The Wyvern

Lord Destrian's frontlines were a combination of both the men from Bruma and Chorrol, and even some of his own. They were a fearsome lot, yet many of them had never held a blade in their lives, or had never learned to fight the Imperial way. The civilized way.

That could be mostly attributed to the men of Bruma, whose warriors fought like the race they were mostly full of. The Nords did not fight with organization or grace, but with honor and courage. Honor is good, but it does not win battles.

And it was then, while atop his black stallion that Lord Withertooth knew that these men were the only hope for the Empire. Valor's host was outnumbered by at least one-thousand men, if his numbers were right. Not only that, but they had the Imperial City's walls to hide behind. These men had nothing.

It is time to see how those old walls can hold up against our trebuchets. They had at least six of those war machines, and they would prove useful enough. It had taken a while for the men to build them, and their quality was less than great, but if used right they would prove useful in the battle to come. We have no siege towers though, and only one battering ram.

They would have to pray that would be useful enough. If not, then this battle could take a turn for the worse. Valor's men were strong and valiant fighters, but they themselves could not simply walk up to the gates. Not only that, but their ladders could easily be pushed down by those who were strong enough.

And Destrian knew that would be a major problem as well. The ladders could only be useful should the men atop the walls prove too distracted to bring them down. The host's archers would have to do heavy damage in order for that to happen, and Lord Withertooth prayed they would.

They were two miles out from the cities walls, and Destrian could see the remnants of the White-Gold tower jutting out from the city's core. The walls were high and daunting, and there were soldiers atop them as well. Their arrows were ready for the men to charge, holding the string back steadily. Destrian knew many of the men in the frontlines would be taken out in the first volley, and that saddened him deeply.

Atop his horse, he turned his head right to left in order to make sure everyone was in their places. The trebuchets were in the back being loaded and ready for fire, and perhaps the walls would suffer heavy damage. If not, they would have to take the risk of using the ladders, which could be a waste of men should they fail.

The dragons will come soon. Valor would be with them of course, on their backs as he soars through the air as his kind was meant to. But Destrian would lead the men from below, with the help of Count Olvir. Unfortunately, Count Amundel was not one for warfare, and stayed at the camp.

"C'mon! Tell the men to run; I want to chop some Legion heads off with my axe already!" Olvir shouted, his hand hovering over the hilt of his weapon.

"All in due time." Destrian replied, "You must be patient. We cannot act rashly."

"Battle is the best time to be rash." Olvir retorted, "It is when we are in danger that acting bold and taking risks can land you the greatest results."

"Who told you that?" Withertooth asked.

"I did."

I can't act rash, this is not my army. These men belonged to the Dragonborn Emperor, and should he lose this battle then their chances of a successful rebellion would be slim to none. He could not waste the opportunity, nor make a costly mistake.

It was nighttime, so he could see the fires that were atop the walls in order for the archers to set their arrows to flame. That would be a problem for the men carrying the battering ram, as if too many lit arrows came in contact with the dry wood, the only chance of bringing the gate down would be lost.

"Are the trebuchets ready?" Lord Destrian hollered.

"Yes, my lord!" one of the Legate's shouted back,

"Good." Destrian told him, "Make sure the boulders are not aflame, I do not want the Dragonborn's city to be ruined before he sets foot inside of it."

The man did not say anything to Destrian; instead he turned back to his men. "Fire!"

It was like the sound of a whip when the men let it fire. The wooden mechanisms that made the trebuchet did its work, with a small pouch springing outwards to send the projectile into the air. In the night sky Destrian almost lost track of them, but when they hit the wall he did not.

Even from there he could see what had become of several sections of the Imperial City's wall when the large stones had made contact. For some of the areas it had caused nothing more than a crack, but in other areas it took off whole chunks of the top layer, sending the men atop the wall to their deaths as well. The dust and debris piled up in the air, but Destrian could still see the city.

It took several minutes for them to arm the trebuchets again, and when that moment came more stones were sent flying. This time some passed the wall entirely, landing inside the city itself. While another took off another chunk of the wall near a fire pit, sending the chunk of burning wood toppling to the cities roads from the looks of it. Destrian could not tell from his destination.

"Forward!" Lord Withertooth shouted.

"At last! Finally my axe will feel Imperial blood!" Count Olvir was shouting as the host was slowly advancing. Lord Withertooth grasped the reins of his horse once again, and led his steed forward, his right hand quickly reaching for his sword-belt. The footsteps behind him let him know that the host was still following at a steady pace as he kept on riding, the stone projectiles continuing to pound the walls of the Imperial City.

