Tilea Campaign Part 44

THE BATTLE OF PALOMTRINA, PART TWO: THE FIGHT BEGINS

The entire Reman line stood its ground, each body of soldiers maintaining their position, even the mounted companies. His holiness, Bernado, however, dismounted and joined the hand-gunners before him, ordering his mounted companions to join the baggage at the rear.

From his new position he prayed for Morr’s protection on the handgunners, and although he successfully summoned the blessing, he was overwhelmed by its manifestation and momentarily felt unable to pray further. Father Uguccione attempted to summon a similar protection on the bravi beside him, but the enemy’s counter-magics thwarted him.

From the hill on the rightmost of the Reman line the cannons were hauled about to aim right across the field towards the rat-ogres on the far side.

The first iron ball pierced two of the giant vermin, causing Warlord Gurthrak of Clan Skravell to squeal in fear and frustration.

The second gun, after some careful adjustment by the maestro, fired along the same line.

Its shot killed another two ogres and one of their packmasters, and in so doing cut Gurthrak’s squeal short, as his fear took a more paralysing turn!

Yet he did not run, for Seer-Lord Urlak was close by, and he knew that to run now would surely mean his later capital punishment! The last surviving pack-ogre was peppered with crossbow bolts from the Cathayan crossbows on the hill before them, while several of the engine guards in the centre of the line were felled by Dwarven quarrels.

Apart from Gurthrak, the rest of the uomini ratto were undismayed – the engine guard were so enclosed in leather and waxed linen robes that they barely noticed their comrades’ demise, and those who saw what had happened to the rat ogres were simply happy that the guns had not been aimed at them! And so, the army’s right advanced in good order, with only the globadiers holding themselves back a little.

On the left, Warlord Budrojor of the Fiddlash clan ordered the slaves to reform, reducing the front and adding depth, in the hope that they would thus stand their ground longer in the forthcoming fight.

As this was done, the swarms of rats scurried forwards at full pelt to just behind the little copse of cypress trees.

In the front rank of his bodyguard regiment, Lord Urlak decided it was time to show his power not just to the enemy but to his own servants, to let everyone know just how dangerous he could be. The enemy would suffer the consequences, and his own warriors would learn a valuable lesson concerning what he might do if they fail to please him.

The little company of pistoliers seemed perfect for such a demonstration, and so he began by conjuring warp-lightning to strike at them, killing three in a most horrible manner. The last two turned and fled.

‘Not enough-sufficient’ he thought to himself, ‘I can do more and better than that!’  

Turning his attention on the palace guard, he summoned a scorching flame to burst from the ground beneath them, eliciting an eruption of agonised screams as ten of the armoured warriors burned to death! He was surprised at the ease with which he had cast the spell, but more surprised to see the enemy soldiers simply reform their ranks and files, rather than flee the field.

Less dramatically, the engineer upon the far flank, employed his magical ring to kill one of the Knights of Morr (saving the shot in his pistol for later).

The jezzails now spat their heavy bullets at the palace guard …

… and the engine guard’s poisoned wind mortar team lobbed a grenade at the same, between them killing nine more men!

Eager to join in the destruction, the crew of the first warp-lightning cannon were o-er hasty in their mechanical operations, for they failed to strike the enemy, instead spewing a murderously hot bolt at the engine guard, killing fourteen!

Somehow, those few who remained found the courage to continue, although that may well have been because their thoughts were somewhat frazzled by the vestiges of warp energy still flickering about their skulls.  

The crew of the second cannon, the biggest of the three, failed to temper the steam, causing their engine to spin suddenly on the spot just as it was about to vent its deadly energies.

The bolt then released damaged the third engine and roasted six of the giant rats. Despite the damage, the third cannon was the only one to fire on target, and sent a bolt …

… to kill the two of ogres with long poles, leaving only the club-bearing one to blunder onwards.

The catapult …

… sent a missile arcing through the air to clip the Cathayan fighting regiment, killing only one …

…yet the sight of the bursting boils blistering his flesh and the sound of his agonised screams, caused the rest of them to turn and flee.

