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Allan Whitcomb's Adventure in Azhistan Introduction

[In this introduction I am imitating the style of Arabian Nights so the beginning is a bit slow and peculiar but the following chapters will be done in a more western style (late 19th Century western). The other two gentlemen DO have their own adventures but I've been told they are not as exciting as Allan's.

Be warned that since this is an imitation of 19th Century literature the following subjects may come up: Racism, religious bigotry, xenophobia, cannibalism, slavery, black magic and certain Turkish customs involving comely lads.]

Rum
March 1005

There was in the Istamboul not too far into the reign of the present Commander of the Faithful, three gentlemen who were with the Pendletonian Embassy. It so happened that being joyous and of good spirits, as well as well pleased with each others company, they set forth one day to find such adventure as would offer itself in the Great City.

Oh how many wonders does not the Great City hold? Where is there such a pearl in all of creation? What can compare to the Blue Mosque shimmering in the early light of the sun? What palace abroad has such baths as those open to every commoner in the city? What city has such beautiful slaves, women with skin like silk and breasts like pommegrenades and handsome boys like pearls.

So too the three gentlemen passed through the city savouring such joys and sights as it could offer, and rejoicing at their good fortune, and in this manner they passed many days enjoying themselves. Yet one day came when they were far from their usual haunts, and the day was warm and oppressive, and young spirits tired at the hot sun and so they sought shelter in a portcullis in the tall white walls. There in the cool air and shade they sighed and one of them looking out at the swept streets and distant trees barely visible above the walls of the houses.

Then from within the houses they heard in the distance the gentle plucking of the lute and the joyful sounds of other instruments as well as sweet voices lifted themselves up in a pleasing fashion. Leaning against the wall one of them asked "Who knows what beauties are making such a joyful sound?"

At this one of them tilted his head "If I am not deceived I also hear the song of singing birds, of myrtles and of turtledoves and other fair and wonderful things, so let us now depart 'ere our curiosity leads us into foolish ventures."

Yet another of his companions sighed beneath the shade and spoke "Nay, let us tarry here where it is cool and wondrous for a little longer, till the shades returns to these streets and we need not walk direct beneath the withering glance of the sun, for surely it is true as I tell you that the sun here is like that which parches the Great Plains in late summer."

The third though gave his assent "Let us move, but 'ere we leave let us peer briefly through the iron gates and see what paradise lies beyond, for now I'm so puzzled that I shall surely not rest again least I know."

So therefore the three went to the gates beyond which they saw a garden most exquisite, such as was only owned by the greatest men in their land, and even they could not have afforded such a variety of dazzling flowers, and the scent of the flowers beckoned them as a perfume. There were leafy trees that granted shade, and a large train of attendants going to and fro, white attendants whose skin was as fair as alabaster, and blacks whose skin was as ebony, but all of them most perfect and beautiful and adorned with such splendour that one could scarce think they were slaves and not nobles in their own right.

At this one of them proclaimed in awe "This reminds of the that ancient poets words, which resound with us throughout the ages."

"In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.

So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round:
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

But oh ! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place ! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!"

Upon having recited the beginning of the poem one of them said "Now here we have caused a disturbance, let us part 'ere we are seen as invaders of privacy."

Yet before they could leave a pair of young pages adorned in splendid silken garb appeared before them, both youthful and fair in appearance, and most modest and courteous in demeanour "Pray come inside and speak with our Master, for he calls for you and wish to see you." The three friends would feign like to leave, but the pages would take no refusal.

"As we were so curious before why do we now shy back? Let us accept this hospitality and study this garden to our hearts content," the first young man said, and at this they all gave their assent and proceeded into the mansion, which they soon found to be more deserving of the name palace for it was a goodly palace with grand gardens, sparkling fountains and large silvery cages filled with all manners of singing birds.

Then they were led into a stately sitting room where there were tables burgeoning under the weight of sweetmeats and fruits and fine vintage wine and otherwise all the finest dishes one might imagine, and all the tables and chairs lay adorned with sweet smelling flowers and fragrant herbs. There were also in the room lovely slave girls all around sitting upon a dais and playing most magnificently upon their instruments, and the sound of their music and mirth filled the room. Seated at the tables were men of great importance and dignity, nobles and the richest merchants and others of great distinction all seated according to rank, but at the top of the table sat an elderly man of noble aspect still of good posture and health though his beard was now a noble silver.

The three friends were amazed by what they saw, so that one would say "By Jove have we entered the secret mansion of some prince or potentate," and the other ventured "Surely this is a dream that magic hath given form, for never before have I seen true beauty before today," and the third was first left silent and then in awe at the sight of the beauty of the slaves "Surely these are angels and not women out of flesh and blood."

Then they minded their manners and saluted their host giving a deep polite bow to him, offering their gratitude and blessings for the invitation, and from his smile and gestures begging them to approach they noted his apparent familiarity with the ways and customs of foreigners. He bid them welcome and spoke to them in their own tongue, which amazed them greatly, and then he summoned his servants which set before them all kinds of dishes sweet and spiced and rich and delicious, and after the host said his Bismillah they ate and drank their fill.

Then as they had eaten and washed their hands they thanked the host for his gracious hospitality, and he then asked "You are welcome and your day is blessed, yet what is your name and calling? For I perceive you speak the language of the Ohms yet you are not of them."

"We are Pendletonians," the first friend said "I am Harold Flowers, Gentleman and aide to the ambassador, as are all my friends" and the other replied "I am Walter Chrisman, and it is true that I too am an aide to the ambassador," and the last replied "I am Allan Whitcomb, though I am too an aide to the ambassador I prefer to see myself as a Gentleman Adventurer, for I always seek adventure wherever I might find it."

At this their host gave out a joyous sound "Ah, a man after my own heart, for I too sought adventure wherever I could find it, yet now I would ask of you that whomever it was of you recite the poem that I heard before the gate today!" At this Walter was abashed and replied "T'was I, and I beg your pardon but the strangeness of the land made me think that I was taken to some poets dream, and so I brought from a brain a half forgotten verse." To this the host replied "Do not be ashamed, for I found it lovely, and high praise if my home should be compared to what you spoke of, but please repeat those verses for they pleased me greatly."

At this Walter repeated the verse, and also completed it before the host, who was mighty wondrous, and the poem delighted their host who now spoke to them "Know then O Pendletons that my story is a wondrous one, and that I shall delight in telling you all that befell me and that I underwent, but ere I must say that t'was fate that brought you to my door step today, and what Destiny doth write there is neither escape nor refuge. For I came not to this high estate save after travail sore and perils galore, and how much toil and trouble have I not suffered in days of yore!"

Hearing this the three friends were wondrous, but then their host spoke yet again "Yet Destiny surely brought you here, for tis not more than an hour since we spoke of your realm, and of the wondrous new route that has opened, and we spoke saying 'Truly it would be wondrous if one of them might be here to tell us of his realm'" Once more they were amazed, and their host looked upon another man dressed as one of the Faitful yet it was as if a veil was removed from their eyes for suddenly they perceived him to be an outsider like themselves.

"Truly this is a blessed moment," the stranger said bowing and greeting them in their own fashion "For I am Heinrich Schifferer and a man of the Ambassador of Therson." At once Harold offered "If I apprehend you then you are of one of the German nations?" To this Heinrich leapt with joy "So it is true what is said! There are Germans upon your far away wondrous orb?" To this they all spoke long and in great detailed describing the wonders of their world, the splendour of the rich soil whereupon all things would grow, the wondrous devices their artisans could make, the beauty of the slaves and many other things that would be tiresome to recount.

In truth they spoke for so long that the feast came to an end and they were all agreed to assemble there the next day, whereupon they should speak more. Thus they each departed to their own affairs till the next day when they once more met, and then too they continued their discussion. Soon though they argued which realm was more wondrous than the other, for some claimed Azhistan with its wild tribesmen and majestic mountains was most wondrous, some would say that with its mighty wonders of artifice exceeding that of all others surely Therson was most wondrous, another would say that Rum, though common place to its inhabitants would to an outsider be the most mysterious or wondrous, and yet now a man spoke out that by its very novelty surely Pendleton was the most marvellous and wondrous place, and if not Pendleton then the lair of the beast that was Ohmshire would hold that award.

Finally their host spoke up "I for one should say that each man sees the new realm as more wondrous than his own, so therefore here I propose that each of us travel to a realm where he has never been, and seeing it with fresh eyes and with a cunning guide to show him all that is great, he returns and tells us all of the wonders that he saw for the first time, and thus determine which realm is most wondrous of all!" To this they were all agreeable and their host then offered "If ye be free to leave I shall promise ye this, I provide a ship and crew if your realm will give me entrance that even in my old age I might yet once more see that which is new and have another adventure to add to my list of tales!"

"Surely Pendleton and any other nation should be honoured to receive you, and if any world should give offence onto an honest merchant the men are rogues and should be ashamed!" Harold exclaimed "I for one shall at once beg my lord the Ambassador to write a fair letter of introduction, and God willing he will grant it and give you entrance into the most high and wondrous places of our world." Then to this the two friends acclaimed their consent in most respectful terms offering to bring this matter to their lord.

"Let us then gaze upon all the wonders of our world!" Their host acclaimed "That none may complain of the hospitality of Sinbad!" Thus he clapped his hands and in came the most wondrous dancing girls for their amusement.

To this dance it was as if the breath of the Pendletons had been taken away, and one of them gasped and reclined and would later account "their performance consists of postures and contortions which are most displeasing to modesty," but then surely in private he would add "Yet most pleasing to the senses."

The dancing girls their bodies glistening with fair smelling oils, their bellies shimmering with the rhythm of the music as the diamond in their belly button seems to glitter like fire, as they gracefully remove think silk veil after thin silk veil revealing more and more of their smooth nubile bodies, their tight thighs and firm rounded behinds and sultry dark brown eyes seeming to promise an eternity of delight in their arms

They danced magnificently, some playing the parts of shy maidens, and others that of the flirting courtesan, they all use a silken scarf which is a part of the dance, sometimes holding it before their faces as a veil, or playing with it in other ways. Moving beautifully, sinuously, and rhythmically, swirling around with their scarves in seductive patterns, seductive even when the play the elusive innocent.

The dance itself was for these men of a colder world far too wild and acrobatic, and they sat entranced by the stomach play and twisting and turning in sinuous ways, in ways which are indeed displeasing to modesty, but most pleasing to the eye, as you feel your heart beat faster and the performance seems to take on a life of its own. Then again perhaps it is that the blood flows freely to diverse parts of the body that also tends to focus attention wonderfully.

As is the custom, and as it shows their grace and suppleness, the dancers would do a backbend which is to go down on their knees and hold their torsos back, and before the Pendletonians they would plead "Oh Most Gracious Foreign lords place a coin upon our forehead," and with his hand more steady than the rest Allan Whitcomb placed a golden coin upon the girls forehead and his heart a twitter as she accepted.

Then they made their bodies quiver and tremble, moved them in suggestive yet restrained fashions as if in the throes of passion yet appearing as if their ardor is restrained by invisible bonds holding their fiery passion back; then moving back covering their face as if humiliated by the presence of these strangers, and then once more going back to their provocative poses and looks that could tempt the most virtuous saint.

As the wild dance ended Allans heart was set on fire, and he muttered weakly as he turned to the host and pleaded "If she is a slave then pray where do you find such treasures? From what land could they perchance be brought?" For now he thought of bringing back such wondrous treasure and what joys such treasure would bring him that possessed it.

"This treasure" Sinbad said "Comes from the same land where is found the most spectacular gems, an untamed land, Azhistan!" Then Allan burst out "Then friends give me to go to Azhistan, and you can chuse whatever realm you wish to see, but for me adventure and passion calls and it shan't be denied no matter what the danger!" To this everyone gave their assent with great mirth seeing that he would surely not be dissuaded from his course, then afterwards they determined for themselves who should go where by throwing a coin and calling boldly "Let FATE determine what our course should be..."

Thus begins the tale of the Journeys which shall now unfold...

Lounge
Rumish Ethership
Near Azhistan
April 1005 NE

The tramp freighter off to Azhistan was not a pretty sight, it was definitely old and battered, but over the years it had been carefully maintained. Certainly it was smaller and more cramped than the equivalent modern vessels, but it still had its charm, indeed even the slight creaking of the timbers as the ship buffeted through the æther added to this charm. The rats that would occasionally scurry across the floors however did not, no wonder that they kept a cat onboard, but alas vermin were unavoidable as they had a wonderful talent for getting in anywhere.

The journey had been uneventful for Whitcomb, but interesting nevertheless for the chance to study the people, their mode of dress for instance was most unusual with their baggy pantaloons and turbans, some wearing proper shirts or blouses, though of an unusual cut, and others only colourful vests. They were at any rate most colourful, and their fashions and manners most exotic, even though he had already seen much of them in Rum.

Five times a day there would be the call to prayer, the Adhan, the early prayer so early that it would wake him up with it's long mournful call...

Allahu Akbar
Allahu Akbar
Allahu Akbar
Allahu Akbar

God is Great, God is Great, God is Great, every day in the crack of dawn he would hear the long mournful tones throughout the ship, marvelling at how one mans voice could carry so long and so clear. Then every Mohammedan aboard would bring a colourful ornate prayer rug to the hallway and point it towards the back of the ship, towards Rum and Mecca, before the ships Imam would begin with prostrations and prayers. Eventually he had gotten used to it, finding that the daily rhythms of the ship no longer seemed so alien, and at any rate the best time for a little tipple was when the faithful were busy praying instead of being busy spying on him.

The ships Imam was perhaps not the best example of Mohammedan virtue, though Whitcomb had his own views on that subject, but like all men of faith, or men of the cloth, there was nothing he enjoyed more than to give a discourse on his fate especially when a potential convert was around. Indeed 'tis true that the finest way to resolve any argument with the faithful, of any sect, is to respectfully ask some banal question about their beliefs and then appear to listen attentively and eagerly to the reply.

Thus he discretely learned how to recite certain important Mohammedan prayers in case it should be incumbent to pretend to be a convert. Most specifically he was told about the Shahada which all Mohammedans know by heart Ashadu an La ilaha il Allah, Muhammad-ur-Rasool-Allah, and which secretly he found the most unbearable rubbish though he kept this opinion to himself.

In truth though there were some things about the Mahommedan doctrine that appealed to him, certainly the laws regarding marriage and slavery were some of the most enlightened that he had learned of; but to his mind it came with such brutality and savagery that he felt taken aback, and the rumours that Azhistan was a far less easy going place than Rum did concern him somewhat.

Ghazni
Azhistan
April 1005 NE

The landing on Azhistan had been as he expected, the ship descended with the usual shudders from the buffeting air and the slight creaking groans of the structure. From above Azhistan looked like an enormous mountainous expanse only occasionally littered with green fertile valleys and expanses of dusty desert. As you drew nearer though the sheer scale of the brownish grey mountains awed you, the caravans traversing across the dusty trails between the mountains looked like ants walking in a row.

Then as they descended yet further he got his first view of the main space port of Azhistan, the invincible fortress of Ghazni, his first impression was of great age and majesty. The fortress city was built on a mountain side, and from a distance the dirt brown walls seemed to grow out of the mountain itself. The walls were tall and had many towers and three gates in them, some of the round towers stretched over a hundred and thirty feet up into the air.

Yet it seemed strange to him that such a large city could be built out here, for as far as Whitcomb could perceive the area was very desolate, only the Lora river nearby provided some life to the area. Beside the river there were a number of villages and gardens visible, with pale fields of grain gently swaying in the soft wind, but other than that there was nothing but dusty brown wilderness.

Moments after the landing he disembarked, in addition to his valet Jeeves he had also found a young man named Hasan al-Izmiri who had some experience with this area and was willing to, in return for suitable remuneration, to aid them in exploring Azhistan. Of course all three of them had found suitable garments that wouldn't stick out too much, these were dull coloured robes, trousers and the large fur hats so favoured by the natives. The fur hats and thick robes were not such an affection though, for there was in the air a dread dry cold that seemed to suck the life from you and make your lips crack open.

Of course as they advanced up the dirt road to Ghazni he knew full well that they would be somewhat safe here, but the moment they travelled outside the protective perimeter of the city and the spaceport they should expect anything. Fortunately Whitcomb could feel the comforting weight of his two .44 Service Revolvers beneath his robes, and the large scimitar by his side, and of course his followers were equally well armed.

Azhistan was an untamed land, almost everyone they saw carried some kind of weapon, and a lot of the horsemen carried around heavy rifles far more advanced than anything that could be made on this windswept world. It was also a violent place, and the scars and fierce mien of the proud tribesmen revealed that clearly enough, but none of them acted hostile or even showed any particular interest in some foreign merchants making their way up to the city.

As they entered the city Whitcomb looked up at the gate they went through, it was massively thick and jet black wrought from cast iron, but this paled in comparison to the thickness of the walls; these walls were sixty feet thick, made from well carved well fitted rock. Upon seeing this he whispered "By Jove our six inchers couldn't even dent these walls," to Jeeves.

"Yes Sirs," Hassan replied, then smiling embarrassedly "I did not intend to eaves drop sirs, but Ghazni is impregnable! Not even the great Aga Khan could take these walls 'ere he bribed the governor to throw the gates open!"

Whitcomb absorbed this information as his military mind began to look for ways to take or defend this city. The city was dirty and made from mud bricks, few buildings were more than three stories high and they were invariably mosques with the tall minarets pointing up towards the sky. The streets were also invariably unpaved and irregular, filled with the same dust that surrounded the city, but he had to admit that these irregular streets would break up any orderly formation and allow the savage warriors to descend upon small units of enemy infantry.

The people were also dirty, but in fairness Whitcomb acknowledged to himself that with the dust carried on the wind keeping clean would be hard, for much the same reason as it was hard in an industrial city. Now all he had to do was find what he had come for, a smile crossed his lips as he remembered that splendid evening in Rum Treasure above all treasures. "Where is the bazaar?" he asked Hasan.

"Over there Sir," Hasan said as he led them towards the busy throngs of the Bazaar, which as in any Islamic state was the throbbing heart of the city. Whether it was beneath tents, or improvised tables, or even in small shops along the street it seemed that every available spot had been taken up by merchants and everywhere there was merchandised displayed; whatever your heart could desire was there from trinkets to priceless antiques from clever Rumish clockwork devices to cheap exports from countless worlds.

Everyone was free to walk among the booths and shops of the bazaar and to pick and handle the merchandise, though the reason for this was frightfully clear: Outside the bazaar in an open square there was a large block with a single shackle on it and a boiling kettle of pitch. The moment a thief made a move the shout went up "HELP HELP MOSLEM! THIEF!" and the whole crowd would bound after him grabbing and beating him before pulling him before the Cadi, and then there was but one sentence "Off with his hand!"

"So what if he continues to steal? Do they cut off his other hand?" Whitcomb asked curiously as he watched the grizzly implements of the executioners trade.

"Oh no Sir!" Hasan replied "That would be cruel! Thus against the laws of the Most Merciful, they cut off his left foot instead."

"Pour encourager les autres," Whitcomb noted quietly, peering at Jeeves who stood silent but his eyes carefully taking note of everything that happened around them.

"Indeed Sir," Jeeves said "Or perhaps hang a thief when he's young, and he'll not steal when he's old."

"Quite Jeeves," Whitcomb noted, and then looking at the bazaar he tried to judge which area was most amenable to his desires.

Obviously any gentleman travelling in the mysterious east would want to buy a fancy rug, some pretty things for the ladies back home, and of course there is something about a good sharp sword that appeals to a mans heart. Ghazni was most famed for its wool and skins, and most of all the famous Azhis coats renown for their warmth and quality. Naturally they tried their hand at haggling and purchasing finding that the prices were reasonable but the merchants cunning. So therefore a few good furs, some white tiger skins, some lovely jewellery and of course a few nasty looking blades made up their shopping.

Still this of course was merely a pleasant past time to gather some souvenirs that he could pass out back home, and though he had found many interesting things he had still not seen much in the way of adventure. Aside from the bazaar which contained naught that could not be found in far greater quantities and quality back on Rum, which was a fair fairer world, there was only mountains and dust to be seen.

"I was in Rum a while back," Whitcomb told Hasan "I visited a man called Sinbad the Merchant, and there I saw certain things from Azhistan, gemstones and lovely dancing girls," he smiled a bit "Where do you buy such things?"

"Oh Sir, you are so fortunate," Hasan said as he beamed "My third cousin Farrukh abu-Fadhl is an auctioneer and every day he has a sale of the most virtuous and desirable slaves." As they proceeded towards the market Hasan continued to extol the virtues of his cousin and his cousin's merchandise.

The slave market was a fascinating carnival, it was a somewhat slow day though but there were people lounging leisurely around talking about the affairs of the day. Maybe sharing information about slaves they are thinking to sell, or asking about a good cook or bricklayer that they might buy, but mainly the talk was the common gossip that would be found before a horse auction.

As the auction began Farrukh appeared before them, he was an average sized man but his full beard coloured with henna gave him a distinctive appearance, as did his rich blue robes and turban. He called for the attention of the crowd with the proud boast "Hear me now O Merchant and Wealthy men, who will bid on these most excellent slaves that I have to offer you?"

There is a certain ritual to selling slaves, a pattern that needs to be followed namely that first you begin with the cheaper more common slaves so that the richest attendants would not buy the best and more expensive ones quickly and leaving only the cheapskates to bid on the remains.

Now then the first few items were all men of no particular distinction, one of which raised some derisive cries as he was thin and seemed sickly, and even though Farrukh assured everyone that he need only be fed to regain his full strength this poor slave was sold for a pittance to a stingy merchant who seemed to be of the sort who worked his slaves to death.

After this however the slaves were of a better quality, many of them large and praised for their docile manner and great brute strength, others praised for being good farm hands, or even able to do simple crafts. Yet though these fetched a good price there was not the truly great items just yet.

The Eunuchs however fetched a lot of money, but the first true bidding expedition for a male came when a giant of a Eunuch was offered up, "Who will bid on this giant! Look at his legs they are like the trunks of a tree, behold his arms and his muscles like the thickest coiled rope!" Here the bidding picked up, for Eunuchs were often ferocious guardians and due to their manhood having been removed their temper was far milder than that of other men and thus well suited for household duties.

Naturally the eunuchs didn't interest Whitcomb, but he did observe them with interest, often they did not seem like natives but rather like people from other worlds. The reason why this was so was of course quickly answered, the Koran prohibited the mutilation of slaves, but not the sale of mutilated slaves and so the market for pre-fixed slaves was massive.

In truth though he had little interest for any of the slaves that he saw, for none of them had that vibrant quality that he had observed in the house of Sinbad, no doubt they were good but he wanted more than good he wanted excellence. Whitcomb had in fact almost lost track of what was going on when he suddenly heard a cry from the auctioneer "And now what am I bid for this treasure! A young handsome boy his skin as fair as snow, and behold his hair like gold!"

Whitcombs head snapped up at that, as he focussed he saw that before him, on the platform stood a young boy maybe ten or twelve years old wearing slippers, pantaloons, a vest and nothing but, he shivered slightly in the cold and an expression of suppressed fear was on his face. That was distasteful enough from Whitcombs point of view, but the fact that the child was not only white but distinctly so, it dazzled him. Then in the distance he heard a cry, it was not in any of the native languages but rather in proper English, and as he turned his head he saw a young nine year old girl much like the boy both of them blonde and fair and with a strong family resemblance.

Upon the sight of these two bidding rose immensely, especially for the young boy, and many of them of perverse appearance, few of them gazed upon the boy with anything other than perverse lust. Good grief Whitcomb thought to himself, a churning feeling in his gut What vile lusts would this poor child suffer....

"Hasan," he said quietly "Ask if the boy has been mounted or if he is fresh," he dreaded the answer but still he wished to know.

Hasan now shouted out some words in a native language, and was answered in the same fashion before whispering back to Whitcomb "Only a few times, and his qualities are still..."

"Enough," Whitcomb said, he involuntarily felt his hand inch closer to his sword I won't be sentimental but... he looked upon the terror struck children to leave them to the mercies of this race would be a disgrace in the face of God.

Already the bidding was picking up briskly, and soon Whitcombs bid came into play, 500 dirhems he would shout, and one of the merchants would cry out 510, and thus the bid went up and up increasing by tens till finally Whitcomb outdid them all "A thousand dirhems!" he bid, and all went silent allowing his bid to stand unchallenged.

The girl he purchased for much less, which made him feel even more revolted by the local customs whom he had been told permitted the taking of a girl as young as nine, and for that reason she had lied and claimed her age was but eight years of age. This he learned from her sobbing confession once she finally again heard an English speaking voice.

It was near dusk as they began making their way back towards the ship to deposit their purchases, they had rented a couple of porters to carry their other merchandise and the children seemed quite willing to stay very close to the two nice English speaking men and their guide.

Jeeves moved a bit closer to Whitcomb and gently ruffled one of the childrens heads, then he whispered "Sir, we are being followed."

Whitcomb kept walking normally a light smile on his face, the expression of a man without a worry in his life "Mmhmmm, are you certain Jeeves?"

"Quite so Sir, four large bruisers and a smaller chap that keeps hiding behind them," Jeeves replied quietly "If I may Sir they do not appear to be professionals."

"You're right Jeeves, spies are more discrete and robbers avoid bands of our size," Whitcomb stretched softly and then eyed the torchbearers "I thought we'd have more time before this nonsense."

"Quite Sir," Jeeves replied "The usual procedure Sir?"

"Yes Jeeves, the same procedure as always," Whitcomb moved closer to Hasan "Hasan, we need your help," to keep the poor guide from jumping or giving away the game he gently pulled him closer and engaged in a brief whispered conversation that made Hasan constantly try to turn to see the pursuers.

Stealthily ducking into an alleyway while the rest of the party "accidentally" went down a blind alley was the easy part. Whitcomb squeezed himself against the cold crumbling brick wall as he moved further in the alley, finding a suitable hiding place behind a pile of rubbish and bricks that had accumulated over the years. He did not need to wait long before the pursuers arrived, they muttered silently among themselves before they too scurried into the alley to hide; what they said to one another he did not know but in his mind the conversation went thus...

"The fools, they have gone down a blind alley!"

"Yeah boss, shall we run down and take'em in the rear?"

"No let us set up an ambush here, jump them when they don't expect it!"

As he heard the sounds of his own party walking back up from the blind alley he quietly secured a large brick, unfortunately the leader had apparently decided to stand in front which made things rather more cumbersome. They were dressed in long robes and carried big scimitars, in truth they couldn't look more like oriental robbers if they had tried, and the only thing that worried him was the thickness of their turbans.

Now them they stood ready to pounce the moment the party of foreigners appeared, standing tightly wound as clock springs just dying to unleash. Then they saw the torch lights of the party coming back up and they readied themselves.

Just as they were about to spring Whitcomb approached them from the rear lifting the brick up and suddenly bringing it down as hard as he might on the head of one of those further to the rear. There was a cracking sound and the first thug just collapsed quietly, not so loud but enough that one of the others turned around to see what was happening his lips open in a warning as if he was about to say "Stop that you clumsy oaf, be silent" instead the last thing he saw was that the exceedingly large brick was being thrown with great force right at his head. There was another loud cracking sound and the other thug went down like a sack of grain.

Anyone who claims a rock isn't a deadly weapon ought to be hit over the head with one Whitcomb thought as he drew his sword just as the three remaining would be robbers became vaguely aware of his presence. The only problem was that they had already charged the party, the leader screaming some kind of battlecry as he neatly cut down one of the torchbearers and the other two made a move towards the children apparently desiring to carry them off.

He fell into their rear with a terrible fury, even as Hasan and Jeeves struggled madly against their assailants, one of whom slashed at Jeeves but the staunch servant kept the two of them at bay moving his sword with a great degree of skill; not enough to end the fight but enough to delay the outcome for long enough.

The fancy boss type was easy enough to deal with, he made an attack, Whitcomb parried, but now instead of a fancy exchange of sword blows Whitcomb kicked the boss hard as he might in the groin. Then as the boss froze for a second he got a very hard left which sent blood and broken teeth spraying in a fine semi circle before he crumbled down onto the dirty street.

The two thugs were a bit tougher, but suddenly found themselves surrounded, and thus they decided to stand back to back something which proved a fatal mistake... Whitcomb attacked the one facing him, a flurry of blows were exchanged before he sent his opponents sword flying, and before anyone could issue a warning he drove his scimitar hard through his enemy's chest, so hard in fact that it came out on the other side, right into the other guys back. Even as the last standing enemy staggered forward with a big bleeding wound in his back Whitcomb grabbed the hilt of his sword and pushed his leg into the guts of his now diseased enemy who was about to keel over and with a mighty pull he yanked out the sword and leapt forward to finish of his last foe.

The ground was splattered in blood, five bodies lay on the dirty ground, misty tendrils rising from the blood and Whitcomb realised just how cold it was. "Time to go to the ship, somehow I doubt it is wise to stick around these dead ones," he said, as they walked away he noticed that the boss was stirring he turned to Hasan and asked "Tell me do you know who they work for?"

Hasan nodded "Yes Sir, that one, he works for the merchant Rashideddin, I've seen them together."

Whitcomb smiled "Good, good," he said then he casually brought his heel down on the boss' throat as he crushed it a sickening gargling noise rose from the soon to be diseased man laying on the ground.

The children seemed too shocked to really understand what was going on, and Jeeves discretely covered their eyes as they walked past the grizzly scene, and then they resumed their journey back to the ship. The wounded torch bearer was being carried between two of his brothers, and both the torchbearers and the porters seemed most distressed by the events that they had witnessed, but robberies and even failed robberies were a common enough matter and not really something to be too upset about.

Ordinarily the gates in a wall city would be closed at night, but not in Ghazni, instead there were several large sturdy guards on duty wearing ragged uniforms and sheepskin jackets while warming themselves over the braziers near the gate. They didn't really give the passing party more than a brief look, and a quick questioning about their dead companion but 'pon hearing it was just a robbery fended off, and 'pon receiving a few coins they saw the merchants off without any further ado.

Once outside the city they felt much better about everything, even so it was cold of course and the children huddled and cried quietly in fear and discomfort. The feet of the travellers made crunching noises against the gravel, and every shrub seemed to shelter a hidden bandit. Yet despite their apprehension they reached the ship without mishap, and miracle of miracles there were no terrifying surprises inside it either.

