Chapter 9: Recovery
17th of Midyear, 4E 173
As the Legates rode through the city gates to proclaim victory, Skingrad entered a state of jubilation. The citizens cheered and hugged each other, relieved that the threat of the Dominion was finally gone after having been trapped for so many months. The archers on the ramparts threw down their weapons and ran into the local taverns, where the bartenders passed out drinks free of charge. The soldiers from the battlefield marched back into the city, creating massive crowds in the streets as the fighters mingled with the common folk. For now, the Legates had given up on disciplining the rowdy soldiers for the disorganized mess they were creating; today was their day to celebrate, and even the strictest of Officers understood the need for the legionnaires to enjoy life for at least a short while.
In the midst of this excitement was Potema Brutio, pushing along a worried Ulfric Stormcloak into the bustling crowd. He considered running into the city, but he knew that the Legion would find him anyway. Clearly, Potema didn't think that Ulfric would even try to run away, given the lack of handcuffs or any restraint.
Some of the soldiers recognized the young Stormcloak from the battlefield, whispering wide-eyed about 'the shouter.' They had seen Ulfric push an entire elven squad to the ground and melt a frost atronach with just his voice. Especially amongst the Nord legionnaires, rumors of a 'Dragonborn' had already begun to spread.
Seeing Commander Tullius riding into the city with the legionnaires, Potema grabbed Ulfric by the arm and brought him in front of the leader of the Legion.
"Commander!" she shouted out.
"Legate Potema! Excellent job out there! You are truly one of the Legion's best," Tullius responded, looking happier than anyone had ever seen him.
"Commander, I'm sorry to bother you, but I have here a soldier who has hidden his magical ability from the Legion."
"Ah." Tullius's expression immediately darkened, his face putting on a small frown. "Well, that is unfortunate that a soldier would have the gall to sabotage their own countrymen by hiding their abilities." He got off his horse, and walked up to Ulfric, staring straight into the young Nord's eyes. The Commander was tall for an Imperial and slightly taller than Ulfric, intimidating the young Stormcloak who was used to being the tallest person in the room.
"But, Legate, why are you addressing me about this? You know you can court-martial him yourself, don't you?"
"Well, Commander, the truth is that I wish to avoid a court-martial." Ulfric's face lit up at Potema's response. "So she is trying to save me!" he thought. That Potema actually believed in him was a welcome thought.
"His magic is….special. I saw it on the field, it was unlike anything I had ever seen. He's a competent warrior, and I believe we can use his power, and plan around it."
"Special? What is so special about it, Legate?" exclaimed Tullius in a skeptical tone. "Magic is magic, is it not?" A crowd had begun to assemble around Ulfric's trial. A court-martial had not yet occurred amongst this batch of recruits, so they were curious to see what would happen. The Nords listened especially closely; many of them were lower-class, the sons of farmers and vendors, so families like the Stormcloaks were royalty to them and were intensely respected. In attendance were Rikke, Galmar, and Igmund, all nervously waiting to see what would happen to their friend.
"Well, I'm not entirely sure myself. Stormcloak, would you like to explain your ability to the Commander?" Asked Potema, turning towards Ulfric. From her tone, Ulfric could tell that refusing was not an option.
"Stormcloak, eh?" Interjected Tulius. "So you're the Prince of Windhelm? I was under the impression that you Nord nobles were sitting out this war, letting your peasants do the fighting?"
"I care about the Empire, Commander," responded Ulfric.
Tullius chuckled. "Ha, excellent, excellent. It's good to know that there is at least one patriotic Nord. But, Legate Potema," Tullius turned, facing the dark-skinned Legate. "Magic is not exactly popular amongst Nord nobility, so I quite doubt this man is your culprit. I sincerely hope you are not wasting my time."
Potema turned red-faced, and for the first time Ulfric saw her in a position of weakness. Tullius seemed to have such an effect on people, putting them underneath him simply though his presence. Potema stuttered through a response, but Ulfric interrupted.
"If you would please let me explain, Commander."
Tullius sighed. "Very well."
