A bolt pinged sharply off the rock the man leaned against, missing his eye by a finger or two to the left. The proximity made him cringe and wink hard, but his grin never left the chiseled features of his face.
“Hah! More like Lucky Jacque!” Ruby Rikk said as he yanked his companion to ground just before a pair of bolts struck the rock in quick succession, this time a few fingers to the right.
Happy Jacque placed a palm to his eye, ensuring all was intact. It would be a rather disappointing day if he had lost one of his soft blue eyes. It was, after all, one of his favorite features, next to his smile, lustrous gold hair, powerful jaw, and a nose that’s size and shape fit his face perfectly.
“It isn’t luck, my friend!” Jacque said with a wink, “Undrii does not wish for this handsome gob he gave me to get marred, especially not by the likes of these backscratchers!”
The big man grunted and rolled his eyes, lifting his head just enough to peek over the boulder. “Amateurs, the lot of ‘em! There must be damn near two-score o’ these blokes over yonder,” He laughed and picked up a curious weapon he had dropped when he pulled Happy Jacque to the ground., “Makes it harder to miss with numbers like that.”
It was an artillery weapon of Timette’s design. A bored-out log was fitted with metal bands, and equipped with a pair of specially tempered springs made of frosteel from the mountains in the Freelands. One spring assisted in cocking the weapon, one extra large spring for the propulsion, coupled with a pair of braided steel ropes that added extra torsion. Ruby unstrapped a pointed cobalt blue metal rod the size of a long sword from the side of the weapon and dropped it into the cannon. He placed his heels on the crossbar of the weapon’s mouth and pulled up with both hands on the cocking bar. The muscles in his neck bulged and his face turned red from the strain until a loud click was heard.
“Ready?” Jacque asked, holding up a trio of charcoal pieces wrapped in silvery thread.
With a slight nod from the big man, Happy Jacque lobbed the black lumps at their assailants, and yelled out a warning, “God’s glare!”
A chorus of shrieks filled the morning air as three rapid flashes erupted from the spot where the coal struck, instantly blinding any who hadn’t shielded their eyes.
Just as fast, Rikk planted the butt of the log in the soft earth and lowered the mouth of the weapon until it was lined up with his target.
“Kissy kiss!” He yelled.
Click! Whoosh!
The cannon sunk half a foot into the ground with the force of the frosteel spike launching from the weapon.
The bolt punched through the lingering smoke from the flash grenados, pulling it with it as a spinning wheel pulled wool. There was a grunt followed by the sound of an oar slapping water as the missile swam through a man’s chest and then through and through the horse behind him. Another second went by before a distant thud sounded as the rod found a tree trunk.
Ruby smiled at the success of his shot. The smile faded when he searched the log for another bolt.
“Tim! Need a javelin for the dragonet!”
Forlorn Timette dressed modestly for someone from the Noble Heights. Most dressed garishly in colored silks, metal coins, bells, and breeze whistles tied into their robes and headdress. Tim wore blacks, the same as the rest of the his troupe, bearing only a bright yellow sash on his waist, with a few coins securely sown onto it, as to not rattle. He had the typical bronzed skin of his people, and kept his unkempt ruddy hair tied back tightly with a bandana fitted with a farseer monacle. He lit the match in the front of the weapon, and fed a ribbon studded with bolts into the side of the weapon, behind where the flask was attached.
“Back to the sewers with you, you coiting cod-bait company of runny cunnys!” Forlorn Timette screamed across the road as he screwed a beaker made of amber glass onto the top of his crossbow.
Waiting for the thunk thunk thunk of bolts hitting the tree he was tucked behind, Timette cocked two levers on the weapon, turned and fired.
Two bolts sunk into the shoulder of a hooded highwayman that had a bow drawn, ready to fire. His arrow shot high into the air and he screamed in agony at the bolts sticking out of either side of his collar bone.
“Piss and blood!” Timette yelled, and slapped the crossbow, twisting the beaker, and giving one of the levers a jiggle. Satisfied, he flipped the other lever to reload the weapon, and with an audible click sent a bolt across the road, this one streaming like a fiery comet.