An hour later Whitcomb and Jeeves were inside Whitcombs quarters, Whitcomb relaxing with a large glass of sweet coffee, while Jeeves was leaning forward attentively. After emptying the coffee Whitcomb placed the glass upside down upon the saucer "So then," he said "Go tend to the children, learn what you can from them they seem to warm more to you than to me, and tomorrow..." he gazed up onto the roof "Tomorrow we will visit Farrukh and find out just where he got his merchandise."

"Very good Sir," Jeeves said as he bowed politely "I shall tend to them and ensure that they are well fed and attended to, and if I may Sir, that they are kept out of the hands of certain people."

"Good man Jeeves!" Whitcomb said as he looked almost delighted "Depending on Farrukhs answers I might have my adventure yet!"

Ghazni
Azhistan
April 1005 NE

They woke up in the crack of dawn, through the dusty window a single reddish ray of the sun touched Whitcombs already empty bed, only a slight shallow depression in the mattress showed where he had lain. The man himself was already standing in front of a mirror in his room and with the help of his trusted valet he was making sure that everything looked just right. By now of course, several weeks into their journey, they both had full beards, making them look less like a Gentleman and his servant and more like a bandit chief and his underling.

Still after attending to his wardrobe Whitcomb looked at his loyal servant "Jeeves, you must remain here and ensure that the children are attended and protected, at least until I can purchase a nice motherly woman to tend them and some eunuch to guard them..." A minor oversight of mine last night.

"Yes Sir I understand perfectly," Jeeves said.

Whitcomb was strapping on his sword as he continued "It's rather annoying at that, normally they'd be big enough to lock up unattended, but newly purchased you never know how they'll react."

Jeeves gave a nod "Indeed Sir, they seemed most upset."

"I say let us go over this once more Jeeves, Gosford you say?" Whitcomb asked.

"Yes Sir," Jeeves replied "A republic unfortunately defeated by monarchists, before the communists take over."

"And then they fled?" Whitcomb asked as he moved towards the door.

"Yes Sir, they fled and through misfortune got sold into slavery, along with many others Sir, but it was most difficult to get anything useful out of them on that score Sir," Jeeves said sounding apologetic.

Whitcomb nodded again and as his parting shot announced "Good man Jeeves, and I wouldn't want you to put the thumbscrews on them anyway."

Once safely outside he took a deep breath of air, then cough a bit from the dusty residue that the winds brought with them. His lips felt quite chapped from the cool dry air, and already it was bringing him quite a bit of discomfort. As he looked about he saw the majestic mountains that dwarfed even those of Helvetia, magnificent snow capped wonders, but alas he had other things to worry about like Hasan and his relatives.

Hasan however arrived on time and gave a humble bow "Assalamu Aleikum Sir," he said appearing little worse for the wear.

"Peace be upon you too," Whitcomb returned, and then gazed up at the city "So could our friendly merchant cause us any trouble?"

"Oh sir, I should be astounded if even a shameless fellow like Rashideddin would dare to raise a complaint, for must think there is no justice in the world to complain under such circumstances," Hasan offered up most poetically.

"Good Hasan, now I ask you please to take my to your cousins house, for I have certain matters I wish to discuss with him," Whitcomb said as they began the ascent up the twisted dirt road leading up to the main gate.

They passed through many narrow and erratic streets before they finally arrived in a neighbourhood a little finer and better than the rest, here there were many tall walls and small gardens surrounding the houses. Yet they were on the outside still the mud brick structures that marked the rest of the city, though perhaps a bit bigger.

The house of Farrukh abd-Fadhl seemed not quite as dilapidated as the rest in the city, being surrounded by a nice wall where most of the top was still in good repair, and within there was a small garden with a single fountain. Fountains were of course a sign of wealth, like water was the sign of wealth, in such dry and desolate areas, the same went for gardens.

After pounding a few times on the door they were let in by a large eunuch in a colourful outfit, big baggy red pantaloons and a vest with gilded embroidery, the outfit was completed by his enormous scimitar by his side. He bowed deeply and respectfully to them before they were ushered into the building, finding it spacious and quite nice with elaborate geometric mosaic on the walls and floor, as well as fine examples of Arabic calligraphy cunningly fashioned so it looked like men and women.

Moments later Farrukh greeted them, seeing Hasan he cried out "My favourite cousin!" He was a large man in his middle years, with a full beard wearing a blue turban and long blue robes with wide sleeves and elaborate floral decorations, and on his feet were silk slippers.

Hasan bowed politely and kissed the sleeve of Farrukhs robe "Most gracious cousin," he didn't add "I brought a potentially great customer" but obviously this was to a great degree the reason for Farrukhs glee.

He then turned to his erstwhile, surprisingly foreign but no doubt wealthy, customer and bowed deeply greeting Whitcomb in the exceedingly friendly fashion of the east. Within moments he had proclaimed himself their most devoted servants, unworthy to kiss the dirt beneath the floor, and Whitcomb the greatest prince to ever set foot within his humble and unworthy establishment. This of course was just courtesy, but it was done in such a charming fashion that you found yourself almost seduced.

Indeed as Whitcomb was invited into the dining hall, and his host clapped his hands and ordered fresh fruits and good drinks to be brought in there was not a doubt that Farrukh turned all of his attention to his guest and that nothing was to him more important than Whitcombs well being and whatever stories that this foreign gentlemen might share with them.

It was now that they began to speak about where the two children had come from, "For surely I tell you that they will make the most splendid pages when I take them to my homeland," Whitcomb offered "If only I could have more of their kind, and perhaps with a few more years on them."

Farrukh smiled and nodded to all of this "I purchased them from a great merchant whose lands are hidden far up in the mountains where he has built himself a grand palace and surrounded himself with guards! Alas now for weeks he has not been seen, and none know what has become of them, but it is said that a powerful curse has befallen them and so none has dared to approach!"

"My friend, it sounds like there would be great adventure in going there to purchase a slave from him," Whitcomb replied earnestly "If God wills it then I would succeed, and if I should be slain that too is the will of God and none may flee from his fate!"

"Inshallah you will return safely from all your journeys!" Farrukh replied "Yet be warned that two travellers have already headed your way for that precise errand, yet they have not returned!"

"I have faced danger many a time, and I delight in it, for 'tis nothing more fitting for men to seek glory and adventure, and if great treasure can be had too then surely this is what I am meant to do!" Whitcomb said with finality "Yet please I beg you to provide me such help as you can in this matter and one other."

Farrukh finished the dates he was eating, then he replied politely "I shall give you help in the first matter, but my father, God grant him peace, made me swear to never offer help in a matter before the matter had been explained to me."

"Ah the second matter is nothing more than my desire to purchase a good cook, a woman is best, to tend to the young slaves I bought, and she should be strong to handle them and have the wits to learn yet another language," then thinking a bit Whitman added "It would also be good to buy a Eunuch, equally able to learn language, for such a servant is a great rarity where I hail from and would be something to give credence to my claims of what I have seen."

"Aha! Is that all," Farrukh seemed delighted "Then as the Most Merciful is the witness I have the finest stock available, cooks that can turn leather into delectable morsels, and stout eunuchs who could hold an army of thieves and lechers at bay!" He then shouted a command to his servants, yelling at them as he clapped his hands thrice.

Within moments a dozen slaves had been rushed in, the women ranging from big and fat to slender and elegant, but the Eunuchs were all unnaturally talk and very muscular with their limbs strangely elongated. Yet as he observed them Whitcombs eyes turned to one of the larger ones, and with a smile he pointed at her "That one, she looks as if she could handle two young ones, and it seems like what she's cooking is worth eating."

Farrukh laughed again in appreciation "Ah so true, you have good taste, women need some flesh on their bones or they wither away like frail flowers beneath the scorching sun!" he announced.

Then of course the haggling began, a rather enjoyable part of the morning was spent thus, both sides abiding by the unspoken laws of the game. The price started out reasonable and tiny tiny changes up or down were made as they haggling continued. Whitcomb would lean back and point out the overall splendour of the slaves, and their good statues, but for that one niggling flaw be it a scar on a eunuch or the idea that a fat cook might eat too much; then Farrukh would act slightly upset and point out the splendour of his products, and then do the amazing bazaar routine where he would almost cry and accuse Whitcomb of practically stealing from him.

Finally though they agreed upon a price, 320 dirhams for the both of them, and Farrukh moaned "You drive a hard bargain," and as Whitcomb smiled he theatrically cried "Ah!" he said "So you have human teeth rather than those of a shark!"

Then after this matter was settled the discussion reverted to the subject of the merchant, and of the savages that lived in the mountains surrounding his hideout. These savages were described as bloodthirsty savage brutes, whom other men would refuse the title of Moslem if they could; thus Farrukh concluded "Yet even they have trouble reaching the plateau where the Merchant has built his mansion, but woe betide the traveller who goes through their lands!"

"If you can't go through them," Whitcomb mused "Then perhaps you could go above them...".

"Alas! Being a suspicious sort he has hired a powerful sorceress that summoned a mighty spell, that whensoever an æther ship comes that does not bear his seal the mountain will reach out and destroy it!" Farrukh said solemnly "You, a foreigner, may shrug this off but... it is true as I say, for when contact broke off some men tried to go there and none has heard from them."

"Maybe they looted the place," Whitcomb said.

Farrukh laughed "Yes that would be my first thought too, but if they were so fortunate as to be able to loot it of its treasures, where is the treasure?" He made a worried gesture "Not only that but sometimes brigands would try for it and be destroyed."

Whitcomb sat down and thought If this story is true, and something is attacking ætherships then what? Deep down in his gut his instincts told him that something was very peculiar here, but he could not quite put his finger on it.

As he departed with his new purchases he was deep in thought, scarcely noticing Hasan and his new slaves struggling to keep up with him, instead he finally made a decision Better ask Jeeves he thought as he hurried towards the ship and his staunch Gentleman's Gentleman. He moved through the crowds as he thought that this loyal servant would have some idea that could solve this conundrum.

As the pair met once more in the main guests cabin aboard the ship Whitcomb quickly informed Jeeves of all that he had learned that day, before he leaned back in the creaking chair and gently placed his feet up on the footstool "I say Jeeves I am a bit stumped, I mean I don't want to fall for some native hokum, but who knows if there's something in it?"

Upon hearing about the events Jeeves thought for a moment, then he said "If I may ask Sir, how long do we have before visit this merchant?"

"Soon as possible Jeeves," Whitcomb replied.

"I see Sir, if I may I do believe I have a solution to our conundrum, though it would require me to spend some amount of time and funds Sir," Jeeves replied solemnly.

Whitcomb cheered up at this news "Good man Jeeves! That's what I hoped you'd say, just let me know when you've cracked this problem, or found that it's all hokum, whichever comes first."

"Of course Sir," Jeeves said before he bowed and then absented himself from the room. Once outside he went to check up on the children, despite the linguistic differences they seemed to get along quite well with Hania and oddly enough she too seemed to delight in their presence. The eunuch Ibrahim also seemed quietly satisfied with his lot, standing impassively along the side of the entrance to the room where the children were at.

Then once he was outside he spotted Hasan "Ah young sir, I require some aid for Master Whitcombs plans."

"Of course Sir, what do you need?" Hasan asked curiously, even though he was greatly worried about the cursed mountains his natural curiosity and desire for adventure overpowered any such concerns.

"Good, well then Sir I shall require a great quantity of the finest cloth, a wicker weaver of some skill, and the services of a dozen fine seamstresses," Jeeves said in a matter of fact tone of voice.

Now then for several days there was very little visible activity, everyone mostly stuck to their business except for one tiny annoying incident which interrupted their solemnity as they awaited the completion of Jeeves' scheme.

It all began when Hasan came rushing into Whitcombs quarters, out of breath and looking quite upset about something, after receiving a cool drink he finally began to gasp out "I have spoken to my third cousin and the matter is the subject of some talk, but Rashideddin the fool has announced first that his men did whatever they did without his permission, and then accused someone of having murdered his men!" Hasan said sounding most apologetic "Some people say he will go to the Cadi to raise accusations!"

Whitcomb slapped the arm rest of his chair and leapt up "At last some excitement!" he then shouted out "Jeeves!" before snapping his fingers "Damn, but he is gone, ah well IBRAHIM!" he yelled instead and then turned to Hasan "Let us get ready for this trial."

In less than half an hour all the accoutrements he had asked for were provided, and dressed in a splendid robe he approached the city without fear. Now the Cadi's office was situated outside, and he would hear cases from wide and far, and now he was about to hear the complaint of the merchant Rashideddin who preened himself convinced that his heathen adversary would never show or that if he did he'd surely be exposed and punished.

Yet Whitcomb did not act as Rashideddin expected, instead of cringing he moved straight up to Whitcomb and demanded "How dare you level such ludicrous allegations against me!" He said acting the part of the furious innocent accused by a particularly unworthy sort.

Already a crowd was gathering to witness this encounter, and the Cadi who had not yet formally accepted the case was trying in vain to get some peace though without much luck.

Yet then Rashideddin yelled "You are an infidel!" he shouted, and Whitcomb roared his defiant refusal of this charge, and at that Rashideddin pulled Whitcombs beard as hard as he might. Without a moments thought Whitcomb punched the beard pulling merchant as hard as he could, right in the face, and this so very uniquely Mahommedan response to an insult convinced all that stood there that here was a good Moslem.

Thus Rashidedding rushed off with his tail between his legs, while new found friends gathered around Whitcomb pleading with him to bring up the charge of slander against Rashideddin so that "The slanderer may get the eighty stripes across his back that he so deeply deserves!"

Though fortunately Whitcomb could say "I must depart soon and cannot bring suit now, but Inshallah I shall be able to do upon my return!" and other words to that effect, even as he knew full well that Rashideddin would never forgive him for this humiliation and would surely try to stir up more mischief for them!

It was perhaps a fortunate matter than the very next day he received a visit from Jeeves who bowed respectfully "Greetings Sir, if I may is Sir ready to depart immediately?"

"With my pugilistic success recently Jeeves I think that leaving would be a rather good idea, I fear Rashideddin was a tad miffed, eh?" Whitcomb said in a completely straight faced fashion.

Jeeves didn't twitch an eyebrow "Quite Sir, then I am pleased to inform you that I have found that it appears that there is indeed something in said mountains that seems to destroy Æther craft, however... there are certain forgotten arts that allow us to get around this." Jeeves bowed again and then added "If Sir would please accompany me to the shuttle."

Whitcomb seemed a bit confused until they reached the shuttle and he saw what was neatly arranged in the cargo bay of the shuttle, and his confusion vanished entirely as Jeeves held up a picture of how the device would look fully assembled.

"I SAY," Whitcomb said as he slowly shook his head "This is so insane that it is sheer genius Jeeves, and I'll wager no one has tried using a Montgolfier!"

"Indeed Sir, that would be my thought as well," Jeeves said in his usual very calm almost expressionless tone of voice "If I may say so I am rather pleased with how the workers executed the idea Sir."

"Bit big though," Whitcomb commented as he looked at the basket.

"Highest cargo capacity is a dozen people Sir," with a slightly upbeat tone Jeeves added "After all we need cargo capacity if our purchases come through."

Whitcomb smiled at this "Good show! Jolly good show! Now let us get this thing into position!"

Al-Harrab Mountains
Azhistan
April 1005 NE

With the shuttle aiding them it wasn't long before they arrived upwind of the area where the famous palace was supposed to be in, yet even a brief landing here had the pilot most nervous and uncomfortable. The area was wild and rugged, indeed they had landed on a plateau surrounded by some of the greatest mountains in all of creation, with wild rivers fuelled by the melting winter snow.

Looking around, up and down the mountains and valley Hasan seemed to take a breath of relief, but still he spoke his concern "This land is filled with Waziri tribesmen! Not even the tallest mountain is proof from them for they are as surefooted as the goats!"

The pilot also said something in his native language which Hasan translated "Almighty Allah be with you, for you are outside the hands of men now, but he shall come look for us on the other side of the range in four days and if we are not there he will presume us dead!"

"I wouldn't want it any other way," Whitcomb said as the intrepid trio set about assembling the Montgolfier, it was slow work, and difficult too, and not made any easier by constant worries about ambush. Yet eventually it as ready and the powerful burner was lit up slowly filling the enormous cloth balloon with hot air and slowly it began to assume its proper shape. Then the balloon began its ascent, slowly drifting further and further upwards till the soon to be departing shuttle looked like naught more than an abandoned toy thrown down upon a rock by a careless child.

Hasan gazed down with glee, "I say sirs," he said in imitation of the expressions he had heard them use "We are certainly high up!"

"Indeed we are, exciting isn't it?" Whitcomb asked as he looked down upon the mountains seeing them slowly drift past them.

"Oh yes Sir, very much so," Hasan said "Before I always travel in ships, but this is so different!"

Yet the time for idle banter soon passed as the cold got worse and worse, but fortunately the intrepid group had packed warm fur garments, and their feet were wrapped with lengths of woollen cloth keeping them quite warm however far up they got. Now then they began to notice that the mountains near where the palace was supposed to be hidden was clouded in near perpetual mist, and as they entered the mist it became impossible to see for more than a few hundred yards. Slowly they drifted through this misty white and depressingly cold cloud.

As their breaths grew shallower from the cold, and strange sounds surrounded them they felt apprehensive, and then suddenly it happened!

Something struck the balloon, and hard, our intrepid adventurers staggered and fell over inside the basket, desperately clutching to it as the balloon shuddered again!

Then it was silent, Whitcomb got up and looked around, then suddenly he burst out in laughter even as everyone realised that the balloon was sinking slowly down into the unseen area below.

"Sirs, I..." Hasan said as he looked about with worried eyes, his earlier flippant air gone "This is most concerning Sirs, I think I am worried."

"Don't be," Whitcomb said slapping the lad on his back "Look," Whitcomb tugged at a rope hanging down from the balloon "A net, we're caught in a giant net and being pulled down, and..." he pointed down "The ends of the net have heavy weights."

"Quite Sir," Jeeves offered as he readied a large knife to cut the net.

"Wait, wait," Whitcomb said "This trap is quite clever, stretch a powerful net across the valley so that anything travelling by air is entangled and then weighed down, an Æthership would no doubt invariably crash, if not from this net then from other traps; but us, in our Montgolfier, we are spared this destiny for we have time to cut the net if need be, and our descent will be far more peaceful than say..."

"A rather battered Azhistani æthership Sir?" Jeeves suddenly interjected and pointed at something.

Whitcomb frowned at this unusual interruption, but it soon vanished as he saw what was being pointed at, laying at the bottom of the valley surrounded by a handful of dead bodies was indeed a rather battered flying ship.

"Quite Jeeves, quite, that is actually good news," Whitcomb ventured.

Hasan looked at the battered ship, still tangled in a large net "How is it good news Sirs?"

"Because you see... no one survived from the crash or the bodies'd be gone, and whomever set up these nets isn't around to loot ships or putting them back up..." Whitcomb said even as he realised that this might mean they were walking into a very bad situation.

Yet at that precise time there was a soft whump as the big weighting rocks of the net hit the ground and the basket of the balloon now hovered roughly a yard above the ground.

"Well now... lets first investigate that ship," Whitcomb ventured "And then take a look at what awaits us further into the valley!"

Crashed Æthership
Al-Harrab Mountains
Azhistan
April 1005 NE

Within a few minutes the three intrepid adventurers had lowered the Montgolfier so that they might commence their disembarkation. First though the heavy nets that were weighing it down had to be dealt with, swiftly the trio pulled out their long knifes and began to attack the rough material half sawing and half cutting it, but it was slow going for the rough ropes were very strong indeed.

However roughly half way through the task it became clear that a good chunk of the net would still remain on top of the balloon unless something was done, but alas it was impossible to reach that part of it from the basket. Without a word Hasan suddenly took the knife between his teeth and, grabbing hold of the net, began to climb up the side of the balloon slowly cutting into the net as he climbed upwards.

Climbing up the side of the Montgolfiers was quite hard even though the rough ropes gave you a good grasp even while wearing gloves, there was still the fact that the winds would buffet him slightly and throw him against the side of the soft gasbag, and make the ropes twist slightly in his grasp. Still he continued his work to hack through them, slowly moving further and further upwards, even as the Montgolfier got closer to being liberated.

Meanwhile Whitcomb and Jeeves watched as their light weight and agile companion was deeply engaged in the task of liberating them from the trap. "Good climber," Whitcomb commented "But won't..."

Then at that moment it struck! There was a loud sound of cloth and rough rope scraping against each other and on the opposite side from Hasan the net came crashing down in a loud cascading noise. Hasan barely got hold of a rope on the side of the Montgolfier and was saying something when suddenly it happened, the Montgolfier, liberated of its heavy net, lurches massively upwards several yards in fact making Hasan loose his grip and sending him careening down the side of the fluffed gasbag! Waving his and legs he seemed to almost fly as he came floating downwards, aiming straight at the rocky ground below...

As the winds buffeted their native guide downwards Whitcomb lurched forward and grasped for him, almost getting him once, but then finally lurching forward and gaining a firm grasp upon Hasan left ankle. As he did Whitcomb felt a shudder travel through his muscular body and he clenched his teeth making the muscles stand out in his neck as he struggled to pull Hasan back with his now very numbed hands. For a moment he thought that he would slip, letting Hasan fall head first some thirty odd feet straight down onto the rocky ground, but at that very moment Jeeves moved forth and grabbed the other ankle and together they pulled the youngster back in.

Resting on his back for a moment Hasan took a few deep breaths, but then his good spirits took over and he smiled "Thank you Sir, I am most grateful for your aid!" Whitcomb held out his hand and Hasan took it being helped back up on his feet, though he did try to hide it he did show a bit of a limp in his left leg but he did not wince or in any other way show discomfort.

Meanwhile Jeeves was letting out more hot air making the Montgolfier gently lower itself onto the ground, where it landed with a soft shudder in a relatively flat area. At once they threw out the anchors before Whitcomb jumped out, and Hasan climbed out of the basket and onto the ground. Following Whitcombs example Hasan grabbed a big brown rock and then, straining to move under the weight, handed it over to Jeeves who placed it inside the basket to use as extra ballast.

Soon the colourful Montgolfier was well secured, and Jeeves joined the two other adventures to begin exploring the area. First though they checked their equipment, as prudent men do before going into action.

They had two good SMLE, short magazine LeMay-Enghien rifles able to hold up to ten rounds, and with the latest stripper clips able to be reloaded in a very short period of time. In addition both Whitcomb and Jeeves carried two stout service revolvers, the bullets from this revolver was so powerful that if you lined up eight Avonlean skulls the bullet would tear through seven of them and lodge itself half way into the eighth.

Hasan carried an older kind of rifle, and old fashioned blackpowder breechloader, and the ammunition for this he carried in a picturesque bandolier that gave him quite the piratical appearance; in addition to this he had volunteered to carry a crossbow that Whitcomb had bought earlier in case silence should be necessary.

All of them naturally also brought big heavy Azhistani knives, suitable for cutting and chopping, as well as long wicked looking scimitars honed to a keen edge; but as they were all well versed in fighting the blades were not honed to a razor edge as this would make them brittle, but quite enough to cut through cloth, leather or flesh.

Naturally this was not all that they carried, for like any experienced traveller they had brought with them sturdy warm clothes, thick fur and woollens, to ward off the cold and the biting winds. In addition they naturally carried many tins of canned food, good Williamson matches kept inside a waterproof brass case, some papers and pencils, a set of powerful binoculars, and various other common place items of the sort that any outdoors man will know and treasure.

They quickly moved towards the grizzly site of the crashed æthership, it had left quite a mark as it crashed into the ground, and even in this rocky ground you could see a long scoured area where it had first struck and then been carried across the ground by its own momentum. Obviously this had torn free bits of wood, cloth, and other things, leaving the ship in a state where it seemed unlikely that it could be repaired.

As they drew nearer to the ship they could see that it was not one of the bigger ones, maybe some sixty feet long though with the destruction of the stem it was hard to tell how long it had once been. The net had tightened over it in some places crushing the timbers, and in other places the heavy ropes of the net had snapped under the pressure. Yet in a way they had been very fortunate in that there didn't appear to be any fire damage, so either the galley had been out or they had the devils own luck.

The first corpse was an unpleasant sight, it was frozen solid with large dark areas all over its face, and it was rather disturbingly clear that rodents and small animals had already begun to feast upon the remains. Whitcomb examined it carefully, jabbing its gut and examining the marks of the beasts on its face, finally he mused "This one's been here for at least a full week," he quickly checked the body for valuables finding a rather empty purse and a suitable knife "Poor bastard too..."

The other bodies were not in much better condition, four of them had somehow been flung of the ship, very quickly they now rushed over to check the bodies and their belongings. The first three were much like the first corpse they had found, slightly mutilated and carrying little of value, but with the fourth Jeeves let out a cry "I say Sir!" he called. Moments later the other two were with him peering down at the body, it was rather further from the ship than any of the others and didn't seem so heavily mutilated.

Whitcomb quickly examined him, then he looked around at the area around the body "I say..." he muttered as he pulled up his knife and began to cut open the fur coat, and then the shirts, covering the body of long dead sailor. When he was done he carefully examined the exposed torso, looking back and forth a bit "Yes, poor bastard, survived the crash but ..." he moved his palm over a large discoloured area "Died from internal bleeding, I've seen it before you get up, you feel fine maybe a bit bruised, maybe you think you are going to bury your comrades or help out, and then you grow weaker and weaker. Hell of a thing." He shook his head sadly and then examined the belongings of the poor sap "Looks like he helped himself to some kit first, he's got a nice revolver, money, not sure what this is," he said as he held up some peculiar looking objects and herbs. Finally he gave the revolver to Hasan and said "The former owner won't need this."

"Thank you Sir," Hasan said eagerly taking the revolver, but then looking at the bodies he added "Sir, what do we do with the dead?"

"We are civilized men Hasan, we bury them, or rather..." Whitcomb thought, then he pointed at the flying ship "We pile them all somewhere safe, inside the ship for instance, and then we go to the mansion to see if we can recruit any aid there for I don't think we can really dig in the hard soil of this place."

Now they moved cautiously towards the ship itself, studying how the massive net had deformed and often cracked the finely fitted timbers of the vessel. The best entrance seemed to be a large torn opening near the stem, where the sharp shards of wood had sliced through the nets over that section.

"How Sir," Hasan asked as he looked about "Did they get thrown from the ship if there's a big net over it?"

Whitcomb looked at the vessel "I think Hasan that they could have gotten away from the ship itself despite the net, the net has rather wide masks so it's quite possible that they would simply be throw through them," he said as he ducked in through the opening in the hull.

Inside you couldn't really see much since the only light was the fog-dimmed light peering in through the opening in the shattered hull, but even here he could see the outline of two bodies; one with what looked to be a largish piece of timber squarely driven through his chest and out the other side, and the other with his head at an impossible angle. Both of them were dressed more lightly than the four unfortunates found outside, but otherwise they seemed much the same rough, somewhat skinny, and rather desperate looking men with enormous beards and hard calloused hands.

Whitcomb quickly decided to improvise, tearing apart the shirt of one of the corpses and grabbing a piece of splintered wood he made a quick torch wrapping the cloth around the wood, and then when Hasan wasn't watching he cursed under his breath as he poured a healthy dollop of strong whisky on the cloth before setting it all on fire. The difference was astounding as the entire cargo compartment was lit up, letting him see the multiple caskets and stores that were down here, but alas also giving him an ample view of the grizzly remnants of the poor sailors caught here in the storm!

Sailors? Whitcomb thought as he looked into their empty frozen eyes or pirates? Whatever the case might be they were now unable to ever again threaten living men, and they would have to answer to the Omniscient judge for all their deeds.

They carefully explored every nook and cranny of the ship, finding that it had in the main been battered and weatherworn even before the dramatic crash, and that it contain within it maybe two score souls all of whom had died during the crash or hours later. However the more they studied the ship the harder it was too feel overly sympathetic for the crew, for shortly after examining the cargo hold they came across several barrels filled with blackpowder. Naturally Whitcomb quickly backed away from these worried that his torch might set it off, cursing himself for not realising that any ship in an area so evil would naturally carry munitions!

After replacing his initial torch with a covered lantern recovered from the ship they continued the investigation, soon they found multiple muskets and rifles with plentiful ammunition, four cannon with ample cannon balls, and as if that was not enough there was a healthy collection of "silverware" dangerous looking scimitars and knives with leaf shaped blades. That of course didn't betray anything either since it only made sense to be prepared for trouble in such an evil land, but when you also find a healthy collection of chains and realise that there is scarcely any money in the ship but lots of empty space, well reasonable men like Whitcomb and Jeeves drew their own conclusions.

The Captains corpse when they found it confirmed this view, he'd been wearing a magnificent set of embroidered robes and thick white furs easily worth more than the wardrobe of his entire crew, he was carrying a fine scimitar with a gilded blade, and a gemstone in his thick turban. However all of that finery could not disguise that his right arm and left leg had been cut off, no doubt as punishment for some nefarious deed, though he had since replaced it with a cunning and possibly magical clockwork apparatus. Nor could it disguise that he was filthy, the fine robes were tattered and had not been washed for weeks, disgusted they withdrew after removing the most valuable items from his body.

The captains quarters was filled with the kind of barbaric trinkets that you'd expect a brigand to have, and yet here was also a sign of piety in that there was a fine prayer rug, a copy of the Koran, and several devotional items. Even tilted roughly thirty degrees to the side but if you placed the chairs and a few loose floor boards just so it was still the most comfortable area to be in; further more Hasan was now slowly plodding through the Captains papers seeing if there was anything of interest there, though from his slight frown and slow going it was clear that his reading skills were somewhat limited.

"Looters, looks like they thought that the mansion was open for looting," Whitcomb said with disgust as he leaned back in his chair.

Jeeves however looked at his master and interjected "Yes Sir, but given that no one has come to examine this vessel I should think the owner of the mansion must be otherwise engaged."

Whitcomb nodded, then he looked at Hasan again who was pouring over the documents "Well then young man, what have you found?"

"So sorry Sir but I am not sure," Hasan said as he peered up from the document "The, ah, handwriting is very poor Sir," he said by way of excuse.

Handwriting, Whitcomb thought but he stifled a smile and instead said "Yes well they're pirates what can we expect?" Helping to preserve Hasan's dignity "Carry on now."

After much waiting, and as the sun was beginning to go down in the distance Hasan finally found something "Sirs! It's... in the logs, the Captain has made a note here," slowly he began to read out loud from the logs, sometimes hesitating but painting an interesting picture...

Second day Rabi' al-thani

No work, no plunder, men are restless, I fear they may plot a mutiny! May almighty Allah preserve us from jealous men!