"You see, it's not magic in the traditional sense. We call it the Voice. It was the power of dragons, in ages past. I learned it from the Greybeards, on the top of the Throat of the World. But it is not a violent power, or at least it's not meant to be."
"Well, you used it on the field, did you not?" Tullius asked rhetorically. "And anyway, I've never even heard of this 'Voice' power. I've certainly never seen a single person use it. Now come on, if you're trying to cover up your magical ability with fiction, simply confess and perhaps we can compromise and we can move you to the Battlemage legion."*
There were various murmurs from the Nords in the crowd over the Commander's ignorance about the Voice. "How has he never heard about the Voice?" "Of course the smartass Imperial has never read a single word of Nord history in his life." "Some smart Commander he is." None of the soldiers were brave enough to speak up, however.
"It seems you haven't read up on your history, Commander," shouted a deep voice from the back of the crowd. The soldiers created passage for the man as he walked up to Tullius. A wave of relief washed over Ulfric as he saw it was Esbern, followed by Delphine, apparently having returned from their scouting mission with the Penitus Oculatus.
"Blade Oakheart," said Tullius in a sarcastic monotone. "You question my knowledge of history."
"Yes, in fact." A few legionnaires chuckled at Esbern's quip, infuriating the Commander. "As Chief Archivist of the Blades, it is my job to know every scrap of the historical record: The Voice is real, very real, though the ancient dragons called it the Thu'um. Since, of course, they couldn't use their hands for magic, they used their powerful voices to cast all sorts of spells. Now, I hope you know the bare minimum about Nord history, that we were enslaved by the dragons in the Merethic Era, yes? Eventually, the Divines grew tired of the dragons' reign of terror, and so Kyne, or you might know her as Kynareth, gifted men the power of the dragons to take them down.
"And so they did: using their destructive powers, the Nords carved out the largest empire of the First Era. But in doing so, they committed untold atrocities in the name of conquest, and used the Voice only to advance their own lust for wealth and greed, just as the dragons had done. The Dunmer and the Dwemer, tired of dealing with the violent men at their borders, united together and utterly destroyed the Nordic army at the Battle of Red Mountain, causing their empire to shrink to a fraction of its former self.
"The Greybeard Order was founded by Jurgen Windcaller, a warrior who had fought at Red Mountain and looked for an answer as to why the Nords fell so far. He realized that the destruction of their wealth was a consequence of their misuse of the Voice: Kyne had punished them for their misdeeds. Since then, the Greybeards have been the sole users of this power, only using it to further their connection to the gods. There are exceptions, of course, namely with the Dragonborns such as Reman Cyrodiil and Tiber Septim, as they are given the power by Kyne herself to accomplish a certain goal in the world."
"Of course, it was Tiber Septim's power," whispered Tullius to himself, feeling foolish for not remembering his history.
"He's the Dragonborn!" shouted a Nord legionnaire in the crowd. Suddenly all the Nords began shaking their fists in the air, excited at the possibility of a legendary hero in their ranks. "Yeah, what if he is the Dragonborn!" "The Dragonborn, among us!" "Talos has returned!" "Talos will win the war, destroy the elves!" Igmund, Galmar, and Rikke, knowing the origin of Ulfric's power, attempted to shout the truth but were drowned out.
"I'm not the Dragonborn!" exclaimed Ulfric at the top of his lungs, silencing the raucous Nords. "I trained with the Greybeards, and learned their power over many years! I have not been blessed by Kyne or Akatosh or anyone! I am just a man!"
The crowd quieted down to a few murmurs, disappointed that the young Stormcloak was not a hero of legend.
After a moment, another voice shouted out. "Show us! Show us your power!"
"Yes, show us, show us!" the soldiers joined in, chanting again.
"Yes, Stormcloak, please show us your power," said Commander Tullius. "After all this ruckus, we don't even have proof that you have this Voice."
"Very well, Commander. You'll have to give me some space, everyone." Ulfric inhaled, focused his mind, and unleashed a breath of fire straight into the air above him, letting the soldiers feel the intense heat. Ulfric was able to keep the fire flowing for a few seconds, proving that he was not performing a simple parlor trick. Tullius stared wide-eyed, and there was a collective gasp as even soldiers walking nearby turned to look at this astonishing power.
