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A.R.Yngve
DARC AGES
Book Three
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The Orbes Brothers

Chapter 62

Gloomy afternoon turned into night. Lord Bes Orbes had his troops and knights scattered over three neighboring islands. These forces encountered much the same opposition as Yota's men: mutated, hostile beasts and no humans.

Dispatches and light signals had been frequently used, as well as air support - and eventually, the incoming reports convinced Lord Orbes that the islands were abandoned. He ordered a full retreat to the southern main island, where he was to join their commander Lord Pasko.

His soldiers and knight-sons were grateful to leave the frightening, cursed islands - yet the prospect of entering another witchdoctor's island frightened them more.

Saburé and Kensaburé Orbes were sitting in the same ship as they approached the smoke-shrouded main island. Both of them brooded over the same question. Was Dohan Damon, Lord Damon's renegade son, present somewhere down there? Could they fight a former trusted friend and ally?

A change occurred in mind of the younger brother Kensaburé - a notion that had been growing in his mind since before the war.

He cupped his hands around his mouth to be heard over the engine noise, and spoke in his older brother's ear.

"Saburé! You must not tell our father - but I think this is wrong, what we are doing today."

Saburé glowered at his brother over the shoulder pad of his armor, too bewildered and tired to say anything.

The younger brother persisted: "You know as well as I, that Tharlos is a scheming no-good traitor, ever since the Summer Joust! Why are we taking orders from him, against honest and noble people such as Dohan? Why?"

Saburé took off one armored glove - with an effort, since his heavy, motorized armor was switched off for recharging - and slapped Kensaburé's forehead.

"You fool!" he said tersely, anxiously checking that nobody heard them. "Are you asking to be shot as a deserter? Or have you soiled yourself?"

Kensaburé blushed, and felt a strong urge to punch his brother - neither of them were clever with words, and they were easily angered.

"I'm not a little brat any longer, Saburé! I'm a real knight now - I've been in battle, and I'm not putting up with your bullying."

Saburé merely grunted at this, and turned away to watch the steadily approaching main island.

"Besides," Kensaburé added, "the signs are against us. What if Darc really is the Singing King - what if the Goddess is trying to warn us not to attack! That burning mountain..."

Saburé stiffened with fear, but kept his indifferent stance. Infuriated, Kensaburé blurted out a secret that would make his older brother take notice.

"And I've been listening to Darc's radio transmissions! I think he speaks the truth -"

Before Kensaburé finished, Saburé slammed his bare hand over his brother's mouth. White-faced, he hissed: "Be quiet!"

The soldiers, strapped to their seats nearby, saw the brothers quarrel and drew their own conclusions. Fighting morale among the passengers dropped fast.

The Orbes clan's jet fleet landed on the beach. The knights screwed on their helmets and gloves, and switched on their armor motors. Lord Orbes stepped out first, leading his troops over to the parked fleet of Lord Tharlos. He was quickly briefed on the present situation.

Orbes raised his broadsword, switched on the loudspeaker in his armor, and bellowed: "Red company stays behind to guard the ships! Behind me, sons... for the greater good of Castilia... we join the main force! Attack the enemy stronghold! CHARGE!"

Bes and his sons ignited their jetpacks. As they soared above the beach and speeded up across the burning, blackened hillside, their footsoldiers paced after them.

After a brief hassle with the guards, Awonso was allowed inside the castle. Heavily armed soldiers were posted all over the fortress, and the tension was evident among the household staff.

Awonso was ordered to wait until the busy Lady Bwynn and Librian had time to meet him. He sat down on a stool outside the entrance to the war room, and watched people pass by.

After an agonizing wait, a guard Awonso did not recognize came up to him.

"Awonso?" the guard asked casually. "Follow me into the library. Librian will see you there."

The man escorted him down the stairs. They walked into the library - and the soldier bolted the main door, shutting them both in. Awonso could see no sign of Librian in the dusty halls. He turned and saw the sword gleam in the soldier's hand.

The soldier stepped closer, more business-minded than exalted. "You should've listened to our offer while you still had the chance, brat," he stated. "The Merchants' Lodge can't afford you to stand in our way."

The apprentice librarian darted away with a speed the man had not expected. He ran for the door to Librian's small private office, slammed the door shut behind him and knocked over a bookshelf, blocking the door.

The man threw his weight at the door. Awonso heard him shout: "You can't escape! There's no way out!"

Awonso saw the thin door creak and bulge as the assassin battered it. In the course of a few seconds, he would get through - and the only weapon Awonso carried was a tiny penknife.

He searched frantically among the bookshelves for some concealed weapon or escape route. Naturally, no laser-weapons lay in store in the highly flammable library.

The soldier kept ramming the door, teasing him with blasphemous words; some merchants still secretely revered the old, forbidden god of greed.

