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Days later, I was pleased to find that two-thirds of the Companions were in something like adequate gear. The equipment was practical, but nothing spectacular. The Companions were now wearing armor in the pattern of the Ancient Nords: a thick breastplate backed by leather and a high-wasted chain skirt that cut off at the knee. Their limbs were guarded by long gloves and boots backed with steel bands. The helmet featured cheek guards that came almost to the wearer's collar bone. The original draugr sets that Eorlund patterned the armor on featured horns or antlers on the helmets, but I insisted he dispense with them for two reasons: First, horns make convenient hand-holds in a fight; and secondly they look stupid. Really. Really. Stupid. Last, every Companion was given a round lime wood shield with an iron rim hastily painted with a ravenous wolf for a badge. Those who were recruited with or could afford better outlays were welcome to use their own, but I insisted everyone who thought rawhide or fur was adequate protection spend a couple minutes in the front of a mock shield wall being hammered by legionnaires or the Jarl's militia. Most were smart enough to accept the better gear.
For weapons they either carried what they came to us with or received a Skyforge axe or sword like the one Eorlund had forged for me after my Trial. There were hundreds of such weapons piled in Jorrvaskr's Underhall arsenal. The brilliant smith had reforged and fitted my draugr blade with his customary skill. When my sight was at last restored, I saw the Nordic blade was free the green corrosion that plagues its siblings. The fresh metal was almost a tarnished silver in color. Rather than the usual 'blood grooves,' the blade was ridged on its flats, these ridges expanding out to a series of runes at the tip.
For my armor Eorlund outdid himself. "That black tunic is good for adventuring, but for a battle you have to look like a warlord," he said, laying several objects on a table.
The touch and weight of the cuirass, helmet, boots, and gloves took me aback, "Eorlund you didn't," I breathed.
Even without Aura Whisper I would have felt his pride, "That dragon by the west tower wasn't using his bones and scales anymore, so I got creative while you were on your errantry. Argis and Iona have full sets prepared for them as well. Lydia will have to make-do with ebony," he grinned.
"I wouldn't wear those in front of Paarthurnax," Lydia observed.
Last was a broad shield identical in make to the others distributed to the Companions. "What's my badge?" I asked.
"A red diamond bordered in gold on a white field," Eorlund told me. I grinned my approval. My days among the Knights of the Nine were a year behind me, but I was still one of them.
A few hours later, I set off north with my comrades to lay an ambush for the approaching Stormcloak Army.
"Well, Galmar was deploying his scouts well," Lydia remarked.
The second week was nearly over. The Companions were deployed along both sides of The Eastmarch Road in the Pale. We had camped overnight at the steps of the Silverdrift Barrow. Ghent, Morgan, and Aela had gone eastward that night with fifty of the Companions to draw off the screen that the Stormcloak army's general wisely deployed in the steep-sided river valley.
"Blue and the others did their job then," I replied. The scouts were now too thinly spaced and too close to the main body to make an adequate vanguard.
Almost half of the Companions were hidden in the tree lines in the ground above the road. Further back, the rest of the Companions were drawn in a wide line in front of the Weyon Stones, an old stone circle near the fork in the roads to Fort Dunstad and Whiterun. They were there to smash any Stormcloak perusing the retreating ambushers and withdraw to Whiterun or Dunstad as chance presented itself.
Renewing Aura Whisper, I saw the Companions in the trees as points of cool, professional excitement. Aela's animalistic nature was easy to spot, tense like a predator ready to spring. The forward Stormcloak companies had reached the rock cairn I had designated as the trigger point. The cloudy late afternoon air was suddenly filled with the sound of howling that caused the Stormcloaks to waver in their march.
Carefully aimed arrows darted into the frightened companies, spreading confusion like the ripples of raindrops on water. The boldest Companions sped out of the trees. My stomach reached my throat when Aela lead them into the disordered mass. The ensuing melee was brutal for the Stormcloaks who barely had time to draw weapons. Their foremost ranks were obliterated as the army behind them ground to a halt and began to deploy.