"Gods almighty….," whispered Tullius. Everyone quieted down as they expected the Commander to respond. After a few moments of thought, he did so: "Ulfric Stormcloak, son of Hoag Stormcloak, your…transgressions are hereby forgiven. I believe this magic of yours could be of use to the Legion; besides, we are in no position to get rid of soldiers when we are in such desperate times."
Ulfric put on a great smile. "Oh, thank you very much, Commander."
"You and Blade Oakheart said something about the Voice not being used for combat, right? Well, I call on you to use your powers in combat. That is a direct order, tradition be damned."
"Yes, Commander!" Ulfric responded. Of course, he felt a little uneasy, but as long as he was using the Voice to protect his comrades and save the Empire, and not for any selfish means, he was sure that the Divines, and Arngeir, would approve.
"Alright, the whole lot of you, what are you doing still standing around!" Tullius shouting, now addressing the crowd. "Disperse! Celebrate your victory tonight, and in the morning we will be back to business as usual!"
"YES, COMMANDER!" Shouted the soldiers as they began to walk away to the various bars and inns of Skingrad.
"Legate Potema," said Tullius. "I put Stormcloak under your care. You may assess whether he should join the Battlemages, and study how to incorporate his skills into our formations."
"Of course, Commander. I will not let you down."
As Tullius began to walk away, he stopped and turned around to Esbern. "Oh, and Blade Oakheart. Research anything you can about this Voice. I believe a history lesson would be very useful to improve young Stormcloak's powers."
"Of course, Commander!" Esbern said with a cheeky smile.
As the soldiers began to go about their ways, a short blond Nord said "all hail the future Jarl!"
Ulfric's could hardly believe his ears. Some of the Nords he met had called him Prince out of respect before, but now he was being called out as a true noble in front of hundreds.
"All hail the future Jarl!" shouted another Nord. Soon, all the Nords, and even a few other men began to join in. Ulfric could have sworn that he heard someone else say "all hail the Dragonborn!"
Ulfric decided to play to the crowd. Focusing his breath, he unleased an Unrelenting Force into the air, shouting "FUS RO DAH" to the heavens. The Nords cheered, waking up the entire town.
"Hear that?" Said Galmar, giving Ulfric a jab in the shoulder. "You're a Jarl now!"
It was late in the evening now, and the drunken celebrations were beginning to die down. The soldiers had been dancing in the streets for hours, sharing in their victory no matter their race.
As the city entered a deep silence, Commander Tullius called a meeting within Castle Skingrad, the home of the Count situated just outside the north walls. As with most of the structures in the city, it was grey and imposing, with tall, sharp spires and tiny windows like a prison. The inside was ornate and homely, however, as if the rulers of Skingrad wanted to disguise their wealth by making the façade as intimidating and unappealing as possible.
Within the small council room, various officials were present at the round table: the Redguard General Darius Nazari, who was second-in-command of the forces in Skingrad; six senior Legates including Potema; three members of the Penitus Oculatus; and Blades Esbern and Delphine. The young Count of Skingrad, Marcus Hosidus, was also in attendance, eager to learn what the Legion had in store for the continued defense of his city. Having only become Count just a year earlier at the age of twenty-five after the death of his father, Marcus had much to learn about leadership, and he remained anxious throughout the night despite the great victory. There was still a massive elven army in Anvil, after all, one that was slowly marching east towards Kvatch and the rest of Colovia.
"Commander, Blades, Count, and others," began the General, who was in charge of the general debrief. "I shall start off by acknowledging our decisive victory on the battlefield today. Through sheer strength and willpower, we were able to avoid a protracted siege by decimating the Dominion forces in just a few hours. Particular acknowledgement should be given to Legate Potema Brutio, whose 3rd Battlemage Legion led the final charge against the Dominion and displayed masterful courage and strategy."
"I only did my duty, General," responded Potema with a nod.
