The gun was now ready. Humidity set in. The clearing of the damp mist allowed the heat to reach them in its full. Marrow cursed it, he had hoped the mist would linger to cover them. Nerves began to gather in Heartrik's stomach, not nerves of fear but anticipation waiting for their target to roll forward. They gathered upon the height of the hills ridge, fifty horses, their breath clouding the air. It was like the mist hadn't left. That gave Marrow some relief. He sat tall upon his steed, the black of his gear shining only dully in the afternoon. His warhorse, Sail, gleamed with thin black fur. The back of its legs were pierced with metal and wire, and its eyes beamed an artificial red glow. It was how hell steeds were written of, a broad warhorse carrying evil within its eyes as it bounded forward. Heartrik had been given a new horse, a warhorse of a beige cream coat. Its head was almost always bowed facing the earth like it was scared. Heartrik stroked and patted it as he had hundreds of horses. There were a hundred memories he could retreat to, but the only one he could was of the mare he executed in his dreams. He named his new steed Caramel, the same as the last few he owned, despite their coat.
Weirwind was close by, as he had promised, with his heavy shotgun slung over his shoulder. Havi was nearby, muttering prayers as he shut the snouted visor over his blinking eyes. Pan was beside him. She mimicked him and wrapped her hoodie over head after a nudge to his shoulder to try and lighten the mood. Reiker towered over them in his massive armour, Tom and Lian shut the bold to their rifles, even chef Tot was present. They needed every man, except for Judas and his age.
The only one who wasn't present was Bren, but she'd noted she wasn't a fighter.
The heist loomed over them, and the gaunt and faceless men of their Scythed Raiders readied to become lowly highwaymen robbing convoys. The Raiders were still tired and uneasey, especially compared to their leader Marrow who galloped and cheered. At the very front of their ranks stood Lertz. He had refused to ride as he stepped forward from the column of horse. The black breastplate, pauldrons, gauntlets and greaves over his figure flashed in the afternoon sun. His blade hung by his hips, a dirk and ammo belt over his chest, his rifle slung across his back and his hat over his brow. The convoy was drawing close. Cold dead eyes met rugged steel, and before anyone could object Lertz had broken away, and was standing in the way of the convoy.
"Fool!" Marrow yelled. "Did he forget we planned to block that road!? Does he want to be crushed by derbies!?" he shouted.
Weirwind beside, holding the detonator, held on a little longer. The convoy did not stop in the face of Lertz. There were three armoured carriages, tall and rectangular with turrets sprouting upon roofs and guards clad in battered grey steel and fabric standing beside on railings. Their faces were shrouded beneath red helmets and their flesh was covered in layers of steel plate armour. The Raiders were outclassed in a way they had never been before. There were stark differences in technology available to certain people. Some couldn't even find the wealth to own guns. Motorbikes and trucks were non-existent amongst the working class, which was why the Scythed Raiders were mounted on horse. So to see forty or so men, each with an automatic rifle and plate, travelling on the backs of colossal steel fortresses, showed the troupe how far out of their depth they were. Whoever they were robbing was rich, rich enough to afford the best for their security. The troupe grimaced at the danger, but Marrow only smiled, knowing that plenty of threat would mean plenty of reward. The carriages continued to trudge forward in the mud, the colossal treads ready to grind Lertz into the earth. He had been paid to destroy the turrets situated atop them, three colossal twin barred guns, able to fire shells as wide as a man's bicep as fast as rain could fall. A single order in a language largely unfamiliar to Heartrik demanded the mercenary move aside, before the guards would deal with him themselves. Marrow readied to set off the charges and crush Lertz beneath rubble to block their prize seemingly making it away. Lertz stared down the convoy with his half-dead eyes. His rifle, slung over his shoulder, zipped into place, carrying his coat in the wind, cracking a single round through the air and into the drivers compartment. The carriage died, grinding to a halt, blocking the others on the narrow road. There was no longer a need to block the convoy from the front. Marrow both laughed and snarled at it, visibly joyed his plan came true in some way but nonetheless frustrated with Lertz. Weirwind pressed down on the trigger. Loud but swift pops rang followed by the cracking and sliding of fractured trees and stones along the convoys rear. Their target was now trapped between the corpse of its lead vehicle, an avalanche of stone and wood to its back, and Lertz. But their target being trapped brought the raiders little resolve. They were no longer assaulting a stray convoy of goods, they were now assaulting three fortresses, cold and still, taunting a foe to step forward. Lertz stood still with his rifle readied and then moved with a heavy swiftness. The guards grouped up. They formed a firing line and raised their arms. A single shout left their bittered lips, no longer in warning, a word which did not need translating. 'Fire!'.
YOU ARE READING
Steel Melody
Ciencia FicciónBetween the nations of the North and South, a young boy is trapped under the rule of his mercenary father turned outlaw. Locked beneath a cycle of abuse, two hired guns, a dead soldier and a peppy strategist, offer a way out. But Heartrik had never...