The misfires and subsequent self-harm had not gone unnoticed by Lord Urlak, but he was happy enough to see the enemy injured. Before him, the palace guard were now but a handful, the Cathayans fleeing, and the lone ogre was pathetic to behold.

The enemy’s missile strength was not diminished, but surely it soon would be now that there were so few fighting men to target on the left of their line. His confidence surged, and he found himself having to stop his mind a-wandering to what he could do to Remas when it was his to play with. Now was not the time, he thought, for such distractions. There was much more killing to do, and he wanted to enjoy the doing of it.

On the far side of the field, the maestro Angelo da Leoni was looking worriedly at the doom bombard.

It had yet to move. Its crew might not intend it to, for if it functioned as the last one was supposed to, and as the ratmen’s threats had claimed (although in a letter he had not personally read), it did not need to move in order to kill almost everyone on the field of battle, from both sides.

From his hilltop vantage point, he had been able to watch the enemy’s advance, and the harm done to the Reman fighting regiments on the left of the line. Already two of the ogre dock guards had been killed, leaving only one to bring its brute strength to bear on the engine in a manner that would hopefully not cause a catastrophic explosion. The company of strongmen below him were still intact, but they faced a veritable verminous horde, and the mounted nobles at their side had already suffered a casualty, despite their steel carapaces.

He was beginning to wonder if they might have to risk firing upon the bombard. This seemed an insane option, but if the alternative was to allow it to draw closer to the city, then perhaps the sacrifice of the army was worth risking. Little did he know the arch-lector had been harbouring the same thoughts – indeed his holiness was unwilling to stray too far from the guns in case he needed to give exactly such an order!  

As he fretted, he could see the Knights of Morr had now spurred their horses to advance directly towards the mob of ratmen between them and the bombard.

The bravi swordsmen and the strongmen moved up beside the knights …

… although as they all did so they were surely aware of the massive war-engines that might be brought to bear upon them. The knights were secretly glad of the cypress trees making their advance a little less obvious to the ratmen crews.

Bernado wanted to give what was left of his palace guard every chance they could of making a stand, and so cursed the yellow clad enemy regiment approaching them with Morr’s caress, weakening them considerably.

While the other Reman cleric, Father Uguccione, successfully inflicted a similar but weaker curse on the huge mob of slave warriors out on the enemy’s far left.

He also threw a fireball at the swarm of rats drawing close, but so much of its heat was dissipated by the trees that only one rat perished. More disappointingly, he sensed the power sap entirely from the magical ring he had employed and knew it would be of no use for the rest of the battle.

From behind he heard the loud report of the cannons as once again they took aim at the rat ogres.

Warlord Gurthrak felt one shot pass within an inch of his head, and despite the shock of it, wondered whether his magical wards had actually saved him. Then the bonebreaker beneath him jolted and stumbled as the second shot glanced against it, breaking its arm, and tearing the last of the pack ogres to pieces. This was more than enough for the warlord – he shrieked his command, yanked the lever attached to the control straps and turned his mount around to begin his flight from this field and its damnable cannons.

Urlak cared not a jot. The warlord had played his part by taking four shots from the enemy guns, allowing him and his bodyguard regiment to draw close unscathed.

The Palomtrinan handgunners volleyed at the engine guard, killing three.

Then the dwarf crossbow felled another five.

And the crossbowmen on the rise behind them, laid low another three.

Only one engine guard remained, being the standard bearer, along with the clan Skravell chieftain who had been commanded to lead them in this battle.

Now there was nothing left to lead, the chieftain decided to make his way over to join Clan Skravell’s yellow banner regiment.

The lesser warriors, slaves and giant rats, advanced cautiously on the left, as ordered by Warlord Budrojor, who wanted to ensure no-one got through to the bombard.

While the swarms burst through the trees to set upon the bravi.

Urlak, along with the main fighting regiments and the globadiers, moved up cautiously, but did not yet attempt to charge.

The Seer Lord was keen to see what more his army’s missiles, big and small, could do, before he ordered his warriors to close on the foe. For now, he would try his magic again.

While his conjured lightning was dispelled by the foe, he successfully scorched the handgunners, killing six. Annoyingly, perhaps because the arch-lector was with them, they showed no signs of panic or disarray.