The comet impacted with the injured bandit’s chest, and then it was gone as the capsule on the tip of the bolt shattered and reacted with the fire, exploding in white hot flame.
A thundering of hooves sounded from up the road as Dinny and Derry road fast and hard, shoulder to shoulder, upon their Eastland windswift horses. Directly in their path were three men in studded leather armor, making quick attempts to reload their heavy crossbows before the freight of hooves reached them.
Two of the men dropped their crossbows and pulled swords, while the other finished cocking his weapon. At the last minute, the horses split apart to either side of the road, a rope appearing between them, attached low on either saddle.
The crossbow fired. The swords slashed. The rope caught two men in the chest and one, who tried ducking, in the neck. His helm flew from his head as his chin snapped back and he was tossed like a flour sack into the air, landing a crumpled mess in the dirt. The other two were drug on the line several paces before sliding under it, an arrow simultaneously appearing in their backs as Dinny turned around and released a pair of arrows from Jemma, his riding bow.
Derry plucked out the wild crossbow bolt that found his saddle and luckily not his thigh.
“Dinny, I think this was meant for you, my brother!”
The twin laughed silent laughter and drew two more arrows, already seeking a new pair of targets.
Another assailant jumped into the road, right in front of the twins, his cocked crosswbow aimed at Dinny’s head. A flash of sable shot between the horses and darted between the legs of the crossbowman, who followed the blur with his weapon. He locked his sight on a fox bearing a suede vest. The vixen barred its teeth and darted between his legs again, quicker than the eye could see. Swinging his crossbow about again, the man was rudely introduced to a long knife spinning end over end, and burying itself tip to grip in his groin. He began a scream that ended in a gurgle as a second spinning blade found his throat.
From the shadow of a tree emerged a tall man with long straight hair that covered half his intricately tattooed face. He had a sun eagle talon sticking out of his lip, and two of its feathers in his left ear. His armor was fitted with several loops on the chest to hold his long knives, several of which were empty.
A few sharp clicks of his tongue, and the lady fox came bounding across the black blur was back at his side.
“Our thanks, Imille.” Dinny said, dipping his head. He bowed deeper to the fox, “and you Scala.”
The onslaught continued. Thirty-two. More flashes of light. Thunk. Thunk thunk. Thunk. Death screams and crying followed. Twenty-eight. More galloping with clangs and bangs of sword on sword on shield on flesh. More screaming. Twenty-three. Wood splintered as crossbows were sheared in half, before axes found chests, limbs, and heads alike. Eighteen.
His longbow hummed as Sandi released the string and sent a black hazel shaft into a bushy tree. A moment later, a large bundle fell like an acorn, bouncing off several limbs on the way down.
“Not really a fair fight anymore, ‘ey boss?” Sandi quipped to Beldan, who were both using the cart as cover. They had raised the side panels of the cart and locked them in place, shielding the bed of the cart to waist level, and keeping the precious cargo well protected from missiles and the like.
“Its too early for a tussle! Don't these swine know I have a routine? Piss. Bite. Smoke. Shite.”
“Like I said, you’re not at your best. Guess we should finish up before the witloof goes cold! Down!” Sandi screamed as a man in scale mail circled around the cart behind Beldan, mace in hand.
Sandi speared forward with his longbow, catching the man in the gut. A chopping slash from the side caught the maceman in his temple, the weapon falling from his grasp nearly hitting Beldan on the head as it fell.
Sandi wrenched Beldan to his feet and inspected his bow, “Damn. Scratched it.”
“I'll buy you a new one! Let’s finish this. I don’t want Ruby howling and scaring them off. Need to find out why forty fools decided to interrupt nearly a dozen lads about to break their fast on this fine morn. You still alive in there?” Beldan asked, knocking a knuckle against the side of the cart.
A hand shot up from within baring a single drawn finger, waving about unpleasantly for all to see.
Beldan laughed, “Wouldn’t have it any other coitin’ way.”

[thanks for reading, stay tuned for part 5. thanks for the feedback]