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A.R.Yngve

DARC AGES Book Three
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A clash of knights

Chapter 44


Tharlos heard no explosions from the beach, and his position made it too risky for him to fly up and get a better view. He sent down a messenger to find out what was happening, and waited.

Then a rising jet-engine noise climbed up the hillside. Two large troop carriers flew past -- one bearing the blue-red-black Damon insignia on its flat belly, the other painted green and white. Tharlos's men ran for cover; charges dropped from the ships and detonated among them. The ground shook when explosions blasted geysers of dirt and death into the air.

The peasant army cheered at their would-be saviors, and Darc headed for the mansion's barricaded entrance. The troop carriers hovered down uneasily into the rocky, sloping clearing, and the troops inside started to drop off into the terrain. Almost without hesitation, Tharlos ordered his men to attack the newcomers. The rain seemed to cease, but the air was damp and misty yet. Opposing forces clashed in hand-to-hand combat. The fighting proved quick and brutal; yet, both sides were almost relieved to find a recognizable enemy. Tharlos also fought, with the fury of a desperate man who knew the end was near.

Lord Fache, the most confident of all soldiers present, moved his riflemen in a pinch-formation that cut off Bes Orbes and his men. With shield-walls and flickering laser-fire closing in on all sides, Lord Orbes and his force crowded together for a last stand.

"We must surrender!" Kensaburé pleaded to his father.

"Never!" Bes Orbes replied hoarsely.

In response to that, Kensaburé tossed away his sword and flew up on his jets, toward the gate of the mansion.

Some of the battle clamor receded, as he called out: "Lord Damon! I surrender! Spare us, and we shall stand by your side again!"

Someone fired a shot at Kensaburé, but it missed. Bor Damon made a jet leap, flew across the sloping field and landed close to him.

"Hold your fire!" he ordered. "Lord Orbes -- surrender yourself now, and I promise you and your sons are to be brought back to your city unharmed!"

Bes Orbes, gazing across the sloping battlefield with the small telescopic sight mounted to his visor, saw his youngest son bow in surrender to his enemy. What then took place in Bes Orbes's frightened mind cannot adequately be described. A few moments later, Bes waved the flag of surrender, and ordered his embattled troops to lay down their arms.



And Lord Tharlos saw his alliance shrink -- again. In the next minute, he stood alone with a single injured knight, a handful of exhausted riflemen, and some useless, malfunctioning black robots. Azuch Fache lined up his men around Tharlos, and there was no question which side was winning. Azuch spoke across the battle lines, a grim voice that commanded every listener's attention.

"Tharlos! You and your brother are the last ones of your line. Yield now! Or there will be just one Pasko left!"

Wild-eyed with fear and hatred, Tharlos stared up into the clearing sky, begging for some last-minute air rescue -- but Lord Yota's fleet was absent. Tharlos had worked hard for it to come true, but the result was undeniable: he had not a single friend left in the world.

"Everyone has betrayed me!" he cried hysterically, blaming the world for his failure. "He did it too, with those no-good war robots I was tricked into buying. And he will come for you when I'm gone! You'll see! Pan Krator is coming!"

In the moment of silence that followed, Tharlos spotted a familiar shape up high, gazing down from behind the mansion barricade. A tall, white-haired man... his nemesis.

"You!" cried Tharlos, firing a round of laser-beams at the mansion. "This is all your doing!"

Darc ducked down, but the pulses were too weak to cause any serious impact on the barricade. Tharlos ignited his jetpack and rose above his men, signaling a last attack. They charged outward with their swords and shields high... and the surrounding circle of Fache's soldiers hacked them to pieces. The last one of Tharlos's knights also flew up after his master -- but he was too slow, and passed unguarded just above a line of riflemen. A close-range volley hit his face, and his visor was penetrated. Blinded beyond all help, he sank to the ground and crumpled down.

The confusion on the battlefield allowed Tharlos to fly past the battlefield, the hundred meters up the slope, toward the front of the rock mansion. It took him just seconds, and he was heading straight for the barricade -- just tall enough an opening to allow him inside. His single goal was to reach and kill Darc; all other ambitions were forgotten. Another jetpack sounded from just below him, and a shape flew in his way, too fast for Tharlos to shy away, even if he had wanted to.

Then, just before the end, he could make out the shape: Lord Damon, rising on powerful jet streams, thrusting his broadsword with both arms, straight toward Tharlos's armored chest. Tharlos could even see Bor's face: In the city-lord's face his mouth roared something, and his eyes were open wide, set firmly on his target.

The eyes so much resembled Dohan's when he was about to cut off a knight's head in the Summer Joust...