Yngve, AR - Darc Ages

by Darc Ages (lit)

  Finally, he managed to lock the door; she kept pounding on it, still wailing pathetically. Tharlos pressed his palms against his ears, but he could still hear her obsessive litany, still feel the headache. His cranium was on the verge of bursting, and his limbs ached for sleep.

  Killing her was a tempting option, and all too easily accomplished - but this was the wrong time. His parents' demise had to be plotted with care, and he was much too busy planning the alliance against Darc. He had to wait; he had to endure this living hell just a little more.

  Tharlos sank down with his back to the door, rocking his head from side to side - descending into a delirium that he mistook for sleep, but was in fact madness. His mother kept ranting for hours on end.

  The formal ruler of the city, Lord Migam Pasko, was blissful where he slept; he had found another, safer delirium in a bottle.

  A baptism of a newborn child was to take place in the cathedral of Damon City, next morning at mass. The attending families had not yet arrived to the cathedral's front portal, when a verger made a shocking discovery.

  On the wall of a nearby house, someone had painted a message in huge, mocking letters during the night:

  DOES THE GODDESS LOVE LEPERS TOO?

  The verger alerted the head verger. The head verger alerted the priestesses, who in turn alerted the high-priestess.

  Inu took the stairs up to a parapet high above the street, and looked down at the wall painting below. She turned to the head verger.

  "Remove it. At once."

  The head verger bowed lightly, and replied: "I took the liberty of ordering that earlier, Your Holiness."

  They peered down over the parapet, and saw a crew of vergers and novices rush across the street, pulling carts loaded with draperies and canvases. Working at a frenzied pace, they began to nail the sheets in place over the graffiti.

  Just as the first crowds of churchgoers began to appear on the plaza before the cathedral, the word LEPERS had been covered from sight.

  Inu caught a movement in the corner of her eye. She shifted her gaze across the plaza, and glimpsed window shutters slamming shut.

  It was too late. The word had been seen, and it would spread. Inu pulled her red cloak tighter around her shoulders, and shuddered in the icy mist.

  She thought about Darc, perhaps in a clearer way than she had before: Are you still my Singing King? Is this what you want of me? Will the heavenly reunion end in the desecration of the Church?

  I do not want ugliness to slink into my beautiful cathedral! I will never let a Leper inside these doors! Never, never. O Goddess, you are not as strong in me as you should be...

  The high-priestess walked off to the stairs and down, to perform her duties. When faith faltered, there was always ritual to fall back on. And as she had foreseen, the word spread and continued to spread.

  An irreversible tide of change had begun, that would continue long after Darc was gone.

  Chapter 53

  Later in the day, Azuch Fache's private jet landed in Bor Damon's castle hangar, and the old warriors greeted each other again for the first time in months.

  Azuch embraced Bor like a long-lost son, then kneeled before Lady Osanna and kissed her hand.

  "Praised be the Goddess that you could come, Lord Fache," Osanna said.

  "I came as soon as my ship was ready for flight."

  Azuch's wounds from the summer's tournament were healed, and he now moved his thick, scarred limbs with his former confidence and stature.

  The formalities briefly done away with, Bor and Azuch gathered with lieutenants from both cities, Librian, Bwynn, and Andon Pasko to discuss the situation.

  In the short time since Bor had taken action, he and Azuch had beamed invitations to several neighboring city lords. Among those, only two had yet bothered to reply at all: Lord Orbes, and an obscure city-state in the Mediterranean region.

  They studied the documented information long and hard. Food and drink was served, but no wine; Osanna had seen to that.

  After a time, Andon Pasko was the one to ask: "How... how far out can we communicate with other city lords? How many potential allies are within our reach?"

  Bor frowned at the unexpected query. If Andon had shown that kind of interest in state affairs before, he might have earned more respect from his new family...

  "The laser network between our cities," Bor said without looking Andon in the eye, "is immobile and dates back to the foundation of our cities. Therefore, when a city lord ceases to communicate with another city, he may also cut off the link to many other cities. Librian, are you finished with that world map?"

