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| Durant's Yellow Jackets |
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| Episode Three: On the Shores of the Dark Land |
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| Part Two of Two The Yellow Jackets crept ever closer to the Dark Elf outpost. The rain continued to fall, and all members of the band were soaked to the skin. They could feel the bitter chill of the wind coming down off the mountains, but decided grumbling would do nothing to help alleviate their discomfort. Durant signalled for them to halt, and they dispersed among the cracks and boulders. Durant led one group, while Torval and Karl each headed another. Twelve men waited for the signal to attack. The other two members of the Yellow Jackets, Wilhelm and Jakob, were still near the body of the dead elf. They had been given strict instructions by Captain Durant, not to move from beside the body until they had seen the fortress gates open and the patrol depart. Wilhelm hoped that would give them enough time to find somewhere to hide. He also wasn’t entirely convinced that the medallion was magical, but he had to rely on his father’s judgement. “They’re in place,” said Jakob, who was peering down towards the fortress. He could just about make out two or three huddled figures waiting barely fifty yards from the gate. “Activate the medallion.” Wilhelm looked sceptically at the jewel, and pressed his thumb against the carved characters. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “Melbeth, melbeth, melbeth,” he chanted. Nothing seemed to happen. “Jakob, it didn’t work.” Jakob stared back at Wilhelm, and moved to grab the jewel. As he stretched out a hand, he saw the jewel beginning to fill with a pale light. The light began to flash steadily. Wilhelm felt it warming his hand. They immediately threw themselves down on their bellies. The rock felt hard and biting against their flesh, but it was better than being seen by the garrison. Near the fort, Durant hoped that his son could finally prove his worth. He was growing uneasy, it was taking too long. He was reconsidering his options, thinking there was now way the plan could work. He’ d not throw away the lives of his comrades. If Wilhelm failed, Durant would take the others back to Marienburg, send the men on their way and accept the consequences of his failure. A horn sounded from within the fort, shaking Durant out of his stupor. He heard voices, shouting in an Elven dialect he had never wished to hear. He could make out a few words, but he didn’t need to know what was being said. Durant was experienced enough as a soldier, however, to recognise orders, in whatever language. The elves manning the battlements were scanning the ground, Durant ducked lower, certain that he and his men would be seen. His heart thumped in his chest, making Durant wonder if the keen senses of the elves would hear it from fifty yards away. With a shout and a crash, the gate opened and two regiments of dark elf warriors marched out of the fortress. Durant risked a glance and saw that the two regiments, one carrying crossbows, the other spears, were moving towards Wilhelm’s position. Good, he thought, the plan’s working so far. Now, get out of the way of those elves, my boy. Durant once again marvelled at the speed and agility of the elves. Even the Druchii, weighed down by chain mail and armoured helms moved with astonishing grace. A groan and a creak signalled the gate being raised once more. Durant had expected that, and hoped Karl was ready to deal with that obstacle. Karl looked at the twenty yards between him and the gate and grimaced. In his youth he could have covered the distance in a matter of heartbeats. Now, slowed by years and injuries, he was resigned to the idea that he might not make it five yards before being pierced by crossbow bolts. Still, there was always the element of surprise. There was a pronounced blind spot in the fort’s defences, allowing him, Franck and Jorik to get so close. He held the two small cylinders in his hands, and waited for Franck to light the tapers protruding from them. Fortunately they had been sealed in a watertight box in Karl’s pack, and were protected from the storm. As the tapers started to burn away, Karl waited a second more. The retort of a handgun burst in the air, as Heinz stood up and loosed off a shot at the guard nearest to him. He barely had time to see the elf fall before he dropped to the ground, clutching his handgun tightly. He began reloading, as a second shot, this from Durant’s pistol, rang out. The moment of confusion was enough for Karl to take his chance. He leaped out of hiding, carrying the two lit cylinders on either side. Over the last few yards he heard the shouts of the guards, and the wine of crossbow bolts in the air, the thuds as they hit the ground around him. He screamed as a bolt embedded itself in his right thigh, knocking him off balance. With a final burst of energy, Karl hurled the cylinders towards the gate, and threw himself to the ground, finding a shallow gully lie prone in. A few seconds later, Karl felt the force of the explosion through the rock. An experimental weapon dreamed up by a half-crazed engineer expelled from the armoury of Nuln, the cylinders were packed with gunpowder, plus a few extra chemicals ‘to give it some kick’, as the engineer put it when Karl had acquired them. A mighty blast obliterated the gates, and brought down a large section of the wall they were attached to. Even as the dust and smoke was churning in the cold air, Durant and his group were hurrying across the open ground. Franck kept up a volley of arrows, while Heinz fired, ducked and reloaded. The group led by Torval were a few steps behind Durant through the smouldering ruin of the gates. The dark elves were still in the throws of confusion as Durant’s Yellow Jackets entered the fortress. Bodies and body parts littered the ground near the gate, other elves, still dazed by the explosion clutched blinded eyes and severed limbs. Durant