"Ho-ho-ho, brat! Setan-Klaws is coming to put you in his big sack!"

Awonso spotted a thick power cable which ran along a far corner, disappearing behind a stack of books. He brushed aside the books and found a tall metal locker with a signplate:

-DANGER-
RESERVED BY CITY LAW FOR THE GUILD OF ELECTROMECHANICS

This room wasn't built for storing books, Awonso thought absent-mindedly. He wedged open the locker door with his penknife. Inside, he found a humming nest of brightly colored wires, levers, and fuses - all bearing obscure code letters and numbers, that only proper guild-members could decipher.

Behind Awonso, only meters away, the door finally broke off its hinges and crashed down. The man stumbled in, pushing and groping at the overturned shelf that lay in his way.

With a groan, he made a forceful heave and shoved the shelf to the floor. The frightened bright eyes of the apprentice scholar met the assassin's cold butcher's eyes. The man thrust out with his sword and the tip reached less than a meter from Awonso's heart.

Awonso gasped and simultaneously pulled all the levers in the metal locker.

The light strips in the library and the single lamp in the room died; the room went pitch-black. The soldier cursed; his boots made noise as he stumbled through the dark space and hit shelves and debris.

Awonso, his back to the wall, tried to hold his breath as his racing heart made his lungs hurt. His grasping hand found a large, heavy volume - Awonso recognized it as Sir Schoni's Book of Golden Age Findings by the mere texture against his fingertips - and he held it up as a shield.

Then he gasped again - the soldier's blade shot out and pierced the sleeve of his robe. He heard the breathing soldier grunt before him. The sword made another stab, hitting the volume in front of Awonso's chest - and it withdrew again.

On an impulse, Awonso stepped aside.

The assassin thrust out again - and the narrow room was illuminated, as the blade missed Awonso and plunged into the fuse box. The man screamed in agony - flickering blue lights enhanced his spasmodic convulsions as 2,000 volts went through the sword and into his chain-mail shirt.

To Awonso, those three seconds seemed to last minutes. Abruptly, the dead assassin crumpled to the floor - the fuse box tossed out a few sparks and went dark.

Awonso nudged away from the locker, and fumbled his way back into the main library hall. Dull afternoon light was seeping through a few narrow light shafts. He made it to the main doors and lifted the bolts, opened them and fled outside.

And he ran into the very surprised Librian, who had just arrived. Awonso immediately began to talk, quivering: "Librian... Merchants' Lodge plotted against the house of Damon... the whole family in peril... an assassin tried to kill me before I could warn..."

The old librarian grasped Awonso's shoulders with blunt force, shaking him calm. Awonso told Librian the whole story in brief sentences, and he understood.

"The ruling family is safely guarded," Librian assured him. "We shall track down the conspirators, and Lord Damon will deal with them when he returns."

Awonso blurted out, blushing at his own frankness: "If he returns."

Was it evening, afternoon or night?

Darc had lost track of time, and the dark gray skies weren't much of a help. He, Meijji, Mechao and Mechao's sons had been let inside the rock mansion.

The main portal was bolted and barricaded with heavy concrete and iron beams. Lucijja and Faluti had posted armed villagers at all the front windows, just in time to see Tharlos's remaining army approach the path leading up to the entrance.

The rooms and catacombs of the mansion were crammed with people: more than two thousand frightened women, children and men. Several thousands more were in hiding across the archipelago, waiting for the battle to end.

As Darc sat resting by a window, rifle and shield by his feet, Faluti went over to him with a wine sack. He took several gulps, relishing every drop.

"Thank you," he wheezed.

"You ought to let me examine that arm of yours," said Faluti, and fingered the bloody bandage around Darc's upper arm.

It surprised him that he did not even think of how much it ought to hurt. "Thanks, but no thanks - I've got some of Mechao's medicine. I'll be fine."

He mustered a brave grin for the chubby, grimy, dark-skinned woman. She wore a captured enemy helmet and a homemade chest plate, blackened with soot and laser-burns. Faluti grinned back, flashing her gold tooth - the soot showed even on her teeth.

"How is our side doing, Faluti?"

She shook her head sadly, yet she was grinning. "You see me smile now, but I'll cry when this is over."

The rattling of the approaching enemy grew louder, as their boots and robot limbs treaded onto volcanic rock.

Darc began to speak: "Faluti, I'm sorry about all this -"

"Now you be quiet, paleface!" she snapped. "Have the priests read a mass for your soul, and be done with it."

"I never believed in much, Faluti."

"Then at least behave like you believed!" she said - and added, in choking words: "Because there's a lot of people here who still believe in you. I wish to be one of them, at least until the end of this day."