Fifth day Rabi' al-thani

I have heard of the Hanta Witch that tells fortunes, summon Djinni, and shew the way to lost treasure, they she travels much with her four sons and gives fortunes for money, Inshallah she will know of some opportunity! Some crew refuse to go along, but they are beaten and the rest have heard wondr's tales.

Sixth day Rabi' al-thani

Bismillah! She had a tale to be told, the Merchant Prince of the Mountains is dead, as are most of his men! I gave her my last gold coins for this, and a jewelled ring when that was not enough. Warned to "Be ware of man spiders" whatever this may mean, and that "Sword and Jezail will carry the day for you at the palace"

Seventh day Rabi' al-thani

Start our journey tomorrow, inshallah our weapons and men shall overcome, I have even hired six more men to ensure that I shall triumph in the fight.

"There is more Sirs but..." Hasan seemed embarrassed "It is numbers, travel instructions, I think it is a rutter Sir."

Whitcomb nodded, that made sense navigational instructions were necessary for such a journey "I think that we will remain here for the night, set up camp inside the ship and loot the galley for pots and pans and something to eat, and then we'll set forth tomorrow morning," he said in a relaxed tone of voice.

"Very good Sir," Jeeves said looking about the place, before adding "Shall we piled the bodies up in some discrete corner?"

"Yes you can do it, I think I will see if there's anything we missed the first time we inspected the ship," Whitcomb said as he stretched himself and began to move.

That night they were surprisingly comfortable, they carefully stacked firewood into the largest cauldron and soon got a small fire burning, after that they prepared for themselves a light meal which they ate in silence. Heat of course was the big problem, outside the winds were strong and frosty cold, even inside the boat and in a room carefully protected they shivered as the wind pressed through the smallest opening, and of course they dared not make the fire strong least they suffocate themselves. It was worst for whomever had guard duty, and so had to stand out in the cold and keep an eye on the barren pitch black wilderness, and make sure that the Montgolfier was not torn away. Yet they still persevered.

The morning came as a dull red-pink haze up in the west, the mist created a spectacular effect where the whole of the west seemed to be lit up, but our intrepid group could do little other than peer at the sight and say as Whitcomb did "Tis' most beautiful, now lets go."

They were more concerned with the safety of the Montgolfier, pleased to see it had survived the night and not been blown away, though the gasbag had by now deflated to nearly nothing.

After checking this vital object they began to walk in the direction of the palace, the air was cold but very clear and their boots made a slight crunching sound each time that they stepped upon the frozen earth, indeed sounds seemed to travel much further than they should making everyone stop up for a while each time an unfamiliar sound was heard. After a long journey they did however come to what appeared to be a track descending from the side of the mountain and then proceeding further down the valley, at first it looked like little more than an animal track but soon they could see that steps had been created in places in the side of the mountain.

"So that's how they get up to attach those nets," Whitcomb commented as he peered up as far as he could see through the mist.

Jeeves however seemed more concerned "Indubitably Sir, but that also means that we now run the risk of encountering parties of the residents."

Whitcomb nodded "Yes you're right, better stay clear of the track till we know who we are dealing with," he said as he motioned for the group to continue walking alongside the track.

It was not long before the mist began to clear up, and at the same time the temperatures seemed to increase, and here and there moss or gnarled shrubs would appear lending colour to the landscape. As they could see more and more they were also feeling rather worried about discovery, but fortunately the valley now seemed to expand heavily and the path seemed to begin descending quite a bit. In combination this meant that they were now able to look down upon the valley ahead of them, and it was quite different from what they would have expected.

The Hidden Valley
Al-Harrab Mountains
Azhistan
April 1005 NE

Instead of a cold and barren place they were looking at what seemed to be a lush and fertile valley stretching forth, complete with green fields and small forest copses, and a crystal clear river running through it. In the distance, still somewhat obscured, there appeared to be some sort of buildings. Quickly the trio began to move, moving across the hillside alongside the valley, taking great care to be as unobtrusive and hard to spot as possible. Slowly though they came closer to the buildings, and after a while they hurried downwards to a single large outcropping of rock slightly below the mists, laying down on top of it Whitcomb took out his binoculars and looked towards the buildings.

The sight was spectacular, surprising, and rather disturbing, once not too long ago this must have been a small paradise, for he could make out the loveliest gardens where carefully arranged trees, flowers and lawns looked perfectly natural as if man and nature had united to create a work of beauty. The palace too must once have been spectacular, for the buildings were all large and wonderful, but no more! The largest building had collapsed and there were soot and burn marks upon it, a victim of a grand fire, and all the other buildings had their doors torn open and their windows shattered like some foul tornado had gone through them.

Indeed the source of the destruction was soon quite obvious, for all around the large estate there were small groups of squat ugly men that Whitcomb, first he thought they might be the guards or servants of the Prince, but these were foul people with swarthy yellowish hide and unnaturally muscular bodies, and the way they were all dressed in looted cast offs he realised that these were brigands or worse. However before he could continue his anthropological musings he noted something quite interesting, surrounding one of the minarets of the mosque, now looted of course, was the largest throng yet of the brigands but instead of storming it they kept their distance shouting up taunts and insults only to occasionally be rewarded by some object thrown down.

On top of the minaret stood, instead of the customary muezzin there stood two figures a strapping young lad perhaps fifteen summers old, and a young woman four or maybe five years his senior, both of them dressed in western garb and quite busy persuading the brigands to keep their distance. Of course by persuading we mean throwing various blunt objects, including but not limited to roof tiles, down on them if they got too close.

For a moment Whitcomb felt as if his heart had stopped, as he watched this beauty ahead he realised that he would have to act for there was no way on heaven or on earth that he could turn his back on her. She was perfect, a narrow waist, golden hair, and those unmistakable facial features that denote anglo-saxon stock, that and a look of defiance and quiet well justified pride upon her features.

He took a deep breath, then he put down the binoculars and looked at his companions "So how do we solve this little problem?" he said as he passed the binoculars around.

Hasan said a single word that sounded a rather harsh, then in English he added "These things are ugly, and there are at least a hundred or so of them, how are we supposed to take care of all of them?"

Jeeves was not so troubled "I dare say Sir that this rabble couldn't put up much a fight against an organised attack."

Whitcomb nodded, but he still realised what a quest he had set out on, to remove these brigands and to evacuate the tower, and better yet to get a chance to loot the palace as well! These were indeed heady matters, but at once he began to formulate a plan, soon a smile played on his lips as he turned back to his companions "I have a plan," he said.

The Hidden Valley
Al-Harrab Mountains
Azhistan
April 1005 NE

Dusk was setting in, and the vile brigands were in the main retreating to the surviving buildings with only a few of them remaining outside to guard the minaret. Those guards huddled outside soon made a couple of bonfires around which they huddled themselves around the fires, wrapping blankets and lengths of cloth around themselves as they struggled to stay warm.

Whitcomb however smiled as he watched this, the preparations earlier that day had been long and arduous, the long trek back to the wrecked ship and then preparing for their mission. There was after all quite a few things to be done with even old fashioned jezails and blackpowder, already he had a small collection of bottles and other containers filled with gunpowder, and nearby there stood several stands of jezails if they should be needed. Though that was scarcely the only thing they had prepared during the day, and now they were about as ready as they could get, whether the brigands pursued or not.


As the dusk turned into night he made his move, he was wearing trousers and a jacket now so that there would be no entanglements on the ground, and tucked into his clothes was a strong thread, a light silk rope, his two .44 revolvers and his large knife. However he hoped he would not need them tonight, for on top of the minaret he could just about make out the form of someone standing watch, and therefore he had wrapped a note around a crossbow bolt would send it up into the minaret and see how it went from there.

Slowly he moved towards the minaret, so slowly that it took him nearly an hour to get there but as he drew nearer the roaring fire he realised that his caution was wasted. The brigands were loud and raucous, drinking some kind of brew that they poured from a large keg, and eating something, as he drew nearer and saw what they were eating he felt disgusted, it was an obscene thing but they apparently had a taste for manflesh.

Yet it was good to know that he would not receive a very rude surprise from this filthy lot, and so he reached the minaret, peering up he found what he thought would be the ideal location and fired the bolt. Upstairs there was a soft thud sound which failed to alert the guards, but after that there was silence. Finally after a long time there was another sound that of a rock being dropped and it landed very close to him.

Whitcomb swiftly tied the string to another crossbow bolt and fired it, the string and bolt flew upwards spiralling into the night sky, and then he waited... for several minutes nothing happened, finally with a sigh he pulled hard and recovered the string before he tried again. Once more the string spiralled upwards, but this time a minute or so later he felt a strong tug at the string, immediately he tied his end to the rope and waited as the string was pulled upwards along with the rope.

It seemed like an eternity while he waited, for a moment pondering if he should try to climb instead, but then he felt that the rope was dancing slightly and he could sense more than see a figure descending. Readying himself he was glad to see that it was the lad he had seen earlier, the young boy seemed quite taken back by his appearance, indeed he stopped his descent and looked at Whitcomb.

"Shhh," Whitcomb said "I'm in disguise!" he said in a loud whisper, praying that the brigands wouldn't hear, but fortunately they did not and the words in English calmed the youth down so he climbed all the way down.

"Good evening Sir," the young man said in a low voice, looking about rather nervously "I... I suppose..." he seemed a tad down cast as he looked quizzically at Whitcomb.

"Allan Whitcomb, Lieutenant of the Republic of Pendletons Army, currently on leave from a diplomatic assignment," Whitcomb introduced himself.

The young man looked much relieved right away, obviously when introduced to an English speaker he had feared the obvious answer "Thank you Sir, I am Charles Westley" he said then he added "What now?"

Whitcomb looked up and then back at the young man "How many of you are there?"

"Five Sir," Charles replied.

Whitcomb nodded Five, good, we can accommodate that "Can they all climb down the rope?" he asked.

"Yes Sir, I... I don't see why not" Charles said, then he asked "How will we get out Sir?"

"We got a Montgolfier that will lift us over the mountains, and then a shuttle will pick us up, but you have to hurry we must be gone before sunrise!" Whitcomb explained carefully.

Charles nodded and quickly began to climb back up, lifting himself up over the ledge at the top and moving inside. Meanwhile Whitcomb waited nervously, wondering if any of the brigands had heard anything and would be coming over to take a look.

Fortunately nothing did happen, and not too long after Charles scurried down the rope again, as he hit the ground he told Whitcomb "They're coming down."

One by one they did indeed do that, first came two more boys, one ten and the other maybe twelve, they had light hair and looked quite well though dressed in bulky and ill fitting eastern style garb. After that came an older girl of maybe 13, she resembled in some way the two boys and would no doubt grow up to be most attractive, but though she was wearing western garb she seemed very nervous and on the verge of breaking down into tears. This of course did not appeal to Whitcomb who quietly cursed his rotten luck.

Finally SHE came down, Whitcomb had to control himself not to try to look up her skirts like some horny schoolboy, and instead he took upon himself the composure of a Pendletonian gentleman. It was not easy though, he could literally smell her as she landed, it was a sweet almost floral scent, and she smiled at him too "Thank you Sir," she whispered seeming grateful, yet modest at the same time.

Whitcomb looked at her, she was a vision, even in the night she was dazzling, but he could not do anything about that right now instead he pointed and whispered "Quickly now miss, we must be off."

They moved oh so slowly and rather noisily according to Whitcomb's lights, but fortunately the villains did not notice, and when they finally reached the rock face where he had waited earlier they could take a short break. Already the children seemed quite exhausted, and very possibly about to break into tears, yet even as they shivered they felt much better than they had in days.

He quickly moved over to the stands of jezails, picking out the two best ones and then crudely and firmly jamming a stone into the barrel of the rest That ought to give them a nasty surprise he thought with grim satisfaction. He then moved closer to the two adults, or young adults, and had a quick whispered conversation "I have my valet and a native guide waiting up there, just so you know, now we have to keep moving or the children won't be able to move at all so help them get along now."

The two youngsters nodded to this "Yes Sir of course," Charles replied and rounded up the young ones again, they did whine a bit but came along quietly and soon they were making their way across the difficult terrain. Of course there was the odd stumble and fall, with the result cuts and bruises, nothing serious but enough that the young woman had to gently place her hand over their mouths and whisper soothing words in their ears even as they continued to run.

Finally after what seemed to be an eternity they reached the wreck site, already Jeeves had stoked up the Montgolfier so that it was tugging at its restraints like a race horse eager to rush forth. The children looked half frightened and half excited at this strange contraption, they could only see the lower half of the Montgolfier but it was lit with the eerie light of the burner and old Jeeves in his native garb must have looked quite the part of the Eastern Alchymist as he stood there carefully fiddling with the burner. Then again it was not all wrong, after all it was Jeeves that had cobbled together a mechanism for pumping up the Montgolfier from the remains of the wrecked æthership.

Hasan however didn't appear from behind his concealed position before Whitcomb waved for him, then he jumped forward startling Charles who immediately moved in front of the young lady. Hasan however ignored these youngsters entirely in favour of Whitcomb "Noble Sir, so good to see you made it back," he said sounding genuinely pleased "When shall we depart his horrid place Sir?"

Whitcomb felt a bit annoyed but hid it, especially since everyone needed to hear the answer "We leave at first light, we can't risk flying blind in these mountains."

Everyone seemed satisfied with this and soon the children and the two youths were helped into the basket, which was swiftly being emptied of all ballast as soon as the young ones made up for the weight. After a period of shifting rocks out of the basket, rocks which seemed to make a terrible sound that echoed through the valley, Whitcomb finally commented "I say I don't think I've got anyones name aside from yours Charles."

Charles seemed a bit uncertain, but not willing to argue the use of first names just yet, so instead he began with the young woman "Diana this is Lieutenant Allan Whitcomb, Sir this is Diana Westley, my sister." He then gave the names of the children too, but to Allan their names seemed less important but he still registered them in his mind just in case.

After that there was a long interminable wait, on one occasion the children had to go out of the basket on natures errand, but of course they did it downwind and rather close for safety's sake. Other than that though there was nothing to break up the monotony of the wait. Diana spent most of her time ministering to the children, comforting them and supporting them whenever they seemed to be about to break.

"What were those brigands anyway?" Whitcomb asked curiously after a while, "The people surrounding you."

Diana and Charles exchanged glances before Charles muttered "I think they are an assortment of local rabble enslaved for one reason or another, the... the villain who had taken hold of us after the abduction had also acquired this lot." He stopped a bit at that though and looked at the children, obviously worried that they might not be able to handle a full recount of the sordid story.

"There will no doubt be time for this story later," Whitcomb said, and he noticed Diana's grateful look I wonder if she is still chaste he thought as he watched her, but though he didn't know for sure something told him that she was. He had seen female slaves that were used and they all had a certain way of behaving, of acting, he did not see that in Diana. Or perhaps it is just wishful thinking he thought wondering which was right, and if her effect on him was clouding his judgement.

Soon though the first blush of dawn appeared, and the moment it was bright enough to see he tensed, in the distance he could hear the outraged shouts of a hundred or more throats They found the rope he thought as he tapped Jeeves' shoulder and pointed upwards "Time to go Jeeves."

"Aye Sir!" Jeeves said as he pulled in the anchor and, with the help of everyone onboard, threw out the last stones at the bottom of the basket, and immediately the Montgolfier lurched upwards and onwards beginning its inevitable drift towards the valley following the direction of the wind but always going higher and higher up.

Slowly they drifted down the barren valley, and beneath them they could now see that they had already reach the footpath to the secret valley, and now in the distance they saw a small group of brigands running up that valley clearly looking for something. Not one of them looked up, and Whitcomb gently placed his finger over his lips and whispered "Sshhh". No one said a sound as the first brigands vanished beneath them and they continued to gain altitude as they reached the outskirts of the hidden valley itself.

Suddenly though the sun seemed to betray them and send a particularly strong burst of light through the mists, the brigands might be stupid but when one of them spotted a strange moving shadow he looked up! For a moment the he stood slack jawed in disbelief upon seeing the hated foreigners and victims to be ravished in the most vile ways, fly away in such a bizarre contraption. Then however he howled something in his own native language and pointed madly at the Montgolfier.

Moments later several brigands aimed their Jezails at the Montgolfier, Whitcomb shouted "Get down!" to the children who immediately dropped down onto the bottom of the basket. Of course he knew that if they were struck the basket would offer little protection, but as the first brigand fired there was a loud thundering sound, but instead of the balloon or, the Lord forbid, the basket being hit the Jezail had exploded in the hands of the brigand leaving the creature howling as he tried to protect his mangled fingers and scorched face.

Other brigands began to open fire, big plumes of white smoke rising from their Jezails, the sound of their weapons was like distant thunder to the ears of the people in the balloon. Yet even as they fired another brigands jezail exploded in a most gratifying way, Diana smiled as she peered through a peekhole on the basket of the Montgolfier "Fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me," she said even as a third Jezail exploded.

"Not very bright are they?" Whitcomb mused as he gazed down upon the remains of the enemy forces, but even so he was rather more worried than he let on. Grabbing a collection of makeshift grenades he tipped their fuses into the burner and began to throw them down onto the brigands, the grenades drifted in graceful arches. Meanwhile Charles and Hasan also grabbed grenades and began to throw them down, though in this game Charles definitely had the advantage showing unusual accuracy and skill.

Alas the damage done was rather slight, Whitcombs grenades killed but two of the brigands, and Hasan's none, but Charles' was so fortunate or accurate in his throws that a full five brigands were slain and two wounded by his stunning ability to make the black powder filled bottles land just right. "Good throw lad," Whitcomb said and patted his back, noticing with approval the firm athletic body beneath and the staunch bearing showing that his physique was the result of ample training as well as natural aptitude.

Of course the real benefit of the grenades was only in part that it killed brigands, but rather pour encourager les autres it persuaded the rest of the filthy lot to keep their heads down. Alas this excellent idea had been executed too late, for as they peered up they noticed maybe a half a dozen holes in the Montgolfier, not enough to make them go down just yet but certainly enough to be of concern for the long run.

"Sir we may have a problem," Jeeves commented as he pointed to the far side of the valley.

At once Whitcomb realised what was happening, they were not rising high enough and now good advice was hard to come by, some people think that a Montgolfier cannot be steered but that is not strictly true; the winds in different altitudes turns in different directions, and by picking the right altitude you can thus somewhat control the direction of the balloon. Now they had to make a quick guesstimate as to which altitude was best for getting out of their immediate trouble, but at the same time wouldn't land them into even worse trouble further on.

After a few moments of studying the balloon, and doing other quick tests like loosing a couple of crossbow bolts trailing string far into the air, and then dropping a string tied to a rock down from the basket, Whitcomb computed the chances of succeeding. "We stick to our current altitude, that will take us out of the valley over there," he pointed at an opening between two hills.

"Yes Sir," Jeeves replied and began to carefully regulate the burner so as to keep the altitude.

Everyone aboard held their breath as the balloon approached the far end of the valley, with the brigands rushing after them far in the distance, Whitcomb watched them verily Damn the vile creatures he thought even as kept a keen eye on the approaching opening. If they were but thirty feet off to either side they would surely run into the side of the mountain with rather deleterious consequences, and would at best have to fend of a barbarian horde on the ground.

Fortunately everyone could draw a long breath of relief as the Montgolfier flew right in the middle of the opening and once more re-entered the mist. Hasan however frowned slightly, an unusual expression on his face, "Foregive me Sirs, but I'm not quite sure if I understand?" he said.

"Understand what Hasan?" Whitcomb asked in a more relaxed tone of voice.

Hasan seemed quite self-conscious as he looked at the powerful foreigner "Well Sirs, if there were nets and traps on that end of the valley, and the traps were made to catch ætherships that do not rely upon the wind, wouldn't there be some on THIS side..."

A most concerned expression appeared on Whitcombs' face, but that was nothing compared to the nervousity clear on the faces of their passengers who appeared quite perplexed at this possibility. Yet even before Hasan could complete his sentence there was a loud sound that Whitcomb recognised almost immediately "Oh b..." he was about to say something quite unsuitable but stopped himself instead gritting his teeth as the Montgolfier was once more trapped by a giant net that wrapped itself around the gasbag and the basket slowing forcing them to descent onto the ground.

Meanwhile in the distance Whitcomb was not sure but he somehow knew that the brigands were still rushing in their direction, and that this was most empathically not a good thing. Slowly the Montgolfier descended and the children began to cry in loud terrified tones.

Whitcomb however was not the sort to whine needlessly! He readied his SMLE and checked that a bullet was loaded, then he called out to Hasan "You've done this before, now you'll have to do it again!"

Hasan smiled eagerly and pulled out his large knife "Yes Sir, Hasan chop!" He called gladly.

Now oddly enough Jeeves cleared his throat "Ah yes Hasan, but I dare say not quite yet," he said quickly adding "After all the holes must be patched before the net is cut away, as the net is our only way of climbing across the balloon." Obviously this was a rouse to inform Whitcomb of this fact without seeming disrespectful.

Whitcomb however had a problem, like most men of his class he couldn't sew up a button, so now he raised an eyebrow and looked at Jeeves "How is your needlecraft Jeeves?"

"Rather poor I fear Sir," Jeeves replied, he too was feeling the gravity of the moment.

"Sir," Diana said looking at Whitcomb, "Lieutenant Whitcomb, I dare say that there is only one person aboard this balloon who can sew, and that person would be me."

"Yes but my dear," Whitcomb begun feeling a bit surprised, but also intrigued My you are a resourceful one.

"Diana! You can't be serious," her brother burst out "Why you'd have to climb up on that balloon and... why you could fall down."

Diana sighed, then she looked at Charles "There's no other way," she said sternly in the tone of voice of someone used to getting her way, then she turned back to Whitcomb.

"You couldn't climb in the skirt," Whitcomb said feeling a bit edgy, not sure if he wanted her to change into something more suitable with all that this entailed, or have her stay in the basket.

"I have," Diana hesitated a bit now before adding in a low voice "I am wearing trousers beneath my skirt, it has to do with our escape, I could remove my skirt and climb easily enough."

"It's too dangerous," Charles interjected.

Whitcomb felt a bit annoyed at the way the young lad kept interfering, and he gave him a raised eyebrow before speaking again "Miss, are you capable of this?"

"I've dared worse to make my escape," Diana said "Aside from that falling down would be a mercy compared to those wicked creatures!"

Whitcomb still hesitated but then nodded "I concur," then he added "You can no doubt use the string and the cloth we have here to patch things up."

Diana quickly assembled the materials, but before she removed her skirt she blushed "Please look away," she said and as the men did just that she removed her skirt revealing that she was wearing a pair of white trousers made from a coarse but solid material that still displayed her legs to a most elegant but almost obscene effect! For a delicately reared woman it was unbearably embarrassing to display her legs in such a fashion before a group of strangers, but her keen sense of duty pushed her past such concerns as she began her climb up the side of the Montgolfier.

In the distance they could hear the villains come closer, and Whitcomb grabbed his rifle "Jeeves you stay here with the children, Hasan and Charles you two come with me and help keep these creatures at bay least they poke a few more holes in our Montgolfier!"

As he left the basket Whitcomb chanced a discreet look up and felt his heart skip a beat as he saw Diana carefully mending the holes in the balloon, apparently oblivious to the effect she had on Whitcomb. He shook his head though and pushed her out of his mind, concentrating on the struggle against the brigands.

Moving forward they found a set of rocks some distance from the Montgolfier, and it was so fortuitously placed that the brigands would have no way around it and no way to flank them. In order to prevent quarrelling between Charles and Hasan Whitcomb gave them each one SMLE, while he himself would rely upon his revolvers and the grenades, plus of course a pair of blackpowder rifles that he acquired earlier.

After what seemed like an eternity the first brigands came charging up the valley screaming savage battle cries and waving various weapons in a menacing fashion. Something in their savage nature seemed to tell them that there was an enemy close by, and they were determined to indulge in every foul vice that their vile breed embodied.

"Hold" Whitcomb whispered as he himself lifted up one of the blackpowder rifles, he'd have only one shot with this and he wanted it to count so he took aim squarely at one of the biggest brigands that looked like some kind of leader wearing a barbarous gold necklace. Whitcomb waited and let them go closer and closer, and then sensing the nervousity of his two compansions he gently exhaled and squeezed the trigger.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOM

There is nothing quite like the sound that a blackpowder weapon makes, especially when you are right next to it, and for a moment Whitcomb felt like everything was in slow motion... whiffs of smoke lazily from the barrel of his rifle, and the brigand leader let out a hellish roar as he clutched the side of his enormous barrel chest. Then moments later every brigand with a firearm began to shoot, and small gouts of dust rose from the ground in front of and behind the adventurers, but they themselves were not without recourse and opened fire on the brigands taking a terrible toll on the wicked creatures.

T'was quite a glorious thing as the creatures roared and charged, only to be cut down by a blaze of fire. A loud growling mass, barbarically adorned with stolen clothes poorly fitted, often drenched in dried blood, fat and other things, but they were tough! They were foul and wicked, but by Jove they were a fine fighting breed!

Despite being shot at, and in a couple of cases despite being hit, a few of them got so close that Whitcomb could make out the scars and boils upon their skin, and their dirty yellowish teeth as they yelled with pleasure at the thought of digging their blades into the bodies of men! Four of them there were and they were trying to flank, but he moved forth and opened up with his .44s, now there's nothing like a .44 the kick is quite bad even in the modern models but for a trained fighter there's nothing to fear there. The heavy revolver rounds tore through the first two soldiers who crumbled down, the next two kept rushing forward one of them going down from another shot but the fourth, oh damn he got close!

Whitcomb cursed as he held his revolver straight, aiming right at the charging brigand, he was big, bigger than any man at maybe 6'4" and in a straight fight Whitcomb knew he'd be dead. However at three feets distance he fired, the bullet shattered the brigands skull, it was like hitting a melon with a machete except that the red goey material was brains and flesh rather than the squishy fruitflesh of the melon!

At this the rest of them were pulling away, but Whitcomb knew it was just a matter of time before they tried again. Immediately after their break he began to bury explosive charges in strategic locations, making sure that the brigands did not see him as he did so. He had few illusions about how effective this would be, but with luck it would slow them down enough to secure a proper retreat.

They did not have to wait over long before the brigands got reinforcements, and there were a lot more of them now, but instead of learning from their mistakes they seemed determined to overrun these foreigners by a sheer frontal assault!

"ALLAH AKBAR!" their leader roared as he waved a battle axe in one hand and held some kind of banner in the other, with a start they realise that the banner was a spear decorated with human skulls! The brigands fired their jezails a couple of times first though, and even loosed a swarm of arrows which clattered harmlessly around the defenders. Even from a distance the evil gleam in their eyes promised a quick but excruciatingly painful end to whomever they captured.

Whitcomb swallowed Those small skulls... he looked at his companions and decided against telling them who the smaller skulls would have belonged to.

Now the bandits came roaring up, like a dark unholy tidal wave, roaring battle cries and advancing towards the defenders. Immediately the bark of the SMLE's mixed with the roar of the attackers, and soon all across the charging lines obstacles appeared in the form of fallen brigands which the attackers had to leap over in order to continue their attack. The SMLE's barked over and over again, pausing only when Charles or Hasan had to reload, Hasan fumbling a bit as he worked to load the unfamiliar rifle.

Alas in the earliest moments of the battle as he was fumbling Hasan suddenly screamed and grabbed his shoulder a large crude looking arrow stuck out from it! Immediately Whitcomb grabbed his rifle and swung it up, reloeading it in a flash of an eye and then fired of ten rounds rounds with such speed that it almost sounded like one single drone and thus cutting down brigand after brigand, and in some cases the bullets would tear through and cut down the brigands standing behind in that densely packed horde. Yet they came on and on, like some unstoppable wave.

Then he threw the first couple of grenades, one of them exploded in the midst of the brigands wreaking untold havoc with the creatures, but one did not explode though it was in the midst of them, and now soon they would be swarmed by brigands!

Whitcomb took a deep breath as he loaded his rifle once more and then swung it up aiming it through the horde, trying to keep track of where the grenade was even through the throng of advancing brigands and then he pulled the trigger the CRAAAAAAACK of the SMLE was met a split second later by the shattering BOOOOOOOOOOM of the grenade exploding among the charging horde.

Even as the smoke from the first grenade began to disperse Whitcomb drew his revolvers, knowing that at these distances the increased rate of fire would count more than the accuracy from the rifle; he poured fire into the brigands who finally broke, the bravest of them, the ones pushing to the fore, were now dead and the rest where squatter more cowardly types who pulled back to wait for the rest of their filthy lot to come to aid them.

As he watched the aftermath Whitcomb remembered vaguely an old poem he once heard...

"The fight was over. All was still.
The bodies made a grisly hill.
Blood trickled from them, steaming, smoking..."

From the expression of his companions he realised that he had spoken it out loud, but before he could explain there was a sharp shrill whistle and the cry of "COOOOOOEEEEEEEEEEEEE" from the direction of the Montgolfier; Whitcomb recognised it at once, it was an old summons used most often in Pendleton.

Before the friends rushed back Whitcomb lit the slow fuses to the hidden explosives, and then they ran as fast as they could back to the Montgolfier. It was not very far, but between carrying the wounded Hasan between them, and Charles almost stumbling due to looking back, it was still a harrowing experience. Then the first of the explosions were heard behind them short fuse Whitcomb thought.

As they reached the Montgolfier they were stunned to see that it was already free of the net, Whitcomb pointed at the balloon only to see Jeeves indicate Diana.

"Hello Sir, as far as I could see I might as well cut away the net while I was at it," Diana said with a modest smile "It was a bit hairy when the Montgolfier lurched a tad, but I managed to hang on".

Whitcomb felt a bit woozy She's perfect he thought as he also noticed that she had already put her skirt back on, and now seemed every bit the virtuous maiden.

The intrepid trio now leapt into the basket and the last bits of ballast were thrown out even as Jeeves fired up the burner as much as he dared, and as the burner sent forth an almost white hot flame into the gas bag the Montgolfier shot up like a cork released from the bottom of a bath tub, upwards, upwards and onwards...

As he leaned back Whitcomb felt quite satisfied as the last explosions on the ground were mixed with the sound of orcish screams a foolish and wicked breed he thought as the Montgolfier began to carry them over the mountains and to safety.

A Montgolfier
Above the Al-Harrab Mountains
Azhistan
April 1005 NE

The Montgolfier, the gasbag consisting of long strips of colourful blue, white and green materials, rose lazily above the Al-Harrab mountains. In the woven wicker basket there lay eight people, our dear companions from the earlier part of the story. They were relaxing somewhat from the near escape from the barbarous brigands by the Merchant Prince's Palace; the men were talking quietly together while Diana was feeding the children with some canned food, it wasn't much just some corned beef that was cooked by holding the can over the burner, but to the children it was the first time in a very long time that they got familiar foods.