A rolling thunder of blasts came from behind as the jezzails fired upon what few of the palace guard remained, killing even more.

Those now left seemed to present little threat, reduced to a mere handful. To Urlak’s eyes they were a pathetic sight indeed. Four dwarven crossbows were killed by the Clan Skravell spit-fire gun, while the poisoned wind mortar and the catapult behind killed eleven Cathayans!

‘More, more!’ thought Urlak, becoming greedily gleeful at the destruction.

Then he heard the crack and fizzle of electrical bolts as two warplightning cannons killed three of the noble knights, and a sharp snap as the engineer’s pistol …

… killed another. More than half of the noble-order’s members had been felled, having yet to bloody their lances.

Their manoeuvres revealed a lack of concern, and any grief writ upon their faces was hidden by the helms. They merely continued their advance, turning their trot into a canter, as they drew closer to the foe.

A messy struggle began between the verminous swarms and the bravi …

… while Urlak told his warriors to brace themselves for the enemy’s charge. Forgetting his natural caution, which had kept him alive for so many years, he felt carried along by events, and on witnessing of the death of so many foes, he craved a chance to claw at the enemy’s flesh himself while some remained alive, as if he too were a youngling warrior!

Ahead of Urlak, Captain Sirus Ricci knew this was his last chance to contribute anything to the battle, perhaps to do anything else at all in his life – for to hesitate now would surely mean that he and the last few palace-guardsmen would perish to the enemy’s magic and missiles – so he led a charge against the huge regiment of clanrats ahead.

The captain himself did not know it, but the robed, grey furred fellow in the front rank was the enemy’s general.

Upon receiving the charge, Seer-Lord Urlak’s enthusiasm for a fight immediately dissipated, as he found himself swallowed into a frantic, furious swirl of blades and claws. His thoughts turned quickly to how he could extricate himself. He now realised he much preferred frying the foe with magical fire from a distance, and that it had been a moment’s madness that had planted the urge for close combat in his mind.

Then again, there were so few of the enemy, and so many of his own warriors close by, not just his bodyguard, but also the globadiers and Clan Skravell’s fighting regiment, that maybe he could just edge his way back into the rank and file a little, then surely the enemy would be beaten before any blades were brought to bear on him?

Upon the far side of the field, Morr’s Blessed Knights were as keen as Captain Ricci to close on the foe as soon as possible, before any more of their number were laid low by warpstone infused bullets.

So, they urged their steel-barded destriers to charge at the giant rats and their handlers, to begin skewering the scrabbling vermin as best they could. It became immediately obvious the bloody work was going to take some time, and their champion could not help but wonder if they had acted too hastily, considering the huge mob of slave warriors right by their side!

Indeed, had he known exactly what the uomini ratto were like, he might also have feared what the war engines to his left might do to him and his companions, for it was doubtful they would baulk at loosing their deadly bolts straight through their own warriors, if it also meant delivering harm to the foe.

Unable, from his present position, to discern what was happening upon the other side of the cypress trees, where the bombard was, and also concerned that should he need to give the desperate order to shoot upon the engine to his artillerymen that his word might take a moment too long to reach them, Arch-Lector Bernado left the hand-gunners to make his way towards the cannons.

Behind the knights, the strongmen of Remas picked up their pace towards the enemy, nearly all their eyes fixed upon the bombard’s bulk behind the enemy’s slave regiment.

Despite their proven strength as individuals, in feats of wrestling, lifting and the like, it seemed to many of them that it could be strength in numbers that was required on this field of combat, and the enemy certainly had the upper hand in that regard!

On the other side of the lines, the reformed Cathayans marched back to re-take their original position.

The Reman’s magical prayers had little effect, but the first cannon sent a ball to damage the flank of the middle machine in the enemy’s battery of three …

… then the second’s roundshot punched the third engine so hard that it tumbled over to the side, the sight of which sent both other engines and several of the jezzails into flight!

The engines would soon leave the field of battle, never to return.

All three crossbow companies targeted Clan Skravell’s yellow banner regiment, felling fourteen clanrats!

