"For a hundred in gold, I'd keep any secret," the cloaked man whispered with ill-concealed greed.
He was an easy victim.
Rosen explained: "We represent a friend in another city. An important man, our friend, who thinks the Paskos have outlived their rule. Our friend wishes to liberate this city from Lord Migam's tyranny..."
In the following morning, as Darc was preparing the radio soundstage for a new broadcast, he spotted something in a dark corner.
It was a working model of a radio receiver, built into a wooden frame, the size of a knapsack - the type they had been spreading blueprints for, before sending any actual messages.
Darc blinked at the frame of tubes and circuits that was gathering dust under a sheet, and hesitated... then it dawned on him.
"Damn!" he shouted, and slapped his forehead. "What was I thinking? "
Darc rushed over and carried the radio receiver into the light. He walked across the laboratory to Mechao's central control table that held the power switchboard.
From here, electrical current from the transformer station far below was directed to various parts of the mansion and the local villages. He found an adjustable power socket, tuned down the voltage enough to fit the tiny receiver, and connected it. Then he put on the earphones, and switched on the receiver.
Slowly, he turned the radio's crude tuning dial across the spectrum of frequencies, and listened for voices. For several minutes, he heard nothing but white noise and random static. He realized that the rock catacombs were blocking most signals coming from the outside.
So he moved the receiver across to the soundstage, and connected it to the broadcasting antenna - it ought work just as well for taking in signals.
As he tuned in this time, Darc stumbled on a loud voice, surprisingly undisturbed and clear.
"Jesus," Darc whispered to himself. "Of all the people in the world, it had to be you ..."
It was Bor Damon's authoritative voice he heard, coming in from Castilia. "And it should be obvious even to my enemies," the voice explained with painstaking slowness, "that this military alliance should not, in any event, be led by Sir Tharlos Pasko. He is far too young for such a responsibility. His book of merits show nothing but one failure after another. Sir Tharlos's attempt to take my city by force failed, though his army was larger and armed with new weapons.
"It has come to my knowledge, that an unknown third party in the north is supplying Sir Tharlos's forces with a new type of robots - war robots. These failed to help him take Damon City, but they caused a great loss of lives and should be considered highly dangerous. If these robots are used in his crusade against Darc, they will become a source of widespread death and injury.
"I wish to emphasize, as I have done before, that I do not support any side in this coming conflict. It is merely my earnest wish to avoid the dangerous concentration of power under a dishonest tyrant such as Tharlos Pasko. His family was once allied with my own, but he betrayed that alliance most shamefully. This should be a lesson to all his present allies..."
Darc sat transfixed by what he heard, and dared not miss anything of Bor's speech. It lasted at least an hour - long-winded and wooden - but to Darc, it was a godsend.
When Bor finally ceased his speech, Darc knew a great deal more of what was about to happen. His worst suspicions were confirmed, and he hurried to find Dohan and tell him.
"You heard my father? And he is well?" Dohan asked eagerly.
Darc nodded impatiently. "Yes, yes, your city is safe so far. But we are not. Tharlos and his new alliance will attack the main island anytime soon. We must move all the islanders away from here, now!"
They went to the dining hall as they talked, to discuss the matter with Mechao and Amada. Meijji was already alerted and on her way.
Dohan grinned cynically, and said: "Where could they escape - to the mainland? All of them at once? No, they must hide or fight."
"They are good at hiding, sure, but Tharlos know we're here and he won't stop searching until he finds something."
"So it is to fight, then. I've taught the islanders. Their weapons and defenses are nearly ready. Most of them are women, but... "
Darc chose to ignore that last foolish remark, and they entered the mansion's large dining hall. When Amada and Mechao had arrived, Meijji and her brothers walked in. They listened in tense silence as Darc explained about Bor Damon's radio speech.
Later in the day, Darc summed up the situation: "Tharlos Pasko is preparing to attack this island now. Dohan's father is reinforcing his own forces back in Castilia, in order to stand against Tharlos's new alliance. And we have nowhere to turn for help."