"Of course, Legate," responded Darius in a very official manner. "And with this victory, we also learned valuable information about the enemy, mainly about the formation of their Khajiit forces. The large cat creatures they were riding are the fabled 'Senche-raht,' a form of Khajiit that has never been seen outside of Elsweyr. Now that we are aware of their use in combat, we can begin to come up with tactics against them, as they are not susceptible to the same weaknesses as normal cavalry.
"Moving on, the joint operation with the Blades and the Oculatus was a minor success. They were able to find the Dominion camp and disrupt their recovery capabilities by burning down their tents. Even though they were not able to capture any enemies as the plan had initially desired, the discovery of their camp allowed our infantry to root out the other Dominion hideouts right after the battle's conclusion. Their army is almost certainly back across the Valenwood border by now."
"Excellent work all around. Thank you, General," said Tullius. Now, we must consider the future. Firstly, I see an opportunity to go on the offensive."
"On the offensive?" exclaimed Count Hosidus with a nervous look on his smooth face. Dressed in dark noble's clothes, he looked quite out of place in a room where everyone else was wearing silver and black military uniforms. "Commander, surely you can't be serious? Who will defend Skingrad if all the soldiers go marching into Valenwood? Do you understand the anxiety that myself and the citizens of this city have felt in these long months, surrounded by elven forces–"
"Count Hosidus, please, you worry too much," interrupting Tullius. The fact that he could even interrupt such a high-ranking figure without a single objection was proof of the authority that the Commander held. "Of course I don't plan on sending all the soldiers; the idea would be a two-pronged assault, one towards the south across the border and another to the west towards Anvil. The battle for Anvil was hard-fought, so the elves there are probably quite weak and battered, ripe for the taking. Here, Legate Valtus, could you pass the map so I can draw it out for the Count."
Just as Tullius was about to make markings on the map of Cyrodiil, a servant burst through the doors of the council room. "Count Hosidus, Commander Tullius, there are soldiers from Kvatch with news for you."
"From Kvatch? Is it so urgent? I was just about to show the Count something of utmost important," responded Tullius.
"It seems so, Commander. The men looked desperate."
"….Very well. Let them in." The Legates began to murmur to each other. What had happened in Kvatch?
A ragged Imperial entered the tent, his leather armor bruised and dented. He looked absolutely exhausted, and his arm was wrapped up in a bandage soaked through with blood. A quiet, nervous tension gripped the room as everyone feared the worst.
"Commander….Kvatch….has been taken." He struggled to speak between rasped breaths. "The elves' army….it was massive, far bigger than what the 17th legion could handle. I was able to escape along with a couple squads just as they breached the front gates."
Only the soldier's breathing could be heard as the shock passed through the room, with the Count turning white with fear. Even the famously loud-mouthed Potema could not find any words, her mouth gaping in astonishment.
"They played us," said Tullius after a few moments. "The damn knife-ears outsmarted us. We put all our focus on Skingrad, and they swiped Kvatch under our noses."
"Commander, if I may speak," said Esbern with a sad demeanor. "This is a failure of intelligence. Our agents should have been able to see this coming–"
"Ours too," interrupted Marius Maro, one of the Penitus Oculatus members present. In his thirties with dark black hair and a thin beard, he had risen quickly through the ranks of the organization and now had the authority to speak for the other agents. "We are the ones most responsible for affairs within the Empire's territory, so we should take the most blame here."
Tullius sighed. "I appreciate your humility, Blade Oakheart and Agent Maro, but self-pity helps no one. We have a crisis on our hands, and we have to come up with a new plan at this instant."
There were a few more moments of silence as everyone racked their brains for a solution. Esbern was about to speak, but Delphine spoke first.
"For now, Commander, all we can really do is shore up Skingrad's defenses and make sure that this city is impenetrable. Today, we were able to combat them on an open field, but I don't think that will be such a smart idea next time when they have their combined forces assaulting the walls. We must prepare for a siege."
The others nodded their heads in agreement. Tullius was surprised at the young Blade's bravery to propose such a critical battle plan. Esbern had told him great things about her, those words seemed to have some merit.
"I agree, Blade Magnusson. I must say I am very impressed with your abilities."
