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| Durant's Yellow Jackets |
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| Episode Two: Desert Raiders |
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| Part Two of Two The storm just managed to outrun the Yellow Jackets. With less than a mile to the sandstone cliffs, a wall of swirling sand seemed to just descend upon the mercenary group. “Stay tight,” shouted Durant, above the roar of the wind. He could barely hear his own words, they seemed to be swept away the moment he uttered them. He hoped that the men’s discipline would be enough to carry them through. For long moments Durant had no clue if he was still heading in the same direction, for sheets of burning sand were coming at him from everywhere at once. He had been forced to pull the scarf up over his eyes, les he be completely blinded. He was almost tempted to stop, to wait, but his experience told him otherwise. He recalled stories of those who stopped in sandstorms being completely lost when, or rather if, they survived the experience. He forced himself to continue forward, and gradually, the unmistakable shadow of the mountains was close at hand. Durant dashed the last few yards, desperate to be within the sheltered gullies of the mountains. Though the howl of the wind could still be heard, it was less aggressive, less powerful than in the open desert. Durant spotted an indentation, what looked like a shallow cave, and made towards it. Torval and Heinz were the next to enter the calmness of the gullies, and joined Durant in the cave opening. The remaining mercenaries were not far behind, and soon all of the Yellow Jackets huddled together, out of the reach of the storm. “How long till it blows over?” asked Jakob, looking up at his captain. “It’ll be a while Jakob, that’s for sure. Not before it gets dark at any rate.” Durant loosened his pack and swung it off his shoulder. “Well boys, make yourselves comfortable, looks like we’re going to be here a while.” Durant’s suggestion - no one would have called it an order - was met with quiet cheers all round. The Yellow Jackets hunkered down for the evening, with fire to keep them warm, and salted meat from the markets of the Oasis to eat. The storm blew itself out just before dawn broke. The final watch of the night, Torval and Jakob, roused their dozing comrades. Few had managed more than a couple of hours of snatched sleep, but the older members were used to nights like those. “Time to get our bearings,” said Durant. He withdrew the parchment which Al-Kulleh had given him, and stepped out into the rapidly warming morning. Unfolding it, he lined up the points of reference for the map. East - easy to find with the rising sun to his right. The Oasis behind him indicated south, and then all Durant needed to do was to establish which of the three main gullys he was in. A distinctive ninety- degree bend in the passageway before told him it was the western gully. The hermit’s care was only a couple of miles to the north - that was, Durant checked himself - if Al-Kulleh’s map was genuine. According to Arbach’s information, that was where the Diadem of B’akhtar was to be found. What it was doing in a hermit’s cave was beyond Durant. Then again, thought Durant, Arbach’s motive for having the Diadem in the first place was equally elusive. The Yellow Jackets hitched up their packs, covered their faces with the cotton cloths most of them had started to despise, and stepped out into the gully. There was a degree of respite from the day’s heat in the shadows cast by the steep sides of the gully. Durant felt an unease in the confined passages, and had his sword drawn, ready for any hint of trouble. Other mercenaries were likewise on edge. Fingers rested on hilts, Heinz cocked his handgun, his keen eyes scanning the tops of the gullies. A perfect place for an ambush, the marksman thought. If Heinz had been there, he could have picked off any number of the group. He just hoped that there was no one above them, weapon in hand. Durant checked his map, and looked around. If the map was correct, the care should be nearby. “Anyone see a cave?” he asked. “Spread out and search the gully. Both sides.” The Yellow Jackets moved off in pairs and threes, looking for any kind of opening. “Captain,” came Jackob’s voice. “Think this could be it.” Durant and the others hunched over, and found Jakob with Dieter standing on either side of a halfling- sized hold in the gully wall. Durant frowned. “What kind of a hermit would live here?” Durant shook his head. “Keep looking men.” Twenty minutes later, Durant had to accept that Jakob’s hole was the only opening in the area. Either the map was wrong, or else he’d found the hole of a halfling hermit. “Well Jakob, you found it, so it looks like you have the honour of being first in. Wilhelm, you follow him.” Jakob began to remove his pack and stripped off bulkier pieces of his armour. Wilhelm was slow to follow suit, but a stern glare from his father urged him to remove his equipment. The two youngbloods retained a knife apiece, clamped firmly in their teeth as they clambered through the narrow opening. They heard Durant’s voice echoing down the passageway. “Just keep going to till you find the Diadem.” Jakob pushed himself into a larger chamber, where he was able to stand up almost straight. The chamber was dark, save for the faint light from outside. “Do you see it?” asked Wilhelm. “Give me a minute, will you. I can barely see anything.” By the time Wilhelm had joined him, Jakob’s eyes had