Amada spoke, grave and cool in the face of danger: "Your radio campaign... and Dohan's father's radio messages... they must have been heard by many city people. This is something new to us, that one or two men can be heard across the entire world. Could this not be of some help?"
Dohan was the first to answer her, while scratching his ruddy beard. "I was thinking the same. This radio device can be used to mobilize people against Tharlos, and it will... but it will not make an army race to our rescue. That simply won't happen." He glanced at Darc.
Darc asked Mechao and Amada, as he studied a map of the region: "How do you reckon the mainland cities here in Awrica will react to the radio broadcasts? Will they join Tharlos? I have no information about their intentions, and they are the closest to us."
Mechao shook his head, frowning. "No one knows. You were inside the Old City of Dakchaor yourself - what did you learn about the city-dwellers and their intentions?"
Everyone in the dining hall looked to Darc for an answer.
He shrugged uncertainly. "Nothing, really. They are so different from the city-folks up north - I can't explain them."
Mechao stepped forward, folding his arms behind his back. A stern, hard appearance was about him - as if the crisis had brought out a harsher side of the old witchdoctor.
"This is the main island; most of our population lives here. They can hide on the other, smaller islands, or on the northern volcanic island, Fogo ... unless Fogo erupts soon."
He turned to his wife - they were not so different in height, but Amada's thicker build and higher shoes made him look slight in her presence.
"My dear," he asked gravely, "what does the sea tell you?"
Darc blinked, confused by Mechao's question. Amada moved to a tall window, gazed outside and said nothing for a while. The seabirds outside made little noise; even the sounds of insects and the sea appeared to settle down.
Then she spoke in a voice that sounded distant: "Fogo is awakening. Within the next few days, the volcano shall erupt again. All islands to the north are threatened. It shall last for many days. An earthquake comes too, bringing storms and giant waves in its wake. The air shall be filled with ash and fire."
Amada's heavy eyelids fluttered a little; had she been in a brief trance?
She resumed, in her normal voice: "I will spread the word. We should prepare to leave the islands for the mainland, until the eruption is over."
Darc asked: "When was the last time Fogo had a major eruption?"
"Four, maybe five hundred years ago," Amada said quickly.
Darc shut his eyes, letting the news sink in. A major volcanic eruption was the last thing a reasonable person would want to stay near.
"We have to move Eye-Leg out of the laboratory and into the village. We cannot risk her getting buried if the mansion caves in."
Later, the meeting broke up. Everyone went to work, eager to finish what could be finished while there was still time...
CHAPTER 57
Meanwhile, Tharlos Pasko received daily communications from his allies. Most of these consisted of pleas to attack Damon City first and bother with Kap Verita later.
He ignored the pleas, and sent back vague promises to deal with Bor Damon after Darc had been eliminated.
His spies Craz and Stierne returned from their nightly expedition in the city and re
ported that an assassin had been chosen, a man they identified as a member of the Koban-Jem cult. They added, proudly, that the assassin would never realize he was doing the dirty work of Tharlos himself.
The young nobleman looked about the room where they stood - only he and the spies were in sight.
"You are absolutely certain," he asked, "that none but us three knows about the plot?"
The faithful agents smiled. "May Koban-Jem strike us down and throw our bodies to the Black Sun if the word reaches outside these walls, my lord and revered high-priest!" Goldy replied.
Tharlos nodded, turned away from the spies a moment - then drew the laser-pistol from his shoulder holster and shot them. Three red pulses in rapid succession penetrated their heads, and they dropped to the floor. Tharlos called for the guards.
"Rosen Craz and Goldy Stierne are dead," he told them in a flat, emotionless voice.
A rumble like distant thunder crashed through the sky and shook Darc and Shara out of their sleep. It was in the middle of the darkest night; the thunder came from the north.