I feared my people bogging down as order began to coalesce in the Stormcloak companies. At last as the following divisions began to fan out on either side of the road and advance, I looked to the sky.
"Yol toor!" The agreed upon signal to withdraw thundered from my mouth. If the column of fire was somehow missed, the Shout could easily be heard and felt.
The moment of crisis had come. The infantry in the melee took flight westward under a renewed cloud of arrows. The forward ranks of the Stormcloaks, hot for revenge, rushed after them. We ran hard to our waiting comrades. Without arrows pinning them to the ground however, the rebel soldiers came up to our heels. Many of my troops were not swift enough to escape the Nords' rage and turned at bay, slowing the counterattack for precious seconds.
Lydia and I ran past Farkas and Vilkas. We turned instantly and formed on the brothers, our shields smacking into the running Stormcloaks with bone-breaking force. The first scattered pursuers were easily repelled and we began to withdraw in good order as the pursuing rebel troops recoiled and organized to make more effective strikes against our thin and withdrawing line.
But in my mind I knew I had made a serious mistake. Those of us on the south end of the line would never reach Whiterun's walls across the open ground to our south. The following companies of the Stormcloak army made echelons on their leading columns to skewer our line in the middle. The northern part of my line had already scattered and disappeared in the trees toward Fort Dunstad, but the bulk of my warriors faced many miles of flat forest thinning to grassland as we fled south.
Only the arrival of the dragons saved us. Three of them came to investigate the Shout of an unfamiliar Voice and saw the battle below.
"Scatter! Stay low! Move south!" I bellowed to the Companions. The Stormcloaks did much the same. The army on the road crowded into the trees we just attacked them from or else made well-spaced lines of archers to counter the dragons' swooping attacks.
We snaked our way from tree to tree for miles while the army behind us ground to yet another halt. The dragons were either attacking the rebels when soldiers broke cover or else circled the forest, looking for stray Companions. Every swift-moving shadow made us halt. The thunder of the wings overhead battered our ears and hearts. Each beat of leathery wings cemented a memory. Boom. The few clouds were slowly clearing. Boom. A Bosmer Companion stumbling into a clearing and getting snatched up in a flash of talons without so much as a scream.
Boom. A dragon crashed through the canopy mere feet in front of me. I crouched beneath my shield as the dragon swept fire in a great arc in front of him. I sprang to my feet and lunged at the beast's head. Eorlund's sword swept effortlessly between the scales of the dragon's chin. He reared up and spread his wings to escape, but I moved fast. I drove forward once more, driving the blade deep into the exposed flesh of the dragon's belly. I rolled between his legs and out from under his flailing tail.
Boom.I picked myself up in time to see Lydia run up his wing to drive her jagged, red-stained sword through the base of the dragon's neck. I rushed to the root of the wing and drove my refurbished blade into his side, seeking desperately for the heart. Lydia withdrew, found a different spot, and bore down again until the creature stopped struggling.
Boom. The feeling of the dragon's soul rushing into me as the creature bled to death. I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to ignore the visions rushing into my brain through in the heat of battle. Boom. The sun was setting. Boom. A distant company of Stormcloak light infantry shattered in a cloud of scales, blood, and screams. Boom. A dragon vomited ice to drive more sheltering soldiers into a clearing where it crushed them beneath its body. Boom. Slowly, so painfully slowly, the remaining dragons were farther and farther behind us.
We passed the gates of Whiterun a few days later. Only then did I regroup and tally our losses. 265 of us made it back to Jorrvaskr, the rest were either slain or driven to Fort Dunstad. Not caring that we were in front of hundreds I gave Aela, among the last to return, a crushing hug when I saw that she was safe. Of my housecarls only Lydia had been able to stay with me.
"Where is Ghent? Has anyone seen Ghent?" Morgan asked the Companions as we regrouped at our hall. The woman's face was streaked with tears as she hunted desperately among the returning warriors.
"I last saw your man retreating with Argis and Iona," Aela tried to console her. "He's clever in his way. He'll have made it to the fort."
Thanks for reading. The faves and follows over the last 10 days have been great. The next chapter is going to be a big one, so bring your fatpants and brew some coffee.