made sure they were given no quarter. He looked up to see two crossbows trained on him. He fired once, felling one of the elves. The second loosed his bolt, which found its mark in Durant’s shoulder. A well-placed arrow from Jorik meant there was no coup de grace. “Close them down lads,” shouted Karl Ulrich, still bearing the snapped off shaft of a crossbow bolt in his leg. Hobbling from the injury, he swung his flail menacingly. Only twenty of the dark elves remained, and with the initial surprise of the assault over, vicious hand-to-hand fighting ensued. The Yellow Jackets pressed home what little advantage they’d gained from the explosion, and demonstrated their familiarity with each other’s strengths. Durant dropped his pistol and drew his sword and dagger. A dark elf thrust his spear towards him, but Durant battered the sharp steel away with one downward stroke of his sword. A split-second later he plunged the dagger into his adversary’s throat. Kicking the dying elf aside, Durant lunged forward to kill another elf who had been fighting Dieter. The remaining dark elves had been cornered, and barely half a dozen faced the Yellow Jackets. A shot from Heinz downed the first one, and Karl brained another with a swing of his flail. Jorik charged in, but his impetuous rush was met by twin spear thrusts to his belly. He cried in agony and fell. Torval drew a throwing dagger from his belt, and launched it at one of Jorik’s slayers. The short blade stuck in the elf’s eye, and he collapsed to the ground with barely a whimper. Two shots rang out, and the last elves were slain. Durant turned, expecting to see Heinz as usual. He was surprised to see smoking pistols in the outstretched hands of his son. “Wilhelm,” Durant said, allowing himself a smile. “Good of you to come.” “Captain Durant,” said Jakob, who stood next to Wilhelm. “The patrol force is only a minute or two behind us. They turned back when they heard the explosion.” “Then we’d best get what we came for.” With the adrenaline of battle fading, the pain began to tear at Durant’s shoulder, causing him to lose his grip on his dagger. As he wobbled unsteadily on his feet, he found Wilhelm at his side. “Wilhelm, watch over him. Just tell us what we’re looking for captain,” said Torval. The leader of the Yellow Jackets summoned enough strength to reply. “The Cloak of Vespus is in a wooden chest in the fort’s armoury. Quickly Torval, find it quickly.” Durant’s head lolled back, and then snapped suddenly forward. He began mouthing random words, his eyes started to glaze over. Torval shouted to Dieter and Heinz, who joined him in running over to the armoury. When Dieter and Heinz pulled the door open, Torval swore in dismay. Piled to the ceiling were metal caskets and chests. “Captain said it’s in a wooden chest, so get searching,” ordered Torval. The three mercenaries began wading through chest filled with bolts, swords and armour, they threw them to the ground, where they clattered noisily. Torval heard a distant sound, one that he’d hoped not to hear. Horns! The dark elf patrol was almost upon them. If the patrol reached the fort before they found the cloak… “Torval,” called Heinz. “I think this is it.” Torval looked at a modest wooden chest, inlaid with scales of Cold Ones. “Probably trapped. Brace yourselves boys,” said Torval. He lifted up his sword and slashed at the lock, while Dieter and Heinz looked away. There was a flash of light and a spreading cloud of dust, but no spikes, no poison dart. Inside the chest was a deep purple material. It cracked with mystical energy, and Torval could make out the outlines of magical lettering, gold-etched and pulsating with power. “This is it!” cried Torval excitedly. He joined Dieter and Heinz as they fled from the armoury. They re- entered the main courtyard of the fort, where they saw their comrades, the nine who were still living, gathered in a defensive circle around their wounded captain. They sheltered behind some overturned crates, trying to avoid the withering fire from the first members of the patrol to enter. As Torval closed the distance, he saw the body of Joost, his chest bearing four crossbow bolts. “Better get that coin ready,” shouted Torval as he reached the group. He could see that Durant was losing his grip on consciousness. Karl, bleeding profusely from his wounded thigh, but was still hurling rocks, stones, anything he could lay his hands on against the approaching foe. In his left hand he cradled the coin. “Get closer boys,” shouted Karl. He muttered under his breath. “I hope this works for me.” The words of the spell felt strange on Karl’s lips, but when the coin began to grow ever brighter in his enormous hands, he closed his eyes and said his farewell to Naggaroth. The charging dark elves were left fuming and furious as a group of excellent potential slaves disappeared in a flash of orange light. The first thing that struck Durant was the pain. His shoulder felt as if a hill giant had jumped up and down on it for an hour or two. He strove to raise his head, to turn to look at the damage, but he was held back by a firm hand. “Father,” said Wilhelm softly. “You’re in Marienburg.” Wilhelm leaned in closer to his father’s face. “We failed in our mission Wilhelm. Our lives are forfeit.” Wilhelm was surprised at the strength of his father’s grip on his arm. “Flee, now! You must escape!” “It’s okay father. We didn’t fail. Torval found the Cloak, and Karl brought us back. We’ve all got big rewards for this. Heinz is already working out how many rifles he can buy with his loot. Arbach said there’s another job lined up, after you get healed.” “That’s great son, just as soon as I get healed.” Durant smiled and loosened his grip. He laid his head back down on the soft pillow of the infirmary bed. “Er father, what did you say was forfeit?” But Durant had already slipped into a peaceful slumber. TO BE CONTINUED |
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| Episode Four: The City of the Lost |
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