"Thank you, Commander," she responded confidently. Delphine had felt a pang of guilt for not being able to fight at the Battle of Skingrad alongside her newfound Nord comrades, but at least she had done something worthwhile.
"Now, Count Hosidus," said Tullius. "What do you think of Blade Magnusson's proposal? As the highest ranking authority here, you have the final say." Of course, in reality, Tullius could go forward with whatever plan he wanted and nobody would oppose him, but he wanted to humor the Count at least a little bit, if only not to make him seem like a young weakling who had no idea what he was doing.
To Tullius's surprise, Marcus Hosidus had not become more distressed by the recent news, but he appeared to have gained more resolve. "Commander, this city has suffered many atrocities during its sixteen centuries of existence. We have invaded by Nords, invaded by Bretons, invaded by Redguards. We have been destroyed, five times! We even had a damn vampire as our count for decades!"
"A vampire count?" Whispered Delphine to Esbern.
"Oh yes, it's a great story. Remind me to tell you about it later."
"So, Commander, I will do whatever it takes to save my city," the Count concluded.
"Excellent, excellent! Now, it appears to be almost midnight. I apologize for calling such a late meeting, but I did not expect things to become like this so soon. Meeting adjourned, we shall convene in the morning when we have had adequate rest and come up with a more formal battle plan. I shall send a messenger to the Imperial City right this moment, as the Emperor must know of what is going on."
"Commander, I will tell the wall guards to be extra vigilant in case the elves decide to attack….prematurely," said Agent Maro.
"Yes, please do so. Oh, and to everyone else: please do not inform our soldiers of Kvatch's takeover just yet. They have just spent an entire night reveling in our victory; better to ruin their day than their sleep."
Delphine laughed, astonished how the Commander could keep such a humorous demeanor when everything seemed so grim. Perhaps that was his strength: besides his indomitable will and his intimidating stare, he knew how to respond to the needs of his soldiers. Legionnaires had always joked that Quintus Tullius was the real leader of the Empire, and now, Delphine thought she understood why. Fitting that he was the Emperor's cousin.
"And Commander, if I may have a final word," said Esbern. Tullius nodded. "I must emphasize that we should not lose hope yet. The elves are a prideful people, and they do not handle defeat as well as they do. They will take a long time to try and discover what went wrong at Skingrad, so that will buy us plenty of time. Please emphasize this to your soldiers when you tell them about our loss of Kvatch. The Empire has come back from worse."
Ancano snapped his eyes open, letting the blinding morning light hit his face. He had absolutely no idea where he was and what he was doing; he could barely remember who he was. He had thought he was on the battlefield, fighting to take over Skingrad. But now, he was laying on a rudimentary stretcher, half underneath a small tent that appeared to contain various medical tools on tables above him.
As he tried to figure out his surroundings, he realized a beautiful Altmer lady hovering over him. She was young, probably about Ancano's age, with long eyelashes on her almond-shaped eyes and glistening blond hair tied in a ponytail. She wore a short white dress, the uniform of the Dominion's Healers. Ancano tried to get up from whatever he was laying on, but felt a sharp pain in his right shoulder that grew worse as he rose.
"Oh, you're awake," said the girl in a worried tone. She put her arms on Ancano's back and eased him into lying back down again. "You have an injury, so you shouldn't be getting up right now. I've been healing it through the night but the arrow left a nasty cut."
"Arrow?" Said Ancano, wincing through the pain. "Wha….what in Oblivion…"
"Don't worry though, it didn't go too deep, and it missed your arm so you'll probably be back to casting spells in just a few days." Her voice was smooth and melodic, soothing Ancano's tense nerves. This girl was the type that he would marry when he got back to Summerset, Ancano thought. He also noticed her large breasts, enticing him even more. But marriage was not a simple act of love among the Altmer; there were questions of social standing and caste, and Ancano had none, having been a lowly orphan picked up from the street. Perhaps this girl was just like him, but perhaps not. All the more important, then, that he prove himself in this war and gain the standing he had coveted for his entire life, which would allow him to choose any woman he pleased.