Hasan lay wounded, a tight bandage round his shoulder where the arrow had been; it had been Whitcomb that had extracted it. They had laid Hasan down upon his back, and then offered him some pear brandy which he cheerfully accepted. Whitcomb himself had held a pair of spoons near the fire of the burner, taking care not to get soot on it, and keeping it there till the blade nearly glowed. Then as the brandy and the loss of blood was making Hasan rather woozy they had acted, first exposing the wound fully; it had not bee a pretty sight, for there seemed to be some swelling, and each time he moved slight trickles of blood appeared but now the arrow had to be removed! Quickly he had cut the wound a bit, making Hasan bite down hard upon the double layer of leather in his mouth, and then Whitcomb had pushed the spoons in carefully wrapping them around the arrow head before struggling to pull it out.

Now however he had recovered somewhat, and was in the mood to lay back and speak of various things, indeed rather curious about the provenance of these peculiar strangers. Yet it was Whitcomb who first asked "So please do tell us Charles, how you and your party came into the possession, that is power," he quickly corrected himself "of this merchant prince?"

Charles felt a bit awkward, not sure why, but as they had nothing else to do he leaned back against the woven wicker of the basket and began to tell his tale...

"The Westleys were always a rich family in Gosford, indeed in the town we were from our wealth was almost proverbial, I don't say this to brag only to make it clear that we were firmly on the side of the establishment. Indeed if you looked at our family tree you might be surprised by the number of influential men that you'd find there, including my uncle Harold Westley who served in the Parliament of Gosford and was an influential man in the armaments committee there."

"I cannot speak for my sister but I believe she'd agree with me that our childhood was a happy one, spent in the Gosford countryside, indeed I can still remember the green fields of my childhood days and roaming freely across the family estate; fishing in the river that ran through it, or even playing at catching frogs even though our governess always told me it was not a fit occupation for a young Gentleman."

"You shouldn't think that our estate was one of those that stretched for mile after mile, for it wasn't, rather it was an effort on my fathers side to gain some long desired respectability by being a land owner. I fear it was only partially successful, but our family named saved us from being branded as social mushrooms sticking their heads were they are not wanted."

"However war clouds were rising, and we soon realised that Ohmshire was extending its dark and evil hand, for they are a malicious force determined to bring the yoke to all people on their world! To prevent this many gave their support to the governments re-armament efforts, but even so when war came it was devastating. Ohmshire moved forward as a behemoth, and we could do nothing other than try to send warm bodies against them."

Charles now hesitated a bit, then he blushed before admitting "Our family supported the oligarchy that pushed itself to the fore during the war, I forget what trumped up title it granted itself but it was nothing more than a desperate effort to keep the war going. Many of my relatives died desperately leading the defence of our nation, that's what makes the next part so hard..."

"There was a revolution, perhaps you've heard of it?" as the others shook their heads Charles continued "A communist revolution, they arrested the Oligarchs and instituted communism... of course many of my relatives were accused of being all kinds of beastly people, and worse of all accused of using their position to avoid service when many of them had still not recovered from the wounds they gained in service of our nation!"

Here he stopped trying not to break into tears "We hid, the security service was good at the top but the men on the ground were fools, but we knew they'd get us sooner or later, and then... who knows? So we decided to flee, t'was not easy but using our contacts and having some luck, or so we thought, we managed to get aboard a ship taking us away."

"The captains name was Abdul al-Azeem Ibn-Refik, we knew him well for our family had often done business with him during the war, when Rum and Gosford were allies against Ohmshire. We thought we could trust him, he was perhaps a foreigner but otherwise a decent enough sort, we thought everything was fine..." Charles had to fight not to break into tears now "We were so wrong, so stupid, and to think that we begged and pleaded with friends and family to join us now before it was too late and the borders were closed."

Charles now took a break, clearly overwhelmed by emotion, sensing this his sister Diana came over but she didn't go too near, not wanting to shame him by making it look like he needed to be fuzzed over instead she just stood by quietly.

"At first all seemed well, we were invited aboard, but oddly enough not given anything to eat, that should have warned us... and then as they took off we were separated into smaller groups, always with a clever excuse why we should agree, but then... then we realised we were prisoners." A single tear rolled down Charles' cheek as he almost whispered "They killed my father, I know, threw him into the æther for he was too weak to be sold, and they looted us of all our belongings; when we begged and pleaded we were beaten, and the Captain laughed as he told us 'You are infidels, you are like wild cattle, if a man sees you walking down the street he can take you and claim you and sell you in the market!'"

"That is exactly what he did, I am not sure what happened to the others, but ... a small group of us were sold to the man you call the Merchant Prince, I shan't dignify him by uttering his real name and I pray he burns in hell!" Charles said with real anger and bitterness "The rest were separated from us, and I know not what foul designs he had on us, or on... I know he had wicked lusts and planned..." Obviously speaking of this was too hard and he stopped.

"Do not be worried for me," Diana spoke out, half to herself "I played sick, I claimed the womans curse, and I used every artifice I had, and so in that fashion I preserved my honour," she stopped there clearly unable to speak more of it, but also unable to let the moment go by without formally confirming that she had preserve her most precious virtue and womanly treasure.

Whitcomb however was impressed for another reason I knew it, truly a brilliant one for with such beauty only someone truly excellent could avoid violation for even a day, not to mention for months. Yet he looked at Charles and commented "I am glad to hear Charles that you managed to preserve yourself thus, but pray go on."

Charles nodded, then he continued his tale "It's true, it was a nightmare but though my strength could not protect here in anyway whatsoever, and that was near unbearable; my sister outwitted our captors for quite some time, and otherwise we managed to gain some confidence and privilege from them. The man who owned the palace was not worried about escapes, for after all where should we go? SO in that fashion we were allowed access to some limited part of his estate."

"It is important that you know that he was more in the market of exporting slaves to different parts of Azhistan, or even to Rum, rather than importing them, indeed we were quite rare and purchased as a special prize rather than for business, but even so..." he stopped himself again.

"They sold two of you?" Whitcomb asked quietly "A boy and a girl?"

"Yes but how?" Charles lurched up, a look of surprise on his face "How did you know Sir?"

"We found them 'pon the marketplace in the city of Ghazni," Whitcomb began "Seeing as how the pederasts were bidding for the boy I pitied them and purchased them for pity's sake, and then found them to be English speakers, thus I began to inquire and learned of the Merchant Prince and his unusual merchandise."

"Lord be praised," Diana burst out, tears down her face "Oh thank you God, they are safe," Charles rushed over to her and embraced her even as she continued to sob now unintelligible words giving thanks to God and also praying for forgiveness. She seemed quite overpowered with emotion, but as she wept the two children came and embraced her too and seeing their protectress in tears they too began to cry. All of them huddled together, the young man with his arms around his sister, both of them blonde and pure, their eyes blue and filled with emotion, and the two youngsters embracing them too; it was a moment of great beauty and tranquility.

Finally after the longest time they broke off, and Charles seemed quite embarrassed by this display of rather soggy emotion, but Diana now spoke up half whispering in a tear strained voice "T'was my fault, to some degree, that they were sold, and I feel to blame for their abuse since then."

"No please sister, no, it's not your fault," Charles pleaded "You were only defending your virtue, that this fiend would act thus because of it is not your fault!" He sounded vehement and sincere, but his words could not penetrate Diana's grief and sorrow, but she did brighten somewhat as he said "They are safe now, safe and sound, as we will be!"

After some time he could finally continue his story "Diana used her cunning, and we all helped collaborate, that she was sick or indisposed, or sometimes we helped her hide, for the lecherous man wanted... you know what lechers want; but fortunately he had his own heathen Harem to keep his satisfied for the most part."

"One day though he took a young boy to his room, he was such a cheerful young boy, but he never smiled again after being taken, and we were shocked that such evil was possible! Never had we imagined it, but he took joy in our suffering, he laughed at us saying we should get used to it and that ..." here there was something Charles would not say, but Whitcomb could imagine it "At any rate we were filled with dread."

"The worst was yet to come though, for one day the boy and his sister were taken from us and transported to a market, and he announced he was tired of our tricks, and that night Diana, my sister, Miss Westley, said that he was growing impatient and she could not hold him at bay much longer, and so we did what we planned," Charles half smiled a bit at this but seemingly very ashamed "Diana claimed a womans infirmity, and was forced to submit to examination by an old crone who confirmed it was indeed so, by sheer chance we gained three more days. Yet we had no more time to lose."

Diana gave him a scathing glance, clearly not comfortable with so many details revealed, but she kept quiet and tended the children, shushing them from time to time when they asked things like "What is a womans infirmity?"

"We had used fruits and sugar to brew a potent drink, rich in alcohol, and pretending to be frightened we offered this to a pair of the guards, one of whom carried a big key ring about; we pretended to be frighted and in need of advice, and even to be willing to accept their bas..." seeing Hasan Charles quickly amended it to "Faith, and being thus flattered they drank heavily and offered advice, and made rude advances towards the boys and women."

"After they passed out we killed them, so that there would be no turning back, and stealing their keys and swords we stole down into the dungeon where we surprised the two guards and slew them too; you should know that there were two more lads among us then and not just me, and also a girl named Linda Hayes of maybe fourteen. Thus we found the dungeon and began to free the slaves therein..."

"They were not good people, degenerates and criminals, the worst scum and outcasts from their tribes taken prisoner and sold into slavery 'cause none would lift a finger in their defence; foul and swarthy a breed and as filthy a race as ever walked upon the Earth, but in despair we turned to them for with their numbers we might triumph."

"At first this scheme did not go too badly, for they rushed forth seeking out their captives, and we followed, but as they poured out into the courts taking all by surprise they suddenly realised that we were foreigners! Why they had not seen so at once I cannot tell, except that maybe mercy or fate clouded their glance, but at once they fell upon Linda Hayes and tore apart her clothing and started to... violate her most foully; one of the lads Ben Smith rushed at them and they slew him at once and now the rest charged at us."

"We fought as best as we could with stolen weapons, and seeing only one way to escape we rushed towards the minaret, ushering the children and my sister ahead, but Thomas Hail was fatally wounded and died the moment we shuttered close the door... Now you know the rest of our tale, for you rescued us from the trap."

"What happened to Linda Hayes?" Whitcomb asked, but he thought he knew the answer.

Charles shuddered "They mocked us by showing us her head, I think she... died because of..." he looked at Diana who was pretending very hard not to hear what was said and everyone stopped talking about it then.

"I say," Whitcomb said firmly "It's a pity that we did not have the means to finish the whole filthy lot! Certainly I feel no remorse for having rid the world of a few dozen of them, no more so than if I gunned down a dozen tigers, they are both pests of the sort that the worlds all have far too many of as it is!"

The balloon continued its drift across the mountains of Azhistan, and Whitcomb pondered what to do next, gazing upon Diana he saw her busy tending to the needs of others as always and a little smile crossed his lips If for nothing else you'd make this all worthwhile he thought to himself as his thoughts now began to resolve around the pick up.

The subject now changed to a light discourse on their respective nations, and Whitcomb regaled them with tales of Pendleton and her brave soldiers fighting against the wicked foreigners; that and of course detailing the Republican form of government and proclaiming it the finest and noblest government known to man. Of course he also told them of the splendid nature, the large vibrant cities and other aspects of the culture and civilization of the Free Republic.

Having heard this Charles said "Perhaps this is where we should go?"

Even Diana now nodded, then she smiled a little and seeming very relieved she spoke "I think I would like that very much, it sounds almost like home, and far better than any of the choices we had when we first set out," she said it mainly to Charles but everyone else seemed to agree.

Whitcomb himself seemed quite pleased "I am quite certain that you will like my homeworld," he said, and then looking at Diana he added "Miss Westley rest assured that I will do my utmost to ensure that you arrive safe and sound in Pendleton."

Diana smiled beatifically "You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that Sir," she said feeling safe and secure for the first time in a very long period of time.

Whitcomb now turned serious "There is one important thing though, before we are picked up, as you may well know," he said "The Azhistani are violently aggressive to foreigners, indeed ... indeed they might very well kill you unless we take precautions," he placed a hand on his chest and continued "As I can go for a Rumish gentleman if need be, and indeed know how a Musselman should act I believe it best if you would act as my slaves when we land, so as to shield you from the dangers that might normally be your due."

Charles fidgeted and seemed uncomfortable, and looked at Diana, she was the one that finally half whispered "Yes I suppose we can hardly pass as natives, but she looked to Charles to make the decision."

"I suppose Sir," Charles aid feeling very much like the man on the spot "That we will defer to your judgement, after all we cannot pass for natives and I'd rather not make an escape only to be cut down at the hour of our deliverance."

"Delighted to hear that," Whitcomb replied "Do not worry it should not be too onerous, 's long as you keep up the act till we can bustle you to safety." Well that solves that problem nicely Whitcomb thought as he looked up at the pale blue sky and the clouds that accompanied the Montgolfier Indeed everything according to plan...

OOC: This post is a bit short and dull since I was rather busy today, and of course this is exposition to a great degree, but the next post will be more extensive.

Allan and Co. deserved to become dinner for being too arrogant to learn how to sew.

But then again, I always maintained that the Pendletonians were civilized barbarians, so I am proven right once again.

Have a very nice day.
-fgalkin

A Montgolfier
Plains of Azhistan
Azhistan
April 1005 NE

The Montgolfier drifted lazily over the Azhistani plains, they had gotten out of the mountains maybe an hour or two ago and now the party peered across the vast plain, but however large it was it reminded them of a giant bowl or plate with hide sides and the mountains then were the sides hemming in a plain large enough to hold an entire country. In the far distance they could see small clouds of dust rising from the plains, and in their binoculars they could see small groups of horsemen making the dust rise from the dry plains; barbaric horsemen with fur hats, tulwars and enormous beards that were only exceeded by their legendary temper and passion.

In such company it didn't seem prudent to be too eager to seek to land, but on the other hand they needed to conserve fuel for the burner, still they did not see much hope of arranging this before suddenly a fortuitous event occurred! They discovered themselves drifting towards a hill rising up from the plains, at once Whitcomb leapt up and asked "I say Jeeves can you land on that one?"

Jeeves looked at it and gauged the winds "Yes Sir I believe I can."

Whitcomb nodded satisfied, then looking at his other passengers he said "We will do so," then seeing the worried looks of Diana and Charles he added "The hill is good place to wait for our pickup, it would give us a good view of the surrounding terrain as well." Normally he wouldn't have bothered to explain, but a good officer knows when people he is responsible for need to be told what to do and when they also need to know why they're doing it.

Slowly they began to descent onto the hill there were no sign of villages or any people, a good sign of course. As they descended they noticed that the hill was not entirely barren, indeed nearby there was a small copse a rare sight in this part of the world. Yet the winds were not entirely favourable, they now realised that they would not be able to land directly upon the hill from where they were at.

As they descended further Whitcomb made up his mind "Take us all the way down Jeeves, and then... I'll need your help Charles."

Charles perked up at once "Yes Sir!" He called, then immediately after "What should I do?"

"We will need to land, grab a set of ropes and pull the Montgolfier into position so we can get on top of that hill. I don't want to land it down on the ground, especially if we need to get away in a hurry," Whitcomb explained before he scanned the entire horizon carefully with his binoculars to ensure they wouldn't get any unwelcome visitors while they were down.

Diana approached Whitcomb before she asked "Perhaps I could control the burner Sir?" She then quickly added "I only mean that three men can do more work than two Sir," a blush on her cheeks as she seemed quite embarrassed about being so pushy.

Whitcomb seemed a bit surprised, but then he looked to Jeeves "What do you think Jeeves?" he said casually "Do you think you can quickly teach her how to keep this thing level while we start pulling that rope?"

"Indeed Sir I do, it is not terribly difficult to do for a short period of time," Jeeves replied. Thus as they descended towards the ground Jeeves demonstrated to Diana how to feed the burner of the Montgolfier, but also how to let out excess hot air if this should be necessary.

Thus the arrived when the Montgolfier had descended enough the three men disembarked, leaping out and onto the ground before grabbing a hold of the stout rope. While Diana remained onboard keeping a keen eye on the burner, and also looking nervously to the horizon as her mind filled with visions of brute barbarous riders but such thoughts never distracted her from her chore.

On the ground it was now quite the struggle to pull the Montgolfier in the right direction, for even in slight winds it wanted to go with the wind and not in any other direction. Yet the three men, all of them stout and healthy, dug their heels into the ground and pulled as one slowly moving the stubborn airbag where they wanted it. It was of course tiresome work, and soon they all perspired heavily as their undergarments stuck in unnatural ways to their lean bodies as they stretched their muscles and dug their heels into the dry and unyielding soil, and every moment giving thanks for their gloves without which their hands would now be worn raw by the thick rough rope.

Thus they persevered, step by step, yard by yard, they brought the mighty Montgolfier into the proper position, with a safety margin too, where the wind would catch it just so and bring it onto the hill.

"Take her down!" Whitcomb shouted, at once Diana pulled the cord that released the hot air from the air bag, slowly slowly the ponderous vessel descended to the ground and the basket scraped against the ground before the men threw the ropes back and climbed aboard.

Jeeves at once returned to the burner, bringing it to full blast, while Whitcomb was busily throwing out ballast, making the Montgolfier rise up like a beach ball kept under water and then suddenly released. Whitcomb was carefully observing the approaching hill, taking a relieved breath as he realised that this time they would manage to land perfectly on top of it.

Diana kneeled next to her brother who had slumped down after his long hard pull, beads of sweat ran down his brow, and his moist shirt clung to his chest revealing a surprisingly athletic frame for a young lad but one fit for the pride of Christian manhood. Diana gently applied a wet towel to his forehead wiping away the sweat and cooling him, gently and loving in a sisterly way attending to her brother.

How sweet Whitcomb thought as he watched the two siblings Together or apart they'd be precious such innocent sibling affection even in the face of adversity and enormous danger, it definitely had its appeal. Now however he had to be ready to land the Montgolfier on the hill, and then take such steps as were necessary to ensure that the shuttle would find them.

A Montgolfier
Unknown Hill
Azhistan
April 1005 NE

The landing on top of the hill was a bit bumpy, the winds were stronger here so the Montgolfier had good speed, but by the simple expedience of throwing out the anchors they slowed it enough to make a safe landing. Even so the landing sent stones skidding across the bare surface of the hill, and long drag marks were left behind in what little dust and gravel there was on top of it.

The moment they were on top of the hill they once more leapt out and looked about, first of course they had to find more ballast to help weigh the balloon down so that they could keep the burner going and thus be ready for a rapid escape if that should be necessary. At first they only found some fair sized rocks and some shrubs, enough for ballast and perhaps to create a fireplace. The children in particular liked to be out and about stretching their legs after the long journey, or going behind a rock on an errand of nature.

Thus it was one of the boys that gave a cry of "Look here!" Diana rushed over to see what was wrong and she was amazed at what she saw, namely a footpath going down the side of the hill, obscure now but even hard to see and worn she could easily spot where some ancient stonecutter had improved the path carving steps in the stone at particularly difficult spots!

She then grabbed the boy and pulled him away from the stairway, worried that there might be people below. "Mr Whitcomb," she called out as she hurried back "I think there is something you should know about."

Whitcomb was at first a bit sceptical, and not too eager to leave the basket, but upon hearing about the footpath he followed her to it and studied the path for quite some time. Finally he decided "I say quite a splendid discovery," he said as he looked at Diana.

Diana fidgeted a little "Well it was really Robert who found it Sir," she said not wanting to steal the boys credit away from him.

"Well good for him then," Whitcomb said, then he walked about ten feet down the path and looked around the first corner, he stood there for a while before returning "I think this calls for some exploration work," he said.

A Montgolfier
Bameiyan
Azhistan
April 1005 NE

Whitcomb and Charles walked slowly down the footpath, at first Diana had wanted to come along but she had been told to remain behind as it could be quite dangerous. Instead Whitcomb asked young Charles to follow him, and the youth was quite flattered by this trust and readily agreed to come along. Both of them carried a rifle, and brought with them a few other items including a sturdy lantern in case there might be caves or crevices that they should need to send some light into.

The walk down was not without peril, despite the steps carved into the rocks, for in many places the steps had been worn down, or thick layers of dust and gravel might slide away to take away your footing. Yet they had no problems descending further and further down the hill, yet both of them would often stop due to what became more and more visible as they descended.

Carved into the side of the hill were niches, many of whom containing statues of diverse individuals often surmounted by halos; the statues were old and weatherworn but still possessed of a certain majesty. It was however not before they had almost reached the end of the path before they both stopped for a while out of sheer awe.

In the hillside before them were several large niches, containing equally large statues within, all of them surmounted by halos and with expressions of the utmost piety on their brownish grey stone faces. The cast of features on their face was quite different from that of the Azhistani, resembling westerners far more than easterners. Whitcomb and Charles both however knew what this portrayed "Saints... by Jove good Christian saints!"

Yet the moment of greatest awe was two enormous carved niches, of a size that beggared the imagination stretching respectively 170 and 120 feet up, an estimate that admittedly they only made hours later after they had time to do some light geometric calculations (Pythagoras theorem to be precise). These awesome statues were of Our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ and of the Ever Virgin Mary the Queen of Heaven holding the Christ Child, like many of the statues they were somewhat damaged apparently by cannon-shot but their sheer size seemed to have spared them from destruction.

As they descended yet further the sheer scale of the site became clear to them, hurrying onwards they went inside one of the smaller niches, the statue inside had been disfigured with its head cut off, though they would guess it had once been a statue of St John the Baptist. Inside the walls of the niche were covered the stucco and upon this there were several magnificent paintings, most all of them had their eyes and faces chipped away, but many of the paintings still depicted recognisable scenes from the gospels. Others however seemed most Christian, but at the same time depicting scenes and saints unknown to both Charles and Whitcomb.

"I say," Charles said touching the painting "What is this Sir?" he was indicating some kind of strange writing that seemed prominent in the room.

Moving closer Whitcomb peered at the writing, "It is not Arabic or Turkic, and looks not like any Azhistani script... it resembles the Roman script, except that many letters seem backwards or," he sighed "Either a code or some unknown alphabet, it looks a bit like the Greek alphabet but not quite," he finally conceded.

"So there were Christians here once," Charles said awed by this realisation "I do so wonder what could have happened to them?"

There was a wry smile around Whitcombs lips as he looked at Charles "I dare say young man that they got the destiny that you and yours would have gotten if not for us, enslaved or put to the sword..." he motioned towards the paintings "The Mohammedans are not exactly known for their tolerance and charity."

Charles shivered a bit at the thought of such an unkind fate, even though he quickly suppressed it for being unmanly and seeming timid, then he looked at Whitcomb again "Think there are any natives here?"

Whitcomb shrugged a bit "I don't know, but if there are they don't seem to spend much time up here, which makes sense," he mused as he began towards the exit "After all there's not much here that's of much interest, but if there were natives one might think they would have turned this defensive position to some good use and since they haven't I am inclined to think that there aren't any."

Following quickly behind him Charles looked around dreaming of a time when this landscape had been the last refuge of a civilization of Christians that had been overcome by the proud and courageous yet savage people that now occupied this untamed land.

Suddenly though from the top of the hill they heard a series of gunshots, and a loud piercing scream that sounded as if it might come from the children! At once Whitcomb chambered a bullet into his rifle and rushed forward, Charles having his loved ones in mind was not slow to follow and without a word the two of them ran effortlessly up the footpath so fast that anyone watching would be astounded!

As they rushed up to the top of the hill they saw an astounding sight, Jeeves stood there with a pair of revolvers, and Hasan shouldering a rifle despite his injuries, both of them surrounded by a small cloud of gunsmoke. The two boys peered up from inside the basket of the Montgolfier, their eyes round and terrified, but of the two girls there was not a single sign. Yet their destiny might be guessed at without trouble for upon the ground there lay half a dozen bodies, half naked and dirty brown with wild jagged hair.

Rushing forward Whitcomb shouted out "Jeeves what transpired here?" as he kept his rifle at the read least more of these creatures might suddenly leap out of the ground to do more mischief.

"Sir, these creatures suddenly scurried over the side of the hill while young Diana and Sandra went out on an errand of nature, I darest not shoot in their direction least I hit them, but I struck down the rest of the filthy lot as they charged towards us, but they carried off the two women!" Jeeves said with obvious distress in his voice.

Charles seemed dumbstruck by this horrid news, and the thought of his sister in the hands of these foul creatures, who knew what wickedness they would desire from her? "Sir, we must rescue her at once!" he begged turning towards the cliff side right away.

"You are right Charles," Whitcomb replied "Yet it is I and Jeeves who must go, and you to remain here with the children to protect them from further assault."

"But Sir it is my sister, I must go!" Charles begged.

Whitcomb grabbed him firmly by the shoulders and looked into his eyes "Listen Charles I am a military officer and Jeeves was my orderly, and we know each others ways and manners so we work best together, Hasan is hurt so one adult must remain, and that is you!" His tone was not angry, but very firm and his glance showed Charles that there would be no pardon or exception from this order.

"Very well Sir," Charles said "I shall tarry and guard the children, but pray please rescue her!"

"I promised I would get her to Pendleton," Whitcomb said "I assure you I do not intend to break my word, and what more I shan't let a Christian maiden into the hands of such wretches as these!"

At this he walked over to the creatures, finding them excessively foul they had long finger nails that had degenerated almost to claws, their eyes were red or pink, and their hair coarse like the fur of some beast. Indeed it seemed that they had degenerated back to some pre-modern savage stage, and then as he examined them further he saw that they had rubbed themselves with mud; scraping away at the mud he found their skin to be entirely white!

"What is this," he muttered "A race of troglodytes?" For a brief examination did indeed reveal the sign of a breed not fit for the sun, and in his heart he realised that this was why no native was near this place; indeed why there had been no visible habitation.

It was then that Hasan cried out "Ai ai! Woe! For I now know where we are!" he cried out upon hearing Charles' tale of caverns dug into the hills, there was upon Hasan's face an expression of disgust and some fear as he told "This must be the Cursed City of Ghulgulah, whom I thought to be a legend, herein a foul race is supposed to reside cursed by Allah for their sinful ways, their pride and their refusal to accept the Prophet Mohammed!"

Upon hearing this Whitcomb set his jaw "By Jove and to think that we chose this place for its safety! Yet he who guides our Fate has set our path, and as men we must do what men do best!"

"Standing firm in adversity Sir?" Charles asked curiously, wondering what words of wisdom he might hear.

"No Charles," Whitcomb said as he topped up the rifle "I mean slaying every cursed savage that stands in our way!"

While he was doing this Jeeves appeared carrying a set of stout ropes "If we should seek to take these creatures Sir we must climb," he explained politely.

"Yes let us go Jeeves," Whitcomb said, and then they prepared themselves taking their revolvers and a single rifle, leaving the other with Charles, and also they brought with them a pair of lanterns and blackpowder bombs. Having thus prepared themselves Whitcomb lamented only of one thing "We should have shotguns for this work," but aside from that they were as prepared as they could be.

Then they ties the ropes around a large rock and rappelled themselves down the side of the hill. Suddenly without warning a series of caves unseen from above appeared, and in the mouth of these caves there stood a guardian who began to howl out loud in a guttural tongue when they saw the strangers approach. They bared their teeth and yelled, yet seemed almost blind in the limited light that flowed into their caves.

Whitcomb pushed out very hard in front of one of the caves and then swung inwards into the cave on his return, he swept out his hand and grabbed the albino beast in the opening by the hair throwing it out! It vanished down the side of the hill with an unholy scream which was finally ended as the creature hit the ground with a loud and sickly THUMP.

Inside the cave he was greeted by pair of screaming troglodytes, one of them rushed towards him with the obvious intent of doing him great harm so Whitcomb flung up his rifle and shot the creature straight in the head spreading a fine mist of blood in the air. The second companion creature was clearly too dense to take the warning and continued its charge, rather than reload and waste a bullet Whitcomb swung the rifle like a club and smashed its head with a single blow from the stock.

Yet studying this first cave, obviously carved into the hills by a race of far greater quality than this miserable lot, he found no evidence that Diana had been brought this way. He did however find much evidence of slow degeneracy as the only sign of furniture was such that was carved into the rock itself, that and a few scattered remains of rotted wood that might one day have been a table or a chair.

Jeeves however had gone into a different cave, rather than risk the bolder action of his master he has simply pulled out his revolver and fired it twice, both times hitting the target and sending the cave guardians falling to their doom. Then he entered the cave only to find himself suddenly facing six of the creatures who all charged at him howling in a most god awful fashion!

Three times his revolver fired, slaying or mortally wounding three of them in short succession, and then just as the other three came at him with murder in their eyes Jeeves simply grabbed the rope and pulled away from the cave much to the anger of the troglodytes who at once rushed out from the cave and tried to climb towards Jeeves' rope. Their athletic efforts, admittedly most impressive, were only rewarded by three short barks from Jeeves' second revolver, sending them all tumbling and howling to the same doom as the fellow that Whitcomb had thrown out.

As he explored the cave he found that it was much as Whitcomb had found his cave, but to his great surprise and delight he spotted a handkerchief cunningly wedged into a crack in one of the walls! "COOOEEEE!" He cried at the top of his voice, and but a minute later he was joined by his master.

"I say clever girl," Whitcomb said as he grabbed the handkerchief "Leaving a trail of breadcrumbs!" At that precise moment he heard a distant but heart rendering cry for help, the two men exchanged glances and then rushed into the darkness of the caves.

Twas not easy to find their way through the caves, but as luck would have it this was not the senseless winding caves made by nature, but rather the straight angled ones carved by men. Thus there was an order to be found, and fortunately also enough room to move in, in many places though they found the signs of a Christian presence with the remains of icons painted on the walls, and the occasional cross too but unlike the common cross he was used to this one had a crooked cross beam beneath the main one.

Despite the ordered nature it was still difficult to find the way, and the screams echoed through the caves forcing them to look every which way; but as luck would have it they would on occasion find a coin or a piece of clothing or some trinket left behind by Diana and so they managed to hurry towards their destination.

As they reached what had to be the place where Diana was being held they encountered a pair of double wooden doors bound with great brass hinges, once upon a time they must have been impressive and most powerful. Now however he gave them a mighty kick with his boot and the lock was smashed and the door sent wide open revealing to them the scene within!