adjusted to the dim conditions. He scanned the empty chamber, looking for something valuable enough to bring them all the way to Araby. “Doesn’t look like this is the right place, does it,” said Wilhelm helpfully. “No,” replied Jakob. “Best get back up the tunnel before,” Jakob’s voice trailed off as his eyes caught a metallic sparkle on the chamber floor. “What is it?” asked Wilhelm. Jakob knelt down and picked up a single copper coin. “That’s all there is?” “I guess so.” Jakob held the coin up to the faint light from the tunnel. The markings were faded, the half- rubbed off imprint of an ancient ruler of Araby probably. Certainly of no value, except maybe for a historian. Jakob got back on his knees, scrabbling around in centuries of dust. Wilhelm joined him in the futile search. Eventually they gave up, and sat down against the wall of the chamber. “I don’t know Jakob,” said Wilhelm, taking the coin and flipping it across his knuckles. “All this way for a stupid coin. All we want is the Diadem.” A low rumble shook the chamber. Jakob and Wilhelm exchanged nervous glances. “What was that?” said Jakob. “I don’t know, maybe we should-” Wilhelm was silenced by another rumble, this one followed by a blinding flash of light. An eerie voice filled the room. “Who seeks the Diadem?” Jakob glanced again at Wilhelm, who was visibly shaking. The voice came again. “Who seeks the Diadem? Answer me!” “Uh, Wilhelm Durant.” “If you receive the Diadem, you must agree to accept all its trappings. Do you agree to these terms?” “Um, sure,” said Wilhelm. A moment passed, and nothing happened. “What the-” Wilhelm was unable to finish his sentence. Another blinding flash, followed by repeated rumblings. When Jakob opened his eyes, he looked down at Wilhelm’s hand. The old copper coin was gone. In its place rested a silver diadem. Three graceful arches adorned the thin headband. In the outer arches Jakob saw a sapphire and a jade stone. The centre arch was empty. “It’s the Diadem,” said Wilhelm excitedly. The chamber shook gently. Moments later it shook much more violently, showering Jakob and Wilhelm with dust. “Wilhelm, another few of those’ll bring down the whole cave. Let’s get out of here.” Wilhelm needed no more encouragement, and he pulled himself back up into the tunnel. He propelled himself forward as quickly as possibly, drawing ever close to the light above him. His grasping hands closed around a rope, and he felt himself being hassled. His grip loosened with another tremor. “Jakob, the Diadem!” he shouted, as he lost his hold of the metal ring. Jakob looked up, just in time for the Diadem to hit him square in the face. It dropped down in front of him, and he snared it with his left hand, second before another quake would have carried it back into the chamber. Jakob struggled to keep his hold of both the Diadem, and his position in the tunnel. Another rope was thrown down the tunnel, and Jakob grasped it for dear life. As the walls collapsed behind him, Karl and Durant heaved on the rope, bringing Jakob to safety. Or what he thought was safe. “Here’s the Diadem captain,” he shouted, before he realised that Karl and Durant were the only mercenaries remaining. “Run!” shouted Karl. Jakob looked around and saw giant boulders tumbling down the sides of the gully. He ran until his legs ached and his heart burned, dodging falling stones, desperately trying to make it to the open spaces of the desert. He strove to keep up with Durant, but knew that if he faltered, Karl Ulrich was hot on his heels. “Johannes!” said Jakob in shock, as he saw the broken body of his comrade, too slow to avoid a boulder three times the size of a bull. Johannes’ lifeless eyes stared back at him. “Forget about it Jakob, keep running,” shouted Karl. The big man could feel - he dared not turn and look himself - an immense weight bearing down on him. Looking ahead he could see the rest of the Yellow Jackets, waiting on the edge of the gully. He could just about hear their shouts of encouragement above the roar of the approaching boulder. Karl’s legs carried him forward with a speed he never thought he possessed. The will to survive overcoming the impediments of age. With a shout of defiance, Karl hurled himself to one side, as the massive stone rolled past, not coming to a stop until it was fully fifty yards into the desert sands. Karl spat out a mouthful of sand and dust, and was helped to his feet by Torval and Dieter. “Fall in on me,” said Durant, holding the Diadem in one hand, one of Arbach’s coins in the other. “Let’s get out of this damn desert.” The Yellow Jackets gathered in close to their leader as he began the chant. “I hope it works this time,” said Heinz bitterly. “Still, anything’s better than this damn dust and heat.” The nimbus of light expanded around the mercenaries, and a moment later, they were gone. Durant wrung his jacket, trying to get the filthy water out of it. It was to no avail. His men were doing likewise, some throwing ruined items into the murky water of Marienburg harbour. All were we, all were miserable, the result of re-materialising ten feet above the water. Durant cradled the Diadem in his hand, while offering colourful observations on Arbach’s character. At that moment a gilded carriage bearing an embossed ‘A’ pulled up alongside the dock. “I should really get those coins checked,” said Franz Arbach with a smile. TO BE CONTINUED |
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| Episode Three: On the Shores of the Dark Land |
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