  The old scholar looked up from the large map sheet he had been drawing on. He laid out the map on the table for all to see.

  "Here," Librian explained, "I have marked out all known laser links between cities. The green lines are open links, such as those between Lord Damon and Lord Fache's castles. Blue lines are links I do not know about... and red lines are for links recently closed off."

  The many red lines, stretching from Fache and Damon City to various other cities in Castilia, made the picture clear. They had, without much noise, been shut out of Espa's community of nobles. Some time was spent discussing which vital links they should negotiate back, so that they could reach friendly cities outside the province.

  No satisfying conclusion was reached. Their two cities remained outnumbered, surrounded and isolated in the center of the land, against a hostile alliance that stretched from heartland to coast. What intelligence Bor and Azuch's men had gathered, suggested that as many as twenty of the forty known city-states of Castilia were already - or about to be - allied to the Paskos.

  Azuch brought up the question of their former allies, and asked for some weak spot that might open the channels of communication to them again. Bor attempted to concentrate - when again the memory of his lost son flashed through his mind. Something always seemed to remind Bor of Darc, and Dohan... even a mere sound or melody...

  He stood bolt upright; it was Andon who was causing the disturbing, strangely familiar sound.

  "You!" he barked, pointing a stubby, accusing finger at the thin young nobleman. Andon stopped whistling and went pale. Bor's blue eyes were a trifle bloodshot, but steady and stern. "What's that music?" Bor demanded. "Where did you hear it?"

  Andon cringed before the hard eyes of the others, looking desperately to his wife for moral support; but Bwynn's eyes were just as unforgiving.

  "I-I heard it being sung... by the kitchen staff, when I went there... it's called 'Rokenrol' ballads... popular among the commoners. Musicians and minstrels play them all over the city."

  "It is true," said Bwynn. "There are illegal radio receivers in the city. Have you also been hearing that music, brother?"

  Bwynn's impassive, plain face seemed to soften. Bor blinked; was Bwynn teasing him for tuning in to Darc's illegal broadcasts?

  He grunted: "I have. I do not wish to discuss music - it is not my field."

  "We should be careful not to ignore it, my lord," Librian fell in. "If Darc's music is spreading, it means his words are spreading too. All because of radio."

  Bor grunted, sat down again; and suddenly he exclaimed: " Radio! That could be the answer. It is madness, but..." Bor put his hands on the map, pointing as he explained. "Why should we bother to use the ancient laser network to reach the cities, when we could send radio-wave signals - to all the secret receivers that are being used to hear that fiend?"

  One captain objected: "But - radio has been forbidden ever since the Great Wars! Think of the risks, my lord - the outrage, the chaos that will ensue."

  Librian said, cautiously: "We could build a device to send such radio signals, but... it would leave our communications open. Any commoner, and all our enemies, could overhear us. And... they might..."

  Bor was about to break one of the most long-standing taboos of society. What about the Lepers? Then again, he thought, who was he fooling? Darc had already broken that taboo. When Bor remem
bered Darc's previous speech about Lepers, a chill went down his spine. The shamelessness of that man... still, there was no other way.

  He asked the others: "Can anyone find an alternative, in such a short time?" Everyone fell silent; the decision lay in Bor's hands. His face hardened. "So be it then. Librian! Get me the guild leaders now, and I mean now."

  Mechao's two oldest sons were busy cleaning the tank of the artificial womb. All residues of unwanted genes had to be scrubbed off, and the tank thoroughly sterilized.

  "What are you up to?" Darc asked them.

  "Father will grow new guardians, to replace Pipo," one of them said.

  "Good," said Darc. "And please do it quickly."

  Chapter 54

  Weeks passed.

  The autumn month of Vemba was already deep into an early winter, when Tharlos Pasko received news from his southern allies: their search for Darc's secret radio transmitter was finished, its location triangulated.