While the bravi continued their messy slaughter of the swarming rats before them …

… the last few palace guards and the warehouse brute fought desperately against the massed ranks of the Seer’s bodyguard.

Half a dozen clanrats perished in the first moments, including the strangely armed engineer, but such was their number that they barely noticed what had been done. Urlak noticed, however, especially as the ranks behind were pushing forward so hard that he failed to force his way backwards and conceal himself among them. Stealing himself a moment longer, he conjured a scorching flame on the dwarven crossbows, killing two, then using the last of the etheric winds he could bend to his will, he magically transported himself all the way to the baggage at the rear of the line, where his first act was to breath a sigh of relief.

Clan Skravell now charged into the Cathayans …

… while the poisoned wind mortar team decided they would attempt to add to the dwarves’ misery by launching a grenado at them.

The subsequent death, most horrible to behold, of one of the dwarfs, caused the rest to decide it were best they fall back, very quickly, and with little regard for order.

As the noble champion of the knights had feared, the massive body of slaves hurtled into his flank.

But not all the ratmen were miserable slaves. In their front rank strode Warlord Budrojor of Clan Fiddlash, as well as one of his chieftains and an engineer. The warlord, unlike all those around him, had both skill and strength enough to slay one of the knights, but every other blow, bite and scratch delivered by either clan or giant rat, failed to penetrate the knights’ plate-armour and barding. Several giant rats were hewn apart or crushed beneath ironshod hooves, but once again, sheer weight of numbers meant that men and horses would have to do a lot more to break the enemy’s will to fight.

Similarly, despite cutting down a few clanrats themselves, the palace guard were unable to make headway. Indeed, had they not been accompanied by Captain Tristano Tronolone, the army standard bearer, with his magically blessed banner gifting them an unnatural courage (Game Note: Stubborn), they would certainly have broken and fled themselves!

To the palace guards’ right, Clan Skravell’s warriors killed nine of the mercenary Cathayans …

… but so close was Tronolone’s army standard, that the easterner’s also felt its blessing, and they too, despite the vast disparity in numbers, found the courage to fight on.

The arch-lector strode boldly up the slope, beneath the cannon muzzles, to join the maestro upon the top of the little hill.

“I know why you have come, your holiness,” said the maestro.

Bernado answered only with a sigh, then the two of them looked over to the bombard. They watched as the city’s strongmen charged into the flank of the huge mob of slave-rats.

And saw also how the bravi, having finally killed the last of the petty vermin, failed to get to the giant rats through the trees.

“It is not over yet,” offered the maestro. “The enemy are base cowards, and all might yet flee if put to any real trouble. That would leave a way through to the infernal engine.”

A handgun volley’s blast distracted the two of them momentarily, as the Warpfire Thrower was felled, while the demise of the ratling gun crew brought about by the crossbowmen on the neighbouring hill and the killing of two of the globadiers by the Cathayan crossbows was not audible to them.

“Have a care!” cried one of the gunners close by, followed by the blast of both guns, which struck down another two of the globadiers.

Warlord Budrojor decided that fighting unarmoured men would be a more bloody sport than scratching against plate armour, and so moved over to the slaves’ left flank …

… where he gleefully struck down two of the foe.

But the rest of the combat was not going the ratmen’s way, for both the knights and the strongmen were far superior in fighting ability to the slaves and giant rats.

Another knight succumbed to one slave’s lucky stab with a rusty blade, but now that they were flanked, the slaves’ confidence was shattered, and when several of their number were bloodily felled by the strongmen’s hammers and a knights’ blade, their enforced will to fight transformed instantly into a desperate urge to escape. In a moment, the ranks and files explosively disintegrated as slaves burst out in all directions, even killing one of the strongmen in their flight.

As the last three knights rode down the giant rats, the strongmen, running a parallel course, suddenly found themselves facing the doom bombard.

“There, maestro,” said Bernado, “we are gifted a chance. Now we shall see if those brave fellows have sufficient strength to topple the engine.”

