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A.R.Yngve

DARC AGES Book Three
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The armada takes off

Chapter 32


Bor Damon was sitting at the dinner table with his family -- an empty chair signified the prodigal son -- when a messenger entered. He delivered a sealed letter to the city lord; Bor opened and read it.

"May Setan-Klaws take him!" he cursed out loud.

"What is it, dear?" Osanna asked anxiously.

"Our scout crafts have sighted massive gatherings of troops and armaments in Pasko City and down south in Kibralta. Any moment now, they may be ready to attack Kap Verita -- or this city, whichever comes first. Damn that Tharlos Pasko, damn him to everlasting oblivion!"

Andon, who sat by the other end of the table, revealed no reaction to Bor's tirade. Eveli looked curiously at him, trying to spot any hidden loyalties toward his brother. Andon's thin, swarthy features were calm -- as calm as that frail man managed to be -- and he chatted indifferently with his wife. Another messenger then entered the hall, panting. The table-guests looked up; it was Librian.

He stopped, and exclaimed breathlessly: "My lord -- this just came in via the laser link! Lord Migam and his wife Tresa are dead! Murdered last night! Tharlos is the city lord now!"

They were all shocked into silence. Andon gasped, stood bolt upright, mouth quivering to express something -- and finally blurted out: "I knew he would do it one day. I knew it!"

Everyone understood, intuitively, who he was talking about.

"He's evil -- he always was! He told me many times, that he would eliminate me if I got in the way of his destiny -- I welcomed the chance to escape him and those wicked parents of ours!" His parents gone, Andon seemed to explode with suppressed anguish. "They are all sick! Twisted! They have done... things... you wouldn't believe! The Goddess may damn me, but I'm glad they're dead. But he, he's even worse than they were. He started a cult in Koban-Jem's name -- kidnapped and killed people just to gain followers and control them. There's nothing he won't do to for the sake of power!"

Andon had turned pale, his otherwise dull eyes were as intense as his brother's.

He strode across to Bor and grasped his hand, pleading in a thin, high-pitched voice: "I know you distrust me, my lord. And I deserve it. I am sullied by the bloodlines to those people. I'm a weak man. Bwynn, she helped me! Her care saved me from becoming as evil as my brother. I beseech you: You must put an end to Tharlos! If not for me... then for your son."

Mute with fear and revulsion, Bor pulled away his hand. Andon retreated to Bwynn, who caught hold of him. For a while there was no sound in the hall except Andon's low sobbing into his wife's heavy shoulder.

After a time, Bor said: "My word stands. I shall have Dohan returned, whatever the cost."

He finished eating; Librian joined him to the communications room.
They prepared and sent a simple message to their remaining allies: WE CONTINUE TO MONITOR ENEMY ACTIVITIES. STAY READY.



Later that day, Lord Tharlos Pasko awakened from his slumber. He was still in his private communications chamber, with the laser equipment by the open window; the cold winds were howling in, and he was shivering. Tharlos sneezed, and remembered his changed attack plans. An airborne expedition ought to reach Kap Verita in just a few hours. He thought of making a speech to his people and soldiers, but immediately discarded the idea; his great deeds would speak for him.

Tharlos went, a little stiffly, to the war room, and gathered his officers and remaining knights. A funeral ceremony for the dead city lord would take days to prepare and perform -- so it had to be postponed. Tharlos ordered that the bodies should be put to lie in state outside the castle, while the attack was carried out. This macabre decision deeply unnerved his underlings, but no protests were voiced. Next, Tharlos put the naval attack fleet that was still waiting in Kibralta on hold, and told the assembled warriors about his latest change of plans. Again, no protests were put up. A broad strategy was decided upon, and transmitted to the other allied cities in Castilia. The alliance was to take off at night, reaching Kap Verita by dawn, with just enough fuel to return.

Had Tharlos mentioned the scout report about a volcanic eruption near their target, his warriors would have been terrified. So he said nothing; in fact he had somehow forgotten that detail himself.



The allies of Castilia were reached by Tharlos's call to arms the same evening. Several of them promptly refused to answer the call -- his sudden change of plans was in their view too absurd to be taken seriously. Lord Seguda in Kibralta, outraged by Tharlos's arrogance, immediately declared their alliance broken. He warned other city lords in the province. And in a few hours, the potential size of Tharlos's forces shrank by the thousands. Only the allies of his own province, Madrivalo, responded positively to the call to arms -- and perhaps more for their own reasons, than out of great trust in Tharlos as commander-in-chief.

From Orbes City, Lord Orbes launched a small fleet of heavy transporter jets. His two sons and a few lower knights joined Lord Orbes, with a force of one hundred armed footsoldiers.

From Yota City, Lord Ue Yota first launched a slower squadron of transporter jets; an hour later, his two fastest fighter craft took off and speeded after. Foremost among those flew The Roaring Wind, piloted by his champion Kamo.

And finally, Tharlos's own forces lifted off. Six heavy transporters, carrying two hundred footsoldiers and twelve war robots, joined by three brand-new jetfighters. The new city lord himself sat at the controls of the flagship fighter, assisted by a senior nobleman of a lower family.

A few tiny, patrolling scout ships from Damon and Fache City were the first victims of the winged armada. The one-man ships spotted the passing squadrons, and were relentlessly pursued and gunned down before they might reach and warn their masters.

The tension was great among all classes of soldiers on board the armada, because this was also an expedition into the unknown -- crossing those Wastelands which many of them had rarely seen with their own eyes. When the footsoldiers got their first glimpse out through the portholes of the carriers, they were filled with fright and awe. In the moonlit winter night, the great walled cities of Castilia were specks of light. The vast stretches of desolation and ruins in between seemed like a frozen void. This, many of them thought, was what the world really looked like. Tharlos's soldiers begun to realize how insignificant their previous expedition had been; crossing a few miles of wilderness to attack Damon City was nothing, compared to leaving their home country.

Whispered speculations and legends passed between the waiting infantrymen; some drank whatever alcohol they had managed to smuggle with them. And those few who could, wrote a last letter to the ones at home...