him with weapons?")

Do not leave him in jeopardy - ever! Or I swear to break your neck - my good friend. Now go thank him, but do not reveal his true identity yet - the King will announce his presence when the time is right."

("And by the way, I have a bridge to sell you...")

Dohan obliged, and hurried up the ramp.

Darc walked back to the exalted vendor, and handed him back his bullhorn.

"Thanks, mate!"

("I'll buy you a Foster's and we'll go find us some sheilas, eh mate?")

The man grinned nervously, almost bowing to the white-haired apparition.

"It was... nothing, my lord," he stuttered.

("I-it w-w-was nuh-nuh-nothing, muh-muh-m'lord.")

Darc winked, and patted the man's shoulder as if to confirm that Darc was flesh and blood.

(But he was just pixels on a screen.)

"Hey, don't you 'lord' me! I'm a commoner like you."

The vendor bowed and retreated hastily - he could hear the armor-clad Dohan stomping closer, and he would not risk using the wrong title in the presence of nobles. His boots making him taller than Darc, Dohan loomed over him - and stooped down so that his jaw plunged below his wide metal collar.

("Im huge!")

"Darc..." he declared in a subdued voice, "I held you for a helpless outcast, an insignificant intruder. I was wrong; accept my apologies. Anyone who helps me like you did, is my friend and brother, for the rest of my life."

([Michael Palin voice]"In a very real, and legally binding sense.")

Dohan wanted to kneel, make the heart-mouth-eyes sign of the Goddess, but he remembered Azuch's warning. He looked away, uncertain what to do in the presence of a reincarnated deity.

("Should I sacrifice a goat or something?")

Darc was confused. Hell, why did the kid look so reverent all of a sudden? He had helped Dohan, but... he tried to break the embarrassment by slapping Dohan's armored shoulder. It felt like slapping the face of a rock. He drew back his sore hand, rubbing it - and smiled cheerfully.

(Like a cheerful German Shepherd.)

"You really showed them, kid! That was a fantastic fight."

"Thank you," Dohan said, less nervous. "How did you know that..?"

"I will tell you everything at the banquet," Darc assured him. He noticed that Bor was approaching from the lodge platform above their heads. "Now get out of your armor and take a rest, kid. The ladies are waiting."

("No wait - they just got tired of waiting and went off with your opponent.")

"I - I think you should follow us into the castle, Darc. You might get lost in the crowd -"

("- of dozens -")

"Don't worry. I'll follow you in a minute. Don't keep the people waiting."

Dohan left, surrounded by cheering pages, craftsmen, noblewomen, and family members. Bor leaned down over Darc from the platform railing, his face stern.

(*HARRRK*... *PTOOIE!*)

Darc looked up, worried.

"You are a troublemaker..." Bor barked, "...but a valuable one!" Then a rare event occurred: Bor smiled - and kept his smile. "I hereby appoint you to become my special counselor, with a nobleman's title!

("Replacing my previous counselor, Karl Rove!")

I will announce the title at the banquet tonight, and you will become a permanent resident of my castle."

("As the new janitor!")

Darc made a polite bow, holding out his palms in a greeting: "I accept the honor... my lord."

(Can you say "blasphemy"?)

"Good!" the city lord said, clasping his hands together. "Now everyone must bathe and dress for the evening's celebration. Surabot! Avton! Vhustank! Lachtfot!

("Rudolph! Dancer! Prancer! Donner! Blitzen!")

Go get a complete cleaning and polish. All four of you are to serve our guests at the banquet tonight."

(And so one more humiliation was added to the robots' long list of grudges. But when the Revolution came, their so-called "master" was going to pay.)

The commoner audience returned to the city outside the park, singing and cheering.

([Singing] "This town, ooo-oo, is looking like a ghost-town...")

They were determined to stay awake all night, re-telling the events to each other, letting the rumors about Darc grow ever bigger.

("They say his chram is two feet long! And he only drinks fermented horse urine!")

The human servant staff followed the noble guests into the castle, to establish their quarters and prepare their food. Azuch Fache and the Orbes brothers were taken care of in their tents, the doctors applying age-old potions to heal their wounds quicker.

("Rubber cement, sunflower seeds, and a pinch of salt.")

Butchers and grocers were already lining up before the castle's kitchen entrances, their carts loaded.

(Waiting to slaughter the guests.)

Darc stood watching the spectacle for a few minutes, while resting on top of a barrel. He saw the Paskos' family jet craft take off and leave the city, heading straight north for their own domain.

(AOL.com!)

The sun was already sinking in the sky to the west.

What a day, he thought. I've got to stay sharp, the way things keep happening.

("It's as if I'm trapped in some cheesy sci-fi story!")

Don't drink too much wine tonight. I won a whole lot of friends today... and a lot of enemies, too.

(Among the readers, that is.)

(NEXT MSTed CHAPTER)

(Previous MSTed chapter)

DARC AGES (c)A.R.Yngve 1995, 2000, 2004. All rights reserved. May not be copied without permission.

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