Drowsily, they wondered why no lightning flashed. Then they understood, and rushed out of bed. The stone floor wobbled under their feet, and they groped for each other's support. Pots and small items rattled and smashed against the floor.
After a few seconds, the earthquake ceased - but the distant rumble still increased in strength and rhythm, as if some vast creature was breathing the atmosphere with massive force.
Darc and Shara grabbed their clothes and sandals. They rushed out into the mansion's central corridor and hurried toward the entrance hall.
Around them, the entire household was in frenzied motion - the electric lamps flickered on and off, and an air of nightmare hung over the place.
"Eye-Leg!" shouted Shara, dashing off to the Leper girl's sleeping quarters. The girl's room lay at the other side of the central dining hall, near the entrance to the inner catacombs of the rock mansion.
Darc followed after and the couple found Eye-Leg, writhing in panic on her bed, dangerously close to falling off. They lifted the frightened girl into a wheelchair, and helped her outside.
A wide stone staircase led out onto the winding path below the mansion's rocky front, down toward the forest, the terraced fields, and the nearest village. The members of Mechao's household hurried down the path, lighting the way with candle-lamps. The dark clouds above began to boil with tension.
Suddenly, a crackling explosion drowned out all thunder. An orange glow illuminated the cloudy sky from the north, and the whole main island vibrated. Darc thought of atomic explosions - but the detonation was of another class, more powerful.
Miraculously, the elevated cable-line remained intact and working. The population of the nearby village joined Mechao's household at the upper end of the line, ready to head downward for the harbor and escape in the hidden boats.
Darc defied the natives' warning shouts, and climbed a hill to see past the mountain ridge. The glow of the orange sky illuminated everything; he could see the terrain quite well. Dohan hesitated, then separated from the group and quickly followed after him.
After a couple of minutes, Darc came to the peak of a hill and could gaze across the sea to the north. He gasped at the sight.
One could barely make out the string of smaller islands on the horizon that surrounded Fogo on both sides. The volcano was but a distant, bright top of fire, from which a blazing fountain of lava and smoke shot up into the night.
A hot gust of wind swept over the landscape; the smell of sulfur increased, and Darc's eyes watered from the stinging dust that blew in his eyes and nose. The sea inside the ring of islands was in an uproar - each time the waves crashed against the shores, they hit with greater force.
Dohan came climbing up next to him and stared at the eruption, horrified. The sight stirred up memories of the stories from his childhood.
Those ancient tales recreated the earliest memories of a cataclysm - the time just before the coming of the Eternal Ice, when the earth and sky unleashed its wrath on a corrupted mankind:
The wrath of the Goddess was merciless. From her body opened a vast crack, and fire and ashes burst forth.
The lord of the skies saw this, and roared in rage, and the sky ruptured.
And he shook the heavens, so that a white-hot star fell down from the sky.
And when the star hit the ocean, the entire earth was rocked from its path.
And the cities crumbled, and each day became like blackest night.
"Goddess," he whispered, "have mercy upon us."
Then Darc noticed Dohan, and said to him: "I hope there aren't many people over there. It's not safe for them to cross over, what with the storm blowing up."
Dohan stared incredulously at his friend, who seemed quite composed in comparison to his own fear. Could not even the All-Mother's wrath shake Darc's confidence?
"What do we do now?"
"What can we do? It's safer we stay. Perhaps..." Darc swallowed, ashamed that he did. "Perhaps the Goddess is trying to protect us. Or she's arguing with the Singing King over our fate. Looks like she's winning..."
The moment he finished his quip, a mighty thunderbolt struck down at another peak no more than half a kilometer away, and sent a sharp crackling echo rolling over the hills.
Darc flinched - just a little.
"Great Goddess and King, Darc!" Dohan exclaimed, his young face full of frightful reproach.
And for once, Darc kept his mouth shut.
At the very same moment as Dohan was scolding his flippant friend, a nervous nobleman left his quarters in Lord Pasko's court and sought out Lady Tresa for a late-night audience.