  Tharlos went to his father's study, where a painted world map covered one entire wall. There it was, slightly west of Northern Awrica - a puny ring of volcanic islands, so insignificant one might never notice it... all defenseless and without allies.

  But before Tharlos could attack, he thought he should prepare the ground; this territory lay beyond his family's established trade routes.

  According to the map and the court geographer, the biggest city-state near Kap Verita was Dakchaor - a savage place, where rogue merchants and commoners were allowed to travel by sea along the coast. Lepers had the habit of avoiding seas and coastlines, so the region was safe for a fleet strike.

  When he considered it, Tharlos thought he might make it easier on himself. If the city lords of West Awrica were properly informed, they might agree to provide a necessary beachhead.

  Heartened by the idea, Tharlos called for his agents and communications officers. His ally in South Castilia would provide the laser link to Dakchaor, and then...

  Hiding his radio receiver in his own tiny bedchamber, Awonso was tuning in to hear Darc's latest broadcast - when a much stronger, clearer signal broke in, and sent another familiar voice crackling through his headphones.

  "This is the voice of Lord Bor Wyan Damon the Third, lawful ruler of Damon City. I address all free, honest, pious men in the land of Castilia..."

  Awonso could not believe his ears. How was he going to tell the high-priestess this? And on top of that, the whole city was talking about the mysterious message painted outside the church. Inu had asked him about it several times, but Awonso had truthfully denied any knowledge of who was guilty.

  Exhilaration and frustration filled him. These were times of action, and perhaps he should have been that wall scribbler - doing something to help the tide of change.

  His loyalty to the ruling family and to the Church was still strong... yet he sensed that a greater cause was calling. Above all he wanted to break free.

  And Darc, in his latest speech, had given him the words to express that desire for a world without walls. It seemed now that even Lord Damon was taking this message to his hardened heart.

  "A world without walls," Awonso repeated in a whisper as he locked the radio set inside the chest under his bed.

  He was already thinking of where to find some paint, and a suitable wall to write on. Then it struck him: the biggest wall of all - what else?

  In the day that followed, throughout the fortified city-states of Castilia, secret receivers took in Bor Damon's new radio signal.

  He was the first nobleman in centuries to address others than his own class in matters of government. At first, the noble families were shocked to hear what was being broadcast to their subjects, without their permission. Tharlos's allies called it an insidious attack and requested Tharlos to assault Damon City without delay.

  Their reaction came far too late. Darc's messages had paved the ground, and Bor's broadcasts - though the two had no direct connection at all - were taken as public calls for immediate change.

  The citizenry began to look for new leaders who were more prepared to take on the changing times.

  But Tharlos Pasko, now commander of his father's 1,500 men and jet fleet, head of a new military alliance capable of sending out scores of armored knights and soldiers, reacted with indifference to the pleas of his allies.

  He was strangely reluctant to attack Damon City again, for reasons he failed to clearly explain.

  In his own deluded mind, though, the reasons seemed clear: Fools! Running around like scared children, when someone shouts from your window! I have no need for Bor Damon's head. It is that voice of Darc I must silence, he is the real threat! I must see him dead, before I can feel safe.

  I shall have my revenge on Dohan, too. He will be begging for death, when I'm finished with him.

  When Dohan is out of his city, his luck will end.

  His luck lies in the city.

  Behind Tharlos's outward resolution hid a deeper fear, his terror of the city where he had been defeated three times - twice in tournaments, and once in his first great battle. Of course, Tharlos denied this fear even to himself.

  And thus, in his madness, he gave Bor Damon the respite he sorely needed.

  An envoy from the high-priestess visited Bor's castle that same day. Bor was preoccupied with the mobilization, and not really interested - but he accepted the messenger.

  The envoy, a distinguished priestess in her mid-thirties, asked him: "Have you heard of the blasphemy that was written on the inside of the outer city wall last night, my lord?" Bor shook his head; complaints about wall scribblings had poured in during the week, but he had left the matter to the city guard. "There have been messages, offending the Church, and now this..."

  The priestess handed Bor a note.