It was a scene fit to rouse the blood of any good Christian man for clearly this place had once been a Church, though there was no sign of pews, everywhere around them were defaced holy images, and in the far reach of the Church behind the altar lay the remnants of a giant crucifix. Yet rather than being filled with worshippers the church hall was filled with a gibbering multitude of albino monstrosities howling and dancing around near the altar.

Upon the altar lay the two females, Diana and Sandra like some offering in an obscene rite to a dark god! They had been tied down brutally with crude ropes improvised from their own garments, and they were already in advanced stages of undress having had most of their garments torn away or shredded into pieces. Indeed Diana was all but naked from the waist up, and the chieftain, for so he seemed as he stood behind the altar like a blasphemous parody of a chieftain, was tearing at those undergarments hiding a womans most private parts. Seeing that the chieftain was in a highly priapic state there was little doubt as to what wicked purpose he had in mind when he ordered his savage minions to abduct these beauties.

With a foul curse on his lips Whitcomb whipped up his rifle, and with flawless aim shot at the chieftain, the bullet slammed home exactly where he aimed rousing a horrendous scream of pain from the chieftain! His previously erect manhood had been torn clean off by a good Pendletonian bullet, permanently ending his foul designs, and spraying his ignoble blood all over his foul followers as he clutched the shredded remains of his manhood trying to staunch the flow of blood.

Now the foul gibbering horde howled in fury as they tried to rush the two Pendletonians, after firing a single more rifle round through the horde, Whitcomb and Jeeves both opened fire with their revolvers while moving as one away from the door. This tactic was of course simple, even a rat will fight if there is no way out so give them a way out, and as they poured fire into the charging horde the evil will that is found in savages soon evaporated and they rushed madly for the exit screaming and gibbering all the while.

As Whitcomb rushed towards them Diana took a deep heaving breath in relief, her chest rising, and then a blush spread across her cheeks as she realised what an immodest spectacle she had to make displayed thus! She squirmed helplessly in her bonds in a futile effort to cover herself up, despite knowing that she had been rescued. "Oh God be praised!" Diana cried, her voice slightly cracked from her cries and screaming, now there were tears of joy that rolled down her angelic face.

With a swift motion of his blade Whitcomb cut their bonds, at once Diana's arm went up to cover her bosom, the most decorative blush remaining on her face as she quickly used her other hand to arrange Sandra's clothes to be somewhat more modest. The young woman sniffed and cried a bit, too young to truly understand what horrid fate had been in store for them if not rescued, but very pleased that the screaming creatures were gone.

Now they had to get out of these accursed caves, where gibbering creatures abounded, and in these narrow corridors the rifle was useless and as such was slung over the back and they advanced with revolvers ready. As they rushed through the moist cold tunnels they were amazed to see only a handful of the creatures which soon scurried away after a couple of gunshots. Indeed they reached the exit without any further ado, but that is when they faced a rude surprise!

Hanging on each rope was a dozen or so of the creatures, screaming and howling and clawing and chewing at the rope, though their efforts had so far done little damage this could not be good! Then behind them they heard the howling and gibbering of countless more creatures behind them!

At once Whitcomb cried "Jeeves cover my back!" While he aimed his rifle and began to pick off the topmost savages upon the ropes, and fortunately the rest of the filthy lot soon got the message and scurried away hanging on to the rock ledges instead.

Looking at the two women Whitcomb asked "Can either of you climb a rope?" Diana nodded her assent, but Sandra shook her head and looked back with terror in her eyes. "I see," Whitcomb said and turning to Jeeves he quickly ordered "Jeeves you will have to carry her and climb first, then you Miss Diana, and I will take the rare just in case they tried some devilry!"

Then realising Diana's predicament he removed his jacket and offered it to her "Here take this," her expression of undiluted gratitude made his heart beat a tad faster.

"Thank you Sir," Diana said before turning around revealing her fine alabaster back as she put on his somewhat oversized jacket.

After this there was no more time though, and as Sandra clung desperately onto Jeeves' back the stout orderly began his climb upwards quickly followed by Diana who gingerly grabbed onto the rope before starting to climb upwards with the same agility she had shown when repairing the Montgolfier.

Even as Whitcomb leapt onto the rope he could hear that the gibbering hordes were drawing nearer, and he urged his followers "Quick now! Quick!" and they desperately began to climb.

Alas poor Diana, though she did not quite realise it the loose jacket and her jagged clothing otherwise meant that despite her bashfulness she still presented quite an immodest though not unpleasing sight for anyone directly beneath her. Despite this she was not overly worried since she was quite certain that a gentleman, like Whitcomb, would never take advantage of such an opportunity.

Whitcombs attention was of course mainly towards the bottom of the rope, where as they climbed more and more of the savages would grasp, and with the rope swinging it was quite difficult to hit them with the revolvers. Also he desired to conserve ammunition, so each time one of them came to close he would slam down with his boot, occasionally they would try to bite or claw at the boot but it was good sturdy leather and their teeth could not hurt it. His kicks however were gratifyingly effective against their faces.

However as they climbed more and more troglodytes grabbed the ropes and began to follow, furthermore more of them were rushing towards the top on the second rope. Gritting his teeth Whitcomb pulled first one revolver and fire repeatedly at the second rope, but his bullets bounced harmlessly off the cliff face; a low prayer on his breath he tried once more emptying his second revolver at the rope knowing full well that if he missed there'd be no chance of reloading here.

No doubt his piety was rewarded as two bullets struck firm, not enough to sever the rope by itself but with the weight of the savages strand after strand began to loosen until only one tiny strand remained... then it shattered too and the whole unholy pack of them were sent careening into the abyss.

Seeing this Whitcomb let out a laugh and pulled his dagger and began to cut the rope directly beneath him, first warning his companions, within moments the rope shuddered as that directly beneath him was cut but with this the second bunch of savages went down forcing the rest to rely on their rock climbing skills. Even though they were prodigious the party still reached the top before the savages and then as Diana pushed onto the top Whitcomb followed yelling "Lets go! Lets go!" all of them running towards the Montgolfier with an army of inbred troglodytes on their heels!

Leaping into the Montgolfier they threw out the ballast and recovered the anchors just in time for the first wave of Troglodytes to climb on top of the hill; a few rounds held them at bay till the Montgolfier was so high that all the creatures could do was curse and throw rocks at the party.

Inbred Christian troglodytes ahoy!

Have a very nice day.
-fgalkin

fgalkin wrote:Inbred Christian troglodytes ahoy!

Have a very nice day.
-fgalkin

First off, you were warned about the topics. Second, this is a role playing game series....Based off a nation norse plays for Lords of Ether.

Any more remarks?

Zerg Goddess wrote:

fgalkin wrote:Inbred Christian troglodytes ahoy!

Have a very nice day.
-fgalkin

First off, you were warned about the topics. Second, this is a role playing game series....Based off a nation norse plays for Lords of Ether.

Any more remarks?

Why thank you, Mr. Wannabe moderator, for telling me that I was warned (of what? not to comment on a friend's fanfic?) And yes, I'm aware of what LoE is ...what's your point?

Have a very nice day.
-fgalkin

Personally, I enjoy the Pulp feel of the story. Even the Proper British Arrogance. The fallen Christians didn't bother me, it was very Wellsian Morlock.

Man, I love the part where he castrates the barbarian with a pistol shot! That was a classic move!

A Montgolfier
Plains of Azhistan
Azhistan
April 1005 NE

T'was a strange sight to watch the screaming white haired troglodytes and their fallen, once great, city vanish below. Whitcomb leaned against the railing and watched them howl at the vanishing green, blue and white balloon. They were really quite foul creatures, and so he did not prevent his companions from throwing some rocks recovered from the ballast at them. The fist sized rocks generally clattered harmlessly of the top of the hill though, but he noticed with satisfaction that a couple struck home rousing cries of pain from the hapless victims below.

However Whitcomb was far more concerned with the figures of Diana and Sandra, the girl was sobbing quietly as Diana held her tight and tried to comfort her ignoring her own plight in favour of calming Sandra. Feeling a tad self-conscious he handed some extra woollen blankets to cover themselves both for the cold and for modesty's sake.

Diana quietly accepted them with a grateful look saying "Thank you Mr Whitcomb," and smiling a bit as she gently tucked the blankets around herself and Sandra holding the girl tight and whispering "Shhhh, it's alright now, they're all gone."

Leaning against the wicker side of the basket young Charles was making a few pencil sketches in an old tattered note book, despite only having the stump of a pencil to work with he was turning out some most excellent sketches of the caves and their icons. Whitcomb casually looked down at the drawings, feeling quite impressed at the young mans talents, indeed both siblings were a source of a great many surprises.

Now of course they were once more drifting across the vast Azhistani plateu, and Whitcomb despaired for finding a safe landing place. After all the wild landscape was filled with savage tribesmen that could not be counted on being merciful to any foreigners that might fall into their power. However if they continued their drift they might very well fail to reach their scheduled pick up, and this of course would be a very bad thing.

Thus it was with a worried mien that he studied the edges of the mountainous bowl that they found themselves in, though the mountains they were drifting towards were still distant and not really clearly visible it was certain that they were unavoidably coming closer. He took a deep breath and pulled out his binoculars from their leather holster, carefully scanning the horizon looking for local tribesmen and for a good location where they could land.

In general one place seemed as good as the next, but spotting a location where some large rocks and a handful of dry dead trees provided not just shelter but the possibility of fuel as well. Seeing them Whitcomb gave a signal to Jeeves and called "Take us down over there, it's as good a place as any."

Immediately there was the whoosh of hot air being released from the Montgolfier as it descended down quite near the desired location, the basket gently thudding against the dry dusty plain. Whitcomb peered at the distance separating them from the rocks, then he looked upon Diana who was still trying to calm young Sandra There's no point in pulling this thing closer just yet he thought as he disembarked quickly followed by Charles who decided to come even unbidden.

The two walked over to the rocks, Whitcomb moved his jaw slightly trying to get rid of the feeling he got form the light sand getting between his teeth, but it was futile. As dry as this plain was he wondered why it had not turned entirely into dessert, but perhaps the rain came only in rare but savage skybursts as was often the case in drier climes.

The rocks were not that large, but still they were easily as tall as he was, the largest of them maybe ten feet high, but they were as pebbles compared to the mountains surrounding them. That said there were remains of old campfires in the shelter that the rocks provided from the wind. Whitcomb examined these campfires and found them to be several weeks old at the youngest, not very elaborate either, and the fact that there was still dry wood to be found nearby suggested that this place was a very infrequent stopping place.

The dried trees however were interesting, as there were small green shoots near the root, but the trees which reached him only to the shoulder were in the main a dusty grey and long since dead. As he broke loose a couple of branches he slapped them against each other and got that clear hollow sound that you only get from the driest wood.

"We need to move the Montgolfier closer to the rocks," Whitcomb finally announced, they then walked back and grabbed hold of the ropes carefully tugging the Montgolfier into position, and after a few breaks and a lot of hard work they could anchor it to one of the brownish grey rocks.

Diana was now trying to make Sandra fall asleep by gently rocking her and making soft noises, she looked pleadingly at Charles who moved over and kneeled down next to her. "I need clothes Charles, these aren't decent anymore," she complained to her brother "Some needle and thread and fabric'd do," she added softly.

"Of course Diana," Charles said before rising up and looking around to see if he could find any cloth laying about here, a bit embarrassed that he had not realised this earlier but she was still modest given how she was huddled together with Sandra in the small pile of blankets.

Fortunately they were not entirely without cloth to work with, here and there you could find burlap sacks, or blankets, but not enough to truly do anything. Finally Jeeves, pitying the young man and woman, coughed softly "I say young man," and he casually tugged the white shirt beneath his native garb "I dare say I could sacrifice my shirt and undershirt for a noble cause!"

Charles looked up eagerly "I say thank you Jeeves," he cried, and then realising that he himself possessed various garbs that he did not strictly need.

A few minutes later they did a quick survey of their resources, and at Whitcombs urging they mores the Montgolfier in a yet safer fashion to the ground while advising "Diana and Sandra patch together their clothes in the privacy of the Montgolfier basket while the rest of us create a fire."

Soon enough the two young boys began breaking apart some of the dried trees for firewood, while Hasan rested with his back against one of the large rocks. They had decided upon the same stopping place as the previous visitors here, finding that it did indeed provide the best shelter from the chilling winds. Also by standing on top of one of the larger rocks Whitcomb or Jeeves, for they took the watch in turns, could still have a good view of the surrounding countryside.

Once the boys had assembled enough dried one Whitcomb assembled it a bit and then sacrificed a piece of oil soaked cloth to light it up, and with a touch of a match it caught fire. The dry wood burned warm and clean, with nary a single wisp of smoke, something that was also quite pleasing to them since they had no desire to draw unwelcome visitors.

Charles however moved about a bit, nervously and awkwardly, and indeed Hasan would too if not for the pain of his wounded shoulder, but he shifted where he lay. Young men are always restless and desirous to move and do something, anything really so long as it does not entail sitting still or listening to long boring lectures.

However as Charles wandered about he suddenly let out a shout, jumping slightly on one foot as he had stubbed the toes on the other, and then curious he noticed that something angular and metallic was sticking out of the ground. Kneeling down he began to dig a bit, finding that the soil was loose and easy to move showing every sign of having been recently moved. Now he began to make out the shape of a crate, upon which was written text in the same strange alphabet as he had seen in the caves of the Troglodytes.

"I say Sir," Charles called out to Whitcomb who at once came over to investigate "There's something in the ground here!"

Immediately Whitcomb rushed over only to once more be impressed by the fact that they had landed upon the right spot to discover the seeds to some new adventure! At once he called out to Jeeves "Jeeves, I say, we need some gear to do a little digging here!"

At once Jeeves rushed over with the small bush shovel that they had brought with them for digging trenches around the Montgolfier, or for other sundry tasks which require digging of which there would be many on such an outing. After about a quarter of an hour of rather heavy digging they had uncovered an oblong metal create, it was painted green with strange letters on it and a large red star.

Charles looked aghast at the sight of this mark "COMMUNISTS!" he cried clearly both angry and shocked "The bastards!" he added as he spat on the Red Star mark.

Whitcomb was not too pleased himself, but seeing the mark of the wicked Communists on this metal crate certainly relieved him of any guilty in examining its contents. "Let us see what wicked schemes they have brought to Azhistan," Whitcomb said as he pondered how to get the crate out of its hole.

Struggling for a bit they got some ropes under it on either side and then slowly and gently pulled the crate of the ground before opening the hasps. Inside lay row upon row of rifle carbines of a most peculiar make, Whitcomb picked one up and studied it intently, examining it thoroughly as he tried to make up his mind about its make and purpose.

The weapon was of carbine length, stubby compared to even an SMLE which Whitcomb though as short as a rifle could come, the bayonet didn't seem like much either or at least it wouldn't have much reach. Even the stock and handle of the rifle was most peculiar with a pistol grip which Whitcomb rather appreciated since it would make bayoneting someone all the more comfortable, but there was an opening in front of the trigger.

Examining it yet closer he noted that the tolerances seemed passing wide, most of the metal parts for instance appeared to be stamped, and the stock itself was crudely machined, in short as far as he could tell it was a rifle made for frequent use rather than elegant appearance. This of course meant, rather worryingly, that it was a mass produced item wherever it came from.

It was however the bolt that stood out the most, it was a straight pull back model, unlike the lever actions he was familiar with in rifles. IT has some similarities with the ones he had seen in pistols and machine-guns, and he had heard about self-loading rifles but they were always described as heavy and unreliable. Even so he reached the conclusion that this was definitely a self-loading rifle "By jove, this is one of those newfangled repeaters!" he cried and at once Charles, who like most young men was deeply fascinated by mechanics, looked yet closer.

Rummaging through the crates he recovered a strange looking metal box, shaped almost like a banana, inside of which lay several bullets in a staggered fashion, it reminded him a bit of the new fashioned magazines for pistols and instinctively he pushed the magazine into the opening where it attached with a slight click.

The stock did however have a compartment hidden within it, which Whitcomb found after some experimenting, and therein he found a complete cleaning kit for the rifle; but also another very valuable item namely a comic book style instruction manual for the weapon displaying in very simple terms the use and maintenance of the weapon in question. One of the images however struck his eyes immediately, the picture of a tiny lever on the rifle being in the middle position, and a small stream of expended cartridges practically leaping out of the rifle.

"By Jove, a hand held Maxim-gun!" ejaculated Whitcomb in astonishment as the full impact of the picture struck him "Though it must be devilishly hard to control a light rifle like this if you are firing it like a machine-gun."

At this stage however Jeeves called out "I say Sir, there appears to be another box concealed beneath the first," he said as she scraped dirt away with the shovel revealing the outline of a second box beneath the first. At once Whitcomb jumped in and forced it open where it lay, making dirt fall into the interior of the box, but within there lay simply more of the rifles.

"I wonder why they didn't burry these deeper," Whitcomb mused, but then after he had studied the lay of the land for a few seconds he suddenly showed the shovel on the side of the new box and moments later he smiled "Rock, the bedrock comes up, there can't be much dirt to burry these crates in".

Charles meanwhile found the new weapons fascinating, grabbing one of the empty rifles and gently aiming it around, lazily pointing it at the people around him. At once the barrel was yanked up very hard, and he found himself without a rifle and laying on his back quite confused as to how he got there.

Whitcomb stood over him holding the empty rifle musket "Never aim at something you wouldn't shoot," he said simply.

"It's not loaded Sir" Charles complained as he started to sit up again, rubbing those parts of his body that smarted from his rough landing.

"Young man you do not question me when it comes to weapons, nor does it matter that it's not loaded, you never ever point a weapon at something you wouldn't shoot," Whitcombs voice was hard and unyielding, if not for Diana's presence he would have given the boy a couple of hard cuffs just to knock the point home but he settled for his command voice and giving him a harsh look.

Charles squirmed under the firm case, and he worried greatly that he might be in for a trashing, but for whatever reason Whitcomb seemed to decline to give him one instead being concerned mainly with gun safety.

After Charles had gotten back on his feet Whitcomb lectured him "It's a matter of gun control, which is vital for any state, what does gun control mean young man?"

First he hesitated but then he said "Only aiming at something you'd shoot?" seeing Whitcombs nod Charles felt a bit braver and went on "Making sure you hit what you shoot at, and..." he tried to think of something but simply couldn't.

Finally Whitcomb told him "A weapon should always be considered loaded, always, no matter what, that and of course you should always have a concealed revolver or pistol."

"Uhm, where would I get a handgun Sir" Charles asked feeling a bit confused as he looked around the vast desolate wilderness they were in.

Whitcomb smiled a bit then he said "You can pick one up easily enough at any hardware store, or maybe try out a couple first and see which one works out for you, but don't worry if you show that you can be responsible I'll buy you one when we get to Pendleton."

Already the first signs of hero worship were clear in Charles' demeanour, he enormously admired this hero that had delivered them from the heathens and then rescued his sister again from the degenerated Troglodytes. As such he absorbed every word and determined to remember all of it, but naturally there was also the natural desire of any boy to play with the latest weapon or mechanical device.

As he sat in front of the blazing campfire with one of the new found rifles Whitcomb continued the work of familiarising himself with it, obviously the Red Star design did not bode well for its origin, and indeed the more he examined it the more his mind came to the one inescapable conclusion. "I say Jeeves, I fear the dastardly communists are going to try some sort of coup," he commented to his trusted servant.

Hasan however did not seem worried, even though he was most assuredly greatly fascinated by the sight of these wondrous armaments "Ah but Sir, whatever these Farangi think it shan't work!"

Looking a tad surprise Whitcomb eyed the wounded guide, who was by now apparently far on the way to recovery, "I say Hasan any particular reason?"

"This is Azhistan, and Azhistan is Yaghestan, land of the untamed, the wild land, nothing ever works here and no one ever rules, and nothing can change that Sir, only Allah can rule over Azhistan!" Hasan exclaimed, and then with a chuckle he added "Also they say that it is a saying that Azhistan always wins, meaning that no matter how clever your scheme this land will break it."

Despite Hasans confidence Whitcomb felt concerned, this land was indeed divided among many warring tribes and nations, but it was a known fact that such places could best be described thus: Easy to conquer but hard to rule. That is it was easy enough to be invited in and find some local figure that would be your catspaw, but it was much harder to bend all of the people to your own will.

While the men were thus busy Diana and Sandra had quietly stitched up their clothes, using the sacrificed shirts and undershirts to replace or repair those of their garments that should not be mentioned in public. Then with quiet determination they had mended their skirts using bits and pieces of one of the woollen blankets as well as parts of a burlap sack. The overall result had been something that looked like the patchwork quilt style dresses that certain poor women in Gosford had favoured, but aside from this slight embarrassment their modesty was preserved most admirably.

After patching up their clothes they climbed out of the basket and quietly listened in on the mens' conversation, but feeling rather hungry Diana whispered to Sandra "Go fetch some tin cans and other provisions." She then listened yet more, and felt most dismayed at the thought of communists being nearby, even if her fear of the natives competed against the terror and hate she had of the communists.

Once Sandra returned Diana began to prepare their dinner, she and Diana gathered up some more dry wood and then they used the frying pan and small pot to try to turn the collected provisions into something edible. It was of course an eternal struggle between having the food go cold and having it burnt, and so they had to continually stir or flip the dishes with improvised tools. Yet though the results did not look like much a nice appetizing smell spread across the campsite making stomachs growl and mouths water.

While the women were thus involved the men casually shifted a few feet while continuing their discussions. Charles expressed his great dislike of Communists, indeed though he did not admit out loud the thought of Communists and the natives together horrified him.

In truth though the precise same worries passed through Dianas mind, and she was not so worried about expressing her fears "Communists?" She said with her eyes wide "Oh please dear God don't let us fall into their hands," she said half commenting upon and half praying about their situation. Indeed it was as if he half expected rampaging hordes of Azhistani horsemen to come riding out chanting "LENINU AKBAR!" and waving enormous scimitars.

For the most part though there was silence as the meal was divided and everyone ate quickly, swallowing it down with the slightly tepid water left in their skins, and improving a tad upon this mixture by taking each a shot of pear brandy which had the additional benefit of sending a wave of delicious warmth through their bodies.

However just as they might have thought that they were safe and had found a secure hiding place Jeeves, for he was the look out at the time, cried out "RIDERS APPROACHING!" and pointed to a spot in the horizon where a small dust cloud was drawing nearer.

Whitcomb cursed under his breath, glad that Diana could not understand, before he placed the strange new carbine on the ground and readied his SMLE. As he noticed Charles' odd look Whitcomb told him simply "Another rule young man, never take an untested weapon into combat, indeed never use an untested tool if the results really matter."

He then scurried up on top of the tallest rock and lay down on his belly as he pulled out his binoculars and looked at the approaching horsemen. At first he was greatly worried as the size of the cloud suggested maybe up to twenty horsemen. As they drew nearer he noticed something odd, most of the horses were not carrying anything, apparently being exclusively beasts of burden with heavy packsaddles; and of course the second odd thing was that one of the mounted horses seemed to be led by another.

Whitcomb now focussed yet closer on the riders as they drew near, they were rough wild men with massive long tangled beards reaching halfway down their chests, they wore fur coats now grey with dust and thick baggy pantaloons, and upon their heads were large fur hats pulled tightly down across their ears and from under which long strains of dirty dark hair extended. Each of them carried several weapons with a scimitar, a couple of large curved daggers, a pistol of some sort and a rifle either worn in a holster by the horse or strapped across their back. As luck would have it there was but four of them, a manageable amount by any count.

Yet it was the mounted horse being led he studied the most, a rope stretched from the horses neck to one of the other riders who rode nearby and constantly checked to make certain all was in order. The reason why this rider could not guide his own mount was soon obvious, for his hands were tied behind his back and indeed he seemed to be tied down onto the saddle to prevent him from falling or jumping out Whitcomb thought to himself.

As they drew closer yet it was clear that this rider was very young and fair haired, dressed in a most peculiar garb it was grey and resembled something like a coverall or jumpsuit, quite baggy and not quite like anything that Whitcomb had ever seen before. Upon his head however there was a most military cap, and a Red Star set in the middle of it A COMMUNIST!

"I say whomever they are they've captured a commie" Whitcomb said as he reported in great detail what he was seeing, even as he carefully manoeuvred his rifle forward into a shooting position, just in case they were hostile.

Charles however made a quiet remark "Yes Sir, or they could be trying a rouse," his nervous cautiousness establishing itself fully.

T'was not a pleasant fact but Whitcomb had to acknowledge that his young companion might be right and that this be a cunning rouse. Yet his gut instinct told him that this was no rouse, that this was indeed what it seemed, a group of tribesmen with a captured communist.

Looking down at Hasan he called "What will they do when they see us Hasan?"

Hasan shrugged "It depends Sir, they might attack us at once, or they might try to barter, but Sir once you have shared bread and salt with them they won't lay a hand upon you or any of your goods for 'tis the sacred law of hospitality."

Whitcomb smiled crookedly, then he extended his hand "You'd better come up here with me, to translate for me and speak to this lot," then as Hasan came he pulled him up the young guide gritting his teeth from his wounded shoulder. Though he had apparently having recovered enough now to move about and be of some use even though of course he'd rather lounge about if he could.

Slowly the riders drew closer, so close that in the binoculars he could see their cautious glances, the beads of sweat rolling down the forehead of one of them, and the yellowish rotten teeth in the mouth of their apparent leader as he laughed uproariously at some joke. They appeared oblivious to the presence of the heroic party for the longest time but then some distance away they spotted the Montgolfier, and there they stopped peering curiously at the, to them, bizarre and rather gaudy contraption that had somehow arrived in this grey and brown wilderness.

For the longest time they stood awaiting, talking and debating, then they seemed about to split into two groups, at this Whitcomb smiled "My, well they seem to be getting ideas, Hasan why don't you stand up, wave at them and invite them over for a good meal? To enjoy our hospitality."

Hasan looked dumbfounded "Stand up Sir?" but then he nodded, not willing to appear frightened in front of a foreigner, and he rose and waved calling out as loud as he could in the most common native tongue. The sound rolled across the plain and the horses of the newcomers grew jittery, but moments later they laughed and yelled back, waving their hands and slowly riding towards the encampment.

Whitcomb peered up at Hasan who tried his best to seem nonchalant "They said Sir," Hasan begun "That they'd be delighted to break bread with us, and Inshallah they should have for us something that would make us both glad."

Now Whitcomb let out a little laughter "So that is why they are here! That little song bird of theirs must have told them of the hidden guns, ah well..." he shrugged "We couldn't take the bulk of them with us at any rate, so let us see what we can gain by sharing with them bread and salt."

Quickly he lowered himself down from the rock and called out "Jeeves, come now and help me lower this crate back into the hole, and let us place some blankets over it," he said even as Jeeves begun work as soon as he received these instructions. Soon enough the pair of them had covered up the evidence of the excavation, they even hid a couple of the short carbines in places where they could swiftly grab them if there was need for them, and then Whitcomb placed himself cross legged on top of the blankets like some philosopher of the east.

Then calling to his companions he looked intently at Charles and Diana "These people are tribesmen, and now as we said earlier you must pretend to be our slaves, so you must take the children and hold them safe and out of the way, do not look at us or let them see too much of the young boys or Sandra ..." he stopped there "'tis an important charge Charles, and trust you shan't shirk it."

Charles looked a bit disappointed at first, that he had to huddle away and pretend to be the slave, but he nodded politely "Aye Sir" he said "I shall do as you say."

Sensing that Charles was a bit nervous Whitcomb added "Charles, I'll have Jeeves borrow you a revolver to protect the children, but you must promise that you shan't display it or fire it unless an enemy draws within ten feet." He won't be able to hit anything past that anyway Whitcomb thought.

Charles however nodded eagerly "Oh thank you Sir, if any of these beggars come too close I shan't fail to cut them down!" he cried with the exuberance of a young man.

Whitcomb however felt that he was doing this against his better judgement, but with a revolver the young man would stay in place and so he gave the nod to Jeeves.

Jeeves pulled out one of his .44 Service revolvers presenting it solemnly to Charles with the words "Here you are young Mr Westley." To which Charles' reaction was a grateful acceptance as he took the revolver and peered at it with big eyes, feeling the heavy deadly weight in his hands.

To Diana however Whitcomb gave a different order "Young woman, you'll have to pretend to be my personal slave, do not look any of them in the eyes and follow my instructions," he gave her a re-assuring smile as he added "Don't worry, none of them will lay a hand on you, but we need someone to prepare the meal and serve it and Sandra is too young to act appropriately."

Diana looked very sombre, but then she replied simply "I have played this role before, when I was held captive by the pirates and by the rogue merchant, and so I do not fear to play it again, I shan't reveal anything Sir."

"I am sure you will act most exquisitely, a credit to even the noblest house," Whitcomb said reassuringly Even as a servant to mine.

As Charles rounded up up the youngsters, Whitcomb was grateful to see that they knew enough to keep their mouths shut and not scream or raise a fuss, apparently they were either naturally well behaved or the seriousness of the situation aroused obedience in them. He was also pleased to note that Charles was taking care not to aim his revolver at anyone and keeping his finger away from the trigger.

Soon the four riders approached, dismounting before they entered the camp, and looking cautiously towards it even as they smiled and laughed among themselves. Their captive however remained seated on the horse, a look of scorn and disgust clear upon the fair features of this Communist denizen.

However the four riders concern was soon alleviated as Whitcomb greeted them, and through Hasans translation he offered up to them bread and salt, which Diana carried out to them in a small basket, as a sign of friendship. All the while she kept her head down and acted in a most submissive fashion so unlike her usual behaviour, and Whitcomb could understand how her acting had fooled the savages that had earlier kept her captive.

After eating the salt the riders calmed down and acted most graciously as they returned Whitcombs Salaam, since now they confident that even if they were to get blind drunk they would rest safe under the inviolable laws of hospitality.

It was then that Whitcomb made an observation that, despite his efforts, caused him quite a shock; for riding with hands tied upon the lead horse was not a young man as he had thought, but rather a woman! Not only this but as the wind rushed through her hair and pressed her baggy coveralls against her he could see that it was a young and beautiful woman, and that upon her left chest was an emblem looking like a set of stylized wings with a Red Star in the centre.

By JOVE! A Communist she pilot! he thought as his thoughts rushed to how this fact would work out to his favour or disfavour!

Junghalli wrote:Man, I love the part where he castrates the barbarian with a pistol shot! That was a classic move!

Why of course! It's all part of the good old fashioned adventure style that I aim for, stopping the degenerate troglodytes from ravishing the Christian maiden!

