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!" The nameless one and Dohan backed off from each other, looking up at Darc. Bor Damon's face turned an angered red. Darc yelled: "Dohan! The nameless one is a robot!"
Fear struck Tharlos when he heard Darc's words. 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. The nameless knight lowered his guard and stepped back; a roar grew in Dohan's 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. 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.
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. Lord Migam Pasko buried his face in his hands, wishing he had never went along with his son's devious scheme. 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.
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."
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 -"
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. "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, but you have committed a more dangerous crime than mere cheating. You have turned humanity's most trusted servants into potential enemies!"
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?"
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.
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.
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. 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. 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. 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!"
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?"
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!"
"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! 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."
Dohan obliged, and hurried up the ramp.
Darc walked back to the exalted vendor, and handed him back his bullhorn.
"Thanks, mate!"
The man grinned nervously, almost bowing to the white-haired apparition.
"It was... nothing, my lord," he stuttered.
Darc winked, and patted the man's shoulder as if to confirm that Darc was flesh and blood. "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.
"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."
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. 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.
"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."
"I - I think you should follow us into the castle, Darc. You might get lost in the crowd -"
"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. 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! I will announce the title at the banquet tonight, and you will become a permanent resident of my castle."
Darc made a polite bow, holding out his palms in a greeting: "I accept the honor... my lord."
"Good!" the city lord said, clasping his hands together. "Now everyone must bathe and dress for the evening's celebration. Surabot! Avton! Vhustank! Lachtfot! Go get a complete cleaning and polish. All four of you are to serve our guests at the banquet tonight."
The commoner audience returned to the city outside the park, singing and cheering. They were determined to stay awake all night, re-telling the events to each other, letting the rumors about Darc grow ever bigger. 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 applyi
ng age-old potions to heal their wounds quicker. Butchers and grocers were already lining up before the castle's kitchen entrances, their carts loaded.
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. 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. Don't drink too much wine tonight. I won a whole lot of friends today... and a lot of enemies, too.
Chapter 10
"Tell us again, Sir Darc," Lady Osanna asked. "How were you the first one to discover that the nameless knight was a machine?"
Darc gave Bor's wife a self-effacing smile. He wanted to flatter her for her beautiful appearance at the banquet table - but he was not yet sure of how to court the noblewomen, without insulting their husbands. That, and... Darc, too, had now heard the story of when Bor broke an enemy's neck.
"It was easy, really," he told the guests.
The assembled families, sitting along the half-circle of tables in the castle's great hall, stopped chatting and listened. Darc felt the looks on him, but kept his cool. Talking had never been difficult for him in his previous life, when he headed his own upstart company.
"So many observations pointed in the same direction," he explained. "We never saw his whole face, never heard him talk; he seemed to respond only to commands from Tharlos. He didn't fly, but he had a jetpack. Did you see how the nameless one and Tharlos entered the pit? The nameless one stepped to the edge and sank down slowly, but his jets sounded very high. That must have used up all his fuel.
"And he was very strong, but he never ran. And, most important of all, the footprints - his were twice as deep as the others. To be that heavy, he had to be all metal. The real trick was the false jaw; it even looked as if he was breathing."
Dohan, sitting next to Darc, laughed and drank more wine - he was already slightly drunk. Azuch, who sat very still with his shoulder in a large plaster cast, moved his head an inch in Darc's direction.
"But why," Azuch asked softly, "why would the Paskos risk their reputation and fragile alliances on such a wild scheme?"
Darc shrugged, taking another bite of the juicy steak on his plate. Real, fresh meat was a luxury in this town.
"You know them better than me, my lord," he said between mouthfuls. "I think... I think Tharlos was desperate for revenge. He deliberately wanted to humiliate Damon and his closer allies... or cripple them. Perhaps his plan was to make the robot fighter disappear afterwards, and replace him with a human for this banquet!"
Eveli, all dressed up and with her red hair set up in knotted braids, looked worshipfully at the much older Darc. Everyone could see she was fascinated by him. "How sharp-minded you are, Darc," Eveli said admiringly.
Her older brother waved his silver cup at her. "Do not get lost in that sharp mind, little sister!" he laughed, his cheeks flushed by victory and wine. "Time for dance!" Dohan stood up and clapped his hands to the group of musicians. "Play! A quick and merry dance!"
Bor, also cheerful despite the reawakened feud with the Paskos, nodded to the musicians. The quintet ended their atmospheric, light background music and struck up a dancing tune. The five-man band used instruments Darc could well recognize: two guitarists, a flutist, a drummer with a battery of drums and cymbals, and a singer. The musicians were fairly old men; all were dressed in red and their shoulder-long hair was turning gray.
Dohan Damon was the first man to escort a lady onto the dance-floor in front of the tables. Soon, other couples came to join them. Darc wished he had taken dance lessons - their steps were faster and wilder than waltz, but not quite as quick as a polka. The women's skirts spun, umbrella-like, as they whirled around with their partners.