  He read the transcript: " 'A world without walls.' What does it mean?"

  "It can only be a call for destruction , for chaos , my lord!" The priestess, a class of person who rarely raised her voice or showed fear, betrayed her deep anxiety. " 'A world without walls.' It means: destroy the city walls! It means: let in the Unclean, allow the wild beasts, the winds of the Wastelands! Her Holiness is not pleased."

  Bor held up his hands and smiled reassuringly, almost amusedly, at the panicking priestess.

  "I implore you, Your Graciousness - be calm. As long as I protect this city, there will be an outer wall. The Paskos caused a breach in the wall during their attack, and what happened? Our people rebuilt it, stronger and better, in no time at all. This - this crude jest, it means nothing."

  He looked to Azuch Fache, who just happened to enter the room. "Lord Fache!" Bor asked confidently. "Is it not true, that our cities are going to remain safe and guarded by our outer walls, until the end of time?"

  Azuch made a bow to the priestess, and hesitated a little too long.

  "'The end of time'," he said in his deep, thoughtful voice, "is an expression I would not use too lightly."

  Azuch excused himself, suddenly concerned, and his reply lingered in their minds like a bad omen.

  Night fell on Damon city, and most of its citizens stayed indoors. The city guard was out searching for vandals, and no one wanted to risk arrest: the punishment was a huge fine, or five years of prison labor.

  Almost no one...

  Awonso sneaked out of the house through his father's trapdoor, carrying a bucket of paint beneath his hooded cloak. An early, dense snowfall suffused the night; it was just the cover he needed to dare a raid on the city wall.

  As he stalked the silent streets, he nearly stumbled into a patrol of guards - their steps muffled by the fresh snow, like his own, he hadn't noticed their approach. He darted into an unlit alley, and stumbled on something. The noise alerted the militia.

  "Halt! Who goes there?" a guard shouted.

  Awonso panicked, slipped on the snow, and ran into more debris. The urgent rhythmic stomping of soldiers' boots approached the alley.

  The fleeing boy saw no escape, when... at his feet, something click
ed open. Unseen hands snatched his feet and he slid down, tumbling along a smooth surface. He bumped into someone, who groaned at the impact - there were shuffles in the dark, and a passage clicked shut. A candle was lit.

  Awonso glimpsed three faces in the flickering candlelight. They were in a windowless cellar; he had entered through a chute.

  Before Awonso could open his mouth, a man put a firm hand over it. Above their heads, they heard the muffled steps of the city guard, rummaging through the alley.

  A very long minute passed. The guards found no trapdoor; they walked away to continue the search elsewhere. The man let go of Awonso's jaw.

  "Thank you, sir," he gasped. "Who are you?"

  "It's unwise of you to ask too many questions, Awonso," the man replied.

  He seemed to be a well-fed, bearded man of nondescript age. Under his rough coat, a fine silken collar was partly visible - but the sparse lighting made it hard to distinguish much about Awonso's three saviors.

  "You know me?" Awonso asked in a low voice.

  The man grinned; the candlelight made his grin resemble a ghostly leer. "A small world, this city, is it not? Everyone knows everyone. Let's just say you have friends who wish to remain anonymous for now."

  Awonso calmed down, but not much. "Are you with the Guild?" he asked suspiciously.

  "Your father's guild? I cannot answer that."

  "You're from the Merchants' Lodge, then. You talk the way they do - like the saying goes. 'If you see three merchants standing together...' "

  " '...they are plotting a cartel,' " the bearded man filled in. "You're bright, boy. And influential, too. Got a radio somewhere, they say. Received a blessing... the highest kind, they say... from Her Holiness herself."

  The other two men smiled knowingly; Awonso felt himself blushing, though the others could hardly see it. The man continued in a business-minded tone:

  "You are destined to become a man to whom important doors are opened, know what I mean? Now, what are your plans for the future? Before we decide whether to back you or boot you, we'd like a statement of sorts... a declaration of loyalties. Who are you with? The nobility, or the guilds?"