Norseman wrote:Why of course! It's all part of the good old fashioned adventure style that I aim for, stopping the degenerate troglodytes from ravishing the Christian maiden!

Now that I think of it Robocop once did the same thing to a would-be rapist. Is that where you got the idea?

Junghalli wrote:

Norseman wrote:Why of course! It's all part of the good old fashioned adventure style that I aim for, stopping the degenerate troglodytes from ravishing the Christian maiden!

Now that I think of it Robocop once did the same thing to a would-be rapist. Is that where you got the idea?

Naw it just seemed the obvious thing under the circumstances. Especially if you are saving maidens in distress.

The Camp of Our Heroes
A stone circle on the plains of Azhistan
Azhistan
April 1005 NE

Whitcomb sat crosslegged on top of his blankets, he was smiling and acting very confident indeed as he studied the faces and mannerisms of the four men as they arrived bowing politely and taking seats around the fire sitting down in much the same fashion as Whitcomb.

The first one, the leader, was an impressive man, his yellowish teeth gave him a terrible appearance, as did the jet black savage beard of his reaching longer than anyone elses, and of course the wild untamed look to his face and eyes for here was a man that could laugh out in joy in a joyful moment and still impress upon people the promise of wild savage fury if he should be wronged. The impression of barbarian splendour was reinforced further by the sheer array of weapons he bore from his scimitar to four visible knives and four revolvers tucked away in various places; all of it topped off by his enormous cap and the long fur coat he wore, both of them were a splendid white though turned somewhat grey with the dust of the journey.

In comparison the other men looked small and disappointing, dirty looking tribesmen dressed and armed much as their leader though none of them carried as much in the way of blades or pistols. They were certainly ferocious looking bandits in their own right but compared to their leader few men would truly measure up. Yet Whitcomb did not let down his guard, for his trained soldiers sense told him that these were dangerous men, even though they were probably better in a skirmish than in a proper battle.

After they had exchanged their Salaams and blessings Whitcomb turned to Hasan saying "Please translate for me now," but at this he was surprised at the attentive reaction the leader had to his words and at a guess he asked flat out "Do you Sir speak my language?"

The leader let out a laugh "Yes! Allah has been so kind as to give me then opportunity to learn many tongues spoken both on and off Azhistan, amongst them is Imperial which I learned from an old Rumish Sufi that had fought against the heathen Ohms!"

"Inshallah their bellies shall roast in Hell at the hands of the believers!" Whitcomb said immediately "By Allah I tell you that not one of the Ohms will be let within a hundred kilometres of my homeworld, and if they come to fight us they shall be so frighted that they commit suicide at the walls of our cities!"

"Inshallah it will be so!" their leader announced in a loud voice.

"By Allah let us pray so! Yet now I should like to hear whom you are, and of the place you come from, and what brings you to my humble camp place on such a night, for this land is foul and dangerous and not too long a time than that we had to fight infidels with their skin and hair as white as bleached cotton," Whitcomb said as he studied the four men's reaction to this news.

"By the Prophets Beard! I beg you forgive us, for tis' not our custom to arrive at another mans camp without giving our names, but I am Mousa abd-Rahim and I am the leader of this band! These are my cousins and companions Khalid, Ibrahim and Suleyman!" Mouse announced as he gestured expansively "As for our task we are but humble travellers and merchants, but," he leaned forward confidentially "It is fortuitous that you should be here, for Allah has so ordained that you may gain great fortune!"

"May Allah speed your travels and keep you safe, and if it is true that our meeting may bring me fortune then may the blessings of Allah be upon you, and yet..." Whitcomb suddenly noticed that Jeeves coughed loudly, annoyed he turned a glance up at his servant.

Jeeves was pointing at the horses "I say Sir, but their slave appears to be making a run for it."

It was just as he said, somehow the female pilot on the horse had managed to untie the bonds binding it, and now she was doing her utmost to get herself loose. Struggling fervently she shook one arm loose of the ropes that bound her and then grabbed the reins of the stout steppe horse and prepared to abscond with both herself and the horse. The horsed reared around raising small puffs of dust around its hooves, as it started to move.

Mouse laughed uproariously, then he placed two fingers in his mouth and let out a loud shrill whistle, at once the horse stopped moving and then slowly, despite its riders great insistence, began to turn around and trot back to Mouse who was already hold a hand out for it.

"Bismillah!" Whitcomb burst out "Such a lovely mare surely worth a great fortune," and then with a wink he added "and such a loyal and obedient horse too!"

At this they all had a good laugh as the horse finally reached to where Mousa was standing. Meanwhile the fiery eyed Krasnayan pilot desperately struggled with the leg restraints that bound her to the horse. She got it loose just in time to try a desperate kick against Mousa who casually grabbed her leg and half lifted half-twisted it so hard and fast that she fell across the other side of the saddle. She fell against the ground with a low thud her hands shooting out to protect her face, and thus she was left in a rather precarious position her hands pushing against the ground and her other leg twisted in a rather painful looking way as it was still attached to the stirrup.

"Where pray tell did you acquire this gem?" Whitcomb asked as he studied the pilot ah how frail and yet so fierce he thought.

"That is a good story," said Mousa as he moved towards the fiercely glaring Krasnayan pilot "And O my lord, rest assured that I shall tell it to you in full, not holding back a smidgen, as soon as I have restrained her more thoroughly."

" Tis not fitting for a man of your stature to restrain the girl yourself," Whitcomb said "Come let my man apply to her some restraints that I have brought for such a purpose, to bind unruly slaves, and let us sit and speak and eat like men of standing."

"By Allah you speak the truth!" Mousa said, and being satisfied with Jeeves approaching to restrain the girl he once more approached the table.

Jeeves went about it quite professionally, first grabbing the hands and forcing them behind her back even as she struggled and cursed in her own heathen tongue. Of course since this meant that her face was pressed against the rough ground dirtying it further her anger might be understandable. He then pulled out the steel handcuffs light weight models made for slave catchers, and cuffed her hands with them. Then he pulled her free leg up, struggling a bit with this till it was near the bound leg, and then attached the two of them together in the same fashion. Only then did he yank out his knife and cut the ropes that bound her to the stirrups, letting her fall fully to the ground squirming slightly as she struggled to get up before Jeeves casually pulled her up and half dragged her along to dissuade anymore resistance.

Meanwhile Whitcomb and his four guests were once more gathered around the table, and Mousa now leaned forward and said "By Allah, O my lord, excuse me, but before I tell you the whole story of my quest and my acquisition I desire that you tell me who you are, and where you are from."

Placing a hand on his chest Whitcomb announced "I am Ibrahim al-Baghdadi, and this is my freedman Saddam al-Husseini, and Inshallah we shall return to Pendleton which is a rich and prosperous state." He then sighed as if saddened "Alas I came here to find new and peculiar slaves, but so far I have by some strange quirk of Fate only found such slaves as I could easily find at home!"

"By Allah!" Mousa cried "If it is an unusual slave that you desire, then surely it is Fate that has twice blessed us, for I have a most unusual quandary..."

"Oh? What quandary is it that troubles you?" Whitcomb asked in a curious gentle voice, prodding his guest on, then gently sipping his sweet tea recently cooked up in a tin kettle and obsequiously served by Diana.

"This then is a wond'rous tale, and 'pon its conclusion you will see my dilemma, but also the great opportunity for the both of us, for surely it is true as I sit here, by Allah, that all you are about to hear is naught more than what I myself have seen and heard!" Musa began as he shifted his weight a bit clearly seeking, and finding, a more comfortable position before beginning a long story.

"Know then O Lord that I Mousa abd-Rahim am not some common raider, for my family are descendant of noble lords, my lineage is an ancient one nor is our glory a thing of yore! For even now we rule over great lands, and own endless flocks of cattle, sheep and horses, furthermore knowing our strength and valour villages from wide and far have placed themselves beneath our protection that we might strike terror in the hearts of their enemies!"

"Yet we were not without knowledge of the fact that some men, wicked transgressors, cowards and thieves all of them, knowing not the word of Allah and honouring not the Prophet, Peace Be Upon Him, were striking bargains with the Ungodly ones! Now tis true as it is said, one of the Faithful is a whole thing, the people of the book are a half thing, but the unbeliever is a foul thing to be slain wherever you might find them!"

"So then we learned that these foul men, of a tribe we had long suspected of Apostacy, had gathered together with their wicked advisers travelling long and far to come here. We gathered up a great host of several hundred men, and praying Inshallah we should win a great victory! Oh what a splendid sight to see the faithful riding forth to sheathe their swords in the beating hearts of our enemies!"

"We came upon them in a valley, and found that they were all gathered around a shuttle, of a strange heathen design, that had landed on the outskirts of their village; LO! Now we could see with our own eyes the treachery, for the villagers were celebrating with the infidels! Drinking their wicked fermented drinks too! Dancing around!" here he roared and pulled at his scimitar, almost yanking it out from rage.

"So we waited until it was nightfall, and then drawing our swords we rushed forth, swooping down upon them hoping to catch and slay the infidels from beyond, and any who came with them! Oh what a joyous battle it was, HAHA! We came down and cut to the right of us and cut to the left, striking down all that stood before us! Then we were breaking down their doors and rushing into the hall of the village chief where the infidels hid!" His hands moved vividly showing how they cut, and shot, and smashed down doors "What glorious fighting!"

"Alas the will of Allah is not always clear! For they had weapons of sorcery shooting forth like beams of the sun that burned and ignited all they touched, but Allah was merciful! For though the enemy was near invincible we prevailed by the Will of Allah! The drunken enemy soldiers were soundly beaten and we left the village with our rightful property leaving the infidel lapdogs and their so called protectors behind in the dust!"

You mean you barely got away with the loot you glorious bastard Whitcomb thought, even as he pretended to listen with rapt attention.

"Yet gathering wisdom some of the young men suggested purchasing the services of Magi, but our wise Imam said 'There is no Majesty and there is no Might save in Allah with Whom we seek refuge from Satan the stoned!' which is so true! For tis better to gain victory by the Grace of Allah and the Sword than by witchcraft and deceit! Beside the magi charge far too much."

"Now then I heard a whisper, a rumour that spread, that by losing so many men and so much wealth our enemies were not so desirable to the foreigner, and that a man by the name of Leonid; may the burning curses of Allah fall upon him and his stay in hell be marked by his boiling in the feces of traitors! Had, like is the wont of heathens, stolen from his masters and now offered the weapons for sale! In this our elders were wise 'let us use the gold of our enemies to buy the weapons of our enemies' and in this we saw great wisdom!"

"We met the man Leonid, who was a shameless man for he had with him the harlot that come with us, and she wore no veil like a slave, and yet spoke freely and acted freely like not even a man should dare! Yet who can tell the ways of the infidels? So from him we purchased some armaments, though he charged a steep price for them."

"Yet the second time when we met he wanted to increase the price yet further, such an insult! Then he desired to withdraw the bargain entirely when it was clear we would not meet his new price! Thus we remembered that all things in the world belong to Allah, and that it is lawful for the Mujaheddin to take back the property of Allah from the Infidel! So we rushed forth to strike down this wicked man and take back the weapons and the woman that were rightfully ours."

"This then took him by surprise, and his woman even more so for she passed out from the first strike of the rifle butt, and then with great vigour we rushed him." Now he looked a bit morose though "Yet the infidel, in his foul scheming and plotting against the faithful summoned a demon fashioned from brass! Its arms were like a great repeating gun blazing with unholy fire! It cut down men left and right, even as the automatons cowardly owner rushed into the shuttle and fled with our weapons and the automaton!"

"We were left with only the woman, and as she came too were debating whether we should strike this infidel down at once as a unbeliever, or take her as a slave to the right hand and teach her proper respect and convert her to Islam! Then hearing this she swore that she were a Christian, and therefore lawful to let live even and that she'd swear by Christ to lead to a great and hidden armoury if we'd swear not to take her in a carnal way if she did!"

"Seeing that she were Christian we let her take her vow, and we too promised that she would not be touched if what she said was true," then in a slightly bemused way he added half laughing "She also claimed a curse of impotence would fall upon the man that first violated her, but who knows what wicked sorcery that the infidels possess, so we decided upon keeping her untouched till we could summon a Sufi to dispel the foul magics she might possess."

"Yet this vow is why we have not mounted her, despite her shameless ways, but now we come here to find this cachet, and if we have your aid we should give you a fair share of it," Mousa finished "For she claims that these weapons were hidden in a place not too far from here, and we should enjoin you to help us search!"

Whitcomb seemed quite astounded by this "By Allah the wiles of the Infidels are wicked indeed! Yet I should be delighted to aid you in finding this cache," he said how far should I take this he wondered as he added "Yet if I should find this cache, what pray tell would my share be in this bounty?"

"Aaaah," Mousa said "We should share and share alike, as is the custom in such matters, a share for each of the freeborn men," he said with a smile on his bearded face.

"Alas!" Whitcomb said "I have but little cargo space left, so I should have to satisfy myself with but a few of the weapons for my personal use, but say... yet perhaps you could purchase the bulk my share with some of the gold that you saved, and yon fair haired woman?"

"By Allah! Surely if you find the cache 'ere we do it shall be as you ask, Inshallah," Mousa said in his jovial fashion, a big smile on his bearded face showing his yellowish teeth, and expansive gestures in the eastern fashion completing the image.

"Then I for you I have most wond'rous news," Whitcomb said seeming quite amazed "Inshallah you shall be amply rewarded for your generosity, and yet... forgive me impudence Sir but what shall I be paid for my share?"

"Surely a full ounce of gold for each rifle, and two for each of the wond'rous devices that propel a grenade further than even the mightiest cannon!" Mousa said with determination "Once of course that a counting has been made, but first O Lord we must find it, and perhaps since you have this wondrous device of yours," here he motioned with a flourish at the Montgolfier "That you could fly above to see where perhaps this cachet might be hidden, and to shew that we are not brigands we would, Inshallah, let you have the first chance to dig at whatever spot ye deemed the likeliest."

Oh my, trying to trick me perhaps or has your pilot deceived you somewhat? Whitcomb pondered this for but a moment, before deciding that now was the strategic moment, then he casually lifted up one side of the rough green woollen blanket upon which he sat "Bismillah! A great fortune has come onto us!" he cried "I believe I have found the weapons! What great fortune!" he said as he pulled out the loaded automatic rifle and gently cradled it in his lap "Praise Allah!" he said and gave it a hard pat.

Mousa and his companions seemed stunned for a moment, their eyes transfixed upon the gleaming black metal rifle in Whitcombs hands, Suleyman for one looked as if a pair of marbles had been placed in his skull in place of eyes. Yet then Mousa began to laugh, rocking back and forth upon the blanket where he sat, his big chest heaving with the laughter as he slapped the sides of his thighs. Soon his companions joined him, and all had a great laugh at this unsuspected turn of events.

"By Allah O Lord! The men of Pendleton are not slouches in matters of commerce!" he said as he at last recovered from his surprise.

Whitcomb smiled a bit as he, disarmingly, sipped his cup of tea, but of course though he feigned carelessness his body was taut like a rifle trigger about to go off, but his tension was hidden under the voluminous native garb that hid all such body language.

"By Allah I but a humble traveller who, uncertain of what he might have found, sought only to improve his lot," Whitcomb said politely and humbly, but even as he spoke and half bowed with his hand to his chest he gazed discretely up at his guests studying their demeanour and behaviour.

After much discussion they then began to speak of how to best arrange the matter, for neither side was too willing to be the first to move, and of course the hospitality was as warm as the food. Soon they were all eating the canned foods that Diana had prepared, the slight winds would still blow the occasional grain of sand into the food which rubbed annoying against your teeth as you chewed. Indeed the worn teeth of the four tribesmen was perhaps due to long periods spent in dry terrains where the sands would fly long and far mixing with food and grain however you struggle to keep it out.

They naturally ate in the Mohammedan fashion, everyone eating with their hands and only with their right hand, the left being reserved for other purposes usually done some time after a meal. They ate loudly and after every bite they licked their five fingers with a loud swirling noise before once more placing their hands into the common dish. Slowly they ate their meals, chatting all the while in their own language with Hasan or their leader translating for Whitcomb, their conversation resolving around a great number of things like the various chieftains and tribes around.

From this Whitcomb learned some very interesting things, namely that the Chieftains and tribesmen of the land had little regard for the King, and that his rule as the King rarely extended longer than his sword; but of course the true source of power for the King was being recognised by the Ulema the learned men, and from having forged alliances with the tribal leaders. Much of this of course he knew already, but the accounts, though filtered by tribesmen, of the tribal wars fascinated him greatly, but also astounded him.

In such tribal wars action was by Razzia, but grand raids against the enemy, probing and raiding and striking wherever there was an opening, and then dealing in a most ferocious fashion with any captives slaying them, castrating them, taking their women and their horses and all that they had. Yet of course such wars were rarer now, and if one village were smashed then surely the clansmen of the villagers would come for revenge, and soon great wars would travel across the mountains.

Until of course the old men with beards down to their waists would meet in their villages, sitting together upon elaborately embroidered carpets, wearing tall turbans adorned with such finery as they could afford. They would be polite and most gracious, smoking the sacred nargile, the elaborate Rumish waterpipe for which there is a whole ritual that Whitcomb would later learn. Then they would resolve the problems caused by the hotheads, and the losing side, or in some rare cases the side seen as being wrong, would pay bloodmoney or make some concessions and the other sides would make some smaller concessions so both sides could save face and say they had something.

Towards the end of the meal the tribesmen, following the example of Mohammed, once more loudly licked their fingers before wiping them, all the while laughing and speaking aloud.

"Now O Lord!" Mousa announced in a cheerful tone "By Allah is indeed fortuitous that you are here, for now your slaves may dig up these creates!" He sounded quite relieved that they would not be called upon to do such filthy work themselves.

Whitcomb could understand the sentiment, after all what gentleman would unnecessarily lower himself to physical labour, even though it did place him in a somewhat difficult position what with Charles and all. There was also the lecherous looks that the guests sent openly towards the young handsome boys, but which they concealed in regards to their hosts woman. Thus Whitcomb was a bit worried that his deceit might be discovered, and that he would then have to kill all his guests which seemed a bit inhospitable and dishonourable to him.

Another thing of concern was of course to check upon his newly acquired property, the Communist she pilot, who was laying still leaning against a rock, but scowling in a most un-submissive fashion at her masters. Somewhat annoyed and worried about another potential escape attempt, and of course desirous to have the change of ownership formally recognise, Whitcomb rose and stretched a bit, then he spoke again to Mousa "O Sir, please let the slave know of her new master."

Mousa laughed a bit, then he too rose "Of course O Lord, I should be as delighted to be rid of this slave as you are to accept her," he said. Then the two of them walked together over to the slave and Mousa said out loud, first in his native tongue, and then in English "As I know you speak the Imperial wench know then that this man is now your master, having purchased you with his share in the armaments, be glad and obedient!" Mousa said then he laughed again "By Allah you are now the owner!" he said for that added emphasis.

The pilots reaction was stunned silence, her deep brown eyes looked part disbelieving and part scornful at her new master, she shifted uncomfortably making the baggy suit she wore press against her body in ways she had probably not intended. A curse was on her lips, but she reconsidered before letting it pass, but she was none to pleased about being sold especially to a man that might not be so easily tricked. Her dismay increased yet again as Whitcomb sensibly enough kneeled next to her and pulled out a length of stout rope, and with it he tied her feet firmly together removing any plausible means of escape.

Standing up once more Whitcomb continued his discussions with Mousa, but realised that his earlier problem with the men and the boys was still there, and once more he pondered how he could resolve the problem.

It was then that destiny once more delivered to him a wonderful escape from his earlier conundrum, this escape came in the form of two riders appearing in the horizon, at first appearing as naught more than specks of dust. "Riders in the wind!" cried Jeeves out loud as he pointed towards the distant riders, his robes fluttering slightly in the wind. The strangers were arriving from a slightly different direction than the first band, and seemed to be driving their horses hard for they came visibly closer and closer with every minute.

The moment the news came of new attendants to the scene the four tribesmen rose up together and grabbed their weapons "Inshallah we shall be victorious if these be our enemies!" said Mousa as both he and his raggedy band of Azhistani tribesmen cocked their rifles and sought cover behind the large rocks surrounding the camp. The octagon shaped barrels of their long native rifles rested gently on the rock as the four aimed at the enemy from this cover they could kill men at far greater ranges than they faced now. Indeed only Mousa's cry "Hold your fire till we see their faces, that we might know the men that we slay! For Allah forbid we should kill a friend." In this he showed unusual prudence for a man of this nation.

Meanwhile Whitcomb quietly lifted up the handheld Maxim-gun, wondering if its obvious advantages would make up for wielding an unfamiliar weapon in a fight against an equally unfamiliar enemy. In the end he determined to compromise, by bringing the new rifle and grabbing a couple of the strange banana shaped magazines for it, but also slinging his SMLE across his back so that he might pull that out if the new rifle failed. He showed the new magazines into his belt where they remained secure, and then found some spot where he should be safe from enemy fire as well as "misunderstandings" from his own side.

Then they waited as the riders came closer and closer, their shapes obscured by the rising smoke as they drove their horses mercilessly forward, and even in the distance you could hear the droning rapid drumbeat of the hoofs against the hard unyielding dry ground of the Azhistani plains. As they came nearer their clothes were covered in a thin layer of dust, and indeed even their faces were dusty as the sweat had mixed with the dust leaving a thin layer of grime only cut by the small rivulets of sweat.

Then just as Mousa raised his hand, moments before he let it drop ordering his men to shoot there was a cry "Hold your fire! By Allah we are friends! It is I Khalid ibn-Rushd" his companion joined the cry saying "And I Ibrahim al-Khayyam! By Allah!"

Mousa at once leapt forward, holding his rifle but also spreading his arms "Praise Allah! For your arrival is like seeing a sweet spring in the mountains!" They embraced and kissed each other on each cheek, and Mousa then proceeded to do the same with the second visitor.

Aside from the dust covering every inch of their faces and bodies they were all but undistinguishable from their companions, simple crude tribesmen with baggy pantaloons, huge fur caps and thick fur vests over somewhat fluffy and thick blouses made from some native material. Motioning wildly they held an excited discussion with Mousa, who also spoke louder and louder as he peered towards the horizon. From the state of their horses, near death by exhaustion, sweat running down their sides and dripping almost like rain drops from their flanks, and the foam in their mouths and wild expression in their eyes Whitcomb guessed that these horses had been ridden long and hard and were not long for this world.

"ALLAHU AKBAR!" Mousa suddenly cried as he shook his rifle "ALLAH BE PRAISED! For we have been given a chance to join with the Martyrs, our brothers tell me that the Communists are coming! Riding hard with twenty men, their lap dog locals, and now it is onto us to strike them down!"

Rushing back to the camp, his two new found friends in tow, Mousa turned to Whitcomb "What say ye Ibrahim al-Baghdadi?"

"I say this: We are not afraid of the Communists. Allah has condemned them. They are stupid. They are stupid" here Whitcomb made a dramatic pause before he added "and they are condemned." In truth he was invigorated now a fight at last! he thought feeling quite satisfied.

Awesome story.

I eagerly anticipate the resolution of this cliffhanger.

Have a very nice day.
-fgalkin

So, why do the commies have more modern guns when Pendleton is roughly WW1?

Setzer wrote:So, why do the commies have more modern guns when Pendleton is roughly WW1?

Because in the Lords of Ether universe where Pendleton is civilizatoin collapsed a thousand years ago and everyone regressed; now some areas lost most of their tech and some of their magic (Pendleton) while others almost all their magic and some tech (Commies).

The Camp of Our Heroes
A stone circle on the plains of Azhistan
Azhistan
April 1005 NE

There was a rush of preparation now as the news of the Communist enemy approaching seemed to energize the previously relaxed Azhistani tribesmen. Here their fierce dark eyes scanned the horizon seeking the sign of their hated Godless enemy, Mousa abd-Rahim spat onto the dusty ground "Filthy Communists!" he said.

Whitcomb tore away the woollen carpet upon which he had been sitting, revealing the green painted metal box filled with the automatic rifles that the communists had intended for their own use. With a firm move he kicked it open "Friends, let us help ourselves to the communists weapons and ammunition and turn it against them."

Their young native guide Hasan immediately translated this, his injured soldier seemed to have healed when the chance for a fight against the Godless foe came up, for at least he rushed forward to claim the first rifle cradling it in his arms even though a pained expression crossed his face each time he had to move his shoulder.

"Hah!" Mousa said out loud "By Allah you are right! It is only a pity we have not the time to dig for more of their weapons, for surely other amazing items have been hid!"

"By Allah you are right, but Fate rules us all and have not allotted us time for this," Whitcomb replied even as he stuffed several of the filled banana shaped magazines into the deep pockets of his native garb.

The other fighters now scrambled for the new weapons, having in most cases had a chance to admire them, albeit it sometimes at a distance, before. Khalid and Ibrahim were the first, and before anyone could warn them not to give away their position they raised their weapons into the air and pulled the triggers only to be greeted by stony silence as absolutely nothing happened. Khalid threw his rifle hard to the ground and kicked it screaming an insult in his own language which Hasan translated as "Broken garbage Sir, I know not the other words in English."

"By Allah! What misfortune!" Ibrahim said, his words translated by Hasan who now fumbled with his own rifle he looked at Whitcomb "Perhaps it's a trap Sir? They leave worthless rifles behind to trap us."

Whitcomb examined the weapon with a soldiers trained eye, finding a small lever near the trigger he immediately realised that it had to be related to the firing of the weapon. A smile crossed his lips as he flipped the switch one notch up, there was a soft lovely click, the only click sweeter than this would be the releasing of hasps on certain garments but that is neither here nor there. "My dear Hasan," he said as he aimed the weapon up into the air "I hardly think it is broken," he squeezed the trigger and at once there was a single sharp but low blast rather unlike any rifle he had heard before, casually he squeezed it twice more both times it fired neatly.

As Whitcomb did this he got the full attention of everyone, a couple of them smiled and half laughed delighted, but the others looked on a bit embarrassedly kind of scratched their heads a bit but drew nearer. As they did so Whitcomb carefully flipped the switch into the third position and then aimed the rifle at a small shrub some forty feet away before squeezing the trigger gently. There was a sharp barking or almost droning sound and a veritable fountain of brass cartridge cases flew from the rifle while the branches of the brush were shredded.

"Most excellent!" Whitcomb said at the sight of this "Whomsoever invented this may have been a godless heathen, but by Allah he made a weapon worth having!" Seeing the response of the assembled group he added "There's a trick to it," he said as he explained exactly what he had done.

Hearing this Mousa smiled as he listened to it, then he translated it to the rest and immediately everyone seemed to offer up the rifle they carried "I am telling them that it is a trick that only those that speak heathen languages can do," he explained.

"But I say why?" Whitcomb asked feeling quite confused.

Mousa smiled and chuckled before he replied "Because if I told them anything else they would just fire the weapon on full automatic and waste all their bullets!" He said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

The two newcomers, Ibrahim al-Khayyam and Khalid ibn-Rushd now rushed up to the top of one of the rocks and peered intently in the direction where they suspected that the communists would come. They were not long disappointed for soon they saw in the distance a rising cloud of dust, marking the passage of many horses, and it was drawing near fast.

"What of the slaves," Mousa asked curiously as he eyed the captive communist pilot warily "They would need guarding!" He said in general, not wanting to offend this man Whitcomb by being too obviously interested in his property.

Whitcomb walked over to the communist she pilot checking that she was securely restrained "I think this one is the only one that'll be trouble," he said quite certainly as he noticed the defiant hateful stare of the communist leaving him with no doubt as to what she'd do if she had the chance. "Fortunately the other slaves have a particular hatred of Communists, so there is no chance of them allying themselves with them, or letting this one escape" Whitcomb explained as he threw the communist over his shoulder carrying her over to where Diana and the boys were at.

"Let me down you decadent counter-revolutionary! I can walk myself!" the communist she pilot hissed in her heavily accented Imperial, she squirmed as he carried her but he was nevertheless quite capable of holding on to her despite her best efforts. As he reached the spot where Diana and the boys were at he dropped the pilot to the ground where she rolled over on the dusty ground and struggled trying to get up.

Diana and the boys looked nervously at the prisoner, but more so they cast long worried looks at the wild and savage looking tribesmen, gathering the boys to her Diana looked up at Whitcomb "Sir, who is this woman?" she asked as she saw another woman, apparently an outsider, in great distress and of course this solicited sympathy, and yet she saw the casual and almost callous way that this woman was treated by a man whose judgement and good nature she had come to rely upon. It was in short most distressing to her.

"Mrs Westley this a Communist Pilot, a Krasnayan, and an ally to the lot that helped overthrow Gosford," Whitcomb said simply enough, he did not add "and an ally of the people that smashed your family's fortunes and got you to this place of misery what he did say was "Be very careful for she may try to escape."

It was a surprising thing that happened, the sympathy died in Diana's eyes and was replaced by distaste if not hatred, her face hardened and her teeth were set. Whitcomb was not surprised by this reaction, but saddened, and more so since he knew what a devout and virtuous woman Diana Westley was and what tribulations she had been exposed to in order to fill her with such righteous anger.

"By God Sir she shan't escape, I'll ..." Diana looked at him and pleaded "Give me a knife and I'll make sure she doesn't get away."

"I'll give you a knife in case she tries to escape," Whitcomb said as he offered her a sharp and leaf shaped blade from his collection, pulling it slowly from the scabbard and exposing the ten inch long blade to the rays of the sun which reflected dully in it or to do what needs to be done if we should lose he thought as he handed it to her bone shaft first.

Immediately Diana moved over to the captured pilot, pinning the woman down, Diana moved so that she sat astride the pilot and carefully pulled at her skirt to preserve dignity but she rested the knife against the pilots throat and looked angrily into her eyes.

Charles seemed quite surprised, and a bit dismayed about this, but he did not protest, instead looking worried at the tribesmen and moving closer to Whitcomb.

"Charles," Whitcomb said as he placed his hand on Charles' shoulder looking him into the eyes "I'll give you a rifle, and I expect you to use it against the enemy that is coming, remember now not to offer provocation to our temporary allies and that they think you a slave so do and say nothing that would betray the truth," flicking a glance towards Mousa he added "Remember that one speaks English, and none of them are stupid even if they are dressed in rags and fur."

"Yes Sir," Charles said obediently, accepting Whitcombs authority, even as he eagerly eyed the rifle like and young man would when there was about to be danger.

