to face the rear of the mercenaries' craft and leveled out for another pass. A hum quickly rippled through the air along the main deck while the lightning cannon powered up. Rapidly, gunners loaded the normal cannon while a shout rose above the din. What with the noise it was a wordless cry, but the tone was understood. The cannon were ready to fire.
In rapid succession, flashes of light as bright as the sun erupted from each cannon, capable of turning the blackest night to the brightest day. Peals of thunder, like the wordless roar of an angry lion, shook the air with a force that could be felt like a physical push from a giant hand. With each crack of thunder came the rush of water and creak of wood as the deck beneath each cannon protested at being bent just slightly out of shape. Directed by the salty stream, bolts of electricity - each powerful enough to illuminate the village below - reached out like electric claws from the starboard side of the Griffin to rake another deep wound in RiBeld's ship. Explosions of wood and powder stores filled the air with heat and smoke. Undaunted, the Griffin sailed through, emerging from the other side like some angered phoenix rising from the flames. Behind her, a massive, burning gash had been savagely ripped in the mercenaries airship where a handful of cannon had been.
The Griffin 's crew cheered again, but the cheer was cut short as a pair of harpoons pierced the hull and tethered her to the larger airship. Rigging and framework shrieked in protest just before the mercenaries turned their own cannon skyward. Suddenly, the Griffin was hammered once, then twice by volleys of grapeshot from the remaining cannon. The ship shuddered at the impact, scattering many of the crew from their feet and across the deck, battered and bloodied.
Despite wood splinters that flew through the air around him, Tonks held his stance at the wheel through the barrage. Near him at the stairs to the quarterdeck, Krumer likewise managed to keep his footing. The first mate looked down the twin lines of rope attached to the harpoons in horror as he saw a strong pair of steam-powered winches slowly drawing the Griffin closer. Beyond the winches, those of RiBeld's crew not operating the cannons brought up bundles from below. These were unwrapped so that swords, pistols, daggers or rifles could be handed out.
Krumer's own hand dropped instinctively to his waist to feel for his pistol while he shouted, "All hands! Cut those lines and repel all boarders!"
Far below, fires from the initial bombardment still burned angrily at ruined buildings and foliage. Smoke turned and swirled while Yeti and mercenaries fought for control of the village. Slowly, the Yeti had begun to gain ground. In the clearing, Hunter released his metal grip on RiBeld's ruined wrist and shoved him aside. The mercenary leader whimpered in pain, then slowly rolled toward a nearby pistol, insane anger and agony in his eyes.
Hunter struggled to his knees, his vision slightly blurred from pain and sweat. There was movement a few feet away to his left. He wiped the sweat from his eyes in time to see RiBeld. Immediately, the captain reached for his pistol, but remembered too late that his holster was empty. He looked around and saw a pistol lying on the ground no more than four feet from him. As Captain Hunter started to lunge for it, he saw RiBeld raise his gun from the ground where he lay.
"No, oh no. You will not." RiBeld said in a pain-wracked, hoarse voice. "You will remain where you are, Sirrah. When I kill you, I shan't want to miss this time."
Hunter looked again at the pistol only four feet away. At that moment, it might have been four hundred for all the good it could do him. He tried to swallow but found his throat dry as sandpaper from the harsh mix of smoke, cold air and burning buildings. The captain sighed and kept his hands at his waist in plain view. "Answer a question for me then, Sirrah."
"Why should I bother?" RiBeld
In rapid succession, flashes of light as bright as the sun erupted from each cannon, capable of turning the blackest night to the brightest day. Peals of thunder, like the wordless roar of an angry lion, shook the air with a force that could be felt like a physical push from a giant hand. With each crack of thunder came the rush of water and creak of wood as the deck beneath each cannon protested at being bent just slightly out of shape. Directed by the salty stream, bolts of electricity - each powerful enough to illuminate the village below - reached out like electric claws from the starboard side of the Griffin to rake another deep wound in RiBeld's ship. Explosions of wood and powder stores filled the air with heat and smoke. Undaunted, the Griffin sailed through, emerging from the other side like some angered phoenix rising from the flames. Behind her, a massive, burning gash had been savagely ripped in the mercenaries airship where a handful of cannon had been.
The Griffin 's crew cheered again, but the cheer was cut short as a pair of harpoons pierced the hull and tethered her to the larger airship. Rigging and framework shrieked in protest just before the mercenaries turned their own cannon skyward. Suddenly, the Griffin was hammered once, then twice by volleys of grapeshot from the remaining cannon. The ship shuddered at the impact, scattering many of the crew from their feet and across the deck, battered and bloodied.
Despite wood splinters that flew through the air around him, Tonks held his stance at the wheel through the barrage. Near him at the stairs to the quarterdeck, Krumer likewise managed to keep his footing. The first mate looked down the twin lines of rope attached to the harpoons in horror as he saw a strong pair of steam-powered winches slowly drawing the Griffin closer. Beyond the winches, those of RiBeld's crew not operating the cannons brought up bundles from below. These were unwrapped so that swords, pistols, daggers or rifles could be handed out.
Krumer's own hand dropped instinctively to his waist to feel for his pistol while he shouted, "All hands! Cut those lines and repel all boarders!"
Far below, fires from the initial bombardment still burned angrily at ruined buildings and foliage. Smoke turned and swirled while Yeti and mercenaries fought for control of the village. Slowly, the Yeti had begun to gain ground. In the clearing, Hunter released his metal grip on RiBeld's ruined wrist and shoved him aside. The mercenary leader whimpered in pain, then slowly rolled toward a nearby pistol, insane anger and agony in his eyes.
Hunter struggled to his knees, his vision slightly blurred from pain and sweat. There was movement a few feet away to his left. He wiped the sweat from his eyes in time to see RiBeld. Immediately, the captain reached for his pistol, but remembered too late that his holster was empty. He looked around and saw a pistol lying on the ground no more than four feet from him. As Captain Hunter started to lunge for it, he saw RiBeld raise his gun from the ground where he lay.
"No, oh no. You will not." RiBeld said in a pain-wracked, hoarse voice. "You will remain where you are, Sirrah. When I kill you, I shan't want to miss this time."
Hunter looked again at the pistol only four feet away. At that moment, it might have been four hundred for all the good it could do him. He tried to swallow but found his throat dry as sandpaper from the harsh mix of smoke, cold air and burning buildings. The captain sighed and kept his hands at his waist in plain view. "Answer a question for me then, Sirrah."
"Why should I bother?" RiBeld
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