Neither Cross Nor Crown

Danse Macabre

Max had no sooner shouted the warning than they were spurring their horses forward. Szabi was already  reloading his crossbow, steering with his legs, he let one hand clatter the rear of Cathal's steed, making it hurry on. The Irishman clung on for dear life as his horse accelerated.

He dug his knees in and leaned forward, praying he wouldn't be thrown. The others were galloping as well. Despite the sudden cold grip of fear in his chest, he felt exhilarated, alive. His heart was thumping in his chest and he wanted to scream, to laugh, to cry out.

He was brought abruptly back to reality a moment later. He flinched as an arrow hissed by, nearly grazing his side. A thunderclap sounded and he saw the tell tale cloud of smoke wafting from the undergrowth, the musketeer trying to duck back in. He wasn't fast enough, standing in his stirrups, Szabi shot back, a screech sounding from the brush. The Hungarian didn't even slow, he was already reloading. 

 Above the thundering of hooves, he could hear the sounds of shots fired, arrows released. And ahead of them was the oncoming charge of more riders. Max was ahead of him, reining in his mare, "Left! Go left!" his arm jabbing frantically at the treeline. The last sight Cathal caught of him was the witch-hunter drawing a long-barrelled pistol and firing at the oncoming riders.

It was madness, the road was bad enough but in the undergrowth anything could happen. Taking a deep breath, Cathal obeyed and within a few seconds was bent low, almost hugging his horse's neck as branches tore at his face and tree trunks flashed by his vision. He wasn't controlling the horse anymore, he was trusting the animal's urge for self-preservation to avoid them ramming a tree.

He risked a look to his right and tensed automatically. Another rider was drawing level with him, a long hafted axe in his free hand. Cathal tried to tug his horse left but the other horseman kept pace easily, his eyes were fixed dispassionately on his target. Mailed and masked, he seemed more demon than man.

A shot rang out and the rider slumped forward, his horse shying while Max neared. "Here!" he yelled, tossing a pistol underhand, Cathal barely managed to catch it with shaking hands as the German's horse kept pace. He was reloading his pistol with practiced ease, even though he spilt blackpowder everywhere. He hauled on the reins to stop his mount, turning to face their pursuers. Another shot thundered.

He was nearly thrown from his horse as it reared, the animal neighing in panic. Another rider was in front of them. He was dimly aware of the flash of steel coming at him, the pain as it struck his shoulder but all he could focus on was thrusting the pistol forward and firing, the other man tumbling forward off his saddle.

Another shot sounded and he was falling, his horse screeching in pain. He pushed off, a second before his leg was trapped under it's bulk, hitting the earth hard enough to knock the wind from him. Instinct had kicked in, he was barely thinking straight as he pushed up to rise, one hand fumbling for his sword.

He didn't get to draw it in time. His attacker barrelled into him and the two of them hit the floor, rolling and grappling. The other man's breath was hot on his skin, his gloved hand scrabbled at his face, Cathal bit down hard on his fingers. His world went black for a second as a fist slammed him full force in the face. His free hand was fumbling for his scian, the man struck him again, his skull felt like it was about to split open.

And Cathal stabbed upwards.

The short blade punched through below the jaw, breaking up into the roof of the mouth and the soft interior therein. The man spasmed and Cathal grunted as he pushed further upward, twisting the blade once. The man was wheezing, coughing blood, some of which splattered down atop him. Cathal twisted the blade again. His attacker twitched once more and collapsed on him.

Cathal shoved the corpse off and rose, pulling out his broadsword. Twenty feet ahead of him, Luis was duelling with two men, his twin blades flickering like quicksilver as he kept up a blistering attack. Though individually outmatched, his opponents were moving to flank him, forcing him to expend space and energy to keep them at bay. 

The gallowglass didn't even bother with chivalry, he just stepped forward calmly and hacked down at the unprotected neck of one of the ambushers. A surprise blow from behind, it had all the grace of butcher's work. The man went down like a puppet whose strings had been cut, Cathal stabbing down to make sure he didn't get up again.

Luis disposed of his opponent with the calm efficiency of an executioner. His riptose first mangled his wrist before the follow through impaled him. His foot went on the man's body to help free his blade.

"Thanks" was all the Spaniard said before he was charging forward again, Cathal by his side. Between the two of them, they killed another three and winged another. Cathal limped after him but fear lent the fleeing man wings, he ran like the very hounds of hell were after him.

Ahead of them, Szabi administered a coup de grace to his last adversary. The rest were either dead or had fled the giant. He was bleeding from half a dozen places but he sang with joy as he fought, a triumphant roar sounding as he killed. His longsword plunged down once more and the hapless victim twitched in his death throes. 

Jean was cutting throats, stooping over the wounded to butcher them. Max shot one of the crippled horses, the beast's pitiful cries mercifully cut short by the pistol blast. Outmatched, the last of their ambushers broke and ran. Despite their pursuit and Szabi shooting one, two more still managed to flee into the forest, evading their chasers.

The rest died.