Turning to Hasan Whitcomb asked simply "Will they mind?" he wished he had thought of it earlier but it was really only a question of whether they'd give him trouble about his decision or not.

"Ah no Sir," Hasan replied "It would be an insult to you if they dared presume dictate what you did with your own slaves Sir."

"Then I could kill a man who questioned me so?" Whitcomb asked casually, even as he showed his teeth through his thick beard.

"Oh yes Sir, strike him dead, no one would think less of you!" Hasan said excitedly, slapping his rifle, then he smiled a bit and shrugged and added "Of course his family and friends may go after you later on, but... you could always pay blood money and around here they say you're not a real man till you've had at least one blood feud."

Whitcomb smiled at this and let out a little laugh, even as he heard a cry raised from one of their scouts on top of the rock, and Hasan turned urgently to him "SIR! He said the Godless ones draw near!" His eagerness was clear in his young face as he hoisted up his rifle.

Whitcomb gave him a nod "Remember to support it against a rock to spare your injure shoulder," he said before he walked briskly back to Mousa, not wanting to show concern over some twenty Communists.

"Ibrahim!" Mousa cried "Time to do battle!" He pointed towards the horizon where the dust cloud drew ever nearer, he then sized up the stranger and at once Whitcomb knew what he thought who is the leader here, he or I? the same thought going through both their heads at once.

"I shall take that flank there," Whitcomb said pointing at the relatively safe place where he had placed his people "I speak English as to Hasan, so there is no confusion, and you?" He said this firmly, so as to know he was not asking but rather saying how it would be.

"I will command my men here, we will receive them with fire and steel Ibrahim!" Mousa said, and then let out a laugh "Ah yes this will be glorious! Inshallah we shall be victorious and have much loot!"

"It is all in the hands of Allah" Whitcomb replied, glad that the matter was secure, but worried still that they lacked a single command structure. He now went back to his position, the rocks there were sturdy and the slaves would be sheltered from the fire, but as he gazed back the colourful fluttering airbag of the balloon was quite visible By Jove it'll be a miracle if it survives.

He now brought up his automatic, flicking the firing lever into the right position, then he inspected the place where Charles and Hasan lay making certain that their firing positions were good and had a clear view of the approaching foe. Charles was of course excited, but somewhat worried too, and as Whitcomb quickly showed him a better firing position moving him somewhat to the side and showing him where his rifle could rest more firmly on a relatively flat section of rock "Always rest your rifle against something firm if you can," he advised, then he looked Charles and impressed one thing "Not one shot before I begin to shoot, do you understand young man? Not a one!"

After Charles nodded and croaked out "Yes Sir," between slightly parched lips Whitcomb moved on.

Hasan seemed born to this role, his native garb quite filthy and dusty helped him to blend in among the rocks, and indeed he had thrown a dusty brown blanket around him that made him blend in even further. When he saw Whitcomb he smiled showing bright white teeth contrasted against his dirtied face "Sir! No worries, I have good support!" he said even as he winced a little each time too much pressure was laid upon his wounded shoulder. Whitcomb at once moved up and checked it, moving his hand beneath Hasan's cloak feeling the shoulder wound, it felt soft and his hand came back moistened with spots of blood, but there was no smell of putrefaction.

Jeeves had already found a rather good position, one that just happened to let him keep an eye out on their erstwhile allies, he too had drawn a blanket over his body and the sight of the wild bearded man in a native outfit peering out from under a thick dusty carpet was so unusual that Whitcomb smiled and laughed "Ah Jeeves I see you find the way of the natives to be to your liking!" He cried out.

"Alas Sir I fear that I do not, and that the friendly house guests of the natives," Jeeves scratched his beard to show precisely what guests he referred to "find that Christian blood is as good as that of a Mohammedans." He was however carefully aiming his automatic rifle, his keen eyes scanning the horizon and waiting for the enemy to draw within range "three or four minutes now Sir," he estimated as he could start to make out moving shapes inside the cloud.

"Yes Jeeves I think so too, give a yell if something odd should happen eh?" Whitcomb said as he gave a nod towards their allies, the two men exchanged knowing glances understanding each others meaning in the way that only experienced fighters who had bled together before could really understand.

Now then Whitcomb found his own firing position, where he could keep an eye on both Hasan and Charles, Jeeves was not visible to him but he was quite confident that his valet could hear him and that he would not be taken by surprise. He went down in a crouch, pulling his garb closely around him but not using any blanket, instead counting on his own ability to remain perfectly still peering out through a tiny crack between two rocks.

Slowly, oh so slowly, the tiny moving shadows inside the dust cloud turned into men on horse, even in the distance Whitcomb thought they looked much like his native companions rough men in quaint garb with loose trousers and robes with turbans or fur hats, all but four of them that is. Wasting no time he dug out his binoculars and held them one handed, the other hand cradling the rifle, and peered towards the horsemen, through the binoculars he scanned over the first row of savage looking natives all of whom carried automatic rifles of the same pattern as he had uncovered.

The four that stood out however were very different, certainly they wore big fur caps, but here the similarity ended for they wore long greenish grey coats instead of native garb, and they had black boots upon their feet. Their faces though was were the difference truly lay, these were pale faces and not swarthy, their cheeks were shaven unlike the bearded men with them, but most of all set firmly in their tall fur caps were a twinkling red enamel star!

He leaned against the firm rock and put away the binoculars, breathing slowly as he squeezed the stock of his rifle against his shoulder, closing his right eye and looking down the barrel. Slowly he aligned the sights, the rear sights had numbers stamped into them and by adjusting them he fixed the sights at three hundred yards. Then there was nothing to do but to wait for them to draw nearer, he squinted slightly as he moved his aim ever so slightly while considering which of the advancing foes he should shoot first.

Whatever else you could say about the Azhistanis they did have passable fire discipline, even as Whitcomb thought Hold! hold! to himself. The thunder of the horses came nearer, a low rumbling at first but then louder and louder, in the distance he could make out more and more details, the glistening sweat at the flanks of the horses, the true colour of the garments beneath the layer of dust, and the crisscrossed bandoliers across their chests with brass covered bullets glittering in the sun.

There was a certain nervous tension, a desperate urge to move, to shoot, to do something anything rather than just lay still and wait, and it gripped the young more than the old so Whitcomb would occasionally flick a glance in the direction of Charles. Fortunately the young man was following Whitcombs directions with an admirable level of dedication, keeping his finger of the trigger while waiting for his superior to shoot.

Finally the horsemen drew nearer, some of them pointing at the Montgolfier, and the more eager among them grabbed the reins of their horse between their teeth and began to fire their rifles at the giant target that the giant balloon was. In his rear Whitcomb could hear the slight ripping and popping sounds as the odd bullet tore a hole in the gasbag, even at this distance it was simply too large to miss entirely. He was not overly dismayed though as this revealed two things, first that the enemy were excellent horsemen, but second that they had poor if any discipline.

"Aaaaah for a regiment of Pampan horse," Whitcomb whispered as he saw the first horseman hit the three hundred yard line, they were now charging at full speed one group heading towards the cache and another peeling off from the main to move towards the Montgolfier. He felt the light winds in his face, ruffling his long beard, then he let out his breath and gently squeezed the trigger of the rifle THAKH the rifle barked once and a single brass cartridge spun through the air.

Among the horsemen the sound of a rifle being fired just confirmed the enemy was near, some of them began to shoot at the rocks while yelling savage guttural battle cries that Whitcomb could not make out. Then one of their horses collapsed, the proud beast pierced in the chest and both it and its master went for a tumble, the horse actually bounced a little as it hit the ground trapping the master beneath.

Whitcomb squeezed the trigger gently again firing a short burst at the enemies, from where he lay he could only see the impact of one of them when it kicked up a small plume of dust beneath the riders. Good Lord has my aim deteriorated so much? he thought but then the answer to his predicament struck his mind at once Meters not yards! This damnable device is made according to that awful metric system! Of course by now the attackers were so close that he did not need the distant sight anymore, instead having to fight them up close.

At once the horsemen scattered like a flight of fowl spotting a predator, but rather than fleeing they proceeded to advance moving erratically and quickly, but even as they did so more shots rang out from all around. Their numbers were thinned as two more horses were slain or badly injured, one of them not dead but crumbled with a pitiful neigh, but however they went down they took their riders with them, and another two were injured from the heavy fire. Even so they were not lacking in courage or determination and so they continued to advance a group of five approaching the Montgolfier while the remaining twelve moved to attack the spot where the cache lay.

From all around shots now rang out as everyone poured fire into the advancing horsemen, and yet only one more of them was hit, apparently in the stomach for he clutched his belly for a moment even as he continued to spur his horse on apparently unaware of any pain. At any rate his pain did not last much longer for Whitcomb fired a single three round burst at him, at least one of the bullets hit for the rider slumped over in the saddle but even though he was dead he stuck in the saddle seemingly for an eternity before half slumping over and hanging sideways from the saddle kept in place by his stirrups. Slowly he began to slide out of the saddle, even as the horse became confused and frantic over the strangely shifting weight, its eyes wild and its head twisting, till finally the body dropped from the saddle, it didn't move it just lay there still the rifle flung some two feet away from it.

They were too close for fancy aiming now, close enough that Charles ducked down as a couple of shots ricocheted near his head smashing loose chips of stone some of which had enough force to cut his face. Clutching his injured face he crouched down as a small stream of blood flowed between his fingers. Nervously he peered up from behind his rock, pushing his rifle up and firing again and again, but to little effect as the seemingly endless fusillade of enemy shots made you wish desperately to keep your head down.

Now the four surviving riders however were reaching the rocks, one of them hollered "LENINU AKBAR! KHOMUNEI!" as he rushed forward eager to be the first to run through the gaps in the rocks and cut down or shoot down the foolish dogs on the other side! He was a young and eager fellow, bright white teeth and cheeks where the first fuzzy growths had barely begun to show, he wore a bright blue turban, a fine white fur coat too of the kind that would cost a pretty penny in any bazaar, and loose black trousers of the native cut.

Whitcomb moved swiftly now, judging with an expert eye where the youngster would come through, his rifle at the ready as he moved quickly in a crouched gait hiding his motion from the enemies while expertly keeping an eye on the approaching rider. Then it happened, one of those fortuitous moments in life when an opportunity is handed to you, the young lad was riding hard but just as he reached the narrow opening he slow his mount; it's the way of things that the young and inexperienced often react either by speeding up or slowing that at the wrong moment, not from cowardice but rather from being uncertain and wanting a little more control at that crucial moment when it is rock or brush that is against you and not men.

As the lad went through the gap Whitcomb struck as fast as a serpent, his coiled up body moving out and grabbing the youth so fast that he didn't realise what was happening before Whitcomb had pulled him clean off his horse. Only then did the lad struggle, but wrongly so for he struggled to ready his rifle that he had held earlier, instead of grabbing for a shorter more convenient weapon. Ripping him up and slamming the lads back against the rock Whitcomb looked deep into his eyes, the two of them almost face to face, the young warrior struggled defiantly until Whitcomb used a couple of old tricks first with his knee and then pushing hard so the lads head knocked against the rock with a slight thud knocking him unconscious.

Letting the lad fall to the ground Whitcomb spun around, the lads horse had stopped as soon as it felt the rider came off, and now it stood a few feet away ambling aimlessly. Whitcomb studied it quickly as he was no mean judge of horseflesh, it was a splendid beast, fit and well built, the saddle was lovingly decorated too as was indeed the wont for anyone with money in this land. Rushing forth he grabbed the reins with his right hand while clutching the rifle in his left, then he placed his foot in the stirrup and swung himself up in a single well exercised motion AHA! I could definitely have made it in the cavalry he thought even as the first shots of the attacking enemy flew over his head.

As he mounted the horse and spun it around the heard the whine of the bullets, and the sharp barking of the enemy rifles, his horse whinnied and seemed to skitter a bit but its cavalry training overcame its instinctual horror at gunfire and the confusion from having a new rider. They say that you don't hear the bullet that hits you, Whitcomb knew this was wrong because he did hear it or thought he did just before it grazed his left arm. Gritting his teeth he took the reins between his teeth, kicked the horse in the guts and lifted his rifle up as he almost flew into action, the proud stallion accelerating at a fearsome rate.

The remaining three horsemen were divided, two of them were rushing in among the rocks and towards the balloon, and alas were in a position to threaten the women and the boys. The third was still outside the rock positions, but still in an excellent position to take potshots at Whitcomb, it was in short a most cumbersome position to be in.

It was then that a series of shots rang out from Hasans' position and the fellow outside the rocks slid out of his saddle while his mount desperately careened away. Immediately Whitcomb saw that the two riders on the inside were moving towards where the women were, and there was only one thing for it he grabbed the reins by his teeth like he'd learned to do on the Grand Plains and then he lifted the rifle to his shoulder and aimed it even as his horse thundered forward.

The two enemies still ahead were an odd pair, one of them was a big fellow with a bushy beard and a loud bellowing voice as he swung his rifle around firing it madly at the approaching Farang on the stolen horse. The bullets whizzed around Whitcombs ears, but he brought up his own rifle and squeezed of a single burst of shots that tore into the enemy's chest making him keel over. That was when he felt it, a weak tug in his side and a moist feeling, the injury was slight and he felt no pain yet, but it reminded him most forcefully that there was a last enemy to be dealt with.

The last foe however was quite different, the odd one out, a long grey-green cloak flung around him, black long riding boots, green trousers barely visible and sticking out from beneath his coat, and set in his thick fur cap firmly perched on his head as a single bright enamel red star. He was already bringing up his weapon, similar yet slightly different to the automatic rifle that Whitcomb had taken from the cache, already he was turning to aim it at Whitcomb.

Whitcomb reacted without thinking thkthkthk his rifle went as he emptied two bursts straight into the horse of his charging foe, the horse actually screamed or perhaps that was his imagination. The horse wasn't moving that fast so it didn't tumble head first instead it sort of twisted sideways trapping its riders leg beneath it and sent his rifle sprawling skittering across the dusty ground.

Even with his rifle separated from him the communist didn't stop squirming, apparently his leg was merely trapped and not broken for he struggled to get loose from under the horse, stretching his hand as far as he could for his rifle, almost but not quite reaching the rifle carrying strap. Slowly he stretched further and further, his fingers coming nearer and nearer, and inch by inch he began to struggle loose.

Alas his efforts were in vain for Whitcomb rushed over, flinging his rifle over his back and then riding by bending down for one second as he grabbed the carrying strap snatching the rifle with him and flinging it into the distance before he dismounted his horse and approached the fallen Communist fighter. The Communist dug into his pocket and shouted something in his own guttural language as he searched the pocket, Whitcomb was not too keen on finding out what the Communist was looking for so he leapt forward quickly and kicked the Communist twice, once in the gut making him double over and start retching and secondly in the head knocking him out at least for now.

In the distance he could see that the surviving Communist attackers were fleeing madly, there were perhaps nine of them left riding like the devil himself was in their heels; then again given what Whitcomb had seen of Azhistan if you ended up in the hands of the natives you might wish you'd taken the other fellow instead.

The Camp of Our Heroes
A stone circle on the plains of Azhistan
Azhistan
April 1005 NE

The end of the battle was almost anti-climactic, Whitcombs' heart certainly was still pounding madly with the passion of the fight, but now he had two prisoners and much loot too both of which satisfied him immensely. Even as he scanned his captive foes he felt an sticky sucking sensation where his blood had drenched his clothes and were making them stick to his body in quite disturbing ways.

"Jeeves!" Whitcomb cried out loud, then as his faithful retainer appeared almost as if by magic Whitcomb said "Tie up the young lad over there and ensure he tries no nonsense, and then," he swallowed and whispered "Attend me, I fear I am hurt."

"Yes Sir I shall," Jeeves replied as he eyed his master quickly before rushing over to do as he was instructed, kneeling next to the unconscious lad and tearing of his turban unravelling it to produce quite a respectable rope with which he tied the lads hands and feet. Afterwards he naturally did what any prudent man would do, he searched the lad thoroughly and recovered a very fine jewelled dagger, a fine scimitar, plus some jewellery and gold coin kept inside a silken purse, in short fine loot.

Meanwhile Whitcomb walked over to the discarded rifle, examining it carefully before pulling away the rifle carrying strap, it was a rough thing but quite solid and suitable for tying the Communists hands behind his back. He too was a rather young man, almost innocent looking despite being a soldier for the Godless ones, but that couldn't be helped. Whitcombs quick but thorough search revealed nothing of any importance aside from some personal papers and a pair of metal chips around his neck.

Jeeves now returned and commenced examining Whitcombs injuries, while he held on to his rifle and tried not to take notice of it even though it was somewhat painful "I say Sir, there's nothing too awful a couple of grazing wounds but that one in your side, you'll need Healing for that soon Sir or it might go bad or you'll lose more blood."

Whitcomb nodded once "Yes Jeeves, I know, but it won't do to show weakness before these natives, eh?"

"No Sir it would not do at all."

"Come then let us see how well Charles and Hasan did during our fray, and how fair Diana," Whitcomb stopped and corrected himself "Ms Westley that is, has done in holding onto our first captive."

"Quite Sir, quite."

Clutching his injured side slightly Whitcomb accompanied Jeeves as they checked upon the young men, Hasan smiled and waved "Greetings Sirs! Ah it was glorious! We fought like lions!" he said even as he rose from the hidden position from which he'd been shooting.

"Well done Hasan, you are a good fighter" Whitcomb said to the young man who beamed from the praise, then he turned to Charles "Charles how are you?"

Charles was still clutching his bleeding cheek which was covered in drying and fresh blood standing in a marked contrast against his fair face. "I am good Sir, it's but a scratch," he said trying to seem brave even though he had not dared to remove his hand from his wound since the end of the fight.

"Let us see then," Whitcomb said and gently pulled Charles' hand away, the blood still stuck somewhat to the youngsters hand tore re-opened the wound a bit. After a quick examination Whitcomb said "It's just a light wound, head wounds bleed fiercely even if they are light," he patted Charles amiably "It'll leave a good scar, something to impress your friends with!"

"Thank you Sir," Charles said even as a new trickle of blood ran down his cheek.

"Have someone put a bandage on that," Whitcomb added like Diana perhaps he thought, then he added "Hasan, Jeeves, why don't the two of you go and search the other bodies and horses? I am certain they hold things worth having, then afterwards we divide the loot."

"Yes Sir," Hasan said with a big smile happy at the chance of increasing his fortunes, and of having something other than a good story to show for himself when this was all over.

Jeeves gave a quick bow before saying "Yes Sir, I have already liberated the youngster of his assets," he said as he handed over the loot found there "For the common pot Sir."

"Of course Jeeves," Whitcomb said as he took it and tucked it away for now, "Most appreciated," he said in a tone of voice that revealed that he had never even considered the idea that Jeeves would abscond with any of the loot.

As they separated Jeeves and Hasan hurried to check on the fallen enemy warriors, whereas Whitcomb rushed over to where Diana was, hoping that the communist she pilot had not wriggled loose of her bonds somehow.

Fortunately Diana and the children were still safe the children peered up nervously from their shelter behind a handful of small boulders. Their hair, faces and clothes were quite filthy with dust, indeed if Whitcomb didn't know better he might have thought he was looking at a set of Azhistani youngsters, except that their sister probably wouldn't have dared to try to pull her brothers back down behind the rocks as Sandra now did. The older boy struggled and said something that Whitcomb could not hear, no doubt a saying that he was not a child. However as Sandra peered up cautiously, her eyes big and round with concern, she let out a long relaxed breath even as her young frame still shivered from fear.

He found that Diana had still a firm grip on her captive, indeed they were still in the same position as when Whitcomb had left them. Diana was still sitting astride the recalcitrant communist with her knife resting on the enemy's throat, however the Communists face was marred by a black eye and a slightly cracked and swelling lip, as well as a couple of spots of spittle running down from her face. The two women eyed each other angrily, there seemed little doubt that they hated each other with that special vitriol only women can muster.

Feeling a tad worried Whitcomb walked over and extended his hand "The knife if you please Ms Westley," he said in a calm but firm tone of voice.

Diana didn't seem to hear him at first, then she blinked and looked at him as if in a daze holding the knife up but not doing anything.

"Give it to me please," Whitcomb said to her "The knife."

Still in a daze she handed it over holding it out with the blade first, Whitcomb sighed a little and gently pried the handle loose from her hand before taking it "What happened here?"

"She tried to escape," Diana replied, then she blushed and looked a way a bit "Well... she struggled and, said horrible things, then she spat at me."

"You little capitalist whore! You're all so brave when you..." the pilot suddenly yelled only to be cut short by an angry but not very hard slap from Diana.

"YOU EVIL ATHEIST STRUMPET!" Diana yelled "YOU YOU!" searching desperately for an insult she found something that she had once heard some of the servants whisper with guilty giggles "YOU'RE JUST A FIELD MATTRESS!"

The pilot understood enough of this insult to turn beet red and then begin to scream out most unladylike obscenities both in her guttural native tongue and in proper English, insults of a nature that would be tiresome to repeat but which would only be known to the lowest of women in any civilized state.

"Kindly stop it the two of you!" Whitcomb said, though only Diana seemed to pay attention stopping at once and looking at him even as he pulled her up and off of the communist.

"I'm so sorry," Diana whispered nervously, then she began to sob uncontrollably against Whitcombs chest as he, gentlemanly enough, tried to avoid getting blood on her dress.

Meanwhile the Communist pilot continued her vile barrage, apparently having regained her courage for now, Whitcomb looked at her wondering what kind of wicked system could have made a woman willingly use such language or indeed go out in the field to fight as a soldier. Diana's accusation seemed far more likely by the moment. That aside her ranting was drawing attention from the natives who were apparently taking an interest in their allies. Whitcomb looked around for Jeeves but seeing that his loyal servant was busy Whitcomb pulled away a bit from Diana and whispered "Ms Westley I'll have to gag her, she's drawing the natives over."

Diana nodded "I understand Sir," she whispered back as she pulled away a bit and daubed her face with an improvised handkerchief.

Quickly Whitcomb began to improvise a gag by such materials as he could scrounge up locally tearing loose pieces of cloth from one of the corpses to create a good gag which he then forced into the pilots mouth and wrapped a scarf around it reducing her insults to incomprehensible mumbles.

In the mean time Diana noticed something odd about Whitcombs clothes, she kneeled next to him as he gagged the Communist and looked at his arm and torso "Oh sweet lord!" Diana suddenly burst out "You are injured!"

"Tis' but a scratch," Whitcomb said trying to calm her down "I shan't need more than the services of some hedge wizard or wise woman."

"Magic? I've heard of it here, the domain of women on this world, or so they say," Diana said "But please let me look at it, I've learned how to make bandages and to stitch up wounds."

"Stitch?" Whitcomb asked with surprise clear in his voice "You mean to stitch my hide as if it were a piece of cloth?"

Now it was Diana's turn to be surprised "Surely Pendletonians stitch wounds on occasion?" Yet Whitcombs uncomprehending look, as if he half thought she was joking, made it clear they did not "good heavens!" she cried "what if you are hurt then?"

"We have hedge wizards, cunning women, and for more serious hurts there are doctors of healing," Whitcomb said revealing the stunning truth that on Pendleton healing was almost entirely magical.

"Will you then please let me see your wounds and apply a bandage?"

"Of course, but not now, for I perceive that Mousa abd-Rahim draws near, quick now," he motioned towards the basket of the Montgolfier "draw yourself, the girl and the boys into the basket of the Montgolfier

"But you're..." Diana began, but seeing his stern glance she sighed "very well," she said as if humouring him "come along now, you too" she called to the children as she gathered them up in the basket of the Montgolfier.

"IBRAHIM!" Mousa cried as he approached, Whitcomb also approached Mousa so they could meet half way, while Jeeves carefully moved into the background his rifle at the ready just in case.

"PRAISE ALLAH! We have been victorious!" Mousa cried as he approached and then spread his arms as if expecting to embrace his brother in arms, Whitcomb hesitated a moment but entered the hug that they both exchanged, they squeezed each other hard and Whitcomb did not show the least discomfort.

"Praise Allah that we met you! Surely it was his will that you should be here," Mousa said, then he kissed Whitcomb in the fashion of the natives, before pulling back and extending his hand, Whitcomb shook it gratefully to see at least one ritual that he recognised.

Hasan however seemed most impressed by this, and from the solemn way the handshaking was done Whitcomb sensed that something very important just happened I'll have to ask about that later on he thought.

"Inshallah we shall escape with the loot before they return," Whitcomb said, "Ah I got blood on your clothes," he said pointing to one of the fresher blood spot on Mousas' clothes.

"HAH!" Mousa said as he saw the spot "never mind, there is much blood there already, the blood of infidels! But..." he looked at Whitcombs wound "You are hurt?"

"Tis' but a scratch, it does not worry me" Whitcomb said, then he motioned towards the two male captives one under a horse and the other waking up and starting to stir by the side of the rock "Behold Sir! Two captives I have taken, with their labour we shall no doubt get the crates out of the ground without demeaning ourselves with labour."

"Or spoiling the soft hands of your own slaves My Lord?" Mousa said with a knowing glance.

Whitcomb couldn't help but smile "Of course, their soft flesh is better for ... other things," which had the added benefit of being true though not in the way Mousa would think.

"HAHA!" Mousa said as he threw his head back "O Lord! You are a man of my own heart! So true too, though..." he smiled as he eyed the native captive "Aaaah, you are so right, but... shall we inspect the prisoners."

"Yes that would be good, let us take that one first, shall we?" Whitcomb said pointing at the one with his leg caught under the horse "See if his leg is injured or not."

"Mmhmm," Mousa's eyes turned back to the handsome young lad leaning against the rock, but then he smiled widely again "of course O Lord! Let us save the best for last!"

"Yes lets," then as they walked towards the trapped Communist soldier he leaned a bit closer and whispered "We could divide the prisoners, you could keep the younger one by the rock, and I'll take the trapped communist back home with me."

Mousa seemed quite pleased with this "Yes your speech is wise! This is how we shall do it," he peered at the captured communist and slapped him hard in the face with the back of his hand "INFIDEL DOG!" he yelled. The captive said something in his own native language, defiant enough that it seemed he was not in great pain.

"Charles and Jeeves please come here," Whitcomb cried "if you would pull this communist free of his horse," he added as he motioned towards the struggling communist who was finding that his restraints were quite solid.

The pair walked over, and Whitcomb was pleased to see that Hasan was casually leaning against one of the rocks but holding his rifle at the ready, just in case. Indeed Whitcomb too pulled back a bit so he could bring up and fire his rifle at a moments notice no matter what. There was however no drama as Jeeves and Charles pulled and lifted a bit slowly pulling free their temporarily co-operative captive.

"Strong and quite healthy too, a sturdy worker no doubt," Mousa announced as he looked at the Communist, he was perhaps in his early twenties if that an innocent cast to his features, his hair a darkish shade of brown, he tried to stand silent and brave but being at the mercy of these tribesmen would terrify any man.

Whitcomb nodded, then he said "Quite so no doubt he'll be able to put in a good days work Sir," he said then he nodded towards the young lad "That one however might not be so sturdy, but I'm sure both of them will be quite satisfactory."

"Oh indeed they will be," Mousa replied still smiling widely showing his yellowing teeth "With a lick of the lash they shall no doubt get this thankless task done on time, quite satisfactory."

Whitcomb studied the young soldier a bit more he'll live he decided before he told Mousa "I am sure you know best what duties he is suited for, so long as the lick of the lash and, whatever else you do, does not diminish his value when I reclaim him afterwards."

This statement pleased the Azhistani greatly "Of course O Lord, you are gracious to share the... labour of your Christian Slave!" They exchanged looks at that.

"Christian? Sir aren't the communists unbelievers altogether? Mushrikeen?"

"Oh surely not O Lord! For if he were then I should have to cut of his head," Mousa said while patting his scimitar "Or else convert him to Islam."

"Let us assume he's a Christian for convenience, if we are wrong we can always kill him or convert him later Sir."

"Agreed! Hah! Definitely agreed!"

They then walked over to the first youth, with his turban removed his black lustrous hair was revealed, and his dark eyes glazed up defiantly at them as he barked out some curse in his native tongue before trying to spit at them but it only succeed in landing on his own chest.

"O what is more splendid than the youth whose first soft down hath appeared on his cheek!" Mousa decreed, then he added "No doubt of a good family who would fetch a pretty ransom," since they had already struck a deal he saw no reason not to reveal this, but then he added "This is surely the youth of which Abu Tammam wrote," and then he recited a poem in his own tongue which seemed to please Hasan and upset their captive.

"Then you are twice fortunate in this matter Sir," Whitcomb replied graciously "First for the labour provided, and second for the ransom."

"You are a worthy man O Lord, greatly knowledgeable in the ways of the world," Mousa replied joyfully "May you attain Paradise!"

"For the faithful death in Jihad guarantees Paradise!" Whitcomb replied "Inshallah I shall not die in my bed, but rather a man's death in the field!" he said even as he felt the warm blood run down his body it's even true though the paradise I hope for is the Christian one

"This is true O Lord, it is not fitting for a man to die of age in his bed, but rather with his blood hot and thundering through his veins, and his sword taking a mighty toll on his foe before him!"

"You can at times do the same in bed."

Mousa laughed at this joke, rather more than it deserved, but then he grew serious again "So true, so true, but Lord, you are injured, if you would come to our village upon our return then I swear, by the Prophet, Peace Be Upon Him, and the Holy Koran, that I shall provide healers for you and your people!"

Whitcomb nodded, then he spoke "This service would be much appreciated Sir, and yet now I shan't hold you from uncovering the cache least we be surprised upon the return of the communists."

Mousa then called forth two of his companions in his own language and spoke to them for some length, though this did not seem to worry Hasan who knew their language, they laughed a bit and the two captives were brought forth to do the digging. At first they were recalcitrant, but a few good blows soon rid them of ideas of resistance and being given sturdy shovels they proceeded to dig where, after some study, the remaining containers were thought to be.

While this was happening Whitcomb inspected the Montgolfier, but alas this was a sad sight for though the gasbag was still fully erect it was starting to sag and the cause of this was obvious: Dozens of holes in the fabric of the gasbag, any one of them insignificant but together they meant that barring a miracle the Montgolfier was finished.

"I fear Sir that the old girl has made her last trip," Jeeves said sounding quite melancholy about the whole thing.

"Jeeves do you think that if we fire her up she'll stay inflated?" Whitcomb asked cautiously as he peered up into the clear sky.

Jeeves thought for a moment then he said "Yes Sir, for a while at least, but she can't carry us any further though."