Darc - or if it was David Archibald - blinked, struggled groaning to his feet, and looked at the people's army that surrounded him. He wished Dohan had been there - Darc was hopelessly inadequate in military matters.

But nevertheless he opened his mouth, and spoke to the villagers in a loud, hoarse voice: "Listen to me! I have not traveled through nine centuries to end like this! We can still win this battle! I have called for support through the radio, and Sir Dohan's friends will come to our rescue! Stay calm, aim carefully, and fire as soon as you see the enemy..."

All the enemy's war robots fired at once. The long hall suddenly filled with flickering green lines, hitting the ceiling and the windowframes. Plaster and rock splinters rained down, and Darc took cover.

The fifty armed villagers took position, aimed, and fired at the enemy. Several enemy soldiers fell screaming, holding onto their legs and faces.

But the undaunted robots fired another volley. One male and three female villagers were hit by hot splinters and laser light; screaming, they fell back from the windows. One of them was dead as she hit the floor.

Then -

A crackling thunderclap from the sky drowned out the screams and the distant volcano's rumbling. An overdue rainstorm mixed with volcanic ash fell over the southern islands. Mechao's mutated beasts went into hiding, leaving Lord Tharlos's allies alone. And the dirty rain hammered down on them.

Almost simultaneously, Tharlos's spider robots began to malfunction. Polluted water seeped into their joints and seams, causing massive short-circuiting.

Shock and terror choked Tharlos's throat - he could only watch, as his once so terrifying servants turned into sputtering, limp-legged heaps of junk.

It could have been a great opportunity for Darc's side - except for the rain that made all laser-weapons useless. Tharlos's battle armor, well insulated and built to withstand moist, remained unaffected.

He waved his sword and rallied his men forward one more time. They were just a few steps away from the main portal, and they drew their blades.

Darc took a glimpse of the outside, and saw a new contingent of soldiers ascend the ridge - all wearing blue and black. Lord Orbes and sons, no doubt.

Briefly, Darc considered a last, desperate attempt to talk to the enemy. He knew nothing to say that could stop them. Dohan might be dead; Shara and Eye-Leg had not shown up yet; Mechao was in bed, and might be seriously ill.

With each breath, there was pain - not his own but the pain of dead and injured people around him, the pain of hearing the sobs and wails of people whose lives were suddenly destroyed by the intruders.

Could he give himself up? He could, but it would not save the others.

Time seemed to slacken its pace, seconds resembling minutes - the rain appeared, to him, to slow down.

How many times had he stared death in the eye during this year? He had lost count. Had he finally grown tired of staying alive, ceased to fight and escape? Not really. The drive that kept him going - blind instinct, maybe - was still beating in his veins.

What attacked him from inside was something else. He felt tired of living through so much history.

To hell with trying to talk them over, he thought as the clamoring army moved closer. To hell with playing savior. They'll never change. Even if they manage to rebuild civilization as it was, it'll go the same way all over again. Build it up, tear it down. Two steps forward, one step backward. All this time and nothing has changed.

But for the sake of the others present, Darc hid his melancholy from them. Selfishness, for all its practicality, had lost its meaning to him.

He unclasped the alligator clips from his rifle batteries, and handed the clips to the next person waiting to recharge her weapon.

Allowing himself one last searching look through the crowd for Shara, he approached the battered front windows again. As soon as the rain ceased, the enemy would resume firing. He took aimed with one eye at the closest line of gleaming shields.

At least, Darc noticed wryly, the rain was putting out all the fires...

The muddled, gray skies rumbled louder - and louder still.

Damn this rain, Darc thought. Get it over with, Goddess. I've waited 900 years too many for this moment.

The rumble grew sharper, its pitch changed from a roar to a screech. Darc and the villagers looked into the sky.

Then he saw them. A new fleet of jet aircraft came spiraling down toward the main island - not as large and imposing as the fleet Tharlos had commanded, but fresh and new.

A one-man scout craft swooped past Mechao's mansion - it had the blue-red-black colors of Lord Damon's fleet.

Darc's despair instantly turned into glee. A goddamn miracle! he thought.

"A flag, a banner!" he heard himself shout. "Bring me a banner! Hurry!"

A couple of blankets were quickly tied together; with a piece of coal, the besieged wrote "DOHAN DARC ALIVE" on them in large letters. They carefully held the makeshift banner out through the windows, so that the message could be read.

The scout craft, having rounded the island peaks, whizzed past the mansion once more. The pilot saw the banner and responded: he ignited a signal flare. A trail of red smoke drew after the small ship as it went down to land. T

he main fleet spotted the signal. Lord Damon's ship went down first, followed by his troop carriers; further behind and on his flank, Lord Fache and his fleet came after.

As they descended toward the beach through pouring rain, they surrounded the parked fleets of Orbes and Pasko.

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