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A.R.Yngve DARC AGES Book Three _________________________ |
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Chapter 28
As Tharlos Pasko continued to deteriorate, so did his rule. He repeatedly postponed the meetings of his Koban-Jem cult, while burying himself in the plans for the attack on Kap Verita. He had even allowed himself not to dye his long hair in several weeks -- and it was rapidly darkening to its natural stripy, black nature. The control of Pasko City itself was left to the city guard and its corrupt, underpaid militia; extortion rackets and kidnappings became their routine. The previously bustling city began to resemble a ghost-town, its streets increasingly abandoned and filthy. The once prosperous ghetto of the city's religious minority, now ransacked and burnt down, still remained in ruins, where a few desperate survivors fought starvation. On one wall of the ghetto ruins was scribbled a message in large black letters, that captured the general mood: NO LAW NO FAITH NO HOPE Lord Migam Pasko could sometimes be seen staggering through the rooms and halls of his spacious castle, always with a bottle in hand -- a derelict in his own home, his hair and beard long and unkempt, eyes dull and red. The castle staff ignored him as much as they could. As for Tresa Pasko, she was falling into a state resembling her husband's dementia since autumn. But she upheld a shrill and hollow facade of normalcy whenever she showed herself in public. In this state of affairs, Tharlos found himself spending every free moment fantasizing about murdering his parents. Countless plots played in his rotting mind, each more intricate than the last. He suffered no pangs of ill conscience, only the fear of failure and defeat. One evening in the beginning of Tsemba, Tharlos tuned to in another of Bor Damon's radio speeches. The gaunt, tall young warrior paced back and forth on the tiled floor, his head aching dully with hate and loathing. Then he had an idea. |
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A little later, Tharlos gave his two best spies, Rosen Craz and Goldy Stierne, a new assignment. They exited the castle disguised as soldiers, and sneaked into the parts of the city where the growing opposition to the Pasko family gathered. In a dark back alley, the spies shed their disguises and entered an illicit tavern, where cutthroats and dissidents gathered to plot. They began to talk loudly, so that people could overhear, of what ought be done with the ruling family.
The spies had not been sitting in their dark corner for very long, when a cloaked figure approached them. His face was in shadow; his hands, supporting a large beer mug, were pale and well manicured -- the spies noticed a heavy ring glistening on one of his fingers. Nobleman fingers, they thought, belonging to one of the lower nobility. Rosen and Goldy exchanged knowing glances. "I heard you are here in business matters?" the cloaked man asked -- attempting to sound tough, but not quite succeeding. "Who's asking?" Rosen probed suspiciously. "No questions, no lies," came the man's reply. The cloaked man looked about himself, then slid down on a stool facing them. He leaned forward, and said in a lower voice: "The word gets around. You want to get rid of... a troublesome itch, and you are prepared to pay for it." Stierne nodded slightly, not moving closer. "Have you heard of the goings-on in Castilia?" he asked. "Who hasn't?" "What do you think of the... situation?" "What do you think?" the man retorted. The agents smiled. "Relax, we hate that tyrant Pasko as much any man," Rosen Craz said reassuringly. Yeah, I think Lord Bor Damon is right. Sir Tharlos is a bad, bad man. You know what they say about him?" Relieved to be among friends, the cloaked nobleman replied: "Yes, he robs young women and sacrifices them to an evil idol. There is a secret cult around Koban-Jem. He leads it." And added bitterly: "That is, he used to lead it before he started this futile war with our allies the Damons. He will be the end of us all, mark my words." Goldy Stierne nodded thoughtfully, took a sip of his drink, and said: "But isn't the old city lord the truly guilty one? He's a raving drunk. Someone ought to put an end to his misrule, so that the succession could be arranged, before Sir Tharlos snatches the throne with the support of the law -- wouldn't you say?" The cloaked man said nothing, but nodded to them, drinking in heavy swigs. The spies ordered another round, and bought the man more drinks. Two rounds later, they decided he was ripe for the picking. "Could you keep a secret?" Rosen asked casually. "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, not lowering his voice significantly: "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..." |
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