THE BATTLE OF PALOMTRINA, PART FOUR: CONCLUSION

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 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 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.

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 they 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, adjusting 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 distraction, in general, the Uomino Ratto are known for their keen senses, and quick reactions. Within two moments, nearly every remaining one of them knew what had happened, and none 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.