"You know, you're lucky to even be here, alive," she continued as healing light began to flow out of her hands and onto the gash. Ancano's senses began to come back to him as he more clearly recognized his location. They were in a large clearing in the middle of a forest, with a dozens of injured soldiers writhing around on other makeshift stretchers. Healers were frantically running back and forth between the dying and the dead, healing amputated stumps and covering those that they could not save in pure white blankets.
Ancano saw some of his mage friends beside him. Well, perhaps 'friends' was a strong word: he felt no love for the rich Altmer who made it into the arcane universities thanks to their noble titles and not due to any inherent skill. They had always looked down upon Ancano, calling him 'street scum' and all sorts of names they found so clever. But Ancano persisted, rising above his classmates, rivaling even some of his professors.
It was he who delivered the message of war to the Emperor himself, after all. Not some imbecile chid of a lord! The glorious leader of the Dominion himself, Lord Naarifin, had taken the young Ancano under his wing, teaching him the ways of the nobility and of the magical arts. Of course, Ancano had not seen him in months, but that was because he was doing important work in southern Cyrodiil, pushing towards the Imperial City.
"This war is an opportunity, dear Ancano," Naarifin had told him, putting his arm around the young elf and making him picture the possibilities in his mind. "Your opportunity to show the world your potential. Summerset will become yours for the taking! As my apprentice, I have given you a head start, but it is up to you to claim your noble title and truly become part of the elite, as you have always dreamed!" The grand Lord always had such a way with words.
All of this was why Ancano found it so infuriating to be confined to lying on the ground for the forseeable future. And judging by his surroundings, the Dominion had lost the battle. A wave of anger washed over the young elf; how was he supposed to prove himself in this state?
"What the fuck happened to us?" Ancano spat out, clenching his teeth as he felt the skin tear and repair itself thanks to the Restoration magic. He had never thought that healing would be so unpleasant.
"To the army, you mean?" replied the elven girl. "Well, I wasn't on the field, but we were…defeated. Apparently, their battlemages killed half our soldiers. Oh, it was so horrible, those filthy Men overran our camp, burning everything and slaughtering the healers…" she paused for a moment, trying to forget the bad memories.
"We're back across the border now, in Valenwood. That Ohmes Khajiit carried you to us on her back." The healer motioned behind her, to Ja'hira, who was speaking to a few other Khajiit. She had a bandage over her arm, but other than that, her brown body was clean of any blemishes or bruises and her orange face markings gleamed across her face.
"Ja'hira! Come over here, your mage friend has woken up!"
"Ah, Niranye!" responded the Khajiit, walking over to Ancano's stretcher and giving the elven girl a light hug. "Wow, your magic is amazing…he was barely breathing when I brought him back here."
"Your name's Niranye?" said Ancano. "That's a beautiful name. I'm Ancano."
"Oh, thank you, Ancano," Niranye responded with a beaming smile. Gods almighty, she was attractive. "Well, I'll let you talk to Ja'hira a little bit. I have to go tend to the other injured."
Ancano wished that the beautiful girl would stay with him a little longer. He didn't really wish to Ja'hira; the truth was, he felt embarrassed that he had to be saved from death like a damsel in distress (by a Khajiit, no less).
"How, are you feeling, my friend," asked Ja'hira, sitting down on the chair at Ancano's bedside.
"Well, besides the fact that I was taken out minutes into the battle, our army was annihilated, and our camps were destroyed, I'm feeling perfectly fine."
Ja'hira chuckled. "I understand how you feel, Ancano. You know, I've always liked you more than the other mages. I know I haven't talked to you much, even though we're often in units together, but just from what I observed, you seem so humble. The other Altmer always act like they know the answers to everything, you only open your mouth when you actually know the answers. Humility is not something easily found among your kind."
Ancano was shocked, both at this unexpected compliment and at Ja'hira's near perfect grasp of the Altmeri language. She spoke as if she was a native speaker, while most other Khajiit had to speak in broken phrases. He had thought that their facial structures made mouthing such a beautiful language as High Elven difficult for the cat-men, but clearly the Ohmes were different.