He had announced his visit earlier, with a note delivered in confidence; it told her of a secret admirer with important news. Her vanity thus stimulated, she let him inside her wing of the castle.
In the light of her night candles she saw a familiar lower nobleman, an undistinguished knight of a local clan in the service of the ruling family. Through marriage, he was distantly related to the Paskos; Tresa could no longer remember the details.
"So," she smiled at him, "is it love that brings you here?"
A little affair was not at all an unpleasant offer; her husband had long since failed to satisfy her.
The man leaned closer to her, and whispered: "My fear is almost as great as the passion that drove me to your sweet bosom. Say, where is the good city lord?"
The city lord's wife made a harsh laugh. "Save your worries - he's asleep in his room next door, as usual. I could hit him over the head, and he wouldn't move an inch."
The nobleman blinked nervously at her, grasping her outstretched hand, kissed it fervently but quickly, and asked: "Do you have entrance to his room?"
"Why, certainly I have a key to my own husband's bedroom. Why do you ask?"
From the inside of his mantle, his arm shot out, holding a dagger - and stabbed its target.
With a look of quiet, intense surprise on her pale face, Tresa Pasko sank down onto the floor and died; as she sank into her wide, collapsing green dress it seemed to envelop her, like some giant flytrap plant.
The trembling nobleman frantically searched her pockets and found the keys. He clumsily unlocked the door to the adjacent bedroom; a muffled snoring sounded inside.
Having sneaked up to the sleeping Lord Pasko, he felt across the bed for his face. His hand clasped the lord's mouth shut.
Raising his dagger, the man whispered: "Tyrant!"
He stabbed his victim several times; Lord Pasko twitched in his bed, and lay still. The blood-drenched nobleman hurried back to Tresa's chamber, and out into the corridor. He had a small chance of sneaking past the guards and out through a nearby high window, where a climbing rope was waiting to take him down.
The man stopped, when he found what was waiting for him in the corridor. Not a human guard, and not a robot servant - the Pasko family normally abhorred those.
A huge black, bulbous, long-legged robot,
as quiet and patient as a spider awaiting its prey, stood in his path. Its multiple green sensor-eyes flickered, registering the human presence.
Frozen in fear for a moment, the nobleman stood there - five meters from the gleaming metal creature. Then he turned and fled.
A short burst of laser-pulses smattered from the spider robot, and hit the fleeing assassin in the back. He screamed, collapsed, and his cloak caught fire.
A moment later, a guard came running to the place and smothered the flaming, smoldering bundle on the floor with his cloak. The robot stepped forth and placed its forelegs across the burnt corpse, as if to claim it. The guard backed away.
Upset voices cried from the city lord's quarters: "Murder! Murder!"
Tharlos was dozing off in his own bedroom when, a minute later, he was informed that his parents had been slain. It surprised him how little he actually felt then.
Nevertheless he was able to show a face of concern, and went to see the murder scene with his own eyes. It turned out to look just the way he had planned it - Migam and Tresa firmly dead, and the assassin himself assassinated by a trusty spider robot, just as it had been ordered.
Tharlos dismissed the robot to its storage room, and took to examine the pockets of the dead assassin. He found a slightly singed letter, given to the assassin by Craz and Stierne, and pretended to read it.
But he already knew what it said.
Tharlos held up the forged letter to the crowd of onlookers - servants, guards and maids.
"See!" he shouted hoarsely. "Proof that the intruder Darc was behind this! He ordered the murder of my father and mother! I swear to you all, that Darc of Damon City shall die by my hand! Prepare the air force for immediate flight! Alert all forces! "
A guard in the crowd was the first one to confirm the new order: "Yes, Lord Pasko!"
Tharlos was now, without ceremony or official verdict, the undisputed ruler. With all the commotion and panic stirred up by his own scheme, Tharlos failed to notice the red signal lamps that blinked in the rooms of the former city lord and himself.
Yngve, AR - Darc Ages Page 37