His steed was considerably faster than his men, so naturally he was in the lead of the host, his sword in the air as he shouted, "For the Dragonborn! For Tamriel!" his men took up the chant, "The King of dragons!" they responded with, filling their spirits.

It was then that the archers that were not worried about the trebuchets released the first volley of arrows. They were Imperial ones, forged from the finest of the Empire's steel. Several streaked past him, but he did not worry. He remembered what he was told by his father. The man who is in the lead is never hit by arrows. Archers aim for the area where there are the most soldiers.

It was at that point that his father's lessons had proved false. His steed fell immediately after the mount had suffered an arrow right in the head. The fall was a dangerous and violent one, and when he was done tumbling on the ground he almost though the horse's body was atop him. That fear was false though, only his mind playing tricks on him. The rebel soldiers sped past him, but Count Olvir held out his hand when he ran by to help Destrian up.

The lord of God's Eye grabbed his sword from the ground and took off again. This time he was near the middle of the first wave, and was now the prime target for most of the Legionnaire's arrows. They were aflame, well, most of them. And one time or another Destrian would feel a slight sense of warmth when one passed by, but no matter what he kept on running.

"Get the ladders up!" he shouted when he was right next to the wall, along with many of the other soldiers. He saw the rebellion's archers returning fire to the soldiers above, and it was a battle of arrows at this point. Each side was losing considerable amounts of men, but from the looks of it the Legionnaire's were winning.

The first ladder was carried by a dozen or so men, and when they sent it up it took the strength of everyone down below to make sure nobody pushed it down. Count Olvir was the first to go up, fearing neither man nor the risk of falling. Several of his Nordic warriors followed, and even Lord Destrian was with them as well.

His climbing was a clumsy thing, as he had almost fallen twice. His hands were moist with sweat from stress, as they were before every battle, and he had to hold his blade at the same time. Climbing a ladder with one hand is no easy thing.

The divines had blessed Lord Withertooth with the ability to reach the top, to which he was very thankful. It would be a holy miracle if they won this battle after all with the men they had, and the second disappearance of the Dragonborn before battle. But deep in the back of his mind Lord Withertooth knew why. He is readying his dragons.

The first thing he saw when on the walls was Count Olvir swinging his axe like a madman. Without breaking a sweat the Nordic warrior had cut down three trained Legionnaire soldiers in little under a minute. Destrian laughed on the inside, but stopped that immediately when an arrow came dangerously close to his head.

It was then that a sword came swinging towards him from the left. Destrian had little time to respond, so he did what his instincts told him too and leaped backwards. But that was not the smartest thing either, as he collided with someone behind him, who happened to be one of his own men. The enemy soldier rushed forward to end the quick foray, but Destrian's own sword lashed out right before his enemy could make a strike.

The man had fallen to the ground, and Lord Withertooth wrenched his blade free. It was coated with blood, and Destrian immediately felt grateful that Imperial armor was so poorly fashioned. Their one weakness is our advantage.

He got back on his feet and surveyed the battle around him. The trebuchets had stopped firing so often once the rebels had climbed from the ladders on the walls, but they still kept at it. Down below the men were doing well, as the Imperial archers were too focused on the men who had breached their defenses over the ones below. Still, it was far from over just yet.

"That's ten now, lad!" Count Olvir was telling some random rebel, "How many do you have?"

That's no ordinary soldier. That's Rowan.

"Fifteen at the moment." The man said, his sword being wielded with one hand, a shield in the other. "I need ten more to break the record for the other battle at the Imperial City."

"Hah! This is just a warm-up for when those pointy-eared bastards come back! Think of this as practice!" the Count of Bruma joked.

But Withertooth knew this was no jape. Once they claimed the Imperial City and Valor sat the Dragon Throne, then they could make jokes. But until that moment, every minute was a minute wasted.

Still, they fought. The three's style's complemented each other. Olvir was brutish yet quick, Rowan was graceful yet strong, and Destrian was both. Together with the help from fellow rebels they cleared soldier after soldier from the wall. Withertooth had seen nothing like it.

Where is Althalos? He should be here. It was against his character to hide from battle, Destrian had suspected that something was amiss. Althalos should have been at the wall with his men, as he would have done any other day.

But Destrian heard chanting coming from below, and looked to the outside of the city. Dozens of soldiers were carrying a large wooden battering-ram. They were slowly approaching the gate, and that was when the Legion's remaining archers went to work. They did not waste time, and quickly loosed as many arrows as they could. Those that carried the ram were quickly detained, with nothing to stop it.

"We've got to kill those archers!" Rowan shouted.

But before Destrian could reply, a roar too familiar to him echoed from the skies. Immediately the men from the rebellion cheered, "King of the dragons!" some shouted, and a smirk was upon Destrian's face. With most of the men atop the walls were gone, so the scaled creatures would meet much less resistance than normal.