Da Leoni almost suggested that the arch-lector might like offer a prayer for success, but sensibly, bit his tongue. His holiness was no stranger to battle and did not need advice. Besides, the maestro knew how hard it had been for the entire army council to consent to his instruction that the doom bombard must not be fired upon in any way whatsoever, and that instead it should be toppled in such a manner as to minimize the potentially catastrophic damage to the great iron barrels and the grenadoes within. To cast doubt on his own plan by suggesting prayers were needed for success did not seem reasonable.

On dispatching the last of the Cathayans, Clan Skravell immediately charged the reforming dwarf crossbows …

… while the fight between the bodyguard regiment and the palace guards ground on, with neither side yielding. It did not help that the clanrats were afraid of the giant, club-wielding ogre!

What they did not know was that the surviving globabiers were moving around them, considering whether to lob grenadoes in regardless of the injury that would be caused to their own kind.

The engineer driving the wheel that pushed the bombard suddenly felt quite alone!

But he still had a trick up his sleeve! He could see the strongmen were intent on closing on him, and he knew his wheel had no means of discharging bolts of energy as its counterpart on the far side of the field could do. He decided he would do the only thing it was capable of, yanking back on the steam regulator to send both wheel and the attached bombard lurching forwards to plough into the men!

Five strongmen were messily crushed by the unexpected manoeuvre, so shocking the remainder that they turned to flee away!

“Morr help us!” exclaimed the arch-lector impulsively. “Who will stop it now?”

Upon the other side of the field, Lord Urlak had leapt magically across to the jezzails …

… where he too was considering a similar question. He spotted the brightly liveried knights, and saw how they were turning, no doubt intent on assaulting the engine.

“Fools!” he laughed. “More than fools!”

The satisfaction that his plan had worked meant he momentarily forgot the rest of the field. To see the enemy’s best warriors led into a silly yet deadly dance by the bombard was such a delight to him. Still, their deaths needed to be brought about, and so he invoked lightning to strike at them, cooking one like flesh-meat dropped onto a red hot griddle pan.

Such was his cruel pleasure that he almost felt like dancing!

Clan Skravell so mauled the dwarfs that they broke and fled from the field, with the warriors running after them until their chieftain brought them to a halt.

Yet the much-reduced bodyguard regiment was not so fortunate, as its will to fight was finally broken. The clanrats turned to flee, and were cut down by the palace guard’s greatswords. The last few surviving men, and the lone ogre, now found themselves in open ground, with the globadiers watching them from a little distance.

As the strongmen loped away, one shouted: “If we don’t stop it, everyone in Remas could die!”

Shamed and angered in equal measure, they all stopped running, turned around and, a little out of breath, hefted their motley collection of weapons to try again.

Caught up in their own concerns, they did not notice the bravi emerging through the cypress trees to their left, Father Uguccione among them. Seeing how badly the strongmen had been mauled, those bravi now turned to head towards the engine themselves.

Beyond the bombard, the last of the Cavalieri were also intending to have a go at toppling it.

The Cathayan crossbowmen on the far-left flank  …

… saw how the globadiers were threatening the two captains, and so loosed their quarrels at them.

The Reman cannons attempted to shoot the catapult and the strange engine in the enemy baggage, but both shots went astray. The maestro was not really tending his assigned gun, instead considering if and when they would be forced to risk a shot at the bombard.  

Clan Skravell’s fighting regiment, having finished off the dwarfs, now wheeled to face the crossbowmen on the hill.

The chieftain commanding them was grinning at the thought of tearing down the enemy line, breaking each company they encountered on the way, while none had a chance to bring their crossbows or handguns to bear.

Similiarly joyful, and laughing maniacally – his hysterics born of cruel glee – the engineer controlling the bombard’s tractor-wheel and once again drove it into the strongmen.

Another five perished from the crushing impact, and, as if doomed to repeat the same horror over and over, the last few fled.

Having watched the knights, and allowing himself to act o-er hastily, indeed recklessly, Urlak fumbled and failed to conjure any further lightning to strike them. He cursed, then remembered where he was and who was beside him.

“Hurry-quick,” he screamed at the jezzailers. “There, there! Shoot, kill.”

This they were happy to do, felling both knights.