But anyway, someone thought of him as humble? That certainly was not his intention, but he simply thought it illogical that someone should act as if they know everything. If there was anything Lord Naarifin taught him, it was that listening to others was just as important as listening to oneself. Even though the great Lord was technically head of the Thalmor and commander of its military forces, the government was still a council, with multiple Lords and Ladies that all had to confer with one another to get anything done. The High Elves had done away with their kings and queens, and in doing so, had created a far more efficient form of government that was not based on the whims of one person.
"Why, thank you for the kind words, Ja'hira. I suppose I should thank you for saving my life as well." The gratitude was difficult for Ancano to deliver, but he wanted the Khajiit to continue to have a good impression of him.
"Please, I was only doing my duty."
"Now, I was just wondering….what exactly happened to me?"
"Ah, well, I'm not entirely sure, to tell you the truth. Us scouts, we're not on the front lines, right? So we were hanging back near the catapults, and the generals order us to charge in and support the main infantry. We rush in with our shields up, and it looks like we're winning, with the Senche riders charging into the mens' lines and tearing them up. But…." Ja'hira paused, holding back tears. Clearly she had lost some close comrades in the battle.
"Then the battlemages charged?" said Ancano, finishing her thought.
"Yes, then the battlemages came in. We were not expecting them to be so…skilled. Not only could they aim their spells, but their swordsmanship was terrifying. After a few minutes, I realized this was a losing fight, so as leader of my squad, I ordered everyone to retreat. And then I saw you. Lying on top of a dead mage, you had an arrow in you and still holding on to life. I hoisted you onto my back and somehow survived the hail of arrows and fireballs. I was almost knocked over by that….Shouter."
"Shouter?"
"Oh, no one's told you about him yet? He's all anyone can talk about in the camp. He's the most powerful battlemage of them all, and he's a damn Nord."
"What in Oblivion did he do?"
"He didn't even use his hands, Ancano. He just shouted something and this wave came out of him, knocked over an entire squad of elves. He melted a frost atronach with some kind of dragonfire spell. Almighty Alkosh, it was terrifying. My friend…my dear Kharjo was…was…" Ja'hira could hold back her tears no longer.
"Gods," was all Ancano could say. A few moments passed and Ja'hira wiped her face.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't be getting so emotional."
"Oh, never mind that. But, Ja'hira, I don't quite understand…you're saying he casted things without using his hands? Are you sure you didn't see this Shouter incorrectly?"
"I stared straight at him, Ancano. Everyone around me saw the same thing: he was holding a sword in one hand, and a shield in the other, and he still was able to do these things…thankfully, he's the only one of those round-ears that could do that, as far as we know."
Ancano was amazed. A man who could do things that the most powerful Altmer mages struggled to do? And he was a fucking Nord! The most ignorant race in Tamriel! The people that made the Bosmer look like scholars! How was this possible?
"But, I am sorry to make your thoughts so negative," said Ja'hira. "Not everything went to crap yesterday. We just got word that our armies from Anvil captured Kvatch."
"Really?! Well, that is glorious news!" So all was not lost after all. Once Ancano's wounds were healed, he would be getting right back into the action. And now he knew exactly how he could gain that noble title he had always desired.
"Ja'hira, I know a task that can gain us much renown in the army: finding this Shouter, and hunting him down," he said with an almost sinister smile.
"Well, that sounds like a great idea, but difficult to accomplish. We don't even know who he is."
"Espionage, Ja'hira! You're a scout, aren't you? We use your skills, and my...perceptiveness!" He tried to avoid saying 'intelligence,' to keep Ja'hira's image of his humility. "Nothing can get in our way!"
Ja'hira chuckled. "Very well, my friend. I'll take you up on your offer. Just after you get off that damn bed of yours."
Surely this would be Ancano's big break, the way he could prove himself to the generals, prove to Lord Naarifin that he was worthy. No one would call him Ancano the Street Trash every again; no, he would become Ancano the Nord-Slayer!
*Because there are far fewer magic users than non-magic users, the Battlemage legions are much smaller than regular legions. They vary in size from a hundred to half a thousand, and there about five Battlemage legions.