The three swooped down at once, each looking just as menacing as the next. He could see Valor atop the elder one, his sword flailing in the wind. Some men rejoiced other cried out in fear.

Soon it was anything but silent.

Destrian forgot about the battle around him for a second and focused on the dragons. The one that bore Valor on his back pulled its wings to its body, diving down and plummeting to the ground below. But before it would have suffered a fatal fall it stuck out its legs and flapped its wings. The men down below all moved out of the way as the dragon landed right in front of the gate.

"Any man who rapes will lose their manhood. Any man who loots will lose a hand." Valor shouted, and his dragon rammed its head against the large gates of the Imperial City. It took several tried before there was a crack like thunder, and the gates swung open to allow the rebels inside.

"We must get down below" Olvir shouted, "I would not miss out on the best part of the battle!"

There was a ladder not far away, and they were the first to rush straight for it. The other soldiers that were not engaged in battle followed as well, and soon enough they descended into the city.

He climbed down some more, doing exactly what he did not want. This time he did not almost fall however, and made it down successfully. When he was finally on the cities road, he and the others sprinted forward near the main gate. That was where the battle would be the thickest, where they would be needed.

The first thing he saw when they were relatively close was dragonfire. The white stone floor was alight with it, and those who dared to oppose the Dragonborn or legend were bathed in flame. Forced to cook inside their own armor while their unexposed skin was burnt alive.

The other two dragons perched themselves on top of the buildings and did the same as the other, belting out more flames. There were those that thought they could be courageous and tried to slay the old one, but they soon were destroyed. Rebels stormed in, passing the great beast as the rest of the Legionnaires either fought or ran. But most ran.

Valor's dragon took the skies again while the men rushed farther into the city. There were at least thirty or so Legionnaires waiting for them before the first gate that would take them to the Bastion, each stood still and without fear. But when the two forces collided the numbers of the enemy soon diminished quicker than expected. They were cut down with ease, and the men pressed on.

Another damn gate. Destrian thought, but when he turned he noticed that more men had picked up the battering-ram and were carrying it towards them at that same moment. The battle around them had turned into a small skirmish, so there was no worry of them not making it safely.

When they did, they stopped right before the large gate. "HEAVE!" they all cried out as their strength sent he large ram flying towards the closed gate. They collided with a bang, and then the men took up the cry again. "HEAVE!" they repeated the action three more times, and then the gate was open.

They rushed in, and Destrian's blade was in the air. Count Olvir and Rowan were not far behind him, and when he noticed that there were only fifty or so men opposing them. Destrian decided to locate the Bastion, which was not far to the left of the White-gold tower, which loomed over them like a mountain.

Valor's dragons landed again, and this time he leaped off his neck and onto the ground. Some of the men cheered, though most were too busy fighting. The dragons flew away after Valor had already begun to run to Lord Withertooth's direction, his sword still in his hand.

"Is he in here?" Valor asked.

"He should be. I didn't see him at the walls, I see no other possibility."

"Then let's do this." Valor rammed his body into the large door, but it did not break. He tried again, and again, and again, and still it stayed there. But it was when Count Olvir came that the door was brought down.

"Let's go see what Althalos thinks of us now!" Olvir laughed.

Inside it was large, with several hallways leading to very different areas. On the end of the current one however was a staircase, in which Destrian had no doubt would lead to the Emperor's chambers. They rushed for it, hoping to end this battle and war as quickly as possible.

They quickly ran up the stairs, their legs not feeling fatigued at all. Valor was in the lead, climbing faster than any of them. It took a while before they reached the top, but when they did they did waste time to open the door.

It was unlocked to their surprise, and inside it was empty. When Destrian saw the look of Valor's face, he felt saddened as well. Had Althalos escaped them? Could it be possible that he had left the city?

"Where is he?" Valor asked.

"I'm not sure." Destrian replied.

"He was not out in the battle, he has to be somewhere around here!" Olvir said.

"There are dozens of underground sewers and such that he could have escaped from, we should look there." Lord Withertooth replied.

"Look there immediately, I would not have him escape my grasp." Valor said.

Where has he gone? Of course he could be anywhere in the city, which in that case they would conduct a search. But the Imperial City was known for its array of escapable routes, which Destrian should have considered. I never would have guessed he would run.

The battle was won, but not the war.

Something happened! yayz! who would have known i would write a chapter with something important happening?

Did you enjoy the chapter? think its the best thing since sliced bread? or do you think that i am a moron and should stop writing like the good guest who decided to enlighten me on his opinion?

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