Urlak’s confidence returned. Everything he had planned, despite the deaths of many of his pathetic servants, was coming to fruition. Soon Remas would be his plaything, and he would have achieved what none of his kind had achieved before.

Below him, upon on the somewhat depopulated field of battle, the warpfire team spat their burning liquid to scold the ogre …

… while the mortar team thought to deliver another grenado upon the enemy.

This was not to be, however, as the grenade jammed, and for a split second they froze, both realising what that meant. Their terror was cut short, however, when they disappeared explosively.

As the mercenary crossbowmen on the middle hill nervously reformed to face the vicious mob below them …

… Father Uguccione led the bravi in a charge on the bombard’s flank.

There, they began hacking and stabbing as best they could, trying to avoid a multitude of sharp barbs and grinding gears as the wheel turned, as well as the fizzing spits of warp energy flicking about the whole. They thrust their blades through every gap as it appeared, hoping to stab the driver, who squirmed and wriggled in the engine’s midst to make it difficult for them. Several sword blades snapped or bent as their wielders failed to withdraw them quickly enough as the wheel turned.

His Holiness Bernado prayed to Morr to weaken the engine, and again sensed his words fail, but not so Father Uguccione, who felt the power of a curse flow through him to caress the machine.

Watching their frantic activity, Lord Urlak was suffused with satisfaction. A voice in his head went round and round: “Fools and fools and fools!” He barely noticed as a round-shot crossed the field perpendicularly to strike at Clan Skryre’s ‘finding engine’ in the baggage, smashing through and toppling it in the process.

The arch-lector’s attention was also transfixed on the bombard.

He could see the brave volunteers before it, despite the terrible injuries done to most of them, had once again regrouped, and were about to join the bravi in their attempts to disable and capture the engine.

The maestro, however, was suddenly distracted by a niggling concern – for once, not about the engine. At least not directly. Instead, he found himself considering what more the enemy was doing. How else they might be intending to bring ruin upon Remas and its army. He suspected something was not as it seemed. The engine had, at first, appeared to be strongly-guarded by great numbers of the foe. Yet now, it was obvious it was much less well protected than he had thought. All the enemy’s real fighting regiments had arrayed upon the other, far flank of the army, while the weakly armed mobs near the engine had been fairly easily broken.

His eyes scanned the field as he sought a solution to this riddle, and his attention was immediately drawn to the hill upon which the long-barreled jezzails were stationed. In their midst was a robed fellow, fair dancing with delight, despite obviously watching the bombard’s demise himself.

Suspecting the silhouetted figure to be the ‘Seer-Lord Urlak’ mentioned by the arch-lector, he could make little sense of the enemy’s actions. Perhaps, he mused, he was mistaken and the ratman was hopping about in fury?

Whatever the answer, he pointed the fellow out to the gunners, and as they hauled the piece about to aim, he considered the distance, wind, and the mathematics of the parabolic trajectory of the ball, then adjusted the quoins accordingly. He might not have solved the riddle, but he was damned if he would miss the chance to kill the enemy commander!

He made one final adjustment and took a last glance to ensure the seer-lord still occupied the same spot. Then he nodded to the master gunner, who blew upon the burning matchcord in his short linstock, then lowered it onto the powder-filled vent.

The shot flew exactly as the maestro intended.

Urlak was mid-thought, reckoning how soon Clan Skravell could roll up the enemy’s line and victory would be his, when he noticed the flash of the enemy cannon, and something growing larger as it sped towards him. Reflexively, his hand reached up towards the protective amulet upon a chain around his neck.

It never got there.

Despite Urlak’s own distraction, in general, the Uomino Ratto are known for their keen senses, and quick reactions. Within two moments, nearly all of those remaining knew what had happened, and not a one of them had any intention of fighting on in a spirit of revenge or honour. Clan Skravell’s ranks and files disintegrated as they transformed into a frantic mob.

While elsewhere what few ratmen were still on their feet snuck away as hastily as they could, seeking concealment as they attempted to put distance between them and the Remans.

“Now,” declared da Leoni to the arch-lector, as if it were the end of a stageplay rather than a battle of life and death, “let’s have a proper look at this doom bombard.”

And off he strode down the hill.