"It'd make a good landmark though, for the shuttle pilot I mean."

"Yes Sir so it would."

"Well Jeeves that seems our best bet for now, so please do attend to it while I see if Diana was serious of her offer to patch me together like some quilt."

"Quite Sir, quite."

As Whitcomb approached Diana he found that she had indeed not been jesting, however peculiar the idea appeared to Whitcomb she was already stitching up the gash in Charles' head. The young man winced a bit but the neat tidy stitches closed the wound quite well and stopped the bleeding suggesting that perhaps there was something to the idea.

Before sitting down Whitcomb greeted her "Good Afternoon Ms Westley," he smiled at Charles and added "How goes it? Is that head wound better?" Then he sat down on the woollen blankets that she had spread on the ground.

"Much better Sir," Charles replied, his sister sighed a bit "Sit still," she said even as her brother tried not to whimper as she finished up the stitches.

"I can attend to you now Sir," Diana said as she moved over to Whitcomb " no old crone with a wart as big as a second nose," her tone of voice was a bit mirthful "but I believe I can do the job."

"I will risk it," Whitcomb said watching her approach with needle and thread at the ready "after all I've risked so much already that the danger of appearing to be a patchwork quilt is but a trifle in comparison!"

Diana frowned ever so slightly "I see, well lets have a look at that wound."

Whitcomb grimaced a bit as he pulled opened his clothes enough to reveal his entire torso, the pain from having bits of cloth tug loose from the wound was quite exquisite. However he realised at once that he had made another mistake never question a womans' cooking, needlecraft or appearance, not even in jest he thought wondering how to make up for his mistake.

"Sit still please," Diana said as she examined his wounds, her eyes went big and round as she saw them "good heavens!" she cried "I can stitch the arm, and put a bandage on your torso wound but you need a real doctor or healer and fast too!"

Sighing and shaking his head a bit first Whitcomb finally said "Relax, it is not that bad I've had far worse before," he assured her, though she didn't quite believe it. He made no sign of discomfort as she stitched his arm, even though it did feel a tad odd, nor did he evince any great discomfort when she used some of the pear brandy to clean his wound "Ms Westley it rather wastes good brandy!"

"It keeps the wound from going bad Sir," Diana replied frowning a bit as she encountered another inexplicable hole in the knowledge of this strange man how can any country rely entirely on magic for its medicine?

"I see," Whitcomb said rather curious what about the pear brandy would do this, it stung a bit so perhaps it drove away malicious influences or helped to balance local humours.

Soon he was suitably patched together that he could move about without bleeding on everything. His clothes however were still quite filthy from the blood prompting Diana to look at them with disapproval and disgust "surely you cannot wear such ruined clothes Sir," she said in that tone of voice women use when they really mean 'most assuredly you shall not', and being a man of the world Whitcomb knew when it was time to argue and when it was not.

As luck would have it there were several items of clothing among the loot for though the trousers of the enemies were quite soiled and ruined there were collected other items therein that could be used. Soon then Whitcomb found himself in another set of native garb, not much different from what he had worn before but at least it was reasonably clean and without any large stains of blood.

By now the first half dozen or so crates had been uncovered and were being dragged up onto the ground and occasionally opened revealing, much to the delight of the natives, rows and rows of weaponry ranging from automatic rifles, to light machineguns, to light rocket launchers of a most peculiar design that was nevertheless quite impressive in appearance. Indeed a while after the first crate of rocket launchers was opened one of the companions, Ibrahim came along escorting the captured communist who carried a pair of rocket launchers and a sack of rockets on his shoulders.

Looking quite exhausted the Communist dumped them sullenly on the ground while Ibrahim bowed graciously to Whitcomb before kissing the sleeve of his robe. Then Ibrahim said something sonorous in his own language.

Hasan began to translate "He says Sir that these launchers and the rockets therein is part of the agreed share of the loot, that Mousa has sent, he will bring you the machineguns and the other things too but he only has one slave to carry it."

Whitcomb nodded to this, then he told Hasan "Thank him politely Hasan and tell him not to be afraid to weigh down the slave with extra ammunition"

Ibrahim smiled widely and bowed again and once more spoke in his native language, with Hasan translating "A thousand pardons if you are unsatisfied with the amount of ammunition, I shall certainly load this unworthy wretch down as if he were a mule!"

"Grateful lot," Charles mumbled even as he tried not to look too hard at the natives remembering, and resenting, that he had to pretend to be a mere slave.

"Oh not really young man," Jeeves whispered back surprising Charles who didn't know anyone was listening "They just have more weapons and ammunition than they know what to do with, for now."

"I say Mr Jeeves, do you think they're plotting treason," Charles asked nervously.

"Not yet, wait till they've tallied the loot, dug up the weapons, till they had their fill and then start looking for more loot that, young man, is when treachery comes."

Charles was none too happy about this statement, but he decided that holding on to his rifle and keeping silent was probably wise right about now.

Over the next half hour more ammunition and weapons were brought over, a pair of machineguns, much ammunition, indeed the small pile formed by the offered weapons was of such a size that it would be most difficult to bring it with them in their tiny Montgolfier.

"Think they plot treason," Whitcomb whispered to Hasan as he studied the natives.

Hasan looked quite shocked "Never Sir! You have eaten together, you've shared bread and salt, you've fought together! To betray you now is unthinkable, indeed Mousa would take you to his village dine with you, have your wounds healed and send you on your way with his blessings and not one of his tribe would lay hand on you for three days! So sacred is the bond of hospitality!"

"I see," Whitcomb said as he nodded, somehow he though that Hasan was quite right "but after that..."

"Well after that," Hasan smiled and shrugged "Whatever Allah wills!"

Letting out a laugh Whitcomb slapped his thigh "Of course, Inshallah we would be friends again yes?"

"Inshallah Sir, Inshallah."

Suddenly Robert, the oldest of the boys shouted something and pointed at the sky "Look Mr Westley Sir! A flyer!"

Charles looked at him annoyed "Sshhh," he said hushing him, then he peered up at the sky "That's not a flyer, that's a shuttle you silly boy." He suddenly froze for a moment feeling like a prize moron, then he jumped up and yelled "Sir! Shuttle!" pointing at the distant dot in the sky that was drawing nearer.

Whitcomb turned around and dug out his binoculars, quickly he began to focus them on the dot "Your young eyes do you credit," he said to Charles "That is indeed a shuttle," and a smile played around his lips "I dare say that almighty Allah has indeed held his hand over us."

Charles jumped up and lifted his hand as if to wave at the shuttle, but Whitcomb merely chuckled "I hardly think it can see us from up there young man, but say Jeeves please bring me my flare gun."

"Of course Sir," Jeeves said before heading to the Montgolfier and recovering the flare gun.

Whitcomb handled the flare gun loading it with a red phosphorus flare, then he waited as he watched the high flying shuttle wondering if it'd see him, hesitating a bit he turned to Hasan and said "Hurry go tell Mousa that our shuttle has come, and that I may need to fire a flare to signal it."

Even as the shuttle moved closer Hasan rushed over, running surprisingly fast, to convey the message, when he started running back the shuttle was nearly exactly over their heads and gave no sign of having seen them. Whitcomb shrugged then he fired his flare gun once into the air, the flare shot upwards and seemed to hang still in the air glaring red like an evil eye before slowly descending. Fortunately the shuttle immediately turned around and circled over them, and this time it began to slowly descent onto the surface.

"So what did Mousa say Hasan?" Whitcomb asked as their young pathfinder reached them.

"He said," wheeze "that ah... shoot, for if Allah wills it the Communist shan't see it, and if Allah wills it otherwise they find us anyway," Hasan said before taking another deep breath having quite exhausted himself from the run.

Slowly the shuttle descended revealing its gaily painted motifs, a nice pleasing blue and white design on the bettered cast iron surface of the shuttle, and the largish propellers one on the roof and one in the nose that allowed the shuttle to fly across the Azhistani plains. Finally it made its final approach skidding against the flat plans and raising clouds of grayish brown dust as it did the top propeller slowly coming to a rest before the large cargo door in the side opened up.

"Salaamu Aleikum!" the pilot called as he bowed towards Whitcomb and Jeeves who were just then approaching the shuttle.

"Aleikum Salaam," Whitcomb said as he bowed back "We have made native friends," he said motioning towards the natives, a couple of whom were drawing near. Then moving even closer he said, in a low voice, "We've dined together, but now I'd like you to take my personal cargo onboard and help us fly it back to the ship."

"Found your slaves yet Sir?" the pilot asked even as his glance darted towards the natives, the legends of their cruelty and savagery was unparalleled.

"Oh yes, indeed they are part of the cargo I wish you to take onboard," Whitcomb told him "and then... I think I will visit one of their villages, I got an invitation you see."

The pilot looked at him as if he had gone insane, but nodded softly then he said "As you wish Sir, as you wish..." he shook his head as if he was quite certain he was speaking to a madman but he was most assuredly not about to say this out loud.

The Camp of Our Heroes
A stone circle on the plains of Azhistan
Azhistan
April 1005 NE

"First things first," Whitcomb told the shuttle pilot, then he turned back to Jeeves "Jeeves I say tell Diana to round up the children and get aboard the shuttle, and then you and Charles can bring over the..." peered over at the shuttle pilot "the captured she pilot."

Jeeves went about this quickly and effectively, and soon enough Diana and the children, carrying bundles holding their precious few belongings, hurried aboard the shuttle. The shuttle pilots eyes went wide though as he saw the gagged Krasnayan pilot be carried onboard, even with her bulky overalls her gender was all too clear, and so for that matter was he status as a new slave.

"Sir, I have heard rumours of them, if they find out," the pilot said in a slightly shaky voice as he heard the she pilot get dropped on the floor.

Whitcomb gave him an apparently friendly smile "Don't worry, they won't, will they?"

"Inshallah."

"Inshallah."

Then with the help of the two newly captured slaves the cargo was quickly loaded onboard the waiting shuttle. Once more the shuttle pilot was quite astounded as the sizeable arsenal was placed on the floor of the shuttle.

Meanwhile Whitcomb spoke in a low voice to Mousa "O Sir I am indeed in need of healing, and this shuttle could be used to help transport part of your cargo to your village for there is still room left."

"Then I shall show you the way O Lord, and give you the hospitality that my humble house can offer," Mousa said with delight.

They then proceeded to load the shuttle up as much as they dared, till finally the pilot cried out "By Allah! If you give me a single pebble more to carry then surely the blades of my propellers will snap as if they were a childs toy!"

Only then did they relent and board the shuttle, Whitcomb generously suggested "I shall leave my prisoner behind, no doubt your men will need his labour."

Upon this news one of the natives left behind to uncover the weapons said something in their native languages, something which brought smiles to their lips and much laughter. Seeing that Whitcomb did not understand Mousa translated "They said that the two youths will get to visit the perfumed garden of which Abu Nuwas spoke."

The Shuttle, high above Azhistan

Then the cargo doors to the shuttle were closed and everyone found such seats as they could, mostly throwing themselves down on the ground and seeking some soft spot or at least a spot where they would not have the barrel of a machinegun digging into their ribs.

Soon the front propeller of the shuttle began to spin and the shuttle started to drag itself across the Azhistani plains as the top propeller also slowly began to move but it was a long and rather bumpy grind before the shuttle slowly lifted itself up and began to oh so slowly ascend higher and higher above the plains, leaving behind it a massive and rather ugly skid mark.

Soon they were flying above the plains of Azhistan, Mousa and Whitcomb sat in the cockpit along with the pilot, peering through the thick windows and onto the ground as they tried to keep track of the landmarks but of course that is not as easy as it seems. Nevertheless from Mousa's description the pilot finally managed to wind his way to a river valley leading into the plains region, flying up this river they were greeted with mostly vast untamed wilderness, the odd shrubbery, and here and there they might spot a shepherd or goatherd watching his charges while carefully cradling an ancient Jezail.

Then suddenly they reached a patch of golden grain swaying in the wind, and here Mousa cried "Aha! How often have I not stood on the mountain top and looked down upon this place! Land here!" he ordered commandingly

The pilot looked nervously upon the ground "If I land I shouldn't easily take off again," he said a frown on his brow.

"Why worry? This being the place we shall remove most of the cargo anyway," Whitcomb asked.

At that the pilot gave his assent and began the descent, he found a patch of riverside that seemed straight and clear and commenced the landing, muttering "Ya-Aali, Ya-Aali, Ya-Aali, Ya-Aali" constantly as they made the approach.

Azhistani Village

When the shuttle touched the ground it skittered across the pebbled riverbed, one side barely raising a thin mist of water as its edge occasionally touched the river itself, but despite the terrible tremors of the landing they finally stopped secure with still a good sixty feet to go of the long straight section.

Yet now, as from nowhere, a large group of tribesmen suddenly appeared as if by magic, some of them on horseback carrying swords or jezails, and others running towards them once more carrying swords or jezails. They were a motley crew, dressed in various combinations of sheepskin coats, jackets, blouses, baggy trousers and more regular trousers, but all of them had either a turban or a fur cap. All of them were also bearded men carrying themselves as trained scrappers as they surrounded the shuttle with lightning speed.

"Aaaah, my tribe," Mousa said feeling quite satisfied as he opened up a hatch and yelled something in a native language, there was a challenging reply but as he stuck his head out and showed himself there were wild cheers and several of the tribesmen rushed forward to greet him. He spoke to them briefly in his own language before going back inside and calling "Ibrahim al-Bagdadi, Saddam al-Husseini, Hasan it is good to come out now!"

As Whitcomb, Jeeves and Hasan stepped outside they were also greeted most heartily, but at once their attention was pulled to a tall and elegant man on horseback, riding a magnificent white mount, his beard was as black as a ravens wings and his eyes piercing and clear. When he spoke it was with a clear and commanding voice, revealing perfect white teeth, and his lock white coat made from the finest fur, as well as his embroidered trousers and blouse both decorated with elaborate patterns, and his green turban revealed him to be a chieftain of some great importance for the locals.

"Dost Khan!" Mousa announced as he motioned towards the man on the white horse.

Whitcomb offered up the greeting that only Mohammedans are supposed to give, and had it returned from Dost Khan who peered curiously at them before clapping his hand and at once a pair of women, their hair covered by thin shawls, appeared as if out of nowhere one of them carried a small basket with bread and the other a silver cup filled with salt both of which they offered to their guest.

After they had each broken loose a bit of bread and swallowed it with some salt Dost Khan smiled again and called out something else, at which point four horses were brought forth they were good animals but nowhere near as good as the ones that Dost Khan was riding.

By way of translation Dost Khan told them simply "Visitors from a foreign land, you are welcome and honoured guests, especially as you bring much in the way of weapons, now it is not fitting that men of your stature walk so please mount these horses 'ere we ride back to the village."

Whitcomb now wondered how to handle this savage lord, but he mounted the horse feeling better as he once more looked down upon the foot soldiers, and finally finding his words he said "The Great Dost Khan should know that there is a free Moslem pilot of this craft, is he too included in your hospitality?"

Dost Khan laughed "Of course! Had I known he was there I should have done so at once! Yet I perceive there is another item on your mind."

"I am a foreigner it is true, and a merchant, and my cargo causes me great worry, pray that Mousa's cargo be unloaded by your slaves and that mine be sent back to my ship that it may be," here Whitcomb had to think quickly "stowed securely by the ships Captain," for if he said what he had thought secure he would surely have offended their host.

"Of course," Dost Khan replied "Now please tarry no further and join me for a meal, that we may speak more!" after saying this he turned his horse and began to ride back towards the camp apparently not conceiving that someone would refuse.

No one did of course and they all followed him back through the village, the village itself was quite a ramshackle affair with one or two story buildings made mainly from the local rock and sun dried brick. The only building of true not was the local mosque, which was marked by a heavy dome and seemed to be quite ancient.

They were however not invited into any of the houses in the village, not even the headsmans house which they recognise on account of it being quite a bit larger than the other houses. Rather they were taken over a small hill and into a small dell where they found to their great amazement that several large tents had been erected they were brownish grey in colour and quite invisible from the air.

The interior of the tents however was the precise opposite of the exterior, they were ostentatious and richly decorated, lining the corners of the tent were rich silken pillows stuffed with down, thick colourful carpets suitable for sitting or reclining, gilded nargile pipes, bowls filled with fruit, and beautiful slave girls waiting on the guests. Truly the opulence of Azhistan was visible here with every luxury that the proud untamed breed of these lands could desire.

After a brief conversation with Mousa Dost Khan turned to the travellers "I am told that there are those among you who are injured?" he said looking at the three "I see that this is so, and then I offer the healing services of a slave girl that is in my possession." After the three friends graciously accepted this service Dost Khan clapped his hand and called "Nour, come now quick and bring your healing magics."

The woman called Nour wore no veil, showing she was a slave, but she did wear a wondrous and colourful silken outfit consisting of dozens of layers of thin almost diaphanous silk that hinted at her tantalizing shape beneath but showed none of it.

Seeing the three men she pointed at Hasan and Whitcomb and bid them sit, and then she pulled out a strange bowl made from a material not unlike tin and into this bowl she placed three long black hairs which she set on fire. The fire flashed up briefly before simmering down to a constant green glow, she slowly spun the bowl around and even as she did Whitcomb and Hasan felt a gently itch around their wounds, and when she stopped spinning the bowl the wounds had closed perfectly and the hairs had been consumed. Without a word she picked the bowl back up, bowed humbly to Dost Khan and then retired to a dark corner of the tent.

Soon after the three friends found themselves laying back on the soft pillows and being offered the nargiles, these pipes are also sometimes called water-pipes, but the ritual for smoking them is quite unique and deserves a more careful mention for tis an ancient ritual whose origin has been lost long before in the age of myth.

The Nargile is part of an ancient and venerable culture, and the rules for smoking it, yes even for lighting it, are both ancient and elegant. The elegance and beauty of this pipe, and the rituals surrounding it greatly impressed Whitcomb and they were frequently given whispered advice to prevent them from accidentally performing some outrage upon the sacred Nargile.

The Nargile has four different parts, the mouthpiece, the Lüle or top which is where the tobacco is placed, the tube, and the body of the pipe (or govde) which is filled with water. All of it is finely crafted by experts, and likewise finely decorated, the bodies or Govde's in particular, they are often made out of crystal or silver, and very finely decorated.

The Lule on top is sort of a little plateu where the tobacco is placed, it stands over the Govde or body, which is really a water filled bottle. The smoke then passes through the Govde or body, where it is cooled down and cleaned somewhat, and from there to the tube and the mouthpiece, which are obviously attached to the Govde. The tobacco is kept loose inside of a hollow head on top of the nargile, and is always flavoured.

The mouthpieces were all carved from the finest amber, and when asked Hasan whispered "The Amber prevents diseases of all kinds, and an insect trapped in it means good luck."

Whitcomb nodded to this and watched the nargile carefully as he took deep puffs from the pipe tasting the thick sweet smoke he noticed that they had poured sour cherries into the water for some reason and as he smoked he became more and more fascinated by the way that the fruits moved and danced in the water.

As he lay back he noticed vaguely that someone apparently had somehow offended their host, listening to the argument Hasan whispered in a low tone of voice "He lit the nargile the wrong way!" The poor unfortunate wretch was told in no uncertain way that he should "Do yourself and the sacred nargile a favor and put out the coals by blowing into it."

Now then the lovely women, most of them with their hair covered and of course the bulk of them slave girls, came in carrying huge silver trays filled with all manner of meats and fruits, and large silver cups filled with cool sorbets and all manner of drinks. The centrepiece was a lamb which had been barbequed whole upon a spit and marinated in a delicious mixture of wine and spices. They fed in the eastern fashion, with each man reclining on his left arm and eating with his right, it would after all be unspeakably gross to use their left hand for such a purpose.

Once they were all properly fed they began to talk, and the discussion ranged on a wide variety of subjects but eventually it was naturally that the discussion should come onto the fight against the Communists.

Here Dost Khan seemed to grow furious, and through translators he told the tale "These ungodly wretches think they can hide behind their little puppet that dances on their string, the so called Suleyman Khan, the king," the word dripped with sarcasm "of the Gamar Valley, he takes their weapons, their money and does their bidding, banishing the Ulema, breaking into homes and into the womens parts of the homes, and forcing Mussulmen into slavery in his mines!"

"If not for his great weapons and the evil skyship we should surely have driven them out long ago, by Inshallah with new weapons we shall yet be able to deal them a mighty blow..."

It was then that his speech stopped cold, in the distance there was a low rumble, and Dost Khan sipped his sorbet calmly "Inshallah it shall pass us by," he said appearing utterly calm and relaxed as he sat cross-legged seemingly unaware of the sound.

Whitcomb however stirred and moved towards the edge of the tent, but before he could think of leaving he heard a voice "Pray stay in the tent, watch the sight to come if you will, but stay here." As Whitcomb turned to look at Dost Khan the translation continued "It does no good to fight this, we lost many men that way, but look now and you see that we are not cowards to avoid open combat."

As he peered out through an opening in the tent Whitcomb looked out, the sight that greeted him was quite astounding an enormous, or so it seemed, ship that seemed grotesquely out of place for it had sleek lines only interrupted by large blocky turrets jutting out from its sides. It was slowly gliding above the village, and suddenly there was a flash of light, a cascade of glittering lights appeared from the cannon ripping down onto the village, and not only this but great explosions were also heard.

"By Allah what is that thing," Whitcomb asked shocked as he wondered what creatures would bomb a village filled with innocents.

Dost Khan looked languid where he sat "That is the skyship," came the translation "By that power does Suleyman Khan maintain his rule, not by any glory of his own arms."

Yet Whitcomb was not so awed that his mind did not study the proportions of the ship, and in his mind he made this vow that he'd see it destroyed if it were even remotely within his power to arrange it. One thought appeared though Magic, tis nothing but magic that might demolish this thing.

It seemed an eternity, but it couldn't be more than a few minutes before the large ship suddenly ceased its barrage and slid back up into the air vanishing as suddenly as it had arrived. At once the men within the tent grabbed their weapons and rushed towards the village, Whitcomb followed closely behind even as he cursed silently this could be a classical trap, what if it pretends to leave and then returns? As luck would have it there was no trap, perhaps the ship was busy visiting many villages that day, perhaps they wanted survivors to spread the tale of terror, but at any rate they were left alone by the Communists.

Whitcombs first worry was of course the shuttle, and he rushed towards it with a speed and vigour he had now known himself capable of, bounded across small craters often still glowing warm till he reached the shuttle. It lay there untouched, as if the hand of God had been over it during the entire bombardment, and as if to underline this the pilot stood outside still reciting "Ya-Aali, Ya-Aali, Ya-Aali, Ya-Aali."

Rushing inside, ignoring the pilot, he took a deep breath of relief as he saw that everyone was safe and indeed that the cargo belonging to Mousa had been removed but his own belongings were safely left behind in the cargo hold. Diana and the children lay huddled together, with Diana desperately comforting them and holding them closely whispering sweet words of encouragement. They looked at Whitcomb with pleading eyes, and he did not disappoint them when he said "It is gone," though for the children this only opened up the gates for a cathartic release of tears.

At this very moment Jeeves entered the shuttle, Whitcomb felt quite glad that he could turn away from sobbing frightened children and onto something more practical "I say Jeeves you should accompany the shuttle and everything in it to the ship."

"Of course Sir."

"But first Jeeves I must ask Dost Khan's permission, for it would not do at all to insult our host," with this he turned to leave only stopping briefly to watch the still tied up Communist she pilot.

Fortunately Whitcombs worries were needless, for Dost Khan recited an old proverb "Welcome the coming; speed the parting guest, Inshallah your property will arrive safely." Thus he gave his blessing to the departure, and Whitcomb felt much at ease as he watched the shuttle slide across the river bed, bouncing a bit as it hit a smaller crater, and then suddenly ascending as the top rotor began to spin faster and faster.

The village itself was a nightmare, only the mosque had remained completely intact though many of the houses required but little repair, inside the mosque several generations of villagers now rested, here and there small fires had been made over which meals were being cooked. There are really only so many words to describe misery, children maimed, ancient ones left bereft and alone, the keening wail of women grieving, and the grim oaths of vengeance sworn by the men.

Late that evening a small caravan arrived, Whitcomb was pleased to learn that it was his companions from earlier in the day that had come with the weapons they found in the cache, and of course the prisoners. As they walked into the village the villagers rushed to greet them, embracing them, kissing them, and weeping with joy at their safe return, and even more so as the weapons were divided among the ecstatic men.

The prisoners however were not greeted so well, they were tied across the horses, both of them looked somewhat worse for the wear and the comely native lad had red eyes as if from weeping. The Communist seemed more stunned, and didn't seem to realise where he was before the first stone touched his brow drawing blood, then he desperately squirmed to protect himself until a few angry shouts made the women stop throwing stones and keep to hateful glances.

It was now that Mousa approached and called something out, something which made several villagers approach Whitcomb gleefully, "I told them O Lord that you are a great warrior, and skilled with all manner of weapons so that if anyone wishes to see how these work they need only follow your example!"

Thus it was that Whitcomb spent the dusk and early evening demonstrating the various abilities of the weapons, and also demonstrating his own considerable skill in using them for even with an unfamiliar rifle he was still a most excellent shot even compared to the native sons of Azhistan. Overall he was however most impressed with their fighting skill, as well as their fighting spirit, old men and young fought together and none of them feared death, indeed many of them welcoming death as mujaheddins dreaming of the 72 Houris and 28 Young Boys they would receive in Heaven.

As dusk fell the men however went to prayer, and Whitcomb joined them emulating their motions and their prostrations towards east where on old Earth Mecca would have lain. It was a rather queer ritual where the preacher, or Imam, would stand before the congregation and lead them through an elaborate display of bows, prostrations and chants. Yet there was a certain charm to it in Whitcombs mind.

Afterwards however as he left the mosque he was approached by one of the Khans servants who informed him that Dost Khan invited him to attend his tent once more. At once Whitcomb summoned Hasan that he might have a translator and then he proceeded towards the tent.

The tent was still as splendid as it were during the day, but now it was nearly empty aside from Nour sitting almost invisible in her corner, and a handful of Dost Khan's most trusted retainters. Sitting cross legged in the centre of the tent was Dost Khan himself who rose to greet his guest and invited him to sit down, the two of them sat down and spoke politely for some time about various things of no particular importance.

From Dost Khan Whitcomb learned many interesting things, among them that the Krasnayans had a base nearby hidden somewhere in the area. It was from this hidden base that the enemy ship would fly and where it would hide when its deadly services were no longer needed. Of course this knowledge did them little good without the means to destroy the ship even if it was on the ground.

The second fact that he learned was that there was a large geode mine nearby, where these precious green stones so valued by all civilized nations were being quarried by slave labourers taken from local tribes. This then explained quite well to Whitcomb the reason why the Communist cared about this barren desolate land for the quest for Geodes would make many men forget their better judgement.

They also spoke of Suleyman Khan, the local pretender, and his deeds, but here Whitcomb had trouble learning his precise strength for as Dost Khan said "This strength waxes and vanes, now he has many men under him perhaps ten thousand, but how many are his men? Maybe two thousand, and the rest? Bah! Craven people who join whomever seem strong, they care not for him but for themselves, so who can tell how many men he might bring to a battle? For certain he rarely fights for himself with his heathen allies to aid him if ever anyone would summon a proper army."

"If someone wished to rid this land of this threat, would you aid them?"

"By Allah!" Dost Khan said "What a question to ask? Of course we should aid them!"

"I wish to see this village and the mine first hand, will you help me in this endeavour?" Whitcomb asked cautiously.

"Tis' folly," Dost Khan said at once "They are a suspicious lot who oft question travellers of their doings."

"Yet a deaf and mute beggar with a pious boy that aids him, would not that make them lower their guard?"

"Ah ha! Why yes it might at that, it might at that," Dost Khan eyed his guest carefully now "There is more than meets the eye to you Ibrahim al-Bagdadi, but by Allah such help as I can give you shall have."

"Have you a man that speaks the tongue of the Krasnayans?"

"I have several."

"Then I should interrogate my prisoner to see if has any information I might need."

"O Ibrahim, know that normally we kill the godless heathen, but for the sake of hospitality I protected him from death, and now I see that it was Allah t'allah that decreed it so that his servants might grow wise from it!"

"It is all in the hands of Allah O Mighty Dost Khan."

They then summoned some slaves and had them bring the prisoner over the interrogation however proved most unfruitful for the prisoner was difficult and sullen, refusing to answer even the simplest questions about his unit and their stationing and customs. Despite beatings and a light flogging he still refused, till in the end Whitcomb drew his knife and cut him, not at all deep, in a certain part most precious to the male of the species. This then, combined with a threat of first being used as a woman before being left for the women produced a more meek and intelligible reply to quite a few queries, though even under the harshest pressure he claimed ignorance as to where the frigate hid at night.

City of Suleyman Khan

A filthy old beggar walked down the dusty road, his robes were dark brown rags and his beard nearly white, when he coughed or smiled he showed dark yellowish teeth and there was a foul almost rotten smell emanating from his mouth. In front of the beggar there was a young lad, also filthy and wearing rags, who attended to the beggar with an admirable level of devotion seemingly watching his every gesture for some signal.

Their destination was visible in the distance where there rose up a largish town lording over a dusty river valley where the small brownish river was by now the only sign of water. The city was walled and outside each of the gates there stood a small group of guards. Seeing the beggar they looked on casually, not really caring much for yet another beggar especially one as decrepit as this but duty was duty.

"Who are you!" one of the guards yelled at the old beggar, but the beggar just shook his head and pointed at his mouth and ear.

"He is deaf and mute," croaked the young lad only to get a cuff from the guard.

"Dead and mute eh?" the guard leaned forward and suddenly struck the old man twice, but there was not a sound that escaped his lips except a low wheeze.

One of the other guards called over now "He's just some old beggar!" Apparently a bit uncomfortable with seeing a harmless old man brutalized.

Another guard however let out a little whistle "Ooooh what a pretty boy!" he called "Why do you spend time with that filthy old beggar, come here we got money and food too!" At this there was much laughter and several other wolf whistles.

The first guard sighed, then he motioned into the city with a grunt "Don't let us catch you stealing, we still chop peoples hands of for that," he yelled as the odd pair scurried past him into the city.

As soon as they were out of sight the old man whispered to the youth, using a language quite unlike any spoken in these parts "I think I'm going to have to kill that guard before we're done here." Then he peered up at the city around him, his eyes twinkling with far more intelligence than he had revealed at the gate.