Something about the melody that rang a bell in Darc's memory, but the song was almost like Chinese music, restricted to a very high-pitched range of tones, with very little variation of the register. The lyrics were - what else? - a love song. Darc resisted the urge to ask a beautiful lady for a dance. He concentrated on the music, like he used to do in his youth in Liverpool, when he and his teenage friends tried to learn cover versions of old rock'n-roll classics. Darc - David Archibald - later buried his musical ambitions in exchange for biochemistry studies, but kept playing as a hobby. Then, in the middle of a refrain, Darc recognized the roots of the melody. It was "Great Balls of Fire!" Filtered through centuries of Chinese, Spanish, and God-knows-what influence! It was more than he could take. He excused himself, rose from the table and walked around to the musicians. The other guests were clueless; Bor told the band to cease playing.
"I'm sorry, friends," Darc told the five musicians, "but this just doesn't sing. You must play faster, and your voices must go up and down more - is there a 'piano' here, by the way?"
"What is a 'pi-ano' ?" the drummer asked curiously.
"It's... never mind. Do you know the words to another old song, 'I'm All Shook Up?' In your language, that would be... 'A Tou Shok Op' ."
He hummed and whistled the first notes to them; after a brief hesitation, the singer brightened up with a response: "You mean the church hymn? 'All Earth Shook Up'?"
Darc blinked confusedly, and ignored the curious remark: "Just play the melody I gave you, and not too fast, more like this -" - he hummed it again - "- then pause for one beat, just when I come to the words 'I'm in love - I'm all shook up'. Okay?"
The experienced singer stepped back from the stage. He took off his most valuable possession - the tubular metal collar which contained a combined microphone and amplifier - and gave it to Darc. Darc could not fit it over his head, so he held it like the rock singers of his time used to: to his lips. Both Dohan and Azuch gasped when they saw this, and thought: The King's scepter!
The drummer struck up the right, simple rhythm and the guitarists played the beat, probing for the right sound. Darc nodded when they got it right.
He went into the classical microphone stance and lowered his voice to a deep, youthful, American rumble: "Well bless my soul, what's wrong with me!"
The dance couples froze, listening - or trying to listen - to the half-familiar, half-alien tune. Darc sang on, and the band got into the act. The guitars grew bolder; the drummer switched to a stronger beat to go with the song. It was like no other cover version Darc had ever heard before, but he kept rocking on - humming through an uncertain spot in the text, moving his hips the way he remembered the late great artist did his act. When he had repeated the refrain for the last time, he raised his hand to hold up the music.
He scanned his audience - still shocked into silence - and said: "Thank you, thank you... that was a little song from my time. I know a few more, but I see I did not sing very well, so..."
A female, throaty voice called back from the tables: "No, I beseech you! More! Another song like that one!"
The people in the hall turned to the source of the plea: a very special guest in her own high-seat - high-priestess Inu of the city cathedral. She was a curvy woman in her mid-thirties, with full lips painted a deep red; her long hair was set up in a platinum-blond bun. The only jewelry she wore, was a sort of gold-thread net that held her hair in place. And she was dressed in a single-piece black dress that left her pale arms bare. Darc could feel pure desire floating on her voice, all the way across the carpeted stone floor. He hoped the guests wouldn't notice his instant physical response.
"What do you wish to hear, my lady?" he asked through his mike.
"Just sing like you did before," she said, looking straight at him with wide, blue eyes.
He nodded slowly, and turned to the band again. After some discussion, they tried a rough version of "King Creole" . The high-priestess applauded their effort, joined by the other guests. The dance couples returned to their seats, listening in silence. Darc rounded up with a not-quite-seamless rendition of "Love Me Tender" , and it brought tears to Inu's eyes. Darc thanked for t
he applause, but it annoyed him that no one had wanted to dance. Had he been that bad?
Azuch Fache just sat staring before him in wordless rapture. Dohan was equally speechless. The voice of their myths had become real. And Bor Damon, seeing the reaction of the others, closely observed and listened to his guests.
Darc needed to rest his vocal cords. He thanked the audience and the band - the singer received his microphone as if he thought it was a lucky charm - and took his seat at the table. The guests were chatting in lower voices now, throwing furtive glances at Darc. He ate and drank hungrily, oblivious to the profound effect of his performance. A half-hour later, the robot Lachtfot leaned over next to Darc's chair and handed him a rolled-up note. Darc unfolded it and read to himself: " 'Meet me in the cathedral at midnight. Use the back door. Bring no robots. Come alone and I promise your safety. Praised be the Goddess.'
"Who gave you this?" he asked Lachtfot in a low voice.
"High-priestess Inu, Sir Darc," the robot replied.
Darc leaned forward, and looked to the side. Inu sat next to the Yotas, on a higher, gold-colored chair under a small silk canopy. She looked aloof from the other guests, did not talk, and had hardly touched her food. Though she was only drinking water, her face had taken on a deep pink hue.
"Well, well... go tell the good lady that I will come."
"Who, Sir Darc?"
"High-priestess Inu, of course."
"She is not called 'lady' . Her title is 'Her Holiness' . I will notify Her Holiness, Sir Darc."
Darc quipped to Dohan: "With these robots, who needs comedians?"
"What?" slurred the drunken young warrior.
"Nothing," Darc sighed, and raised his cup. "A toast... to the Goddess!"
If Darc had noticed the way Azuch and Bor were now talking about him, looking at him with wary eyes, he might have changed his mind about the high-priestess. Unaware of the plans being drawn up for his fate, Darc toasted with the guests.
Chapter 11
At the hour of half past eleven, Darc sneaked out of the great hall to "visit the bathroom".
Yngve, AR - Darc Ages Page 7