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A.R.Yngve

DARC AGES Book Three
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Chapter 24


The weeks passed. The autumn month of Vemba was already deep into an early winter, when Tharlos Pasko received good news from his southern allies: their search for Darc's secret radio transmitter was finished, its location pinpointed. 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, without allies.

But before Tharlos could attack, he thought he should pave 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 sea and coast, so the region was safe for a fleet strike.

When he considered it, Tharlos thought he might make it all 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 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, to the Church, was still strong... yet he felt that greater causes were 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 hid the radio set in the locked 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 strong signal. He was the first nobleman in centuries to address others than his own class in matters concerning 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 again, 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, now commander of his father's 1,500 men and jet fleet, heading 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 will 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 by ignoring him.



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 in the city guard's jurisdiction. "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 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 is going to be an outer wall. The Paskos managed to cause a breach in the wall, 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, his reply hanging in their minds like a foreboding omen.